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Crown of Torments

Chapter 30 Crown of Torments

Chapter 30 - The Worst Screams


In the unlit torture chamber under the ruins of Zhorun's castle, Kayleen was

sleeping. For the first time in days, she was not screaming in horrendous pain

nor writhing in strenuous bondage. She still wore heavy irons at the chafed

wrists and ankles, and the iron bands at the elbows, knees and thighs still

bruised her skin. Torchlight would reveal more abrasions at her waist,

clinched by a heavy iron band, and around the base of her breasts, caught in

serrated iron rings which made the generous globes bulge slightly.


Loose chains at her wrists and ankles kept her spread-eagled on the cold stone

floor, but she had not been drenched in freezing salt water this time, and

Lyral had been allowed to heal her fully, except for the chafing caused by the

irons which Zhorun had not wanted removed. Even her nails had been restored.


This time, Zhorun did not linger in the darkness to secretly enjoy her

agonies. In cold rage, he poured over his collected tomes from the times

before the Priestesses defeated the lords of the undead. Of many details he

used to skip when seeking for magic of power, he was now reconsidering how

captured Priestesses were first questioned and then gruesomely executed.


While Kayleen was allowed some rest, his mind indulged in the images of the

horrid torments minds twisted by undeath had devised to take out their hatred

on their opponents. He discussed those which struck his fancy with his three

torturers, eager to see them put to the test and oblivious to the lack of

enthusiasm from the Easterner and Grod, who ventured that Kayleen's mind would

collapse again very quickly before such horrors.


The undead wizard caught himself before lashing out at the man, whose long

service no longer meant as much as it used to. This obstacle should have been

addressed by someone else, he conceded before leaving.


Shandra started when her master stormed in the laboratory granted to her use,

feeling the magic crackling around him as his rage permeated the power that

now completely defined the nature of his existence.


"I reckon thy progresses have been slow, apprentice," whispered Zhorun's

voice, thick with contempt and hatred. Shandra swallowed fear.


"I am nearly done, Master. I modified a spell which provides courage in battle

to strengthen a mind enduring pain ..." she stammered.


"No! I don't want a spell which reduces the pain," he hissed.


"It does not, Master. It increases willpower, so a victim which is trying to

resist the pain is emboldened and able to endure ... more," she finished in a

whisper, handing him a scroll with the spell.


"What is holding thee back, then ?" he asked eagerly, perusing the scroll as

red pinpoints of light burned in the empty eye sockets.


"The duration is very short, Master." she said, bowing her head.


A clawed hand rose and slapped Shandra's face, scratching her cheeks while her

head turned in surprise. The slap had been weak, but the gnarled bony hands

were covered with hard ridges. She trembled.


"Improve it! Tap a different source, if need be. I will brook no further

delays." he raged, his whisper lowering in growled menace as he left.


When light shone again on Kayleen's restored body, she did not wake up. Her

chest was rising regularly, and her head turned once, but she did not wake up.

Zhorun grew impatient.


"Wake her up," he ordered with a whisper full of expectation.


Grod shook the sleeping woman, whose restored beauty now almost shone in the

flickering light, but to no avail. Even slapping proved fruitless. Ammonia

salts made Kayleen's eyes open, but the gaze in the clear blue eyes was remote

and soulless. After a nod from Zhorun, Grod caught a nipple in the grip of a

pair of iron pliers, twisting and crushing the tender flesh, but although the

mouth opened in a throaty scream the eyes remained lifeless.


"She's still lost," confirmed Grod.


"Bring forth her friend and proceed," ordered Zhorun to the Southerner.


The young Priestess was dragged forward and her wrists fastened behind her

back to a chain from the ceiling, which was pulled amidst pitiful screams

while her arms shot white hot pain through the twisted shoulder sockets, until

her feet left the ground dangling above Kayleen's face.


Lyral's ankles were then fastened to the ends of a steel bar and a chain ran

from the bar and over her shoulders to a vise constricting her pearly breasts,

which was tightened while her head shook under pitched screams of bitter

agony. Steel wires were twisted around the base of her nipples, and a braided

whip licked the trapped nubs of feminine flesh wrenching horrid howls of

pitched torment from her young voice. She still wore the wizard gag, which

prevented spell casting but not screaming under torture.


"No reaction," observed Grod, studying Kayleen's face.


The Southerner pulled from a brazier a red hot copper strip, safely hanging

from a long handle, and rubbed it on the Lyral's taut belly, making her writhe

and howl while she arched in the frantic attempt to avoid the fiery contact.

The whip lashed at the singed skin just as the strip was pulled away, and the

agony in her pitched voice would have made stones cry.


The red hot strip lingered on her left sole, and moved to the other just as

the whip traced a sore cut in the singed skin. Lyral's jerks rattled the

chains she hung from and her shrieks echoed under the vault of the torture

chamber as the torment was slowly protracted, striping the pearly body with

angry red burns crisscrossed by the bleeding welts of the heavy whip.


Kayleen's head shook left and right, as if the blood and sweat dripping from

her suffering friend above could wake her up. Lyral's shrieks increased when

the red hot strip caught her left nipple and lifted it while the whip lashed

the trapped piece of feminine flesh from above, and Zhorun bent to whisper in

the ear of the supple beauty spread-eagled on the floor.


"Don't you hear your friend's screams, O Queen ? She's being tortured in your

place, as you can hear. You failed her just as you failed your people, and now

she suffers. It will get worse still. My esteemed guest from the South has

been dying to have your young friend all for himself," he hissed.


"Kayleen! Don't listen to him!" cried Lyral.


The red hot strip slid down her belly and reached the curls of hair at her

mound, singing them while searing the soft flesh in spite of her spasmodic

buckling. Her howls of pain came from the burns but also from the jarring of

her poor shoulders, whose muscles were much less developed than Kayleen's and

were already giving. The Southerner did not follow up with the whip, as he did

not want to put Lyral's maidenhood at risk unless Zhorun told him to.


Kayleen's head jerked in a cry and her eyes bulged, focusing on the writhing,

screaming form above her just as the whip lashed Lyral's soles.


"Wait! Stop it! Leave her alone!" shouted the spread-eagled blonde.


"Welcome back among us, O Queen. I hope you indulged your rest, because we're

going to start from where we left," mocked Zhorun's chilling voice.


"Someday you'll pay for this, wretch" said Kayleen, her voice trailing as her

consciousness took in the torture chamber and her predicament, dwindling to a

whisper as the memory of past agonies crept up.


