 |
|||
|
|
Chapter 29 - Painful Lies
In the torture chamber deep under the ruins of Zhorun's former castle, Kayleen
hung in bitter pain. Her wrists and elbows had been clenched together behind
her back, and she hung upside down from a chain in the ceiling fastened to a
vise screwed on her cracked thumbs. Her legs had been folded in a strict
hogtie until her ankles could be fastened to her elbows, while iron bands
clenched her legs against the thighs.
Iron clamps had been screwed on the shredded tatters of her feminine nubs, and
even if their bite was agonizing, at least they had cooled off. Once the
Southerner had completed her restraints, Zhorun had brought into being a small
eldritch flame and sent it to wander on her twitching body. The flame had
roasted her toes and lingered under her soles, then crawled over her belly and
danced in her orifices while she buckled screaming spasmodically, and heated
the iron screws on her nipples while her head shook in demented pain.
The wizard repeatedly created new flames to torment her, almost purring at her
strangled howls, but each lasted very little and she was finally left alone,
screaming in the darkness lit only by the reddish glow of the iron screws
still searing the three tattered pieces of sensitive female flesh.
The horrors of her agony weighed on her tormented mind as soon as the raw pain
subsided, although her torn shoulder joints and crushed thumbs still made her
shudder whenever agony howled through her hanging body and surged from her
mouth in a rasping hiss, beyond which her voice could no longer rise. She had
tried to hold out, but the pain was too much, the tortures too horrid, and the
repeated rapes too depraved. She would beg Zhorun, grovel before him, tell him
anything and do anything he wanted, if only he would stop the torture.
Her terrified mind clung to this only hope to avert further torment, and even
if something within her suggested that, if Lyral was right, Zhorun would just
find some other reason to continue torturing her, she would not resist more
torments, The thought of the fate of her friend made her shudder, and for a
moment she considered holding out some more for her sake, but then the thought
of being raped again, of sand encrusted leather scraping her seared innards,
rattled her soul while she loathed herself bitterly.
She could not make out for how long they had left her hanging in the dark, but
their return heralded another streak of horrid torments which loomed in her
mind like clouds on a stormy day. As the Easterner lowered her on the floor
and changed her restraints, the words of her defeat made it out of her mouth.
"Please, no more. I'll do whatever you want," rasped her broken voice.
A bitter sob burst behind Lyral's gag, and Kayleen's head dropped in shame.
"This might be another attempt to buy time," hissed Zhorun, while the wry man
from the East dragged Kayleen to a thick wooden bar jutting diagonally from a
wall and made her lie on it, twisting her arms behind her back and fastening
her wrist cuffs to a ring above her head.
"I beg you! I can't stand it any more," cried Kayleen, trembling in fear.
Lyral was brought forth and allowed to heal her friend, kissing the bound body
which the Easterner was pulling down the wooden rail so that her ass hung off
the end and her ankles could be fastened to a ring under the bar. The influx
of healing power carried a prayer Kayleen could almost hear within herself,
but which she could no longer oblige.
"Please! I beg you!" cried Kayleen as her friend was yanked away.
The Easterner fetched a long, braided whip and lashed her partially healed
breasts, turning her last words into a strangled cry. The next lashes landed
on her belly, and more followed on her stretched arms and twitching thighs as
her voice broke in frenzies of hissing and screaming.
She tried to beg again, but the whip traced bleeding welts across her breasts
and under her soles too often for her to catch her breath and make her pleads
heard. Pain burst in her joints as they bore her weight while she jerked under
the lashes of the heavy whip.
Even what looked like a pause turned into a fit of spasmodic howling as bleach
was dipped on the welts, drop by drop while she buckled madly. Her weight made
her thrust her loins forward, and her restrained ankles did not allow her
soles to escape the lashes, but she could otherwise twist and buckle to avoid
the whip when her tormentor targeted her thighs or her belly ... just enough
to make the spectacle of her agonies more pleasurable.
The Easterner started lashing the undersides of her globes, then suddenly sent
the tip of the whip across her crotch and into the slit, making her arch in a
scream of unrestrained agony which was protracted by a few drops of bleach.
