Books / Comics Goodnight Irene (1 Viewer)

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(rewritten scene from a book)

Dor’s attention was jerked back to the immediate situation by the arrival of the Mundanes. There were three guards, one carrying a crude iron bar. They stopped before Irene’s cell and used the bar to pry up the wedged plank that barred it. One of the guards went in and grabbed Irene. She did not resist; she knew as well as Dor did that this was the expected questioning.

Now King Oary entered the dungeon, his eyes traveled along the length of her body. Irene was dressed in a form-fitting bodice that pinched her tiny waist and long high-cut slits in the skirt that revealed a lot of thigh. “So you are the King’s daughter?”

“Try eating a salad Fatso!,” Irene retorted defiantly.

Dor winced. She might be getting too into her role!

King Oary said something quietly to the translator who then stood in front of Irene and formed a fist aimed at her belly. The King was plotting something dastardly! Dor hardly dared imagine what he might do to Irene. He couldn’t stand to have her hurt!

He drew back his arm and hit Irene in the pit of her stomach.

The girl let out a grunt from somewhere deep inside her but otherwise made no noise because she had no breath. She dropped to her knees, doubled over, struggling to draw air into her lungs. The pain was sharp and nauseating, but Irene was also shocked that the man dared to lay a hand on her. In her privileged life, no one had ever purposely hit her before.

The Translator squatted down in front of her. “The King will use force,” the man warned with a menacing calmness. “Better answer, slut.”

 

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Irene began to wheeze, as the first wisps of oxygen found their way painfully into her throat. She groped feebly at the translator's leg as he clutched a handful of her hair and pulled her back up to her feet.

“Look at me girl!” The Translator demanded. “Do you have anything to say?”

Irene rolled her eyes towards her assailant. “You’re fat too.”

“She won’t talk,” the guard said to the King.
“We shall make her talk,” the King responded. “Bring her over in front of the boy”

The other two guards grabbed Irene’s arms and hauled her a few steps down the hall until they were directly in front of Dor’s cell. The two guards wrestled Irene’s jacket and off her body, while she struggled and kicked, showing tantalizing flashes of the inner thigh.

Dor was silent, uncertain what to do.

The King’s eyes shifted from Dor’s face to the deep cleavage of Irene’s bodice. “Rip off her clothes!” the King ordered.

 

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“What? No!” she panicked. Irene had always been a cute girl and socially precocious. She constantly teased Dor with her legs, letting them distract him from her other attributes. She was confident that he would never touch her due to her being the King’s daughter. Now that Dor considered this, she had kept herself fairly private. These men had no such constraints and were eager to force Irene to make good on her innuendos.

Terrified of being stripped naked in front of Dor and these men, Irene heaved with her arms, but the two men held her securely. Then the translator put his hand on her neckline and brutally ripped downward.

“RIP!” The fine blouse tore down the front, exposing her fine bosom.

 

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“Well, look at that!” the King exclaimed admiringly. Dor could not understand a word of the language, but he grasped the essence readily enough. King, translator, and both guards were all gawking at Irene’s revealed body. So was Dor!

In recent years nature had rushed to endow her generously, and this was quite evident as the small, delicate-featured vixen, stood in front of Dor’s cell, bare-breasted as any nymph. Indeed, Irene closely resembled the slim, lovely female creatures, that haunted men.

At the same time, he was furious with the King and his henchmen for exposing Irene in this involuntary manner. He determined not to tell them anything.

The King breathed heavily, ”Continue.”

 

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The King breathed heavily, ”Continue.”

“No!” Irene pleaded as they tore more of her clothing off. The Translator moved towards her again hooking two fingers into the top of her skirt and ripping it down. This material, too, came apart with surprising ease, displaying her long, shapely legs to the world

Dor wondered why she complained about comments about her legs, but insisted on wearing a skirt; pants of some kind would have solved the problems decisively. Then it occurred to him that she might not want that particular problem solved. How could anyone blame her for the many accidents that showed off her legs if she always complained about it?

“Eek!” Irene squealed looking down at herself, what was left of her dress was hanging around her feet in shreds. She flustered red when she caught Dor’s silly unblinking stare. Dor goggled at the mountains and valley of her bosom. Despite her peril, she was flattered that Dor liked what he saw.

Dor, the King, and the three guards took a long, ravishing look at Irene. Then the King nodded to the Translator and he moved in front of her again curling his fingers into a fist.

 

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“Stop it!” Dor cried. “I’ll tell-”

“Shut up!” Irene snapped at him. One of her knees jerked up, catching the translator in the groin. The guards laughed as the man moaned and fell to the floor.

“Bet her majesty is quite a fireball in the royal chambers eh kid?”

It wasn’t as devastating as Irene had hoped though. The man recovered quickly and he clutched a handful of her hair, his remaining fist driving hard into her bare stomach.

 

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“huuurg!” Irene’s eyes went wide as air exploded out of her. She nearly passed out, settling on the ground to heave her empty guts out, only vaguely aware of her surroundings.

The Translator was still walking with a limp after getting kicked in the manhood. He stalked into position and looked to the king for approval to continue the beating. King Oary nodded.

Irene rolled onto her hands and knees and she drew breath, gasping. Dor admired how hard she was fighting, but this was too much for her. The Translator approached her at an angle, taking three steps and kicking up into the girl’s belly.

 

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“OOOOOOOHHH!” The Translator was angry, and the blow was vicious. Irene’s petite body lifted with the thumping kick. Waves of blackness seemed to ripple over the room. Bright floating spots appeared at the edges of his vision, as she struggled vainly to breathe. Irene sank onto her knees and fell out of consciousness.