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Chapter 4 - Of Things Present
Kayleen cried bitterly unto the darkness of the chamber deep below the ruins
of Zhorun's castle, as her precarious balance shifted and the coarse ropes
chafed her. Some wound tightly around her forearms, bringing her elbows
impossibly close together. Her legs were also tightly tied together from ankle
to knee, a tight rope wound around her waist, and her body was encased in a
pattern of crisscrossing ropes which seemed to serve no purpose.
More rope coiled around her generously proportioned and now bulging breasts,
and four more ropes had been savagely tightened across her crotch, her love
bud protruding between the inner two and her nether lips trapped alongside.
Her kidneys rested on a stout wedge, raising her midsection and anchoring the
ropes binding her so that she could not roll away.
Rest would not come easy in her torturous position, but she was exhausted
after her ordeal, so the Warrior Queen had time to ponder her recollections.
They had cleaned her, as she had soiled herself during the torture, treated
her wounds, fed her, but then left her like this. "It makes no sense." she
thought, "Why feed me if I am to be broken through exhaustion ?"
She woke up, after slipping into unconsciousness, because of something above
her lip. An itch at first, turning into a rash where the first ant had stung
her. She started writhing in panic, and in a matter of minutes it was all over
her body. She could not see them, but the skin was blistering where the ants
had stung her, and where the coarse rope ground into them, the blisters hurt
fiercely. The purpose of the crisscrossed ropes now revealed, she wailed in
despair, a drawn out "Nooo" which was soon punctuated by gasps and cries as
she was no longer able to keep still and her love bud started feeling the
consequences, the harbinger of what would happen when the stings on her
feminine parts started blistering under the bite of the knots.
The footsteps arrived well after that. As nobody had been present, she had
felt no compunction in screaming her lungs out, and now it was too late to
recover the tatters of her pride, the sane corner of her mind dreading the
forthcoming torture session, fearing this would be the one where she would
betray her friends, her subjects, anything to stop the pain.
Grod removed the cords, with some difficulty because of her uninterrupted
twitching, allowing her to relax her arms and legs, then picked her up and
laid her on a table where she cuffed her ankles, one by one, to a roller and
then her wrists, still one by one, to another. She was doused with cold water,
and woke up, still itching fiercely because of the blisters but free from the
ropes, on a massive, ominous rack.
In a corner of her mind, Kayleen remembered what she had sensed last evening
and sought his eyes, but the burly executioner now wore a mask of cold
determination and immediately started cranking the rack, skipping his habit of
showing the victim what would befall her. The device soon caught up all slack
in her body, and she felt the cuffs tighten around her ankles and wrists, but
no real pain. She saw the leering man from the South salivating at her taut
body, still a feast for the eyes from the magnificent legs, her slender
thighs, her taut midriff, her sculpted ribs, to the proud, full breasts which
had regained their delectable shape.
Before cranking the device again, Grod shifted gear, each turn of the crank
now the equivalent of a inch. It was inch by inch, then, that she started to
feel the tug of the machine, and a few cranks brought dread in her as her body
started to protest. The executioner shifted gear again, and then cranked some
more, until pain shot through her body from her shoulder and hip joints and
her scream rose under the vaults of the torture chamber.
The torturer locked the device and inspected her, suddenly aware that he had
been negligent; two or three cranks at this setting would have broken her
spine. He had to suppress his gnawing urge to be done with the matter, and get
back his former self. Never before had a prisoner wrought doubt into his
determination, never had a prisoner failed to break under his ministrations.
He reversed the device, her cry of relief heavy on him, and shifted gears
again, at a setting which allowed minute adjustments. He brought the device
back to normal and started cranking, letting his eyes wander on her shapely
form as it elongated under the tug of the rack.
