The Breaking of Mother Night 8

by Mr. K. 

Click on images to enlarge.

When he comes to get you, to take you from your cell to take you to yet another chair, you are lost in a mind cloud. His intrusion in your mind has left you fogged. Your brain fades in and out. This mind fog is the most frustrating part of it. When a villain has not been able to cloud your mind, no matter how bad things got, you were always able to find a way out.

When The Crone demolished you and took you captive, you were still able discern what time it was and what was going on. When The Crone had you, she chained you to a wall in her "Eternal Care," you knew how much time passed.

When she put you over her lap like a disobedient grandchild, you could count every spank. Her body looked withered – was withered – but she snatched you around and punished you with no effort at all. Red hair tumbled across your face, and the tight, round curve of your ass in your skintight catsuit presented itself. You could count each loud impact as her hand collided with your ass.

You knew how many times she beat you with a switch – how many lashes - while you were chained to the tree in her back yard.

"EVIL, SINFUL SLUT!" she screamed as she beat you. You counted the stinging impacts. You felt her untie you and spin you around. You even kept your handle on time as she slowly dug her way into your brain.

You knew how much time passed before she buried you alive, and how long you were in your grave before Mother Fire and Mother Frost dug you up. Time still made sense, no matter how helpless you were.

This is different. As he takes you, he mentions Chess.

“I love the way Chess made a masterpiece out of you,” he says. He smiles broadly. Remember when Chess beat you? Remember that? He knows all about it. That was a time that time escaped you. You couldn’t escape them, and time eluded you. It was madness, and you were the victim of it all.

When you battled Chess, all you could comprehend was … chess. It turned from a fight, to a beating unlike any other, to nothing but a timeless world on a chess board.

Chess broke you.

Just like this guy from your past, Chess broke you. Just like this man coming to get you from your cell, Chess beat you and captured you. It’s been years, but as you feel his strength, as he scoops you up and cradles you like a child, like a damsel, you feel that same helplessness.

Remember how Chess destroyed you?

It started with you fighting The Rook.

Do you remember when Chess destroyed you?

Remember when The Rook beat you.

It started off in your world - in an empty city street in the wee hours of the morning. You were lured there because you thought you were going to rescue a kidnapped woman. You ended up fighting The Rook. It was you – Mother Night in your black catsuit – fighting this over-muscled man in his black catsuit.

“Hello, Dr. Britain! How are you?” he smiled, twirling his staff and walking slowly in front of her.

“I’ll be better once I get past you … who are you, again?” you said, you mocked.

You had been in battles with muscle-bound costumed villains before. That was nothing new. As you watched him twirling this bo staff and smiling, there was nothing strange or magical about what you saw. He was a mountain of a man dressed in a black bodysuit. He swung the and spun the bo staff with the fluidity of a true master. He bore the silhouette of a chess rook on his chest.

“I'm going to beat you, Mother Night. I'm going to beat you just to the edge of death, then I'm going to take you. It won't be easy on you. In spite of your magic, your strength, and your power, you will suffer and you will lose.”

You said nothing.

“Here we go,” he said.

Time, then, stopped making sense. He moved in a blur. You only knew that he was there, then moving faster than your eyes could track. There was a sudden explosion of force, of pain, between your thighs. It soared through your body, making your muscular legs buckle.

It made your vision go blank.

It made your back stiffen.

It made you scream.

As you fell to your knees, your hands clutching your crotch, the other end of the stick that had crashed into your vulva, collided with your skull. It was one of those blows that made you feel as though your head was full of water. It made you tumble and swirl on the edge of consciousness. I made you moan.

Just like now, with your captor taking you from your cell, time suddenly started to make less and less sense. Each time he struck with his bo staff, your body screamed in pain, and your mind became clouded. There was something about his weapon.

When he struck your right shoulder, then your left, your mind fled from you. You suddenly felt as though you had been asleep for hours. Both arms were numb, as though you had been sleeping on them. Your arms were useless and limp.

You were Mother Night, on her knees.

The world was swirling as you struggled to stand, wasn't it? The pain was eating you alive.

“Here, let me help,” he said. You watched through blurry vision as he put down the stick. He laid it down slowly, carefully, then stood and walked to you. You recall how cat-like and graceful his movements were. When he reached you – just a few strides away stood between the two of you – he knelt and took hold of your breasts. Your breasts are large, and his hand clutched and gathered their mass as though they were greedy animals. He sank his fingers in as though they were talons. You closed your eyes and moaned as the strength of his hands took control of your breasts.

Then you screamed as he pulled and yanked upwards. Still limp, you could only follow the flow of his strength as he pulled you to your feet. As this man, here and now, takes you from your cell to begin a new round of torture, you recall how The Rook crashed his fist into your face.

Your head snapped back. You could only see stars, and you heard yourself give a thick, guttural cry.

And he punched your face again.

And he punched your stomach, doubling you over.

And you remember, as this new villain is carrying you like a bride over the threshold, how The Rook clutched your face. Just as he had gripped your breasts with his powerful hands, crushing them. He took control of your face arching you back. You felt a power flowing from him, into you, and again, the world spiraled into chaos.

