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Chapter 7 - The Slippery Slope
Kayleen's pitiful moans echoed in the darkness of the chamber under the ruins
of Zhorun's former castle. Nobody had removed the gag this time, but the ache
in the jaw and the scratches on the cheeks were not the reason of her anguish.
She lay spreadeagled, face up, on a bed of marble wedges. Each was actually a
tetrahedron, and as such behaved as a caltrop, a tip always pointing upward no
matter how you moved it. The tips and edges were not actually sharp, just
enough to make lying on them as uncomfortable as possible without drawing
blood. She had tried to push some away, but the chains at her wrists and
ankles only allowed her to move sideways, and the wedges were all linked
together so she was unable to sweep a place to rest her wounded body.
Her failed stunt had brought upon her the unbridled wrath of her tormentors,
leaving her burnt, bleeding, broken, and defeated. She could not even deny
them her screams now, as the gag deprived her of the easiest method, and she
would have had to possess superhuman will to utter no sound under the
atrocities perpetrated upon her. The Warrior Queen pondered her bleak future,
her only hope now lay in being found before she broke under the torture.
As she thought of that, she heard with horror the approaching footsteps. "No!
It's too early! Not already!" she sobbed through her gag. The drug she had
been fed had allowed them to prolong the last session horrendously, so her
respite had been shortened accordingly.
When their torches lit the chamber, it was the old Southerner who came to her
first. She closed her eyes, expecting the worst, and was soon confirmed in her
fears when he violated her on the spot, the wedges digging painfully into her
as he thrust his rutting member inside her. "The first screams of the
morning." he cackled, his hands on her hips as he came at last.
His subsequent preparations took a long time, then she was made to stand and
brought to a sturdy wooden grating, the beams crossing about half a foot
apace, where thorny vines and branches from some unknown tree had been
interwoven. As her wrists were cuffed to the upper corners of the frame, a
shrill cry rose through her gag when her nipples brushed against the leaves.
"Whore Queen, meet the original stinging tree." mocked her tormentor as her
ankles were spread and tied to the lower corners of the frame. He then moved
behind her and put his hands on her ass cheeks, pushing them up with his
thumbs and distending them as his member nudged her asshole. He paused, as if
to listen, then pushed in, crushing her into thorns and leaves alike.
As he had to avoid contact with the leaves himself, he mostly pushed upwards,
enjoying the recoil as she fell back down after each thrust, and as a result
her legs and lower half were comparatively spared, as was her face since she
bent her neck in agony and despair. But her front and breasts were brushed
repeatedly against the leaves and the thorny vines, gathering bleeding cuts
and angry red rashes until he was finally done.
But Kayleen's ordeal was not, and he produced a bundle of vines and branches
which his gloved hands tied to the frame just under her vulva, forcing her to
bend at the waist to get her pelvic area away from the protrusion. He then
moved behind her and fetched a strange whip, with three tails, each half an
inch wide, and covered in short, coarse bristles.
He lashed her thighs, the tails leaving angry red marks as a wail of agony
rose through her gagged mouth. In spite of the lashes, her legs and body
pushed back as much as she could to avoid contact with the grotesque
protrusion, and her tormentor thus enjoyed the enviable sight of her strong
frame writhing under the lash, the slender legs taut and the ass thrust back,
pushing her delightful buttocks toward the whip.
The soles of her feet were beyond reach, but her arms proved intriguing
because she turned when he lashed one, exposing the opposite breast and
brushing the other against thorns and leaves. In order to wind the tips around
her torso and lash the breasts with full force, he had to change his position
after each lash, so he soon started panting from the exertion.
Out of breath, but still burning with lust, he targeted her muscular back,
each lash wrenching a shrill scream from her restrained body. As he moved
towards the buttocks, it became harder and harder for Kayleen to keep her
distance from the protruding bundle, and fresh screams arose in mounting
anguish whenever it brushed against her.
Her tormentor started a new game, meant to push her onto the bundle at whip
point. He lashed her sides, the tails wrapping around to slap on her lower
front, until her position was just right, and then put all his lust behind a
vicious upward blow to the underside of her ass. As the blow landed she
actually pushed herself forwards, as he had hoped, but moved past the bundle,
which brushed her on the left side.