The moment of respite was too brief for the Warrior Queen to achieve anything
but gathering the shreds of her resolve, and soon the rack started delivering
its due. The unrelenting chafing on her wrists and ankles deepened, and the
tug at her arms increased to a dull ache. A few more cranks turned the ache
into searing pain, her legs also on fire, her ribcage sunken as her spine
distended. The old Southerner enjoyed the sight of her stretched body
immensely, feasting on the leaning muscles stretching like cords of flesh
inside her taut arms and thighs.
His disgusting gaze incensed the Warrior Queen, bringing her to stifle the
scream about to escape from her lips as more cranks added to her agony. There
was blood on her wrists and ankles now, and she breathed in short gasps as the
stretching took its toll on her diaphragm, but an insane determination grew
inside to her not let that pig enjoy her screams any longer. She hissed and
bit her lip, cursing under her breath, a new blazing in her joints telling her
that the rack had been cranked again.
Her tormentor noticed her new resolve, and reversed the device, loosening it
one notch in the hope of surprising her with the unexpected pain of release,
but she jerked her head against the table and kept her cries behind clenched
teeth. The release lasted mere moments, then the rack was cranked back one
notch, followed by another, and a renewed fire rose from her hip joints and
elbows, rising above the gnawing pain along her spine and even the agony at
her wrists and ankles. The rack was briefly reversed again, and then cranked
two more notches as her jaw set strenuously to stifle her anguished scream.
Now that she fought him, Grod was finding his old self again. He released her
again, two notches this time, in order to build up dread when he would later
crank her two notches again. Her body was drenched in sweat, her breasts
heaved fitfully under the exertion, her ankles and wrists had been chafed raw,
but she did not scream any more. One more notch, and then he inspected her as
she trembled under the incredible pain and tension, to make sure she could
take what he had in store for her. He shifted gear before reversing the device
once, releasing a whole inch of agonizing elongation with a single crank.
Her body snapped like a rag doll, her limbs jerking, her face contorted in
agony and the beginning of a shriek rose from her throat, trailing off as she
found the will to silence it. He inspected her again, his hands testing for
sprains and dislocations, and then one at a time replaced her cuffs with
padded, wider cuffs made for the rack. The old man from the South sneered
"Moved, Grod ? Luxury cuffs for your Whore Queen, no less." compelling him to
retort "If I leave these on, I might as well let her slit her wrists. You can
put them back later on your turn, if you like them better."
During this brief respite, the Warrior Queen remembered how she had conceived
a plan, last morning, to put the divisions between her tormentors to her
advantage. She clinged to that nugget of hope as the rack was cranked up again
and ache mounted in her joints, her wrists and ankles still tearing but no
longer bleeding. After a brief pause for shifting gear, Grod cranked her notch
after notch up to where she had been before the pause, occasionally reversing
the rack to add the pain of release to her misery. He then fetched a pair of
tweezers, moved besides her body, and plucked a blonde hair from her mound.
Her gasp of surprise was about to turn into a scream as her thigh muscles
reacted by attempting to contract in spite of the pull of the rack, but she
caught herself and stifled it, her fists clenching spasmodically. He plucked
another, then a couple more before cranking the device another notch. Her
stretched body glistened with perspiration, and the tweezers pulled a curl,
her voice rasping in a strangled breath as she twitched in spite of herself.
He released her one notch and fetched a leather harness, consisting of a pair
of straps which wrapped around her body from shoulders to groin. Winding them
under her back was agonizing, each pull reverberating in her bones and
wrenching a stifled cry from her laboring lungs, but the straps would absorb
some of the tug of the rack, preserving her spine at the expense of her hip
and shoulder joints. A property which she could testify to when the rack was
cranked again, and her joints howled as if shot through by needles of fire.
The straps tightened around each side of the vulva, and he considered
squeezing one of the many angry blisters there, but he liked his technique
better so he just pulled at more pubic hair with the tweezers. She was
released one notch and then cranked up two, each time the pain increasing even
as she thought that it could not get worse, and then the tweezers pulled at
her pubic hair again. And again, a few hairs at a time but unrelentingly. Her
pain was now uninterrupted and she was beyond herself, clinging to a single
simple thought in a gulf of searing white agony, "I will not scream."