The Southerner lowered Lyral onto her friend's spread-eagled body, eager to

get going with the torture of the blonde woman to the point that his member

rose under his flowing white robes.


"Be brave, Kayleen. For heaven's sake, be brave," whispered Lyral, still

stuttering from pain, and yet speaking with such intensity that Kayleen

remained speechless at how the respective roles had switched.


After a glance to Zhorun, the old man from the South sheathed his member in

spiked leather and knelt between Kayleen's legs, watching her clear blue eyes

widen as the recollection of past agonies foreshadowed what would follow, and

then penetrated her violently, grabbing her breasts while pushing into her

with a cruelty rekindled by her renewed lusciousness.


With rutting abandon, he thrust into her over and over, pulling her off the

floor by her breasts and panting as she screamed from the bloody raking of her

womb by the spiked harness. When his lust waned, he repeatedly chewed her

nipples, keeping his flaccid member inside her to feel her writhing in pain,

protracting this pleasure until Zhorun grew impatient.


With Grod's help, Kayleen's legs were clenched together at the ankles, knees

and thighs and then folded behind her back. Her elbows were fastened together

behind her neck and her wrists pulled until they could be fastened under her

ankles, making her arch. The Southerner pushed his spent manhood in her mouth,

still forced open by the spider gag, and caught her head between his legs.


A short, barbed flogger landed on her stretched belly, making her scream and

writhe in bitter pain. The heavy leather was soon wet with blood, but had also

been soaked in brine and the Southerner made sure it remained so during the

subsequent defilement of his restored victim. His drooling leer loomed over

Kayleen's pain-wracked face while the flogger traced welts of agony all over

her splendid body, renewing the gurgling pleasuring of her tormentor's member.


Each lash made her turn left or right in a spasmodic jerk, exposing her to

more pain. The Southerner aimed often for her soles, a difficult target, but

also cruelly striped her thighs and buttocks. He took to grabbing curls of her

pubic hair and pulling on them before each lash, so that her subsequent jerk

ripped some in a flash of blinding pain which wracked her deliciously.


The Southerner stopped flogging his buckling victim only when Grod approached

and yanked her on her knees, dragging her to the instrument of her further

torment. It consisted of a pair of hinged iron rails, each about six feet long

and jutting off twin stone pillars. Only Zhorun's magic had allowed the device

to be constructed over the night.


The rails currently stood vertical, but could obviously pivot around the axle

they hung from, and the relative placement of the hinged sections could be

adjusted by operating a collection of ominous screws. Thick protrusions

jutted menacingly from the iron at regular intervals.


Grod mercilessly tightened the iron collar on Kayleen's windpipe before

undoing her restraints, but it took all his muscle to force the strong woman

onto the device and fasten her elbows to the rails, revealing the purpose of

some of the protrusions as rests for the elbows and knees of a victim. When

her windpipe was freed, Kayleen was about to insult her tormentors but a

glance towards Lyral changed her mind, and she just prayed under her breath.


Grod then twisted her leg around another protrusion and cuffed her ankle well

inside the iron bar, braiding the limb around the rail and making his victim

wince at the strain and cry when the same happened to the other leg. When her

wrists were similarly braided above her head, Kayleen hissed from the pull on

her ligaments and the stress on her bones, harbingers of worse torments ahead.


Grod secured her restraints and then operated a crank which increased the

separation between the rails, sliding them left and right and pulling on her

thigh and shoulder joints. The tension was slowly increased, and liquid fire

bubbled in her knees and elbows as they carried most of the pull, turning her

hisses into gasping screams of desperate agony.


A few cranks had been enough to reawaken the agonies of the rack, and the

blinding pain from the knees and elbows was being slowly overshadowed by the

pull on her hip and shoulder joints and the tearing of her ankles and wrists.

They were not even pretending to question her any more, just making her suffer

for Zhorun's perverted pleasure, and she could not stop them in any way, not

even by giving up. The tortures had become increasingly gruesome, to the point

that only Lyral's healing kept her alive.


The heavy irons cut into Kayleen's ankles and wrists; the angle prevented

damage to major blood vessels, but red rivulets flowed lazily from the bruised

skin. Her arms and supple thighs already trembled from the strain, and the

tendons showed under the stretched muscles while howls of demented torment

wracked her taut, glistening body. Her mouth tried to refuse the jug, but Grod

pinched her nose and forced her to drink among gasps and sputters.


With cruel slowness, the rails were cranked to the point of leaving her hip

and shoulder joints teetering on the brink of dislocation, with such fiendish

accuracy that each breath sent flashes of howling pain through her shoulders

as it pulled them beyond dislocation for an instant. The Southerner neared and

thrust his member into her rectum, distending it violently and pushing with

cruel strength while she screamed from the jarring of her bones.


After a brief inspection, the Southerner slowly pierced her left nipple with a

barbed hook, making her arch and buckle amidst screams of wretched agony,

twisting it back and forth until her spasmodic buckling dislocated her

shoulder joint and keeping up the torment for a while before running a chain

from the ceiling to the hook, stretching the swollen bud mercilessly.


"This is how the Priestesses used to react in times of old, O Queen, when put

through the ministrations of the Bone Dance, as this was named," cackled

Zhorun's voice. Kayleen's mind whirled between waves of unspeakable pain which

had all but erased the brief moments of relief granted in the morning. She was

not herself enough to resist, and there was nothing she could withhold from

her tormentors anyway. They were taking their pleasure from her, and she could

not deny them anything, not even her agonized screams.


As the rails were cranked wider apart, the Southerner used another barbed hook

to scratch her other nipple, teasing it while she howled in demented agony

before sinking the tip through the swollen flesh and raking it, his grip

steady in spite of her jerks and protracting her agony until she dislocated

her other shoulder, the arm pulling from the socket while she arched in pain

and froth bubbled in her mouth between a scream and the next.


The screws on the rails were slowly adjusted to further bend her joints and

bones, making her howls more pitched and desperate as she found no respite

from the pull keeping her bones near cracking point. Grod periodically cranked

the rails one notch wider, making her scream in horrendous pain as her

convulsions wracked her hip joints beyond dislocation and back. His face was a

mask devoid of any expression, but a sheen of perspiration covered it.