"Be nice to the stinging tree." he mocked as he tried again, hoping that she
would understand and oppose him. He was disappointed, as her buckling became
frantic whenever a lash pushed her against the protrusion, her thighs and
front angry red as not all misses had been complete. Exhausted at last,
covered in red rashes from calf to wrist, she was forced by hand against the
bundle and screamed pitifully through the gag, defeated and writhing.
Her tormentor pressed on for some time, lashing her with quick strokes meant
to prevent her from disentangling from the excruciating bundle whose thorns
and leaves were raking her groin. After some time, she was cautiously untied
and made to drink from the jug, then retied in the opposite position, her back
to the frame and her front to her tormentor, arching to avoid contact between
her striped back and the frame, offering her full breasts and spread thighs to
the whip.
The old Southerner almost purred at the sight, savoring each thorn cut and
angry rash before raising his arm and slashing her soft underbelly, the three
tails leaving angry trails on her irritated skin. She howled at the top of her
lungs, discovering how the blisters prickled mercilessly the rashes from the
stinging tree.
On stung skin, striking with full force was actually less painful, because the
bristles were less effective. Her tormentor started swinging the whip upwards,
the tails landing lazily between her spread thighs and leaving angry red marks
as her screams rose in unison with the whip.
He insisted on whipping her crotch until the area was brimming with angry red
spots, some bristles actually sticking in the skin, and then moved to her
legs, her supple, long legs now fully distended in the effort to keep her back
from the thorns and stinging leaves. No longer panting, he actually whipped
them with force and at length, her cries quieter but tinged with despair.
He targeted her belly next, again striking with reduced force to let the
blisters burn the stung skin, savoring each howl escaping from the spidery gag
as he watched her suffering face. He lowered his aim, striking her mons,
irritated at Grod for plucking it raw because he would have liked to do so
with the bristled whip now, so he struck her repeatedly until her anguished
screams soothed him somewhat.
His gaze feasted on the body being offered to him, from the long, slender arms
to the ample chest, the full, firm breasts heaving as she cried under the
whip, the sculpted ribcage, the muscular abdomen, the ample pelvis, the long,
supple thighs. He whipped each as he enjoyed it, savoring her screams and her
spasmodic buckling.
Kayleen's was drowning in a nightmare of burning agony, the stung skin hurting
terribly when the bristles caressed it, her strained muscles protesting her
stretched position, her violated anus throbbing in pain. She already craved
the merciful embrace of unconsciousness, although dread told her that she
would be denied it from now on.
The whip landed across her breasts, with force, and her tormentor dragged the
bristled tails over the stung flesh. This was a strike he had practiced at
length, and he repeated it, enjoying the bleeding welts and the red swathes of
irritated skin as each brought a new cry from her. For a while, he closed his
eyes, betting with himself that he could aim with the sole help of her
screams, but then he reopened them to enjoy the sight again.
When his victim's front was a crisscrossed mesh of welts and stripes, he
sheathed his member in leather and closed on her, pushing her whipped back
against the thorns and stinging leaves and enjoying her struggling twitches as
his member entered her forcefully, his gloved hands fastened on her hips to
guide this renewed violation.
Instead of thrusting into her, he wanted her to buckle and twitch him to
climax, so he tightened her collar and clutched at some branches behind her to
bring them to her front, wrapping her chest in burning agony as her breathing
was obstructed and her vagina muscles tightened deliciously on his erect
member. Her frantic contortions took a long time to sate him, so much that he
considered wiser to loosen her collar twice to prevent her from asphyxiating.
He left her twitching on the frame, her eyes shut tight, so when she was
untied and saw what he had prepared for her, she gasped in fear. A low
trestle, brimming with thorns and stinging leaves, where she would lie face
down, her front agonizing on the hellish surface. He carefully cuffed each
ankle to an iron band in the thigh, cuffed elbows and wrists behind her back,
then lifted her and landed her belly down on the frame, ignoring the cry of
agony wrenched from her gagged mouth, from her crushed breasts to her mons.