She failed when the rack was again released a full inch, as release wrought
havoc on her inhumanly stretched muscles and ligaments, the snap reverberating
through her innermost being as a shrill cry rose from her fatigued lungs, her
will not up to the task of suppressing it. Then dread engulfed her when she
heard the device being cranked again and the tension returned, her mouth
forming a begging "No" which in a supreme effort she managed to turn silent,
but only up to when a curl of hair was wrenched from her pubis.
With devilish patience, her torturer plucked her blonde bush curl by curl,
releasing and cranking back the rack now and again, keeping her on the edge of
agonies beyond human endurance. Enough of her resolve was still with her to
turn gut-wrenching cries into hissing gasps, but she occasionally vented her
anguish in fitful, inarticulated screams. Half of her mound had been plucked
raw when Grod suspended the torture, to allow her pounding heart to recover.
On her bed of agony, Kayleen wished his fingers never got away from her throat
in astonishment at the speed of her recovery, but they did, and soon the rack
was cranked again and fire shot through her limbs, blotting out the chafing
from the leather straps and even the fire at her ankles and wrists. Again the
accursed tweezers wrenched a curl of pubic hair from her mound, her hips still
attempting to buckle in spite of the agonies wrought by each attempt. Her
flesh, under the sheen of perspiration, was hot to the touch and her stretched
muscles bulged below the taut skin.
The calloused hands of her tormentor closed on her left leg, the fingers
searching for her tendons. She incongruously thought of when she had her
muscles massaged after exercise, but realization hit her on a wave of pain and
she screamed, her resolve shattered by the blazing agony from her limb, the
fiendish massage straining her muscles instead of soothing them. The old man
from the South had moved beside her, transfixed as her magnificent body
writhed in spite of the unbearable tension, drops of his drool landing on her
contorted visage as he could not help but close his hands on her breasts.
The old fart was shooed away by Grod, who had to extend over her in order to
grip her right forearm, but when she realized their nature those drops burned
into her to the point of letting her forget the hellish agonies she was
undergoing and recover at least some of her determination. Not enough,
however, to still her cry as Grod strained her flexor muscle. "I cannot stand
any more of this." she said to herself, but Grod gripped her right thigh and
started digging hard fingers in the muscles bulging on its inside, agony
following their trail until he managed to strain them also. He did the same to
her left arm, turning her powerful biceps into a bundle of blazing pain.
When the tweezers pulled a hair from her mound again, a hitherto unmatched
hell descended on her, as the slightest attempt at moving under the
unrelenting pull of the rack went though at least two opposing strained
muscles. Unbelievably, the pain increased as he plucked hair after hair, at a
rate which would protract her suffering beyond the boundaries of sanity, and
subsided only when he at last stopped.
Her eyes shut in misery, Kayleen heard him close by and barely stifled a jerk
of surprise as his gloved hand started rubbing a cold, oily ointment onto her
hot skin, starting under her ribcage and extending to her torso. There was
nothing soothing in the creepy substance, and when the first savage cramp rose
in her ribs she wailed in despair at this new cruelty.
Her throat could no longer contain her agony, and she screamed and screamed as
his fingers dug hard in her chest, pulling and twisting until she howled to
high heaven as first one and then another pectoral muscle was strained. The
ointment was causing spasmodic cramps in her chest, every breath a torment as
if all her ribs had been broken at once. And he plucked another hair.
In spite of the unrelenting pain she still attempted, in vain, to hide her
terror and cling to some of her former dignity. Grod released the device two
notches, wrenched a curl of blonde hair from her half raw mound, then cranked
it back one notch and plucked her pubic hair again. She had to be brought back
notch by notch, or she would risk permanent damage.
