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Contortion Stories

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Are you a creative writer? Then send me your contortion story. It could be:
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IMPORTANT! The story must have a flexibility and contortion theme. Your story can be written in German, English or French. It should contain more than 1000 words. Each new story will be rewarded with a free (month’s) membership to Zlata.de
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Your story will be entered into this year's story competition.
The prize will be: annual membership to Zlata.de and the new Zlata calendar.

BUTCHER TALESPIN

BUTCHER TALESPIN Angus the burly, brutal, bulk of a butcher could feel one of his killer heads coming on. It was going to take a barrel of mortocaine to quell it — if just one brat came calling for the latest ball that had come tumbling into his backyard (from the Grange behind of him) he'd swing for those orphans. He sold lamb, chicken, beef and pork so why not kid? Why not the Missioner's kid; who was ambling across the Shambles up to his door right now and surely wanting him to be a Nice Mister. Fifteen years old and the gall of her; she'd less right to expect kindness than anyone! Shauna Midhir was the proper local name on her now; but to him she'd always be the heathen Zana Mivir. Story he'd heard was that she'd been in that new carnival that'd done so well at Easter a few years back; until the original carnival rewrote the bill with axes and torches. The Missioner and his wife had been in the ticketline and had adopted the new-made foundling almost on the spot. Rap! Rap! Rap! On His Door! Oh she'd get the full show: hulking, towering form; glowering face to match his fiery hair and beard; beetling brows and booming voice then she will go scuttling back to the Grange with her tail between her legs and having to admit she has done no better than anyone else. Only Zana doesn't; somehow she weaves her slender form under his arm and into his home before she has even said hello. He just cannot throw her out after that; not with the greeting she offers him. Zana has shucked her rag-sack of a dress and is standing there in nothing but her teenage skin. Before he can so much as start to take in that sight, she's begun to twist herself in the most amazing and impossible of postures. They give him a mouthwatering display of all her feminine charms. Zana ends: flushed, skin slick with sweat and with her chest slaving for air. Not yet not so beat enough that she's not able to talk and in no demure manner either. « There now mister you seen what balls I've got; so payback with the balls you've got. » Zana has done more than enough to wow him and win him over, on any ordinary day. But this is the worst day of his week. Angus is feeling so sick in the head just now. The migraine is making him mean, or rather meaner, and he means to push Zana as hard as he can. He wants all she can give before he moves one bone on returning the balls. He makes that more than clear to Zana along with what he is cruel enough to demand of her. Zana doesn't hesitate for the split of a second. She curves into her shapes once more but now she is spelling out the moves to Angus. Zana give him all he wants to know and gives him the power over her body. Zana starts by swinging into a frontbend that curves her body into a hairpin and then on to the point where her arms and head have come out between her legs. So far it is as it has been before, but now comes the more. Angus takes her wrists in his hands and hauls Zana far beyond where she can be or bear to be by her own efforts. He strains his sinews to strain her sinews; till first her shoulders, then her underarms and ultimately her upper chest have come out past her knees. From this point, with her body hard stressed and her breathing repressed Zana hasn't any control at all of what is done to her nude form. Catching sight of his show-piece of a clock ticks off another idea for Angus. He scents a kink to catch out the kinked girl. As Zana is, he can easily bind her limbs up however he wants; that is hardly enough to satisfy him however. If Zana thinks she can win him over and earn those balls so easily, she'll find she is far wrong. Zana is going to have to force herself as far as she can to please him. For all the chafe of his brain ache, he'll feel much the better if he can get the girl to break herself. Saying as much to himself, inside of his head, he shares some of it out with Zana. « Fancy going on the clock, Grangegorman? I'll no count it against ye if ye can't; ye being but a slip of a girl. Do ye fell tough enough to stretch five minutes? » No Zana doesn't; she aches to uncoil and ease the strain on her spine, hips and belly but all she does is to nod clearly, definitely and defiantly — pushing herself to an even higher level of anguish. Soon Zana is struggling for breath and the aches have become throbs with spikes of fire along her spine and at her joints but she shows none of this — taking care to contain and control her breathing, her bearing and her body into stillness and calm. At the end of what feels far more like an hour than a mere five minutes he lets go of her wrists, which are red with his fingermarks. For all of the urge to spring upright in a snap get out the trap; she glides steadily and smoothly back to upright — demanding that her hurt body