Her wounds had been healed only partially, and her jerks wrought new agonies
through her joints, while the bleach burned the new welts as well as the cuts
and wounds from the last days of uninterrupted torture.
The whip assaulted her breasts mercilessly, making her scream like a wild
animal when the bleach followed, but wrought the worst agonies on her spread
crotch. Besides tracing searing welts on what remained of her mauled skin, the
tip repeatedly slashed from above the folds covering her clitoris. Rather than
pulling the nub of female flesh to expose it to torture, her tormentor was
literally digging it out with the whip while she screamed to high heaven.
"Now is there anything you wish to say ?" hissed Zhorun, his unearthly voice
almost mirthful against the backdrop of her pitiful screams.
"Please ... no more. No more pain. I'll do it," rasped Kayleen.
"Very well. Should you answer to my satisfaction, of course" replied Zhorun.
Still burning from the bleach, Kayleen was then asked about the kingdom's
army, at length and in detail. When she hesitated, the whip descended in the
cleft of her vagina sending droplets of blood flying while her howls rose
under the vaults of the chamber. Often the whip slashed a nipple for no
apparent reason. Her answers came in croaking whispers, as tears she could no
longer shed burned in her eyes. She was betraying her people. Many times the
thought of refusing came to her, but as her gaze wandered across the
instruments of torture in this hell she had been dragged into, her resolve was
consumed by the thought of the unbearable agonies that would follow.
"I have reliable sources telling me this is not the case," whispered the
corpse menacingly, cutting through her musing like a razor blade. "Do you
think I'm so easily fooled ?"
"No! Please, I am ... telling the truth," begged Kayleen, her eyes bulging
with panic. The whip slashed her left nipple.
"We shall see," said Zhorun, concentrating in spite of Kayleen's screams as
the whip slashed her breasts and thighs blow after blow.
After an apparently interminable wait, Shandra entered the room.
"Master," she bowed.
"My apprentice, I have an endeavor for thee. Our stubborn guest here has been
answering questions at last, but I reckon she might be lying," said Zhorun.
Shandra started at Kayleen's bitter scream from a lash across the left nipple,
and her green eyes flared in horror as she took in the sight.
The muscular body of the Queen hung trembling from her twisted arms, her
shoulders swollen and misshapen from days of tearing and dislocation. Her back
found little purchase on the reclined rail, so each jerk under the whip
rattled her shoulder joints through hells of all-consuming torment. Most of
her supple body was covered in partially healed wounds and burns, the skin
torn and peeled, broiled and quivering under the whip.
The once proud globes of her breasts were cut and lacerated, and the nipples
horribly mauled and almost in tatters. The strong thighs trembled as her
ankles offered her little leverage when pain shot through her body, and blood
dipped from the slashes cut by the whip in her tender soles. Horrid
lacerations disfigured her mound and the gaping orifice of her vagina, while
blood trickled from the shredded, disfigured nub of her clitoris.
Unspeakable agonies burned behind Kayleen's clenched eyes as she tried to
meet Shandra's gaze, but the Sorceress was looking within herself as her power
gathered, trying to concentrate in spite of the horror she was confronted
with, her teeth chattering as if she was mad with fear.
"She's lying, Master" whispered the trembling Sorceress.
"I thought so!" cried Zhorun's hollow voice just as a gut-wrenching, strangled
"No" issued from Kayleen's torn mouth.
Upon a gesture from Zhorun, the Easterner resumed the torment of Kayleen's
dangling body while Shandra rushed away, almost in tears, and Zhorun rose,
his unearthly voice filled with rage and hatred.
"You'll pay the price of your folly!" hissed the undead necromancer.
While the Easterner continued whipping Kayleen, Grod entered and set about
preparing her next torment. Kayleen could only buckle and scream under the
whip, unable to avoid the dripping bleach, falling prey to agonies which were
but a shadow of the terrors to come. She cried pitifully when Grod lifted her
off the rail and carried her to face a nightmare cast in iron.
"Please! I was not lying!" she cried helplessly, her voice broken in terror.