Her thighs were spread painfully wide, and an iron band was tightened around
her waist so that she could not roll off the torturous frame.
He grabbed her head by the hair and thrust his member into her gagged mouth,
while his other arm whipped her vulva. Her gagged screams made him hard, and
he whipped her again, and again, intoxicated with sadistic pleasure at her
humiliation and despair. She gurgled when he came in her mouth, still madly
screaming from the stinging leaves, her only hope being that he had not fed
her the jug this time, so maybe she would be given some respite soon.
He pulled off her mouth, but her ordeal was far from over. He pulled leaves
and thorns up over her crotch, rubbing them forcefully with both gloved hands,
until he managed to tie some around her waist band, then started whipping the
soles of her feet. Each welt on the soft flesh caused her to twist and buckle,
further grinding the thorns and leaves into her wounded groin.
He then fetched a pair of clasps, pulled her up by her hair until her breasts
cleared the frame, clasped both her nipples and pulling at them kept her
bending backwards, whipping the stung undersides of her breasts, each strike a
new howl when the bristles brushed the irritated flesh. Her agonized face
aroused him again, and he thrust his member into her gag, pulling at one
nipple and then another until her screaming mouth sated him.
Fetching the whip again, he rained vicious strikes on her buttocks and her
inner thighs, then pulled her up by the nipples again, the sight a favorite of
his, and whipped her slowly, as if waiting for something. Kayleen screamed and
screamed, the pain overcoming her dread at what he was waiting for, but
instead of further humiliation she was subjected to a prolonged whipping of
her feminine parts, the bristled tails striking through the leaves and thorns
until he effectively removed the latter by force of whip.
Fetching more clasps, he used them to spread her labia and pulling them with
one hand forced her to bend her pelvis towards him, her cries turning to
bloodcurdling howls when the whip started landing on her now exposed innards
and resonating under the vaults of the chamber for a long time, her writhing
body a toy under his whip.
Kayleen craved in vain some respite, even the briefest, but she was spared
nothing, her tormentor in his lust alternating between pulling her up by her
nipples or pulling her crotch off the frame, the whip landing mercilessly on
abundantly wounded skin, the welts bleeding as they crossed each other.
He wanted to violate her again, but no arousal occurred, and using the drug
again would be risky, so he kept up whipping her, although her sensitivity was
obviously waning, and raged on her bleeding crotch until he had to stop and
catch his breath. Spent and unhappy, he whipped her breasts a few more times
and then finally gestured to the Easterner.
She was cautiously untied, and she drank avidly from the jug, her thirst and
exhaustion stronger than the realization that the syrup included something
which prevented her from passing out under the torments. The Easterner brought
her to a sturdy wooden seat and immobilized her on it, cuffing her ankles and
wrists but also tightening iron bands on her limbs and torso.
Her toes were also immobilized between wooden planks, and a knobbed iron rod
was placed under them. Kayleen, unable to enjoy her respite, watched in dread
his preparations until his intent became clear, as a large stone brick was
dropped on her left foot, its ridged underside crushing on her delicate foot.
She cried aloud through her gag, and she cried again when her other foot was
next, but horror rose to her face when she saw that he held a lead weight
above a brick, turning to agony when the weight was dropped in place. Each
time a weight was dropped pain shot through a foot, the knobs digging
painfully under the toes, but the pauses only brought dull, uninterrupted ache
as the weight crushed flesh and bone.
Slowly, the weight was increased to the point of the ache turning to pain,
with blood trickling from under her toes because of the knobs, and the rate at
which weight was increased slowed to a crawl. Her agony was rekindled when the
iron rods were twisted, the knobs mauling the soft flesh under her toes.
As she screamed under the unrelenting weight, the Easterner moved to her
hands, immobilized her fingers between planks, fitting not one but three rods
under them, and then dropped a brick on each hand, with the visible intent to
start another progression like the one which had brought her feet in their
present condition. Kayleen in spite of herself sought his gaze, defeated to
the point of begging and on the verge of breaking, but his cold stare spoke of
a painful revenge to be exacted first.