When her teary eyes focused on the gnarly old man, it was because he was

rubbing her innards with the white powder which made them parched and dry, and

her recollections left no doubt about what would follow. When a thin barbed

needle pierced her clitoris, she arched in demented pain as her muscles pulled

the hips out of her joints for a moment while she jerked in spasmodic howling,

and her screams grew even louder when his member penetrated her violently and

the spikes on the harness sheathing it cruelly tore her innards.


His vicious thrusts pushed the needle piercing her clitoris deeper, bending it

when it caught against her pubic bone, while the parched walls of her vagina

were being rasped and raked by the sadistic violation which wracked inhuman

agonies through her stretched hip joints. Her head jerked left and right when

his leather sheathed member abraded her insides, and her mouth opened in

ghastly howls of blinding pain when the spikes cut new wounds through the

parched insides. Each push twisted the barbed needle through the sensitive bud

and scraped it against her pubic bone, pushing the heads of her thighs out of

their sockets for interminable instants of blinding agony.


As the old man protracted her violation, her screams became more gut-wrenching

and desperate until her left hip dislocated while she arched in a howl of pure

agony. Unfazed, the Southerner continued thrusting into her, making her twitch

in agony on the barbed needle and lingering inside her even after his lust had

been spent. She was made to drink from the jug again, and repeatedly splashed

with cold, salt water. The only thing she could do was hope they would make a

mistake and hurt her beyond repair, and then death would finally bring an end

to the merciless agonies inflicted on her femininity.


The Southerner started tracing shallow cuts through her pubic mound and

ripping curls of hair and skin, gearing the pulls towards dislocating her

other hip without following through completely until her mound was a bleeding

stretch of raw flesh. He kept pulling on the curls rooted in a purposefully

large patch of skin, increasing her agony as the joint twitched closer to

dislocation on the wave of searing pain and leaving her thus until the head of

the bone bulged under her jerking muscles. With drug-induced lust, the

Southerner violated her vagina with renewed viciousness, fiendishly cutting

her insides with the spikes while froth bubbled between her desperate screams.


The rails were cranked wider apart some more, wrenching further howls of

bitter agony from Kayleen's gaping mouth. The weight of her torso now hung off

her dislocated joints, which would have been enough to keep her under constant

pain even without further intervention. The rails bent the bones of her limbs,

and Grod adjusted protrusion after protrusion to bring them closer to cracking

point and make them wreak pain through her dislocated joints, pausing now and

then to splash her with cold, salt water. Lyral healed her briefly.


While Grod continued to operate the rails, the Southerner neared her left hand

and grabbed her middle finger, slowly ripping the nail off with pliers while

her howls rose to new heights as the agony wracking her arm jarred her bent

bones and the dislocated joint. Finger after finger, and then toe after toe,

her convulsed jerks bent the bones of her limbs from near cracking point into

broken shards deforming the stretched muscles while screams desperate enough

to scrape soot from the stones echoed in the torture chamber.


The slack on the chains leading to the hooks piercing her nipples was slowly

reduced until some of her weight was carried by her stretched, bleeding

nipples. The screams wracking her chest rose again when she felt the rim of

her vagina cut by a serrated blade, rising in pitch cut after cut until

her tormentor penetrated her again, ripping open the bleeding cuts with

thrusts which wracked her like a broken doll.


Her thoughts wandered in a maze of deranged torment, unable to escape the

sight of her tormentor's triumphant visage. The agonies from her violated

femininity fought with the flashes of pain from her taxed joints, and the

tears mixed with froth and semen on her contorted face. Her mind spun in

search of something, anything, that would put off the next thrust, quench

the fire from the cracking bones, stave off what she knew would follow.


The rutting thrusts made the broken bones twitch under the muscles and tear

the flesh, sending waves of trembling agony through her chest to burst in

howls of wretched despair from her mouth. The drool from the Southerner's

mouth dribbled over her bleeding mound while his hands ripped the remaining

curls of pubic hair, and his head jerked back in mad pleasure as she convulsed

in abysmal pain on his rutting member.


When the old man's drug-enhanced endurance finally faded, her long, bitter

screams waned into harsh gasps, but her teary eyes did not miss Grod nearing

with a pair of large, serrated pliers. She vainly tried to twist her hand

away, but the iron jaws closed on her thumb and slowly crushed it to the bone,

twisting and cracking it while she arched and convulsed in wretched torment

from the finger as much as from the some bones breaking and ripping through

the stretched flesh and from the relentless tearing of her swollen nipples.


Her mouth sputtered on the syrupy contents of the jug, trembling with pain in

spite of Lyral's brief touch, and then the iron jaws moved to another finger

and her howls rose again under the vaults of the torture chamber. Grod was

crushing and breaking the phalanxes one by one, pausing in between to let her

arch and jerk in hoarse agony until exhaustion crept over her twitching body.


The nightmarish torture continued finger after finger, punctuated by

occasional splashes of cold, salt water. Lyral healed her repeatedly, still

trembling from her own wounds and sobbing bitterly at the sight of Kayleen's

horrid predicament. The long bones were fracturing, and each jerk twisted the

splinters inside the twitching muscle. After making her drink from the jug

again, the iron jaws were moved to her toes, and more screams of agony echoed

under the vaults of the torture chamber in a protracted descent to hell.


At the bottom of this hell the leer of the gnarly old man awaited her, and she

barely managed to recognize him before he drove into her vagina again, mad

with cruel lust and rocking her with fiendish thrusts which sent bone

splinters jutting through the skin while she dangled from the nipple hooks in

gurgling frenzies of unspeakable agony. The swollen pieces of feminine flesh

still carried whatever amount of her weight her spasmodic efforts kept off the

fractured bones, fiendishly braided on the protrusions jutting from the rails

to make sure she would suffer no matter the position she managed.


His endurance, fueled by cruelty as much as from drugs, lasted through

multiple pauses, which brought no respite because he stopped only to let Grod

push iron hooks under rib after rib and fasten them to the rails, tautly

enough to cause abysmal torments when her chest rose in a scream. Under the

thrusts of her defilement, the hooks pulled the ribs near cracking and her

spasmodic jerks and inhuman screams ended up breaking them one after the

other. Her eyes darted left and right, wide open from pain and terror, looking

for an angle where no bloody splinters would jut from her twitching flesh.


She lost count of her ribs as her violator's thrusts and her spasmodic jerks

cracked and fractured one after the other, in a protracted nightmare of agony

and defilement which her frenzied screams recounted in a hoarse tale of

wretched torment. The spiked harness had scraped bleeding gashes deep in the

walls of her vagina, and she bled so profusely that Lyral had to be brought

forth repeatedly to heal her. Her tormentor stopped using the white astringent

powder he favored to make rape more painful and rubbed the bloody leather

sheathing his manhood in rough sand instead, bringing her howls to new pitches

as her last two or three ribs cracked under his thrusts.