From the ceiling hung a tall iron pole, from which several bands protruded,
hinged at both sides of the pole and adjustable with screws. The bands could
be tightened around a body, trapping it in an armor-like cage of wickedly
studded iron bands which could be screwed tighter and tighter. Some of the
bands had complex articulations, meant to constrict the mounds of a well
endowed female body. Some hinged contraptions hinted at even worse horrors.
"No ..." she croaked, her eyes wide open in demented fear.
Kayleen trembled and cried, trying to resist with her crippled strength
against Grod's nightmarish device, but her wrists were fastened to locks at
the top of the pole, and the pole was pulled up, renewing the twisting of her
arms in their sockets while screams of bitter pain wracked her jerking form.
Her ankles were similarly locked at the bottom of the pole, which was then
lifted some more until her toes left the floor. Grod started operating a crank
which elongated the pole, stretching her body mercilessly from ankle to wrist
and twisting the arms in their shoulder sockets beyond dislocation, pulling
tendons and muscles while a long, helpless scream rose from her burning lungs
and raged out of her mouth. Lyral was briefly brought forth to heal Kayleen's
worst wounds, but her restraints were so hellishly painful that the usual
soothing effect of the act went barely noticed.
Iron protrusions were placed above her shoulders, pressing on the collar
bones, and between her thighs, distancing them and pushing the heads of her
dislocated thighs further away from their sockets. As the pole was cranked
some more, unspeakable agonies rose in her voice as her joints were pulled and
torn while she howled in unbearable pain. Cold, salt water drenched her
stretched form while she writhed in bitter torment, babbling pleas which Zhorun
denied vigorously as Grod turned to him.
Slowly, band after band of iron was tightened on her limbs, the studs placed
to rub where the bone was closer to the surface so that the screws could grind
the dull tip against the bone, extending the pain of the restraints which had
become the inseparable instruments of her uninterrupted agonies all over her
stretched limbs. More bands were then tightened on her ribcage, adjusting them
so that the studs pressed on the ribs near cracking point and each intake of
breath for a scream rekindled dozens of stabbing lances of white hot agony,
cutting the scream as it rose and turning it into a desperate hiss.
As her position made drinking difficult, a funnel was used to pour the
contents of the jug down her sore throat. Her spinning mind craved the liquid
even if she knew that it slaked her tormentor's thirst for her suffering as
much as it slaked the thirst of her body, but drinking it in the grip of the
bands cracking her ribs proved another agony, a long nightmare of sputtering
and screaming as the liquid made her more sensitive to pain.
Through holes in the iron bands, long skewers were slowly pushed through her
torn and distended joints, causing her voice to rise in howls of unbearable
torment as the bands and stretching allowed her very little else. A leather
band encased her forehead, stopping her from trashing her head, but such were
the contortions which pain wrought on her face that this band creaked and
shuddered while her mouth opened in howl after howl of demented agony.
With a small hammer used to tap on the skewers piercing the joints, her
torture was protracted mercilessly while her howls slowly lost any semblance
of sanity under the relentless onslaught of unbearable pain. She had been put
through the most horrid agonies for days, her only respite being strenuous
bondage, and she was crumbling, shaking in terror and desperately begging for
mercy, too wracked by pain to come up with coherent words any more.
Waves of primal pain rocked her screaming soul just as spasmodic twitching
rocked her stretched body, making it twirl slowly as the pole turned and her
howls waned and waxed under the vaults of the torture chamber. The pain never
stopped, each breath renewed agonies hell would have been proud of, and foam
bubbled from her torn mouth as her voice cracked when her agonies fanned a
scream beyond its exhausted range. More cold water washed over her quivering
body, each shudder fanning a new scream which often broke in a low hiss.
Her clenched eyes bulged in disbelief when she felt iron on her breasts, as if
the pain wracking her could be increased. Paired webs of thinner bands were
being closed on her mauled flesh, like dozen-fingered claws ready to constrict
and deform the delectable globes. When Grod started tightening them, she felt
the prick of curved hooks, not dull studs, and as they were screwed tighter
the white hot agony of hooks raking the lacerated flesh laced her mammaries
and burst from her mouth in a desperate scream of horrendous torment,
reverberating through her stretched body and rekindling the torment of her
constricted limbs, the pain in her torn and pierced joints and the
breathtaking agony of the ribs teetering on the brink of cracking as her lungs
fought for breath to replenish what her demented howls consumed.