"Not yet." a cold voice commanded. It had been his Master for a long time, but
Grod hesitated before releasing the device one notch and cranking it once and
then twice. Impossible as it was, her screams rose higher, and she kept
screaming as he again released the rack one notch and then cranked it twice,
alert to the popping sound of some joint dislocating. It didn't happen, but he
would not risk another notch, and kept wrenching curl after curl from her
mound, not releasing her until it was plucked raw.
She was released from the rack one notch at a time, and when she was finally
free the old Southerner had her brought to a pillory, since she was unable to
walk on her own. She was put on her knees, the cuffs at her wrists and ankles
were locked onto the device and an iron band was savagely tightened around her
waist and pulled up with a chain from the ceiling, exposing her firm buttocks
to the lewd gaze of the old Southerner.
He placed on the pillory, under her stomach, a case containing a collection of
what she took some time to recognize as ... cucumbers, as if expecting her to
be afraid of them. The incongruity of the situation was such that she giggled,
and then laughed aloud, although briefly because of the rib cramps.
"She's not impressed, Hadrad." mocked Grod, and the swarthy Southerner fully
understood the insult to his virility. He eyed his victim and seemed at a loss
about what do to next, then sat behind her and picked a smallish cucumber from
the case, her upside down face puzzled as he showed it to her. "We start
small." he said, and pushed it into her exposed anus.
She cried in protest and dismay at this violation, but soon pain tinged her
voice as her sphincter was painfully distended. Her tormentor started to twist
the implement left and right within her, then rose and pulled it out, only to
push it back a heartbeat later, sending a wave of pain through her loins.
"Wet already. She likes it." mockingly proclaimed the old pig, his fingers
probing her private parts. "It's not true!" she protested in her mind,
speechless at his lewdness and furiously looking for a way to denounce his
falsehood. "To whom ?" it occurred to her, her cheeks burning in humiliation
at her degradation at the hands of this scum.
He thrust the implement into her ass again, exerting his full force, and
started pumping the intruder into her steadily, her broken voice wailing on
each push as her ass was being ravaged. He stopped when the cucumber had lost
most of its shape and consistency, her voice trailing into sobs of despair,
but quickly procured another and violated her ass again, over and over,
without interruption, until his arm tired and he sat panting behind her.
"You should like this one better." said her robed tormentor after recovering,
pushing a larger specimen into her vagina, savoring her outraged gasp before
twisting it and pulling it out. "But it does not belong there." he chuckled,
and brought it against the rosette of her anus. Her eyes widened in fear at
the girth of the implement, and then shut in pain as it tore through her by
force, its knobs and ridges searing her sphincter.
Pulling it out entailed substantial twisting and exertion, and each attempt to
push it back in met with the same resistance met on the first, so he could not
pump her with this one like he had with the previous. With an evil grin, he
started smearing it with something whose smell Kayleen could not pinpoint, and
on the next assault the implement slid in with a sickly sound.
"You already forgot Grod's ointment, my dear ?" cackled the old pig's voice,
and horror froze her face as she recognized the smell. "It works best if the
muscles are exerting, so let's put them to work," he said, pumping the
implement back and forth with sadistic glee as she cried in pain and fear, his
ear ready for the howl of despair which rose at the first savage cramp from
muscles which rarely cramped over the course of a lifetime. His lustful glee
bore the promise of many others, and he fulfilled it in earnest.
She regained consciousness on the stone floor, moments before being dragged to
a post consisting of a cross beam atop a pole. Her elbows were cuffed behind
her and tied to the post, the beam nested under her shoulders and her wrists
cuffed to the base of the post, while her legs were doubled under her thighs
with the ankles cuffed to iron bands encasing the thighs at the hip. An iron
band was clinched around her waist.
Her position would have been uncomfortable under ordinary circumstances, but
was almost unbearable for her racked body, as it put most of her weight on her
strained pectoral muscles, bringing her to tears in a few minutes. This was
not enough for her swarthy tormentor, however, who fetched from his case a
bundle of dried, one inch thick stalks, twisted clockwise over themselves into
a grotesque hybrid of a male member and a corkscrew.