doesn't betray her and does all that it must It takes Zana some minutes to recover her breath and her equilibrium enough to tackle a backbend; which goes much as the frontbend, except for her hardly having given herself time to recover; so she struggles with her lingering hurts and the hunger for air. She turns herself into a croquet hoop with her arms and then her head coming through her legs; she is able to drive herself through as far as her shoulders by her own efforts but then he has to add a hand and haul her onwards until her upper chest and eventually all of her chest is out past her knees. This is nothing near the end of what, between them, they brutalise her body into achieving. At the last her waist is just barely brought forward in advance of her thighs. In utter determination; she makes her torso twist on up from the horizontal and into the vertical. Now her head, breasts and belly are held just as they would be if she was standing normally instead of, as she is, doubled over on herself. To add one last cheeky touch, she throws her own self into the equation: extending her neck and tipping her head back so that her lips can meet his; in what becomes a hard and demanding kiss. For all the soreness and struggle to abuse her body into such an extreme position she knows the pain is going to be ratcheted up by many degrees more, until she is set free after her five minutes of agony. This time, though, she is prepared for it … prepared for it as least as far as knowing what is coming and being ready to withstand it. She imagines she is at least but she isn't so sure as a stream of lava flows along her spine, pooling at her hips, pulsing at her waist and fast rising to the point of unbearable … yet bear it she does and buries every sign that she can of her suffering. There is nothing she can do about the sweat slicking her skin or the slight shaking of her body but, once she is let go, she only makes a lingering return to normal; holding onto discipline like a drowning body holds onto a barrel. Again she has to allow herself some time for recovery; more time than before but still not a fraction of what she truly needs. For some sort of a relief she switches away from bends; lowering herself onto the floor and into the splits. She doesn't get away with it for a moment: after seeing the agony and attraction of a bare, young girl at her limits, Angus demands more, much more from her. For all of this; it is becoming very clear how very bent he is on breaking her and, how all too likely it is, that he will do so. She sits on the floor, working her legs behind her back, so she has a foot at each shoulder blade — then he begins to push. He allows her the luxury of calling "halt" if she finds this too hard but her legs move downward without overmuch difficulty or distress till the small of her back: when her muscles, sinews and ligaments begin to resist and protest but he powers on down — dragging her hips entirely out of their sockets; making her groan and give out little gasping whimpers for all the rest of the way. She has her hands clenched into fists and is hyperventilating through a hard-bitten and bleeding lip yet she makes not one word of protest as he presses her feet as far down as her hips; drowning her in agony, then holding her under for a full five minutes that makes her feel faint with the pang of it. Worse yet is when he swivels her legs up, around, forward and back into their sockets with a cruel efficiency that makes her wince. Her endurance is making him careless, casual and brutal with her body. By now she feels so sore, beat-up, broken and bent beyond her limits she isn't sure she can carry on and soak up even more suffering but she isn't ready to listen to her traitor body just yet. Still down on the floor in the splits she knows she has to move the action off of her hips for a while; brave as she is there is only so much she can endure. She clasps her hands together, in the small of her back, and allows him to raise up her locked arms. When they're up as far as the lower limits of her shoulder-blades she feels an aching and soreness that increases into wrenching, burning agony as Angus muscles her arms beyond any natural limit: to her shoulders, her neck, the back of her head and even the crown of her head. Ripping her arms entirely out of their sockets Angus rotates them entirely around, until her hands are stretched out in front of her and still locked together by her clasped hands. Angus leaves all of the effort of keeping her burning arms in place to the girl. He takes her right leg to bend, kink and lever it into a high kick that is held in position behind the arc of her arms; the same is repeated with her other leg. In this unlegged fold it is impossible for her to stand so Angus drops her down onto her back and none too gently at that. Now her arms are not only excruciatingly out of place but they also have to suffer the force of her legs trying to spring back into place. All of her joints are now agonisingly out of their sockets and at the absolute limits of what she can bear. All of it is held in place by the keystone of her two entwined hands and she has to pour all of her strength and concentration into just keeping this simple web intact. Angus does nothing at all to help her but just stands back to observe the straining, perspiring, glistening nymph; compelling the girl to do all the work of holding her distorted and tortured body in place all by