Grod brought forth more iron horrors, small thumbscrews designed to crush the
phalanx of each finger, and started tightening them on her twitching fingers.
He slowly secured a few of them, alternating between her hands, but did not
tighten them fully, splashing her with cold, salt water repeatedly instead.
When he tightened the screw on her thumb near cracking point, the pain raced
down her twisted arm, coursed through her stretched body in a howl of mad
torment, finally bubbling up her ribcage in a garbled scream of insane agony.
As more screws were tightned the pain from her cage of agony was rekindled all
over her body, from the joints, to the ribs, to the limbs which could not
escape the grinding of the dull iron points on the bone.
After the fourth screw was tightened, Lyral was pushed forth to heal her
friend, her hands blindly seeking the trembling flesh while tears flowed from
under her blindfold. Her power could not heal the stretched, pierced joints or
the cracked ribs, but it could prevent Kayleen's condition from worsening into
death, and as such had been turned into another instrument of her friend's
torture. If the words she hummed behind her gag were about this, nobody could
say, and Kayleen was in such pain that nothing else could reach her mind now.
Her screams and trashing returned when the fifth screw was tightened, and did
not stop until all had wrought their measure of agony through her stretched
body, in a long nightmare of white hot torment which echoed at length under
the vaults of the torture chamber, protracted by Grod's fiendish expertise at
crushing bone up to the brink of cracking. The band biting her waist and
constricting her breathing had been a pale harbinger of the agonies studded
iron bands could wreak on flesh and bone.
When he reached for the bands clawing her breasts, her eyes opened and her
mouth sputtered in the effort to beg him, nobody else but him, seeking his
gaze, a last plea from a broken soul, a plea which would have cracked the
heart of a demon from hell. Grod froze, his hands on the screws that would
wreak further torments through the stretched, quivering body.
Bluish tendrils of lightning surged from Zhorun's hands and played on the
hanging, stretched body, wracking it through spasms as the lightning forced
the distended muscles to contract and wrought unimaginable pain through the
limbs trapped in the grip of the iron studs.
"Proceed, Grod. I intend her punishment to last far longer," said the withered
corpse of the former wizard, unleashing a second wave of lightning.
Grod stepped back, trembling slightly, his eyes fixed on the body twitching in
restraints tight enough to prevent the slightest movement. Kayleen's eyes
glazed over as her gaping mouth spit blood mixed with foam, and her cracked
voice burst in screams which could barely be heard above the rattling of the
banded iron cage under her spasmodic jerks.
When Zhorun stopped, Grod splashed her with cold water again, and used a
funnel to make her drink some more. A spark twinkled in her dead eyes as she
recognized the syrupy taste, a spark of terror which made the stretched body
shudder with a broken gasp. When Grod operated the screws, the bands clawing
her breasts turned a few degrees, pulling her right breast clockwise and her
left breast counterclockwise. The hooks opened bleeding gashes in the broiled
skin and the claws tightened their grip on her firm flesh.
The slow raking of her globes made her scream in pain, but the fiendishness of
the torment was not in what was wrought on her breasts, but in how it forced
her to twitch, arch and tremble in the grip of the iron bands. The joints she
could not move trembled in the effort to wring her off from the agony slowly
shredding her breasts, her strong limbs twitched in the grip of the studded
iron bands to turn away, and her ribs fought repeatedly against the points
pressing them near cracking as her lungs fought for each scream.
As the torment was protracted, her breasts were turned with excruciating
slowness into twisted, disfigured cones of shredded bleeding flesh, which
trembled when cold, salt water washed over them. A hellish nightmare of horrid
pain coursed through the firm globes as they were savagely raked and
disfigured, among bitter screams of inhuman torment, until they had been
stretched almost to the point of tearing them off her chest. Lyral's repeated
touching barely made Kayleen's screams subside a little.