The jug made her eyes regain focus just in time to widen in horror as she

caught Grod pushing the arms of an iron vise through the cuts in her vagina,

until they caught her pubic bone in their grip. He then scraped the needle

piercing her swollen clitoris on the bone, feeling for the exact position of

the needle tip before bringing the pliers to bear, cracking the bone while she

arched with a scream of unspeakable agony, at the top of which he hammered the

needle into the crack, a feat of consummate ability which he performed with

meticulous cruelty in spite of her jerks of spasmodic agony.


Just as she thought that she could not know more pain, the old man tore into

her bleeding vagina again, and she realized in a flash of inhuman agony that

the needle lodged in the bone was bending and widening the crack under his

rutting thrusts. The bone splintered and added his own agony to the searing

pain of the fractured bones raking her stretched muscles and jutting through

the flesh while she arched in twitches in unspeakable torment, writhing on

his aroused member while he fiendishly protracted her agonies, savoring every

scream, every gasp and every howl until his lust finally subsided.


Kayleen felt Lyral being brought forth to heal her briefly, and then a large

meat hook was thrust in her lacerated vagina and pulled up using a chain from

the ceiling, relieving some of the traction on her stretched nipples but

causing her to scream at the agony in her fractured pubic bone.


Although nearly delirious, she realized she was about to be left alone for a

while. Her mind was suddenly clear somehow, and what she could not notice was

that Zhorun had cast Shandra's spell, to see how effective it was. The first

splash of cold, salt water confirmed Kayleen's guess, and after a while they

left her drenched and shivering in the unlit chamber.


Even without the freezing water, her position would have allowed her no real

respite as some of her weight rested on bones which had been fractured and

splintered mercilessly, and each breath wracked her cracked ribs with white

hot torment. But the shivers were an hell of rolling agony which shook her

with bitter gasps and broken screams, and in her torment she realized that the

pull on her nipples and especially on her splintered pubic bone was steadily

increasing. Zhorun savored the despair in her voice, well aware that water was

filling buckets at the other ends of the attached chains.


When they returned, she was writhing pitifully on the hook, her brief screams

cut by flashes of breathtaking agony from her ribs, her head jerking left and

right while her crushed, bloody fingers and toes curled and twitched. Lyral

turned her head at the sight, sobbing silently and curling in a corner as the

Southerner strode up to the victim he so enjoyed tormenting.


Kayleen twitched with a broken scream, born as what had started as a shudder

of fear turned into a jerk of agony. The gnarly old man's unnatural arousal

hid nothing of his intent. In the haze of pain, something within her asked why

it was always him, why he would not tire, questions which had cut her prayers

short before. Pain swept them away when he started rubbing the rim of her

sphincter with sharkskin and then thrust his leather sheathed manhood into the

bleeding orifice while she still screamed from the pain.


Anguished howls echoed under the vaults of the torture chamber, caused by a

lust fueled by drugs and, unbeknownst to Kayleen, from sorcerous magic

coalesced as drinkable potions. The old man had deemed unwise to meet Shandra

not in Zhorun's presence, but he had made his wishes repeatedly known and the

undead wizard had seen that they would be fulfilled. Now Zhorun was enjoying

the pain distorting Kayleen's visage into a nightmare of wretched screaming.


The old man protracted Kayleen's violation with pauses where he used his white

astringent powder to absorb blood and deny his victim even its lubrication,

until the tissue was dry and parched for a new bout of rutting penetration,

hoarse screams and pitched howls of utter despair, brought about as much by

the shredding of her bowels as from the jarring of her splintered bones.


When he finally stopped, he immediately had the rails moved so that he could

circle her and invade her mouth with his flaccid manhood, and then set about

making her screams revive his arousal. He picked a longish strip of sharkskin

a palm wide and wrapped it around her leg, slowly dragging it back and forth

around the limb by the handles at both end. The sharkskin started abrading the

skin, making her twitch and scream in a paroxysm of wretched agony which

gurgled around his manhood as her muffled howls betrayed the inhuman depths of

depraved torment she was undergoing. The tiny barbs of sharkskin ripped the

skin off bit by bit, lodging in it and ripping it in tiny pieces.


The subsequent drenching with cold, salt water made her jerk and twitch like a

pitiful rag doll, and the sharkskin was moved to her other leg while blood

oozed from the abraded flesh. Pitched howls of demented agony came out as

bouts of helpless gurgling while the old man made sure her torment lasted

enough to help the drugs return his manhood to arousal. She realized he had

pulled out when she felt the taste of the syrup in her torn mouth.


He brought forth Lyral to heal Kayleen's twitching and screaming body, then

changed her inclination again and rubbed sharkskin on her labia and clitoris,

keeping her howling and jerking madly until his member hardened and he could

grab her by the folds of ripped skin on her mound and slam onto her shattered

pubic bone, making her arch in the first howl of a frenzy of hoarse screaming.


The needle, now bent out of shape, still pierced her swollen clitoris and

wracked unspeakable torment through her cracked pubic bone, but her love

channel had been scraped raw and cut to shreds, and when he rubbed the leather

harness sheathing his manhood in sand her pitiful howls reached pitches hell

itself would have been proud of. Lyral was repeatedly brought forth to heal

her madly twitching friend just enough for the torture to continue until the

old man's artificial lust was temporarily sated again.


But his taste for his victim's agonies knew no respite, as he proved by

cranking the rails to lower her head until he could straddle her mouth,

filling it with his blood-stained manhood while he wrapped the sharkskin strip

around her bent arms and started rubbing, tearing off bits of skin while her

agonies gurgled around his spent member and jarred her splintered bones.


The Southerner worked the strip back and forth with ecstatic abandon, basking

in his victim's frenzies of gurgling agony as the coarse surface abraded the

skin in countless tiny cuts, ripping it bloody bit by bloody bit while the

muscle underneath twitched and each jerk jarred the splintered bones and

wracked the body into fits of spasmodic buckling which twisted the limbs as if

in a grotesque dance of wretched torment. Lyral had asked Kayleen to be brave,

as if bravery had any chance against the horrors being heaped on her now.