When he was done, her strong body shook the chair, bolted on the floor, and
her sweat soaked mane oscillated left and right in rhythm with her sobs and
cries. Dread and anguish echoed in her scream when he snug knobbed rods under
her thighs and then placed a slab on them, the ridges biting the welts from
her recent whipping and the weights soon exacting new screams from the
writhing young woman, which turned to howls when the rods were turned and the
knobs raked the flesh, digging painfully and sometimes drawing blood.
More weights were added on her forearms, and then her tormentor alternated
long pauses of unrelenting crushing agony to sudden twists of a rod here and
there, the pain radiating from the offended flesh forcing her to twitch and
renewing the agony from the crushing weight on her limbs.
After a nightmarish stretch of torment, he made it worse, placing a wooden
plank on her chest, shaped to fit the ribcage under the breasts and sustain
them. Her own generous but firm breasts flattened only partially when they
were made to lean on the plank, but when the ridged underside of the brick was
dropped, crushing them on the plank and the knotted rod forced under them, her
howl rose fully to the vaults of the chamber and resonated fully in the ears
of the onlookers.
Slowly and deliberately, weights were dropped on her crushed breasts, turning
the rod a half turn on each drop, alternating weight and twist in a litany of
screams and howls during which she often started babbling random words cut
short by a vicious twisting of the rods.
Her tormentor seemed to never run out of weights, although he now used lighter
weights intended to compound the pain, not break the bone, and dropping a
weight on some crushed part of her body, twisting a rod and then pausing while
the pressure unrelentingly dished out its measure of pain became the horizons
of her nightmare of suffering, her hoarse throat screaming in the gag until at
last her body no longer reacted to a twisted rod.
She was cautiously freed, her limbs and breasts covered with nasty, bluish
bruises which Grod treated exchanging a look with the imperturbable Easterner,
as if reminding him of their agreement. She was made to kneel on the ridges of
an upturned stone slab, placing half a dozen knobbed rods on the back of her
legs before forcing her to sit on her heels and cuffing her hands on a beam
behind her back, her arms leaning on the beam at the expense of her shoulders
which were put under strain again. The beam rested on sturdy legs which also
sustained a plank fitting under her breasts, and Kayleen followed the dreadful
preparations with teary eyes, losing herself what little rest they allowed.
The Easterner placed more rods under the full length of her stretched arms,
and then renewed the nightmare of dropped weights and twisted rods, brick by
brick, her tears mixing with sweat on her twitching, sumptuous body as he
coldly tormented her bruised limbs. Droplets of blood stained the wooden beam
where the knobs dug in the flesh, chafing the skin and reopening her welts.
After a agonizing hiatus, he distended her breasts on the plank, threading a
knotted rope around the base and through holes in the wood, and pulled her
nipples enough to tie another loop of rope around each distorted mammary, as
her face contorted in pain and shrieks for the full length of the agonizing
transformation of her proud breasts in distended cones of constricted pain.
When a ridged slab was dropped on her tormented breasts, she screamed to the
top of her lungs, unaware that something worse was in store for her. The next
weight was a wedge, placed between her chest and the slab, its weight stabbing
down as if to cut off her breasts from the chest. As the tendons on her neck
almost broke under the tension from her anguished howls, another slab was
placed on her thighs.
Her eyes bulged as the heavy slab compressed her doubled legs, the knobs
between thigh and leg digging in both and shooting white hot pain through her
as he twisted one and then the other, each twist reverberating through her
whole body as she tried to pull her breasts free and move her arms. As more
weights were added, bruises she could not see, but each wrenching a new scream
from her sore throat, appeared on her arms, thighs and breasts.
Kayleen's misery sank to new depths when the cane landed on her soles, the
thin red welt bleeding as more strikes followed, each causing a spasm which
brought fresh pain from her limbs and her trapped breasts. Each pitiful howl
wailed off as her chest was unable to expand and contract freely, the very act
of screaming tearing her breasts from the unyielding stone maws.
As weights were slowly added over her thighs, twisting a knobbed rod required
the use of a handle, the act unleashing a sequel of gasps and shrieks as the
wry Easterner protracted it, her head trashing madly each time he turned one
as the knobs bit the flesh of leg and thigh and each jerk in reaction brought
new pain from her arms and breasts.