When Grod reached for her feet and started securing small screws on her toes,
Kayleen shuddered and gasped pitifully. The cold, salt water and the syrupy
liquid mixing with blood in her mouth meant that the torment was not over, but
now terror rattled her even when her tormentor stayed his hand. She was still
trying to beg and plead, babbling half words between bitter gasps and stinted
screams, but there was nothing but agony in store for her.
When the first screw was tightened on her left toe, the horrid agonies of her
torment returned all together. Her limbs twitched against the grip of the
studded iron bands in the frantic effort to distance her foot from the source
of its torments, her joints trembled and tore in the attempt to pull away
while the pain of the skewers laced them, and her ribs howled as dozens of
points stabbed the bone near cracking. This time, however, her disfigured
breasts added their own measure of agony as her jerks pulled the hooks through
the flesh, with movements so spasmodic that if not for the grip of the iron
bands on her ribcage she would rip her own breasts off in agony.
One after another, nine more screws crushed her toes and protracted her
descent into a living hell of unrelenting torture and unspeakable torment. She
had to be healed by her friend twice, the healing touch barely registering
between screams of maddening torment. The drool from her gaping mouth was
washed away by repeated splashes with cold, salt water, but nothing could wash
the mad terror in her eyes when Grod kneeled before her.
Her trembling, dislocated thighs could not stop him from pushing a dull iron
cylinder up her sphincter, slowly twisting it up inside her while she howled
in renewed agony. The iron surface was crisscrossed by the teeth of a grater,
and once blood started to flow from her scraped rectum, he started cranking
it, causing it to open in four pieces inside her and stretch her sphincter,
puncturing its rim with small downward hooks which started ripping through as
he slowly cranked it wider while her voice found the strength to scream again.
The last shreds of her mind twitched in the grip of the relentless agonies
wracking her body and lacing it with blasts of inhuman torment. She barely
noticed her tormentor rising and tightening something on the tip of each
finger, connecting it with the screws crushing the finger nearby, until he
revealed their purpose by pulling on the finger, like a miniature rack
intended to dislocate the finger phalanx by phalanx.
The blinding pain as her fingers were stretched, dislocated and broken was but
a drop in the pain fanned throughout her body, from constricted libs to
cracked ribs, but even the agony of her disfigured breasts was surpassed by
the merciless scraping of her rectum as her spasmodic twitching under the pull
on her fingers abraded her innards and ripped the distended rim of her
sphincter. She slowly lost track of how many fingers had been broken, of how
the splashes of cold water turned shudders into fits of frenzied torment, of
the brief moments when Lyral touched her, pain was her sole master now.
When another cylinder was forced in her vagina, the most abject terror gave
her back temporarily some of her former strength, enough to babble and beg,
enough to shudder while he cranked the device open. This one had been rubbed
in white powder, which reduced the lubrication effect of the blood from her
scraped innards, but its hooks caught onto the rim of her vagina just as well
as those of its counterpart, in a long, hollow scream which distended as the
device stretched her orifice to the brink of tearing.
When Grod secured the screws on her toes and started stretching them into
dislocation, the agony in her innards surged through Kayleen's body like a
river of molten fire which burst form her mouth in frenzied screams and
sputtering froth, while her limbs jerked spasmodically from agonies whose
repetition made them no less excruciating. The funnel filled her mouth with
the syrupy liquid which heralded further agonies.
One after another, each toe exacted its share of torment from the constricted
limbs twitching in the grip of the studded iron bands, through the skewered
joints teetering under the spasmodic pull of her taut muscles, to the ribs
cracked by the iron points after edging on the brink through countless screams
of demented agony. Blood gurgled in her foaming mouth as her convulsions raked
the hooks deforming her breasts through their wounds, cutting through each
scream as her lungs fought for breath.
The spasmodic jerks, which the tight bands restrained severely, were enough to
brutally abrade her distended innards, ripping the hooks through the distended
rims of her orifices just as pitched howls of unbearable pain ripped through
her protracted frenzies of hoarse screaming. There was no need to crank them
wider, as her convulsions scraped her innards raw and the hooks ripped through
the distended muscles without cutting the edge.