The fat pig drooled as she twisted in her restraints, attempting to prevent
him from penetrating her with the hideous implement, and when she screamed as
it entered her, the swarthy Southerner bent back his head and joined his cry
of triumph to her agonized howls. The device had thicker stalks at the bottom,
and they were coarsely wound, so to penetrate her he twisted it left and
right, its ridges and grooves alternating in tearing at the ring of her
vagina, and pushed it upwards, deeper into her, impaling for a torturous
moment the full weight of her body on the ever widening bundle.
He kept pushing up and deeper, screwing the horrendous device into her with
each push, until a blood-curling howl told him that the head had reached the
cervix, at which he paused before pulling it down with full force. The grooves
rushed out of her stretched cunt with sickly popping sounds, inaudible among
the fitful, horrified screams of his victim. He paused until her cries turned
to sobs, and then pushed up again, savoring her cry of despair.
He kept pushing, pausing in between to twist it in earnest, until her cervix
was hit again, but instead of pulling it out he pushed it up, her scream
echoing under the vaults of the torture chamber. Each time he pushed it up, he
pushed it against her cervix one more time, counting aloud. Visibly aroused by
her suffering, he started licking her breasts as he pushed up and biting a
nipple each time he pushed down.
Disgust and loathing did not, unlike in the recent past, give back to Kayleen
some vestige of her former resolve. She was starting to slide, her pride
shattered, her will collapsing. Words came to her mouth, incoherent words
which immediately turned to screams, and even the muscles made to deliver a
child started to tear in places, blood trickling on her trembling thighs.
"Now for some medicine." he cackled, pulling the bundle completely out and
fisting her with his own gloved hand, smearing the cold ointment causing
muscle cramps on her cunt walls and lips. The ointment was only effective on
muscles undergoing exertion, so her torture resumed and the implement was
quickly thrust up deep into her, then yanked down in a single, uninterrupted
pull punctuated by Kayleen's desperate, spasmodic screams.
The repeated exertion after some time achieved the intended effect, and her
love channel was wracked by the first in a series of savage cramps which added
their misery to her ravishment at the hands of the grotesque implement,
shooting through her loins as her tormentor had taken into pushing it up with
savage knee thrusts and pulling it down by leaning on it with his full body
weight. Her wracked body jerked and buckled, the rekindled torments of the
rack in her limbs a quibble before the relentless tearing at her cramped
vaginal muscles, spasmodically clenching and distending as the grooves and
ridges of the hellish bundle rushed up and down as she screamed her lungs out.
Denied the blessing of unconsciousness, her torment continued until it became
apparent that its effectiveness was dwindling, and only then she was given
some respite, fed the usual syrupy liquid and freed from the post. Bitterness
engulfed her at the thought of her morning resolutions, because at present she
was not even able to walk by herself, and despair descended upon her as her
tormentor cuffed her wrists to an iron bar hanging from the ceiling and pulled
her ankles up to cuff them to the same bar, the limbs immediately aching as
the lewd position pulled at her racked muscles.
"It is not right to let an old man do all the work for you." leered her
tormentor, pressing the head of a dried cucumber onto her sphincter. A number
of grooves had been carved into its girth, and the resulting ridges had been
wickedly crenelated. As he pushed it, her sphincter distended on encountering
each ridge until the crenelations dug their way trough the stretched muscle,
which sent her gasping even as his push was almost gentle, and then contracted
onto the subsequent groove. Her dread found immediate confirmation when he
smeared on it some of the accursed ointment, which would soon make the
squeezing as painful as childbirth.
When the device was in place at last, he circled her and started tightening a
knotted cord around her left breast, followed by another around the right
breast. More rope was wrapped around her chest to connect the tight breast
cords to each other. He then moved between her legs and produced another dried
cucumber, carved like the one in her ass but frightening in girth and length,
to the point of wrenching a whispered "No" from her lips for the first time
after days of relentless torture.