Her tormentor's cold stare proved he was perfectly aware of the nightmare her
formerly voluptuous mammaries were suffering, and Kayleen screamed when he
fetched a weight and lingered over them. He dropped the weight when her scream
waned, and when her subsequent thrashing and screams subsided caned her soles
to rekindle them again, her breasts dripping blood where the ridged slab had
chafed open the crisscrossed marks from her recent whipping.
After more weights, as she thought that her breasts would be crushed to pulp,
he slashed her left nipple with the cane, a lance of white hot pain searing
through her up to her screaming throat, followed by another as he caned her
other nipple. Slowly, methodically, pausing to let her deepen her torment by
thrashing in response to each strike, he alternated between her nipples until
her response to each strike waned to a whimper.
When she was freed, her body and especially her breasts were a mess of bluish
bruises and bleeding welts, which Grod treated with little apparent success as
she drank from the jug again, her thirst her own undoing. As they brought her
to a trestle and started cuffing her ankles, she vainly tried to cover her
whipped private parts with her bloodied hands, dreadfully aware of what the
spread thighs would bring.
After securing her painfully spread legs to a beam with iron bands, her
torturer cuffed her wrists behind her and pulled them through a ring in the
floor, bending her arms back in their sockets, wrenching from her a cry of
anguished pain. Her breasts leaned upturned on a wooden plank, ready to
receive the dreadful weights on their soft undersides.
The Easterner first placed slabs over her spread legs and thighs, each bearing
the accursed knobbed rods right on the underside. When enough weight was added
to cause Kayleen to cry, turning these rods revealed new heights of agony to
the tormented young woman, because the full weight of the slab rested on the
knob during its entire rotation, chafing a nasty bruise in the wounded skin
which would bleed raw in a few rotations.
More slabs were placed over her arms, her screaming now devoid of interruption
as the weight on the legs tore at her hip sockets compounding the pain along
the full length of her lower limbs. She shrieked in dread when a slab was
placed on the underside of her breasts, the knobs digging in her flesh as more
weight was quickly brought to bear on her once proud mammaries.
Her left foot was caned again, sending pain through her leg and wrenching a
new cry of anguish as her restrained leg attempted to twitch away in response,
shifting dozens of knobs in their seats within her flesh. He then moved to her
right foot, and leisurely alternated between them, each strike bringing a new
scream as a tormented limb twitched in vain.
Words erupted between screams from her sore mouth as the unrelenting torment
was protracted, most of which the Easterner could not understand except for a
hoarse "Please! I was just trying to escape." at which his gaze hardened. He
fetched another slab, one he was ordinarily reluctant to use as its original
designer died in an asylum for the insane. This slab needed a rack mount for
sliding, which he set up around her groin, and the wedge was to be placed
inside the feminine parts of the victim.
The dread for his preparations managed what will could no longer accomplish,
for her screams of pain subsided while she stared at the wedge being mounted
and then lowered inside her, her tormentor's fingers separating the lips as
the wide tip entered her, its cold ridged surface soothing at first until
weight was applied. The wedge lodged its point in the upper recesses of her
vulva, so when weight was added instead of penetrating her love channel it
weighed upon the urethra, parting her lips and sliding down until its descent
was stopped at the joining of the lips, the tip crushing her clitoris as she
screamed like a demented animal.
Her tormentor twisted the rods on the slopes of the wedge after adding enough
weight to drive two knobs on top of her love button, each turn of the handle
wrenching a gurgling howl of unbridled agony on par with the worst resonated
during her suffering in this chamber of horrors. As if to draw a comparison,
he caned her protruding nipples, alternating caning and twisting as her body
shook in her restraints and blood flowed in rivulets down her mons.
When she was freed, Grod examined her at length, skipping the cautionary
tightening of her collar as she was obviously no threat, and treated her with
more thoroughness than usual. But his gaze was still hard as steel when she
looked between tears, and he dragged her to a chair brimming with spikes, her
moan of pleading unheeded as she was cuffed on the seat.
As her thighs weighed on the chair a scream erupted from her lips, as she felt
what her eyes would later confirm: instead of iron spikes the chair had
slender wooden wedges whose point had been hacked raw. Instead of piercing the
flesh, the wedges drove wooden splinters in her bruises and welts, a more
diabolical pain for much less actual damage.