After the last toe was dislocated, she hung in twitching agony, trembling in
terror at the torment of her femininity which would follow, as always. Her
spinning mind returned to a time when the sun shone, a summer evening after a
long march when casual contact had wrought a fleeting pleasure through her
nipples. But the daydream turned sour as the sun faded into torchlight,
and her thoughts went to how the nubs of her femininity fared now, scraped
raw, shredded and peeled after days of torture and partial healing, and she
screamed from the unrelenting torment, shriveling from fear.
It took her clenched eyes some time to realize that Grod was leaving, and the
relief at having her nipples and clitoris spared lasted only until the leer of
the Southerner appeared in her sight, making her scream as fear and surprise
turned her jerk into a frenzy of screaming torment. When her agony subsided,
the gnarly old man smeared her nipples and clitoris with a reddish powder and
then covered them with small caps lined with short fur inside, which he
tightened with loops of thin cord, smiling.
They left her without light, as usual, but this time were was no pretense of
allowing her to rest, even in strenuous restraints, as she hung in relentless
torment, shaking in frenzies of bitter screaming when the slightest quivering
sparked horrid agonies which climbed to spasmodic jerks and hoarse screams
before exhaustion made them subside with excruciating slowness.
As the shudders from the cold water subsided, an itch mounted in her shredded
nubs, faint at first and then unmistakable. Just as she realized the
deviousness of the torment, the itch turned to unbearable stinging as the
powder irritated the shredded tatters of her nipples and clitoris, making her
squirm and then rattle her restraints as the squirming turned into the first
of many frenzies of horrendous agony.
Unbridled terror burst in a scream of despair as the thought of the
uninterrupted agony awaiting her impressed on her mind, pleasuring the corpse
silently standing nearby almost to the point of revealing himself. But as her
screams waned and waxed, he lost himself in them instead, transfixed at the
convulsed jerks ripping her stretched orifices.
When the torches brought light to the torture chamber again, Kayleen hung on
the brink of death, twitching in demented agony. She had lost track of how
long her torment had continued, as the fierce itch in her nipples and clitoris
had made her trash relentlessly in her hellish restraints, bleeding profusely
from the scraping of her innards. Lyral was allowed to heal her at length, but
soon her power reached a point where it could not heal wounds which Kayleen's
restraints relentlessly ground open. At least the caps were removed.
Meanwhile, the Easterner had been heating thin, curved iron blades in a
brazier which he brought nearby, making Kayleen's nostrils flare as the
horribly familiar smell heralded the torment that would follow. Fire or hot
iron, one of the torments she feared most and which her torturers favored for
this very reason. She was no longer able to utter coherent words, her voice
spent in uninterrupted screaming and yet still able to vent her torment when
the pain inflicted on her body reached new heights. Her spinning mind quaked
at the thought that the Easterner would slowly drag her through supremely
excruciating agonies, and then the gnarly old man from the South would be
given free reign of her body, finally his to defile and violate at leisure.
The curved red hot blade pressed into her left leg, cutting slowly where an
iron band dug into her flesh and wrenching a scream from her mouth, pitiful
enough to scrape plaster from the walls. It took many such screams to complete
the cut above and below the band, which was then tightened even more, sinking
through the wounded flesh and grinding the bone while her voice cracked in
despair at the thought of this agony coursing all over her constricted flesh.
If the jerks induced by the dislocation of her fingers and toes had been a
descent into hell, those induced by the red hot blade cutting under the bands
constricting her limbs were a nightmare of frenzied agony. Lyral was
repeatedly called upon to stem her friend's bleeding, but the torture was
mercilessly continued although Kayleen inched closer and closer to madness,
especially when pain flared in her scraped orifices or a convulsion tore the
hooks piercing their distended rim.
The curved hot blade was slowly dragged through the constricted flesh, pushing
back and forth while she twitched in hoarse torment, on time with her screams
cut short as the voice was unable to produce protracted cries because of the
bands crushing her ribs and the hooks raking her breasts. Not only was the
pain of the red hot blade as horrid as in previous occasions, the tight grip
of the bands made it last far beyond the actual cut and her jerks ground the
iron inside the seared wound, protracting it.