Enjoying himself immensely, the lewd Southerner pushed the horrid implement
into her vagina, forcefully, enjoying her inarticulate pleas, hoping that she
would not break just now. When it was over, Kayleen hung from the iron bar,
sobbing and crying softly, afraid of looking at her torturer who was tying a
rope from the device tormenting her ass to a ring in a vertical wooden board
about two feet from her groin, and subsequently did the same with the one in
her womb. The Southerner then circled her and wound the loose ends of the
cords encircling her breasts around an overhead pulley.
"Now you do the work." he said, pulling her by the cords around her breasts
and swinging her forcefully away from the post, until the cords running to the
implements in her orifices were pulled taut, yanking both of them almost half
the way out, drawing a shrill cry as the muscles ringing both were torn
through by the onrushing grooves and ridges.
As her tormentor let his end of the breast cords loose, her momentum inverted
and she swung groin first into the post, impaling both dried implements into
her passages with a sickly thud. A spasmodic scream surged from her throat and
turned into despair, as he was already pulling at her breast cords again.
The relentless tearing of the hellish implement soon sent cramps wracking
through her body again, and the stretched muscles strained, first her
sphincter and then her cunt, her screams desperate enough to crack open the
walls of the torture chamber. Her innards were bleeding, droplets scattering
on each thud against the wooden post, her cervix swollen within her.
She hung there, mad with pain, a helpless young woman at the mercy of a
sadistic pig, her name forgotten, her pride lost, but still at the heart of
her soul willing to stand between a fate like hers and her innocent friend.
"I won't!" she gurgled, "I won't betray her." A cramp savaged her insides, and
she howled, "You heard me, monsters ?" the last word a snarling cry as her
cervix was pummeled again. "I won't betray her!" she cried as her vagina was
torn through, sputtering "I'll see you rot in Hell" as her tormentor pulled at
her with all his weight, and she passed out.
She woke up on a bench, face down, as the silent Easterner was cuffing her
right ankle to an iron bar crossing the head of the bench, her legs painfully
spread in a T position and secured to the bar by the ankle cuffs and by iron
bands at knee and hip height. Her torso was tied to the bench with iron bands
at the waist and the neck, and her arms were painfully bent upwards above her
head, the wrists tied to a bar hanging from a chain in the ceiling. Her body
ached as the strenuous position rekindled the pain of the rack.
Once finished, the Easterner busied himself with something she could not see
but which made itself felt soon enough as her left ass cheek was stung by a
dozen of tiny pricking needles, of the kind used in the Far East for tattoos.
Kayleen could not see that, but he was using a seal where the tiny needles had
been firmly lodged, and tapped onto it to prickle the skin, the needles not
long enough to actually pierce it.
Tattoo masters did this, testing various needle lengths because not all skins
were the same thickness, and unbeknownst to her he was looking for the perfect
needle length. The pain was mild, far milder than anything she had experienced
in this chamber, and the Warrior Queen made good of the respite allowed to
her. The Southerner pig apparently got so carried away that he no longer
paused except when she passed out before his eyes, so this breather was a
godsend for her. Her hopes also rekindled, because this was going to be the
last session of the day, she just had to pull through.
Meanwhile the wry Easterner was done with his preliminaries, and fetched the
first actual instrument of torture, not a quarter inch in diameter but a full
inch, and bristling with the finest needles, so fine that they would bend if
they were longer. Dread awoke in her as he placed the seal on her left
shoulder blade, followed by searing pain as he drove the needles into her skin
with a vicious slap from a hefty wooden paddle.
She screamed in surprise and pain, her confidence dented, and while still
deliberating within herself whether she wanted to let the bastards enjoy her
screams, another slap landed on her back, followed by another, her skin on
fire from the prickling of the countless needles.