Her collar was pulled against the back of the seat, driving the splintered
points in her wounded back. Kayleen gasped and screamed again, as the jerk
from the stabs in her back had unseated the points under her thighs, shifting
them inside her wounded flesh. Her screams continued as she sought to still
herself under the unrelenting torment.
A wedged plank was placed on her legs and tightened, driving the points into
her wounds on the front and back of her supple legs and launching her on a new
journey into agony as she jerked and twisted in her seat of pain, screaming
and sobbing as splinters entered her wounds here and there. Her heart sank
when she managed to still herself enough to open her teary eyes and notice the
brazier, where sinister instruments were being heated.
Her torment was renewed again and again when wedged planks were tightened on
each forearm, her tormentor intent on protracting her agonies and oblivious to
the pleading in her eyes. More meaningless words escaped her mouth between
sobs and screams, and on cue from Zhorun her gag was removed. In spite of the
haze and exhaustion, this stirred something inside her mind, an urgency to
keep from her tormentors something she no longer remembered clearly.
A wave of agony drowned any such thoughts when a wedged plank was tightened on
her thighs, her wounds bleeding anew as splinters seared their way into them
causing her body to twist and buckle in response, unleashing a sequel of jerks
and twitches punctuated by agonized howls and gasping shrieks that Grod
protracted by tightening the plank one bolt at a time.
Grod waited until her sight cleared to show her what was in store for her, a
pair of rollers covered with wooden wedges which he placed above and below her
wounded breasts. Her gaze pleaded, her distended mouth silently uttered
"Please" and "No" more than once, but her tormentor tightened the rollers onto
her breasts, her screams rising in pitch on each turn, and then cranked them.
Pain hitherto unimagined exploded in her mind as the rotation pushed the
wedges into her wounded flesh, the rollers tearing at her distended mammaries
as if to tear them off her chest. Her arms strained in their restraints to set
themselves free, wrenching the wedges inside her wounds, her legs stiffened in
the effort to lift her off the chair, and her torso twitched griding the
points in her wounded flesh. Her howls and screams resonated in the room over
and over, subsiding only as her voice dropped to panting sobs.
Another crank at the rollers renewed her screams and her agony, the hellish
seat now a seat of uninterrupted torment which Grod could unleash at leisure.
Her tormentor unleashed agony on her breasts slowly and deliberately, pausing
to listen to the words she uttered when her screams subsided, and cranking the
rollers when she caught herself and stopped. Kayleen was too mad with pain to
tell if he at last stopped because she had unwillingly told them what they
were after, or because she no longer reacted in full to the torture.
She was doused with cold water, which washed away the blood under Grod's
attentive gaze, and attempted to refuse drinking from the jug offered to her,
but failed as he pinched her nose and forced her to drink most of it. The
rollers were removed, replaced by a wedged plank which flattened the agonized
mounds on her chest renewing her screams of despair as her unspoken question
was painfully answered.
The heat near her left upper arm caused her to open her eyes just in time to
see in horror a heated, narrow copper strip about to be pressed onto a
bleeding welt from her recent whipping. For an instant, time stopped in
Kayleen's mind, then the pain from her seared flesh rose up to her throat and
escaped in a wail of agony, fed in fits and gasps by her hurt skin, as her
inevitable twitching in response again caused the points to renew the torment
of her back and limbs.
The searing pain bit her again and again, as the narrow strip was placed in
different places along the welt, each time bringing new agonies to her whole
body. With little pause, the tool was placed on another bleeding wound on her
right upper arm, and then on others, her screams uninterrupted as the smell of
her burnt flesh rose to her nostrils.
The smell awakened something in her tormented mind, something she could not
focus on and which escaped her as each searing kiss from the strip sent her
into new depths of agony. He stopped to remove the wedged planks from her
forearms, and the instant of respite was enough to let her remember: before
she could meet Kayleen, she used to have cuts cauterized with hot iron. The
pattern of his actions was unmistakable, he was cauterizing her wounds to
staunch the bleeding.