"This interpretation of the Bone Dance by our esteemed guest appears to be of

your liking, judging by how you put your mouth to use," whispered Zhorun, in a

stinted attempt at horrid humor. Kayleen was desperately trying to stay

abreast of this nightmare of depraved defilement, and was barely herself

enough to burn with rage in some recess of her pain-wracked mind.


No echo of Lyral's words of courage could be heard in Kayleen's hopeless

screams when the old man pulled out of her mouth, his manhood readied for a

new violation by her pitiful gurgles as her arms had been slowly abraded to

twitching raw flesh and the broken ends of some ribs jutted out, pulled by her

spasmodic jerks. If her trapped mind could come up with anything of interest

to her tormentors, she would have screamed it to the top of her lungs.


When the sharkskin strip was wrapped behind her back, she would have betrayed

anybody and anything to stop the savage back and forth motions which ripped

the skin from her shoulder blades and made her broken ribs bend in and out of

her flesh in blinding flashes of abysmal pain. Even if Lyral had stopped

healing her, they would use potions as they had already done. If only he

stopped, just for a moment ... the sharkskin was ripping raw flesh now.


As if her tormentor wanted to answer the pitiful pleas interspersed between

her screams, he slowly moved the area abraded the strip along her back until

her reached her buttocks, but there was no mercy in the act as the rails had

been reclined to make her crotch rest on her tormentor's erect manhood and the

abrading strip made her twitch left and right on his spiked member, further

grinding her shredded insides while her screams took the rhythm from the

alternating motions impressed on the ends of the bloodied sharkskin strip.


When he finally pulled off, her buttocks had been scraped raw amidst a frenzy

of increasingly gut-wrenching howls as the tiny teeth had been dragged across

bleeding raw fresh after ripping off the tender skin while she jerked and

twisted madly on his spiked manhood. A sudden influx of renewed awareness

shot through her mind, making it snap back from depths of all-consuming woe

just as her splintered bones snapped out of her stretched limbs. Shandra's

spell had temporarily restored her will, but it would not last.


Lyral was brought forth again, and was allowed to heal her for quite some time

as the old man watched his victim's bloody, twitching body return from the

brink of death just as his arousal returned under the impulse of the drugs. As

he was not ready yet, he cranked the rails and invaded her mouth again, his

gaze wandering on her face wishing to feel her terror.


He discarded the blood soaked strip and picked a fresh one, which he wrapped

twice around her left thigh before pulling it back and forth. Her bleeding

body arched in a gurgling scream as the flesh was scraped by the myriad of

tiny teeth embedded in the sharkskin, and his pleasure rose alongside her

pitiful screams while he pulled on the strip with cruel, deliberate slowness.


The motion added to the abysmal torment of the sharkskin proper the rhythmic

jarring of her broken thigh bone, whose head rattled at her hip joint and

whose splintered ends could be seen bulging under the twitching muscles each

time his pull dislodged them a bit further. Lyral, sobbing from her own recent

torture and all but forgotten in her chains, was watching with her mouth agape

as the depths of depravity poured on her friend pounded on her sanity.


The cold, salt water made Kayleen jerk again, screaming in bitter agony, and

in the process reviving her somewhat, just as intended. She drank avidly from

the jug, consuming the concoction devised to keep her nourished, enhance her

sensitivity to pain and prevent her from sliding into unconsciousness. Zhorun

had took the opportunity to improve the formula.


The old man removed the hooks from her nipples and cranked the rails, turning

them over until she hung facing the floor. As the slightest movement wrought

unspeakable agony through her broken bones, he made sure that the operation

was slowly staggered, allowing her to scream herself near exhaustion while her

own weight was being shifted from fracture to fracture and cranking the rails

only when her pain appeared to subside, gleefully rekindling her agonies.


He rubbed her sphincter with the white powder, did the same on the spiked

harness he still wore on his now erect manhood, and lingered against the

rosette of her anus while terror wracked her with tremors which turned into

screaming jerks of bitter woe. She knew what he would do next, she knew what

agonies would follow, and terror shook her in spite of her feeble attempts to

find some anchor for her sanity. With a raucous laugh, he started penetrating

her, pushing slowly while she arched and screamed in horrid pain.


Instead of thrusting with abandon, he had opted to force her into pleasuring

him with her frenzied twitching, and he set about engendering it by wrapping

the sharkskin strip against her dangling breasts. Once he started pulling it

back and forth, her screams and jerks came at the rhythm he most enjoyed, and

he set about making this exquisite pleasure last.


He repeatedly changed the angle and wrapping of the strip on her breasts,

ripping her skin off bit by bit without grinding her nipples flat and searing

swaths of bleeding raw fresh across the firm globes, always forcing her to

twitch and buckle on his erect manhood, causing her to arch spasmodically and

wreak unimaginable torment through her fractured and splintered bones.


When his lust was sated, he circled her pitifully screaming form to make her

drink from the jug again before invading her mouth with his flaccid member,

freed of its harness as he wanted to feel each scream to the fullest. Kayleen

was mostly beyond herself from pain, but in a corner of her mind managed to

despair at the accursed endurance the drugs allowed the old man.


When her tormentor fetched a new strip, and its twin halves pressed against

her crotch, separating her labia as he expertly pulled them like a crotch rope

but with the rasping side resting against the insides of the soft folds of

feminine flesh, Kayleen realized that hell truly had bottomless pits.


A the first pull, her spasmodic scream gurgled around his member while she

arched in abysmal pain. The strips were abrading the inside of her labia, but

also cutting a bleeding gash at the top and bottom clefts of her vagina,

deeply raking the wounded and stretched flesh and catching on existing cuts

and wounds, reopening them mercilessly. The waves of unspeakable agony rising

from her crotch coursed through her dangling body bringing white hot torment

to the splintered bones and bitter woe from her broken ribs.


The bloody abrasion of her raw flesh was protracted until her tormentor's

arousal returned, and splashes of cold, salt water washed over her, announcing

that the pain was not over yet. He wore a different harness, brimming with

stiff bristles, but first slowly cranked the rails back to their original

position, dragging her through another slow carousel of frenzied agonies.


He drove the hooks through her nipples again, and pulled them savagely,

stretching the flesh mercilessly before wrapping a thin strip of sharkskin

around them, so that pulling back and forth would scrape both stretched pieces

of feminine flesh. With a leer on his gnarly visage, he thrust into her vagina

while pulling on the strip with both hands.