Her jaw set when he moved the seal onto the side of her dangling left breast,
as she visualized the lewd Southerner enjoying the show, but when the slap
came the pain was so excruciating that it took all her will to stifle the
scream, and the next, and the next still, as her tormentor seemed to favor
three strikes in quick succession in the same area before moving on.
Her dangling breasts proved a cumbersome target, although Kayleen could not
tell that as he seared them over and over, so he moved to her back in earnest.
The flat, muscled canvas of her back lay in wait of an artist of pain, and he
tried his level best to be up to the task. He moved his seal from place to
place following intricate symmetries, her voice denying him her song but her
muscles flexing in a living sculpture of pain under the rhythm of his slaps,
her panting torso heaving and twisting as her skin was punished exquisitely
with unmatched intensity.
The uninterrupted pain was already chafing at Kayleen's resolve, but when he
moved to her firm ass despair visited her again, because the taut skin of the
ass cheeks felt as if on fire as the slaps drove the needles almost, but not
quite, through. He slapped her in rhythm with her belabored breathing, without
respite or mercy, her restrained body unable to move away.
And the full measure of how a taut skin was more sensitive to this fiendish
torture visited her when he started applying it to her legs, first a slap here
and a slap there, then following a veritable path of agony along one and then
the other, her strangled cries growing more audible on each slap, as the
wanderings of the seal came closer and closer to her groin.
She managed to hold her howl as the seal was slapped into the soft flesh below
the vulva, the first time, and hissed spasmodically at the second slap, but it
took all her will not to burst as the third seared her viciously. The seal was
then moved onto her feminine parts, and when the slap came she writhed and
gritted her teeth as the pain shot up her restrained body, barely managing to
quench the wails of despair arising from her.
The Easterner then suspended her torture and partly freed her from the post,
moving her with Grod's help to another, where she was tied with her back to a
sloping bench with iron bands at the neck, under her breasts and at the waist,
her legs still painfully spread along the iron bar. Her wrists, cuffed above
her head, chafed under the weight of her body, because her groin dangled off
the low end of the bench.
Her tormentor tied a cord around each nipple and tied them behind her neck,
shortening them savagely until her breasts were distorted into conical
receptacles of stretched agony, the soft undersides taut enough for proper
application of the seal. Kayleen could only clench her teeth as she understood
what lay ahead, her voice rising in a shrill cry when the first slap brought
fire to the tender skin and the others kindled it again and again.
Now that he had a proper setup, the wry Easterner heaped unrelenting torment
on her breasts, raining slap after slap on each, pausing in between and timing
his assaults on her panting cries. Her position forced her to take in the full
horror of what had been visited on her body, as she could see the bullwhip
welts, the chafed mark of the ropes, the bluish bruises of the cane, the
blistered ant stings ... and she was spared the sight of the torn, bleeding
muscles ringing her orifices. The seal left round, reddish marks like coins of
fire, her breasts a money-changer's drawer by now and her voice hoarse from
her efforts to deny her tormentors the audible confirmation of her defeat.
Looking into her eyes, the wry Easterner moved again to her legs, her position
allowing him to reach the front of her thighs and the slaps causing them to
pull at her strained muscles in a vain attempt to clench them before the
horrors visited on her. He alternated the slaps on her thighs with slaps on
her ribcage, abdomen and belly, and soon Kayleen realized with dread that he
was circling around her vulva, closer and closer. She shut her eyes too late,
but he bid his time, and when the seal came to her vulva the front of her body
was covered in reddish round marks.
When he discarded the seal she thought that it was over, but then he produced
another, a strip which could fold around and trap her labia, the slap searing
the captured flesh on both sides as she howled in pain, her short lived will
broken by the relentless torture, sobbing through the other slaps until she
managed to regain some resolve in time for the assault on her love button.