“You are remembering how Chess made you feel just as weak as you are now, right?” your new captor says. He can see that you mind is running through your defeat by Chess.

You say nothing. You just remember how he left you on your feet and went back for his stick.

“Let’s get back to it,” The Rook said back then.

“He started beating you again,” said the man now.

When he struck your lower back, then one leg after the other, you saw a kaleidoscope of color and light.

He struck your back again. You whole body shuddered in agony. Again, the world spun. Your body convulsed each time the bo staff struck your thighs, your hips, the curve of your ass. When it struck the back of your neck, your legs’ thick muscles tremored and jumped. Your eyes squeezed closed and you let out another groan.

“I like your throaty voice. You have a sexy voice, redhead,” he said.

And he swept your legs out from under you.

Slowly, painfully, you rose.

You would never see or hear the sweeping upper-cut of the stick’s end. Remember how it met your chin with the loud clacking explosive pain of impact? You let out a shuddering moan and your head snapped back.

For a moment, your back arched and your arms and legs stiffened.

He fought with a bo staff, and he made the most of it. He beat you with it. He swept it up into the mound of your vulva, again, and your legs buckled. As you fell to your knees, your hands on your crotch. He brought it down on your right shoulder, then your left, again.

He was beating you.

He was the Rook, beating Mother Night.

You were all on fours, you head drooping, your hair pouring down around your face.

He put the stick aside, again. He put it down, bowing to it. He stood. “I’m going to enjoy something more sensuous,” he laughed. Again, he enjoyed the feeling of punching, kicking, and tossing you about. There was a glee that ran through him as his fist collided with your face. There was a glee as he picked you up and hurled you through a wall, then a window, then a floor.

You felt the real-world bruises, bleeding, and breaking in your body.

It was when you lay there, fading into unconsciousness that you fell out of time and place. You faded in and out, feeling the sensations of motion and power. You felt him grabbing and you felt your body being heaved up, but how much time had gone by as a blur.

He had lifted you and thrown you through a storefront window. You remember the shattering glass and the pain, but how long you laid there could have been a second, an hour, a day. He had stepped into the darkness of the closed store, standing over you for a moment. He smiled, appreciating the sight of you laying in the salad of glass. You felt those powerful hands, again. They clamped down and crushed your breasts. He lifted you by them again, shook you, then lifted some more. You howled in pain and flung your head back as you hung there, suspended in his grip, your boots not touching the floor.

You screamed as though they were being torn from your body.

Your current captor, the man who is carrying you up the stairs now, laughs as he listens to your thoughts. “He held you like that, then tossed you through the closest wall.”

It was true. He did. He then stood over you again. There was a groaning moment, you remember, as he loomed over you. You were disoriented and He shoved a foot under you, flipped you on to your back, and grabbed your breasts again. Now, the pain was so overwhelming that you could no longer scream. You saw stars.

He lifted you again. This time, he brought you only to your feet. You tried to stand, to make a wide stance and hold yourself up, but it lasted only a second.

“He hit you in the throat,” your new man laughs.

“Then a good upper cut. Really snapped your head back, didn’t he?”

He knows your whole beating.

“A few good gut shots. He really beat you like a boxer.”

Your new captor describes how you were lifted off of your feet with a blow to the gut from Chess, and how you were driven to the ground by a flurry of blows to your face.

“He beat you,” your new captor laughs. He is carrying you up one set of stairs after the other.

He knows how you ended up crawling, unable to stand, your head spinning. He knows about how you struggled, crawled, tried to rise, but ended up kneeling. He knows about the last kick that laid you out.

“He broke you just like I’m breaking you,” he laughs. “You woke up in a velvet-lined box. I love that. He had a velvet-lined box ready for you. You woke up … sort of … in it. You were paralyzed. All you could do was look up at him as he said ‘You’re going to meet the queen.’”

He closed the lid on you.

As he talks to you, rummaging around in your brain and telling the story of your captivity in the hands of Chess, today’s captor reaches a room. The door is wide open, but you cannot see because of how he has you in him arms. He shifts his weight and shakes you a bit. He smiles, watching your breasts shake.

“Part of my purpose, Mother Night, is to make sure you understand that you were meant to be conquered. I am part of a proud tradition,” says your current owner. The Rook was then, he is now.

As he brings you into the room, your mind continues to play out your captivity in the hand of Chess. Remember when you woke up? You awoke when you tumbled out of nowhere into nowhere. You fell through a void and crashed down on to a massive chess board. You fell on to a chess board, and you lay just lay there. It felt like hitting concrete. It felt like finality.

Your body was aching, and all you could do was look up and around. You saw your captors. The Rook was there, but he wasn’t the only piece there waiting for you, was she? Of course, there was another black Rook, and two white ones. Remember the young redhead and the lush older woman? The Queens? The young one was like a pert, pretty college girl, while the mature woman was curvy and sensuous in her tight t-shirt. She brushed back grey hair as she smiled at you.

Remember the muscular men with the pawn insignias? The armored man with the Bishop symbol?

Remember how the older queen beamed and clapped her hands.