Kayleen's body arched in a scream too desperate for the stone walls to

contain, a scream whose despair visibly shook her trembling friend nearby. The

thin strip was causing unimaginable agonies as it ripped bits of stretched

fresh from Kayleen's nipples, while the bristles were proving even more

hellish than iron spikes as they scraped into existing cuts and wounds, and

both of them made her convulse in wretched agony which was multiplied manifold

by the jarring thus inflicted on her fractured and splintered bones.


Although the angle was not completely favorable, the old man's consummate

ability meant that the strip slipped only a few times, allowing him to keep up

her defilement. When the raw flesh had been ripped off her nipples to such an

extent that further scraping would have torn them off, he moved to her

clitoris. He used a pair of pliers to pull the bleeding piece of feminine

flesh, stretching it along the bent needle still piercing it, and wrapping it

in a thin strip of sharkskin he could pull. Her mind cleared suddenly just in

time to see the strip close on her bleeding piece of feminine flesh.


He cranked the rails to bring her hips up and make the operation somewhat less

cumbersome, although he was in no hurry and wished to protract the penetration

of her bleeding vagina, thrusting mightily with the obvious intent to tear the

abraded wounds apart some more. Slowly and awkwardly, he rubbed the sharkskin

strip on the shredded tatters of her femininity while she howled like a

demented animal, arching spasmodically as far as his manhood allowed and

buckling madly around its bristled caress while splinters of white bone, red

with blood, jutted from her twitching limbs and heaving ribcage.


The old man was now exhausted, and it was a tribute to the heightened

effectiveness of the drugs and potions he used that he could still manage to

prepare her for the customary change of pace from raging torture to protracted

torment. The rails were reclined until about half way and a thick wooden wedge

soaked with gleaming liquid was brought against her sphincter. The base was

set firmly, and then the rails were further reclined until most of her weight

concentrated on the wedge, which started stretching the rosette of her anus

while she shook gasping and arching a in a desperate howl.


When cold, salt water splashed her she writhed in a jerk of spasmodic torment,

and more followed as they repeatedly drenched her with the liquid which

usually left her shuddering from cold, but now burned the countless abrasions

of her skin like raging fire. She could not help but slide a few inches along

the hacked, splintered surface of the wooden pole. Lyral healed her briefly.


Just as the torches were carried away, plunging her in the darkness she had

experienced countless times, she realized that the wood had been soaked with

some caustic whose concentration increased along its length, because the rim

of her sphincter twitched in atrocious pain as it slid down the pole.


With a bitter scream, she pushed spasmodically on her broken limbs, trashing

in the effort to pull away from the caustic fire. Somehow her spectacular

muscles managed to gain one or two inches, while her head arched in a howl of

desperate agony which echoed in the darkness, reaching a motionless standing

corpse whose hands rose in the dark, as if to welcome the scream and the

others which followed, sparse at first and then increasingly desperate.


Even under ordinary circumstances, Kayleen would have had to exert herself to

keep from sliding down the pole and spare the atrocious burning touch of the

caustic soaking the wood. With her bones broken, after protracted tortures,

she nonetheless managed to pull away repeatedly, at the price of atrocious

frenzies of screaming agony which could not hide the fact that each time she

slid a bit further down. The pole burned her bowels mercilessly, and the

sphincter rubbed on its girth each time her muscles faltered.


Slowly losing the battle with the pole she slid further down inch by inch, her

hoarse screaming a veritable music to the ears of the motionless corpse. The

darkness at least spared her the sight of the splinters of the broken bones

jutting out from her twitching muscles, a sight which somehow had made her

torture more revolting and was now haunting her sanity.


Because of her own screams, she failed to hear the return of her tormentors,

but managed to pull herself up along the pole when torchlight shone on her

twitching, bleeding body. Lyral gasped at the horrid wounds cut by the broken

bones through Kayleen's flesh, and was allowed to heal her for a while.


The Easterner brought a brazier closer, inspecting the tools heating therein.

His face was even more impenetrable than usual, but his hand closed on the

handle of a thin rod brimming with tiny curved hooks. Kayleen's bitter sob

turned into a low scream from the agony in her broken ribs, but she had seen

the brazier, and her mind shriveled at the recollection. Fire, again. Rape and

fire, fire and rape, how could the gods deny her the slightest respite

stammered her lips trembling in terror.


He hesitated a bit before picking up a copper roller with a double row of

curved hooks and dragging it along Kayleen's bleeding thigh. The hooks sizzled

against the raw flesh, torn violently by her spasmodic jerk of howling pain.

The roller did not stop, following the twitching limb howl after howl as it

snapped against the protrusions it lay on, deformed by the broken bones

bulging under the taut muscles. Kayleen's head jerked left and right as the

frenzy of screams merged into a protracted howl of bitter despair.


Another roller traced a sizzling path through the abraded flesh of her leg and

her jerks increased when the hooks descended along the foot and ripped bits of

flesh from the crushed, deformed toes. Protracted, desperate howls wracked her

body, making it flail between the protrusions holding it against the twin

rails which had become the only support for her twitching limbs.


The roller was dragged up and down between her broken fingers, wrenching

horrid screams from her gaping mouth whenever the hooks caught against

splinters jutting through the twitching flesh. Her eyes glazed over when pain

became so overwhelming that her vision drowned in a wave of white hot agony.


The roller slowly traced a path of mad screaming through her other thigh,

making her buckle and twitch her pelvis as it wrought sizzling agonies across

the raw flesh exposed under the abraded skin. Hoarse screams punctuated its

course as spasmodic jerks rattled her dislocated hips and tore the splintered

bones inside the twitching muscles. Something within her turned at the sight.


The hooked rod was placed against her sphincter, so that each time the roller

ran down her other leg her jerks caused repeated contact with the red hot

hooks, ripping bits of flesh from the torn muscle, the sizzling noise lost

amidst her harrowing screams. The rod was seated in a stout coal brazier, and

repeatedly cranked deeper in, half an inch deeper each time, and the path of

the roller wrought wretched jerks of abysmal torment through her broken body,

ripping more twitching bits of flesh from her raked, seared bowels.


The cold water she was splashed with barely managed to bring her mind back

from the hell of uninterrupted torment she was being dragged through, although

in a place deep within her soul she was still herself enough to thank the

powers of good because it was not salt water this time. The syrupy taste in

her mouth was expected, just as the jolt of stark pain it brought, but she was

surprised by the realization that her tormentor was troubled.