Her clitoris was too small a target, however, so the Easterner fetched a small
seal, a third of an inch wide, mounted on the top of a short handle. He lay
the seal on her love bud and hammered it down with the paddle, her teeth
almost cracking in a desperate effort to stifle a howl of pure agony, the
first of three she frantically hoped, only to see the hammering shatter them
as he continued uninterrupted, looking into her eyes before each strike, both
well aware of what was at stake, at least until blackness clouded her mind as
her screams subsided into gurgling wails.
The silent Easterner stopped his hammering and untied her while she was still
on the brink of unconsciousness, cuffing her arms behind her back in a reverse
prayer position and suspending her upside down from the iron bar which still
spread her legs achingly wide.
She still clung to some of her will, but fear was cold in her stomach as he
fetched a seal mounted on a wooden handle, like a carving knife with no blade
attached. He pressed the seal on her ribcage and forcefully raked the seal
against her skin, digging a fiery trail of prickling agony in her tormented
flesh and wrenching a stifled, desperate cry from her torn throat.
Her position allowed him to visit the raking agony almost everywhere over her
martyrized body, and he explored places which could not be reached with the
slaps such as the crease between her ass cheeks, her armpits, the soles of her
feet and the back of the knees, but he concentrated on the breasts and nipples
as if on cue from the leering Southerner, raking them over and over, droplets
of blood oozing from her distended flesh as the skin was prickled once and
again in the same place, in a crisscrossing pattern of woe punctuated by her
dreadful gasps and desperate hisses.
The proper target for raking, however, were her distended legs, so he moved to
the left leg and pressed his devious instruments on the calf, drawing it in a
single, prolonged stroke up to the iron band at the knee, her gasp turning
into a gurgle as her skin was on fire. He experimented with a few variations,
such as spiraling around the bound limb rather than raking in a single
straight stroke, and then moved to the other leg, her face set in a mask of
agony and despair while her cries mounted behind clenched teeth.
The fear of what would come next swell within Kayleen's mind as he moved off
her legs, and to her horror she realized words, incoherent words she had no
control on, escaped her mouth under her panting breath, "Lyral," she babbled,
"Help!" which she actually cried aloud when her labia was raked, "Shrine" and
"Please" when her torn vaginal muscle was raked over and over, as if rinsing
it in white hot pain, her will stifling an anguished "Mercy" as he raked her
love button, multiple times, the pink feminine flesh turning red raw.
If her tormentor had heard anything, he paid no heed when "Enough!" barely
escaped her lips, as he fetched another instrument, a pair of wooden scissors
whose blades had been set with the same needles found on the seals, but which
would drive them with unrelenting force well beyond what the seals provided.
Her tormentor raked her left thigh, her coughing turning into a hiss, and then
closed the scissors on a fold of her flesh in the same position on the right
thigh, her mouth snapping open in a uncontainable howl of agony.
He repeated the alternate application of rake and scissors, driving home his
argument of pain onto her twitching body, scanning her eyes for a plea or a
confession, at which Kayleen shut them tight among tears, her ultimate attempt
at holding out against the inevitable. Unmoved, he started applying rake and
scissors over her body, circling in a tightening pattern around her feminine
parts, dread mounting in her as her mind frantically compared the agony of the
scissors against the raking and shrank before the realization that the
application of the scissors on her clitoris would break her resolve, and
condemn her friend to the same hell she was going through.
The imperturbable Easterner dropped the rake and fetched another pair of
scissors, assaulting her cunt lips and the torn muscles ringing her orifices,
her screams now rising one after the other and interspersed with babbling he
did not care about, confident that her will would snap soon. He listened at
her breathing and slowed down his grisly handiwork, then paused to fetch and
apply smelling salts as he did not want her to pass out just now. He wanted
her to break, so he recovered the scissors and descended on her feminine
flesh, tearing and drawing blood, unrelentingly ravaging her while she howled
to high heaven, but only to be stymied as he understood the words escaping her
mouth between agonizing cries, "I'll never betray her!"
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