The heat kissing her forearm reminded her that he was also sending her to a
hell of searing pain, as no soothing ointment was being applied to lessen her
pain or prevent scars. A deep horror rose in her as she thought of her bruised
body, the sight of her formerly likable femininity forever replaced by a mess
of scars and burns. There was no mercy in her tormentor's ministrations, only
the grim achievement of the foul purpose of his master.
As if in confirmation, he removed the planks from her lower limbs and started
cauterizing the welts which crisscrossed them, the mounting pain reaching new
heights as he proceeded with swift efficiency without allowing her to recover
after each burn. Her howls and screams rose accordingly, in spite of her sore
throat and weak attempts at being brave as she used to be after battle.
No battle had ever prepared her to the pain which blazed through her when he
removed her breast plank and used the heated strip to cauterize her wounded
breasts, her chilling shrieks and anguished howls not deterring him from
repeatedly dragging the searing copper instrument over her bruised skin
following the line of each cut, sparing the nipples which had not been cut.
Her tormentor had to heat the copper strip over and over before completing the
cauterizing of the wounds of her breasts, leaving her hoarse and delirious
with pain but still fully conscious, enough to resume her screaming when he
moved to the wounds on her ribcage and abdomen. Nothing except the tightest
restraints could have kept her still as her wounds were cruelly cauterized,
and the back of her body had been painfully ground by her movements on the
wooden wedges for the whole duration of the unmerciful procedure.
Her screams rose to high heaven when he cauterized some wounds between her
thighs and on her mons and vulva, but in spite of the spread thighs the area
was not easily accessible as she was seated in the chair, and in the haze of
maddening pain she realized she was being freed to rectify that.
She was made to kneel on a post, cuffing her ankles to the platform and her
neck and wrists to an horizontal beam. An ointment was also applied to her
burns, but it brought no relief from the dull pain that she knew would mount
in the following hours.
Her kneeling position allowed Grod to start cauterizing the nasty welts under
the soles of her feet, each bringing a fresh scream from her sore throat and
shame in the little corner of her tormented mind where the pride of the former
Warrior Queen still lived as she compared the show she was offering to her
tormentors with her former bravery.
Her screams continued as he started on her legs, the slender legs stiffening
each time the heated copper rubbed her wounded flesh. In a corner of her mind,
the thought that Grod was safeguarding her from the worst crept up, because
she had been cut in the legs before and remembered a worse pain. Or maybe it
was just that an improvised hot iron had been used, but she thought that the
tool was as narrow as possible, to leave smaller burns.
She screamed again, a quieter scream this time, as the memories of her former
bravery put her to shame. Yet the sheer number of wounds yet to be cauterized
would make even the bravest warrior wince, because her recent whipping had
been but the last straw in days of unrelenting torment. She gasped repeatedly
as the heated copper strip was dragged over her ass cheeks, wound after wound,
reminding her of the beatings they had been subjected to.
Over time, her screams and shrieks subsided to gasps and sobs, and she thought
that maybe he would take this as an indication that she was again entering a
state where further torture would be pointless. He was almost done with her
crisscrossed back, and moved to her inner thighs.
The soft flesh of the thigh hissed as he the heated copper instrument was
dragged over the wounded areas, a hiss she matched by suppressing a scream.
She had never been wounded there, nor in her feminine parts, where too many
wounds to consider still bled and would have to be cauterized. Dread returned
her sole companion as the thought of the copper burning her intimate flesh
over and over crept on her, and turned to agony when it materialized.
She screamed at the top of her lungs when the copper strip followed the curve
of her left cunt lip, and screamed again trashing in her restraints when it
poked the spots along the rim of her sphincter which had been torn. Grod added
ropes to her restraints to prevent her from jerking, and using a pair of
tweezers opened her labia and brought the heated instrument inside.
A howl rose from her as he cauterized her wounded inner lips, and another when
she cauterized the torn fold of her clitoris. She gasped and shrieked when the
places where her vagina had been torn were also burned, one by one, wisps of
steam rising as the heat encountered what little moisture remained. She had
lost count of how much her tormentors had targeted her private parts, and Grod
slowly reminded her in earnest.
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