White lances of searing pain surged from her toes when the red hot hooked

roller was dragged through the mangled flesh, causing her to rake her bowels

on the hooked rod in frenzies of howling agony, but her mind was still clear

enough from the syrup to feel his hand tremble. Days and days of unimaginable

torture had left her deeply aware of the slightest nuances in her tormentors

attitude, she realized in a flash before pain wracked her into another scream.


The roller climbed across her belly, making her howl in wretched torment as

the soft flesh was caught and ripped in tiny sizzling bits while the rod was

so deep inside her rectum that she bent it with her jerks. Lyral was brought

forth to heal her before it was extracted, cruelly twisting it around while

she howled and jerked in abysmal torment, made worse by the sudden wave of

awareness resulting from another casting of the willpower spell.


The accursed roller sizzled across her ribs, ripping through the undersides of

her generous globes while she arched in demented pain and screams pitiful

enough to scrape soot from the stones echoed under the vaults of the chamber.

Her trembling muscles still jarred the splintered bones of her limbs back and

forth, and the rails had been reclined slightly so that her own weight spread

her thighs and pulled on her dislocated hip joints and broken pubic bone.


Another hooked rod, with much longer hooks, was fetched from the brazier, and

her eyes bulged when it sought the torn rim of her vagina. The roller was

raked up her ribcage and across her mauled breasts, making her arch

spasmodically in a screaming effort to pull from the fiery rolling points,

only to fall back with her full weight on her broken pubic bone scraped by the

sizzling hooks with a harrowing scream of wretched agony.


Her tormentor caught her amidst an insane scream, raking the roller upwards

through her other breast to induce her into arching again, and she trembled in

the spasmodic effort before falling down screaming on the red hot hooks again.

As the torture was continued, the roller caught on her broken ribs repeatedly,

but as the rod was brought deeper up inside her the frenzies during which

abraded flesh was ripped from inside her lengthened, as exhaustion made her

trembling efforts to escape the sizzling raking of the rod harder and harder.


When the roller started raking her arms, her efforts were further curtailed as

her tormentor ran it counter her twitching muscles, making her arch in long

howls of demented agony which cut short her efforts to lift herself off the

sizzling hooks. Deviously, he waited until she had managed to pull herself up

somewhat before tracing its searing path of burning agony, so she repeatedly

screamed harrowingly as her jerks raked the spiked rod up and down her

innards. Lyral had to heal her often, but this just made her pain worse.


"I reckon it is time to use the Hand of Agony," hissed Zhorun, pointing at a

copper tool which had been left in the brazier. Somewhat reluctantly, the

Easterner picked up the copper device, which had been fashioned after a

six-fingered skeletal hand, clawed and brimming with curved red hot hooks.


When the device was dragged along her left arm, the articulated fingers caught

the smallest cuts and abrasions of the skin and ripped them in sizzling bits,

alternating between tearing and cutting mercilessly while the pain made her

twitching muscles jerk spasmodically in frenzies of demented howling.


Somewhat hampered by his heavy gloves, her tormentor closed the claws of the

device around her left breast, deforming it in a cone as they tightened on the

abraded flesh and raked it while she howled in unbridled agony from the

sizzling hooks. She had been brought from almost full health to the brink of

death, and Lyral's power had been perverted into another instrument of her

torment, but the utter anguish which burst from her mouth when her tormentor

pulled the claws and started twisting them was beyond comparison.


Droplets of blood squirted from her scraped globe as bits of ripped flesh

sizzled on the wicked red hot hooks, while the claws dug horrid lacerated

gashes through her once voluptuous mammary. Her mouth was open wide, almost

near dislocation, in a teetering howl of demented woe which rose and dropped

along all notes on the scale of agony. Her head shook left and right in rhythm

with the shredding of her breast, and blood frothed at the corners of her

mouth when her voice cracked from pain too inhuman to withstand.


During this frenzy of shredding pain she had not been spared the agony of the

splintered bones piercing twitching muscles, nor the raking of her innards by

the fiendish rod, and once the jug was emptied in her mouth these returned

foremost in her mind as white hot lances of pain wracked her mercilessly, just

as she connected the sudden bursts of awareness with Zhorun's gestures. The

memory of how to recognize wizardly casting returned to her for a moment

before a wave of pain surged from her cracked ribs.


Unthinkable agonies wracked her when the device was heated again and used on

her other arm, wrenching horrid screams from her frothing mouth, caused like

before as much from the scraping itself as from the agony her jerks wrought

through the broken bones and the relentless torment of the fiendish rod. She

shuddered pitifully when Lyral was brought forth for some healing, screaming

hoarsely her despair at the agonies that would follow.


The device was moved to her buttocks, and she arched in a frenzy of spasmodic

torment while the hooks sizzled across her wounds, digging into the abraded

flesh, and bloody splinters of bone widened the gashes in her disfigured

thighs and forearms. Her screams never stopped, except when the device needed

to be heated again, and the shredding of her flesh continued mercilessly.


The taste of syrup in her mouth broke the sequel of howls crowding her throat

into sputtering and coughing, and her teary eyes bulged when they recognized

the sizzling claws about to close onto her other breast. Her scream of terror

turned into a demented howl of wretched agony as the hooks ripped across her

abraded flesh, left and right, searing and tearing while she jerked like a

mad doll in the throes of unspeakable woe.


The Hand was heated several times, and her breast repeatedly shredded into a

twitching globe of atrocious pain, dragging her through agonies whose equal

she had seldom experienced even since being brought here. At the bottom of

this descent into deeper hells, the six-fingered hand awaited her, and she saw

it through teary eyes just before its caress clawed gashes of flashing pain

across her chest, with the red hot hooks catching onto the splinters of her

broken ribs and tearing through flesh abraded by the sharkskin.


The rod was removed from her vagina, twisting it back and forth while the

rails were cranked to a reclined position, and then the claws descended

across her belly while she arched in abysmal pain, and raked her mons leaving

sizzling lacerations before shredding her labia. Lyral had been brought forth

to heal her, but the torment was continued while the healing took place and

the red hot claws tore bits of sizzling flesh from her labia and clitoris,

still impaled on the needle wedged in her pubic bone.


Her mind cleared suddenly just as the device was folded and pushed inside her

rectum, making her arch in a howl of demented pain and twitch in screaming

agony while it was turned left and right mercilessly. She shuddered when it

was slowly pulled out to be heated again, wishing she could die before it was

used again, and more screams followed when the torture was repeated. Lyral had

to be brought forth soon to stop the bleeding of her shredded bowels.