herself for the tensest five minutes she has ever known. When the count (at all too long last) reaches the end all she wants to do is to unclasp, to unbend and to end her anguish. Being herself she does nothing of the kind but stiffens her nerve and tightens her grip; to hold on and be strong enough to let Angus fix the pace and flex her naked self as he chooses. In no great a hurry Angus uncurls the girl's legs from out of her other limbs. With both of them gathered in the crook of his arm he swings her two legs forwards and down till she is sitting with her legs straight out on front of her as they naturally should be and the hands too; as they unnaturally shouldn't be. A sharp manipulation of her limbs has Zana gasping in pain but with her legs set back to rights. Her arms come next; with Angus forcing them upwards, backwards and inwards until they're wrenchingly resocketed. Then he drives her arms all the way down to the small of her back where this torture-rack began so many minutes ago. Zana is heartily glad to know the pressure will at last be off her overworked shoulder joints. Yet, even now, Angus insists she has to keep her throbbing, protesting joints in this unnatural position for another entire five minutes and all by her own fading strength to keep the shoulders down and hands locked. When she is finally allowed to lift and release her limbs for Angus to bully them back into their sockets she cannot hold back a long, shuddering, groan of pain. Zana knows she is going to lose her dare very soon from now; as good a contortionist as she is there are limits to even the toughest and most pliant of bodies. She knows all to hurting well that she is far beyond that point and it is pure stubbornness and defiance that keeps her going. If she doesn't end this soon it will end her; well so … best to go out like a comet and not a spent candle. One last calvary to win him over or wipe her out; The last throw of the dice.. Zana drops from kneeling to lie on her front and begin a triplefold. Her groin, belly and chest are flat to the ground as she stretches her arms out directly in front of her. It is just one more pose in her repertoire only it is one more than she is able for today. It is too much to ask of a spine and hips that have taken as much as these have but Zana is in no mood to let any degree of pain settle how far she can go. Her legs whip up and over like a scorpion tail and her hips follow till she is able to plant her feet down on either side of her head. It earns Zana a steady drumbeat of fiery agony in each of her hips and along her spine. Regardless of that Zana uses her fingers to crab forwards, even as she wriggles hips and legs. Eventually she has her over-tensed body curling so her feet are just about level with her shoulders. Through sheer bravura Zana is able to force her torso upwards till all of her body is bent into a screaming hoop that only touches the floor at ribs and belly. This won't do for her though; not this amount of torment and injury — it isn't the extreme she needs to impress Angus. He stands there looking at the bow of a girl, waiting to see how far she can knot herself before he starts his count. It is pure surprise to him when Zana asks to have her legs drawn back and up; so that even her rib cage begins to lift off the floor and the feet pull back till they touch her sides. Angus grunts in surprise at how much of his power it takes to drag the slender body that much further. It is at the utter limit of natural flex and he has to wrestle the legs and then the arms into place; to lock Zana into a crippling quadfold. Zana no longer has to worry about where of her is hurting the most; her entire body is a pure supernova of pulsating agony. She is biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. rather than let Angus know that it has finally got too much even for her. But Zana is wrong even in that, as Angus seats his massive weight on the apex of her folded body. The only reason that Zana doesn't scream aloud is that she barely has the air to breath, even before she is crushed. The next five minutes tests Zana far beyond what she has imagined as the limits of the endurable. It isn't the struggle to draw breath, to keep quiet, to keep still — it is none of these but the battle to stay conscious as her very heartbeat seems to pound through her skull and whirling stars dance in her fading vision. Zana isn't even aware when Angus releases her from his weight. The first thing she becomes aware of is two brawny hands cupping her gasping, perspiring face as Angus takes a deep kiss from her lips. He takes the first kiss but the second is more than willingly given. Only after that does Angus finally release Zana and then vanish off to some backroom. She is most glad of those few minutes privacy to hug her throbbing body tight as she takes shaking gulps of air. By the time he is back with the prize of the confiscated balls she is back in her rag of a dress and almost steady on her feet. Sure and it will be days before she is over this ordeal but it isn't too high a price as a games kit is as rare as gold bullion to orphans. They exchange a last few words as he hands over the well earnt trophy. « Zana! Ye mind so, if any more of these balls fly my way I'll be expecting yourself to come calling and dancing my tune. » « Aren't you the cruel mister. Haven't heard that tune since the carnival. Well so! Ye watch your yard and I'll learn my steps. »