When the funnel filled her mouth with the syrupy liquid which returned some of
her strength but made pain all the more excruciating, the agony of the iron
studs scraping her bones through the seared wounds was already enough to start
another frenzy of twitching agony. When the blade started carving around
another iron band, such frenzies followed one after the other while the blade
dug in the seared flesh, raising litanies of pitiful howling under the vaults
of the torture chamber. Lyral's healing had partially restored her ripped
orifices, only to have them wasted repeatedly in spasmodic jerks.
The blood from dozens of cuts circling the girth of her limbs flowed down the
twitching muscles as the protracted torment fanned the pain to levels even her
previous ordeals made hard to fathom. It was as if the bone scraping which she
had gone through had been multiplied by the dozens, albeit clumsily effected
by her own spasmodic jerks. What this application lacked in fierceness and
expertise, however, was more than made up by sheer quantity as dozens of studs
had been brought to grind the bones of her stretched limbs.
Images of her former agonies replaced those of her present torment, as the
band around her forehead prevented her eyes from fixing on the places where
pain flared anew as her torture was carried on. Lyral's voice rose from the
ghosts of nights past, trembling with dread, or was it her own voice screaming
pitifully, strained to a wheezing hiss by the uninterrupted torment ?
The red hot blade cut across the flesh stretched over her broken ribs, tracing
a dented gash which the iron points caught at the first heaving of her chest
under yet another wretched scream. Her mouth still felt the syrupy taste mix
with the blood even Lyral's ministrations could stop only temporarily.
Each gash traced a white hot line of agony through her spinning mind just as
it cut between wisps of smoke under the crushing iron band, a line whose
protracted duration she could guess with agonizing precision after the first
two or three, but which nothing could stay from running its full, agonizing
course. Screaming madly, she returned to the occasions when she could have
told them what they wanted and be believed. There was nothing she could do now
to stem the agony of the red hot blade, or the torment of the iron points on
her cracked ribs, or the rivulets of blood as the hooks ripped through her
disfigured globes some more at each convulsed frenzy of screaming agony.
Even the splashes of cold, salt water were but another occasion of horrid
torment. Truth was, the bands would have made her twitch in pain even if she
managed to keep still somehow, and only exhaustion could lend her some respite
from the relentless torture. But Lyral's touch, the sips of syrup, the
cold water and the continued application of new torments allowed for none.
The tip of the curved blade cut into one dislocated finger just as her eyes
opened after another splash with cold, salt water. The pain wracked her arm
and coursed through her body in a squirm, which ground dozens of studded iron
bands against her trapped bones and sent droplets of blood squirting from the
points crushing her ribs. A hoarse scream rose and broke in her lungs, and a
constricted convulsion rattled her from toe to fingers, reopening the gashes
in her disfigured breasts and ripping the tiny hooks through the distended rim
of her orifices. More sputtering and twitching followed as pain coursed back
and forth across her horribly wounded body, while her voice cracked in the
attempt to carry the protracted screams surging from her torn chest.
In a flash of realization amid waves of maddening pain, her mind reeled at the
thought of what agonies still lay ahead if a red-hot tip could cause such
frenzies of excruciating pain for the enjoyment of her undead captor, now that
the only thing he sought from her was her woe. She had tried begging, she had
tried pleading, she had answered his questions and betrayed her people, she
was ready to to it again, to do anything if only the torture would stop.
The red hot tip cut into another finger, and the frenzy of excruciating agony
flared anew through her body, wracking her in screaming pain punctuated by
gasping hisses and convulsions so spasmodic that they rattled her restraints
to the point of bending the cold iron. The Easterner waited until they settled
to splash her with cold water and cut into a toe.
It took time to drag the red hot tip over her fingers first, and her toes
next, while her blue eyes shone in the reddish light, bulging in pain so
excruciating that it bordered madness, and her delirious voice blabbered pleas
through bubbling froth when not gurgling from agonies to horrid for screams.
No longer clenched in agony, her blue pupils bulged in transfixed horror even
as her visage contracted from the excruciating torment of the red hot tip
scraping the rim of her sphincter. The taste of blood was mixing in her mouth
with the sweet syrup she did not even remember drinking, and the agony from
the seared muscle wracked her in waves of spasmodic jerks.