“We have her. We have her on the board. Finally!” The grey-haired woman rubbed her hands together.

“Rook! Do some more!” She squealed. She squealed like an excited little girl and clapped her hands again. “Before we do anything else, let’s see Rook … No! Let’s see all of the Rooks keep beating her.”

You were laboriously lifting yourself from the chessboard, trying to concentrate beyond the throbbing between your thighs and the way your muscles revolted. Your eyes focus on the big man who initially beat you.

He smiled and he gave a whoop of joy as he kicked you in the face. He must have been showing off, because this kick was more powerful than anything that your body had to absorb when he first beat you. Your eyes are wide and your voice becomes a throaty scream as your body arcs to the ground.

The world is rushing around you as you tumble, but suddenly stops. There is pain in your scalp and your throat as you realize another big man in another version of the Rook armor had grabbed your hair and your throat. He was a white rook, and he snatched you to your feet.

“You were nothing but a helpless woman in a black catsuit,” your new captor laughs.

You remember wobbling, your focus fading in and out. You remember how you tried to get a fix on where you were, and what was going on, only to have a giant chess piece crash into your face.

Your world was spinning again. You could feel fist after fist from one man after the other strike your face. One sent you tumbling left, where you caught another blow. It sent you reeling, to the right, where another fist snapped you back the other way.

There was a kick, a powerful kick, that rammed into your lower back. You arched again, screamed again. There was a picture-perfect moment – your large breasts thrust up, your thick red hair flying. You only had a moment on the floor before another Rook grabbed your hair, hoisted you up and punched you in the face.

You rocked back and he gripped your features. Your strong features were crushed, for a painful moment in his strong hand. You groaned, a deep-throated mantra of pain seeping between your teeth. He released, and another man delivered another fist. By now, pain piled upon pain and you were dashed about like a rag doll.

When the bo staff struck you across your eyes, you were already numb. When the next giant chess piece was smashed into your face, you were numb. When consciousness started to fade, they were kicking you, but you were numb. You slipped into darkness.

You awoke, at one point, feeling the weight and the coldness of heavy chains around your wrists. You moved your hands slowly, making sure you felt what you thought you felt. Every inch of you protested. You head throbbed. Your cunt shuddered and quaked. They had beaten every inch of you, and chained your unconscious form to one of the hundreds of chessboards that fill this space.

You were Mother Night, beaten and chained.

“They chained you, didn’t they? Did they chain you like I did?” the new captor asks.

“They did,” you answer. “They used lots of lengths of chain to cuff and bind me. I sat up and … I sat up, cross-legged, with all of those chains, and all of that pain. They surrounded me. They smiled and nodded to each other. They had me,” you explain.

The younger redheaded woman looked around, then back to you. She wore a costume that seemed to mimic yours. It was skin-tight, black. She slipped an arm under your legs. She slipped an arm behind your shoulders. She lifted you effortlessly, flipping bright red hair back and smiling with a broad, red mouth.

“Pawns. Why don’t you do what you do, ok? Get the cord.” She was carrying you the way this guy is carrying you now. He is alone, but she was talking to her Chess community as she moved you from one chess board to another. She laid you on your side, and rolled you on to your front. As she moved away, one of the massive men in black grabbed your right ankle.

“Ok, so first, give her a proper fucking to welcome her to the board. We’ll wrap her up afterwards.”

You gasped with utter shock at the force of his strength. He yanked your legs apart. You looked over your shoulder to see the broad grin of the chess man. It is was as if he was saying “Get ready for a shock, baby.” His voice was low and gravelly. You were bent over the chess board with one of the muscular men behind you. He had yanked your legs apart and was pressing himself up against your ass, your camel-toe cleft. He was massive, and you could feel the thickness grinding into you.

“You were shocked when the first pawn gave you cock, weren’t you?” your new captor asks. You recall the thick, wide mushroom head – its outline. You recall how he thrust forward, pulling back hard on your red hair. He was still clothed and your cunt was still snug below the skintight black of your costume. Still, you could feel his massive hard-on through his clothes. He must have felt your big cunt lips through your costume, because he thrust his hips forward. His massive head hit the long shaft of your clit.

You heard yourself give a deep, guttural nnngggggg. He drove his hips forward, and you groaned again. He did it again, faster this time. Harder. That was followed by another and another and another until your sex shuddered under the assault and you heard yourself scream. You slapped the chess board, bit your lower lips and squeezed your eyes shut as your body was ripped by a powerful orgasm. You were still shaking and panting as that pawn left you and the next one took his place.

This one reached down with both hands and ripped open the crotch of your costume. There was a moment of his thick fingers spreading your thick lips. Your vulva is large and pouty. It was easy for him to get hold of your meat and spread the two thick apart.

You were Mother Night, your sex spread wide.

As your new captor grins at you, he can see you recalling the feeling of your big pussy lips being captured and spread wide. There was a moment of tingling vulnerability, then you felt yourself stretched wide around the sudden thrusting of this one’s girth. He filled you suddenly. Force. Thickness. He rammed your cervix. You screamed.

“It was as though he was going to tear you apart, wasn’t it?”