She thought for a moment that Lyral would be brought forth, and then pain cut
through her left breast as the red hot tip insinuated under the claw-like
bands constricting and disfiguring it, and the pain started another frenzy of
screaming and twitching. How her voice could sustain the effort, she could not
tell, and the thought that maybe they would stop if she lost her voice crossed
her spinning mind as the blade cut again, slowly searing along the shallow
wound cut by the iron claws while her voice teetered in a broken cry of agony.
The red hot tip moved from one globe to another with cruel slowness, following
the web of iron claws twisting her breasts into disfigured cones of twitching
torment. Some of her hair was still wet from the repeated drenching with cold,
salt water, but what covered most of her body was a sheen of sweat and blood,
which her agonies renewed more profusely than water or healing could address.
When the tip neared her crotch, she jerked in her restraints, twitching in a
frenzy of screaming which wrought horrid agonies through her convulsing body,
the mere fear of the torment to come enough to renew her pain. Terror made her
babble something, pleading in helpless despair for a mercy the corpse standing
before her totally opposed. The red hot iron engaged the top cleft of a gash
ripped by one of the hooks pulling down the rim of her vagina and stretching
it down the grating wrought on the sides of the iron cylinder, and started to
nudge it up, searing it wider while the heat cauterized the sides.
If the frenzies started by abject terror were excruciating, those started by
this wretched torment were unspeakable nightmares of convulsed agony which
contorted Kayleen's face into a mask of pain so ghastly it made the Easterner
turn away. When the red hot tip seared through a wound, she could not help but
try to pull away, and this made her muscles pull spasmodically, rekindling the
torment of the skewers through her hip joints and the grinding of the studded
bands on the bones of her supple, twitching legs.
She could not prevent her arms and legs from pulling frantically against her
dislocated toes and fingers, or the pain bursting through her lungs from
sending stabs of white hot pain through her cracked ribs and lacing her
disfigured breasts with the bloody raking from the spiraling iron claws. She
could only twitch, suffering through abysmal agonies which lasted until her
muscles were too exhausted for more convulsed jerks, only to snap again from
the heinous agony of the red hot tip searing another torn gash in her vagina.
She gurgled insanely when her mouth was invaded by the funnel, shaking at the
prospect of further pain or simply out of her mind from agony. The tip caught
her left nipple, tracing a shallow cut in some encrusted wound partially
healed after her previous torments, shallow enough to make the blood sizzle in
the heat while her voice rose and broke in coughing screams of exhausted
despair which punctuated frenzies of spasmodic jerking, the blood soaked froth
in her mouth making her look almost rabid as hoarse wheezes replaced the
pitched screams her voice no longer managed.
The red hot tip lingered on her nipples for a long time, and also carved
bloody screams of hellish agony from her clitoris, but something behind
Kayleen's eyes was being eroded, and unbearable agony stoked a madness which
secluded what little remained of her sanity behind delirious wheezing. Lyral's
healing addressed the worst wounds and the blood loss, but when the Southerner
stepped in, his leer died on the gnarly face as he examined his victim.
"Master, we cannot continue the torture," he said reluctantly.
"What ? Are you, of all men, getting squeamish ?" growled the robed corpse.
"Not at all, Master, but .. she's not feeling it. Her mind shriveled from too
much pain, she ... retreated within herself. I've seen it happen before, we
could continue for days and she would just keep whining mindlessly,"
"What can we do ? I don't want her to escape her punishment so easily", said
Zhorun, his voice low with repressed anger.
"We must suspend the torture, and let her recover. She must be healed, and
then allowed to rest. We might have to replace her restraints, also" mused the
gnarly old man, obviously stymied by this development.
"But I want to see her suffer!" burst the former wizard.
"I cannot say ... it is as if the mind retreated into madness to escape
further pain. Maybe if the torture is suspended the mind will believe it's
over and come back, but sometimes it doesn't," added the Southerner, unsure
about how the undead wizard would react to his words.
"We'll try a variation of the approach you suggest, at least until the time
comes for my apprentice to prove her worthiness once for all," said Zhorun.
|
|
|