Her mouth burst in another horrid scream when the sizzling claws distended the

rim of her vagina, and she howled pitifully when the device was twisted left

and right, raking her shredded innards while her blood bubbled on the hot

metal. Her eyes almost popped from her head when the device was extracted,

ripping shreds of her love channel in a twitching frenzy of howling jerks.


"An adequate performance, Chang. Do it again," hissed Zhorun, the image of the

torments of ages past revived before his empty eye sockets. Kayleen's screams

rose quickly as the device entered her torn orifice amidst sizzling hisses and

spasmodic jerks of hideous agony, and continued while the torture was repeated

until even the repeated casting of Shandra's spell could only return awareness

to her eyes for moments too short to satisfy Zhorun's malevolence.


Lyral was brought forth, shaking in bitter sobs, to heal her dying friend, and

the thought of letting her die rather than protracting her agonies must have

crossed her mind, and probably not for the first time. Kayleen's lips tried to

form a prayer, but only wheezing screams burst through. She realized that they

were preparing her to suffer alone again, and when a wooden wedge distended

the torn rim of her vagina she tried hard to find the words for a prayer.


Exhausted as she was, she immediately slid down and felt the caustic burning

the stretched flesh, and when the first bucket of cold salt water made her

writhe in screaming agony her mind lost the words she was cobbling together to

pray. More buckets following, making her howl as the salt burned the abraded

skin while the cold would leave her shivering, unable to stand still enough to

reduce the agonies whatever predicament she was left in would exact from her.


Still unaware of Zhorun's presence, she squirmed on the wedge distending her

vagina, screaming when a splinter lodged in the bleeding raw flesh. Even the

splinters had been thoroughly soaked in caustic and burned like hot needles,

but she found herself forced to push on them with her aching muscles to spare

the stretched rim of her vagina the relentless burning touch of the girth of

the wedge her weight rested on.


Unlike the pole she had suffered upon before, this one was impossibly thick,

roughly triangular in section and literally brimming with splinters, and the

thought of sliding down was horrid enough to spur her into frantic efforts in

spite of her dwindling strength. Her screams echoed repeatedly in the darkness

of the unlit torture chamber, and a deeper horror tinged them as she realized

that she could not hope to reach a point where the girth of the wedge would

halt her descent, because the caustic was strong enough to eat away flesh and

expose new raw tissue to the hellish torment.


This realization, however, only made the occurrence more harrowing, as her

waning endurance could not prevent her from slowly and agonizingly sliding

down, the rim of her vagina being slowly burned away on the hellish wedge and

continuously distended to face more hellish agonies. Zhorun almost purred at

the inventiveness of his predecessors while Kayleen's screams of desperate

agony filled the eerie void of his undead soul.


In spite of the light brought by the torches, Kayleen's eyes remained closed,

as if she didn't want to contemplate the bloody swath of pulsating raw flesh

and splintered bones hanging between the twin rails which had been her fine

warrior's body. When a voice echoed in the chamber, however, her chest rose in

a sob of despair which her broken ribs turned into a desperate scream.


"I'm back, Whore Queen. You missed me, I bet," laughed the old Southerner.


He cranked the rails, reclining them until she was halfway vertical, and then

dribbled her gouged breasts with the contents of a jug. She jerked and howled

in wretched pain as the thick brine burned her abrasions and cuts, seeping

mercilessly in her wounds while his leather sheathed member nudged her

sphincter. The leather had been smeared with irritant and rubbed in sand, but

he lingered while she buckled like a rag doll, her limbs snapping as the

splintered bones reopened the wounds in her twitching muscles.


When he saw her cracked lips form a coughing "No", he grabbed her ribs and

drove into her with rabid lust, holding fast against the subsequent frenzy of

demented buckling while the sand raked her abraded bowels, allowing the paste

to sting the raw flesh like the kiss of hell's flames. Her jerks and twitches

wrought horrid torments through her jarred bones, and her violator thrust into

her with vicious abandon while her mind was rattled by yet another horrid

defilement, unable to react, unable to escape.


The violation was protracted with lewd persistence, shattering her meager

hopes that his endurance could have a limit which drugs and magic could not

overcome. His congested complexion and bulging eyes suggested an impending

stroke, but he pulled from her only to crank the rails until her head was low

enough to invade it with his manhood, almost dislocating her jaw while she

sputtered on the mix of paste, semen and her own blood.


His hands reached for another jug, and the smell of bleach reached her

nostrils just before pain engulfed her arms, washing blood from the splinters

piercing her muscles and fully exposing the gleaming white streaks which

fanned untold agonies into the slightest jerk of her nightmare. She gurgled

and gasped in a frenzy of muffled pain, but this only made her tormentor

continue the aspersion of her twitching flesh with the strong bleach. When he

splashed her with cold, salt water, it almost proved a relief.


When his member hardened again, he smeared it with the irritant paste and

cranked the rails so that he could slid it between her breasts, which he

proceeded to wrap with knotted twine soaked in a caustic which burned like

liquid fire. Her mouth trembled in howls of bitter agony as the twine was

tightened with devious cruelty while he thrust his manhood back and forth,

scraping her globes with the bristled leather and making her arch in demented

agony from the twine cutting across the abraded, gouged flesh.


She sputtered as her mouth was filled with syrup, but the bleach she could

smell was forthcoming and did not spare her belly and ribcage, and after a

while he took a liking to her desperate buckling and pushed his flaccid member

in her vagina, using the bleach to make her turn left and right on the

bristled intruder in a frenzy of demented screams. He continued this torment

until his arousal returned, at which point he smeared her insides with a

strong astringent before thrusting into her with vicious abandon.


Unable to stop screaming, unable to escape the whirling waves of agony and

defilement heaped upon her, Kayleen jerked spasmodically in the throes of

unspeakable pain while her mind sought some place to curl up and hide from all

these horrors. Her defiler produced a pair of needles and used them to weave

knotted twine through the flesh of her labia, lingering inside her while she

shook in abysmal pain as the knots ripped through the raw flesh.


After wrapping the ends of the twines around her abraded clitoris, still

impaled on the needle lodged in her pubic bone, he started pulling their ends

left and right, making her twist and arch in demented torment with little or

no respite given, buckling and screaming as the twine tightened the abraded

flesh against the bristled intruder and the caustic it was soaked with seeped

in the scraped feminine flesh with each jerk and thrust, burning and stinging

mercilessly yet again what had become the seat of her worst nightmares.


He took some drug in the meantime, something which rekindled his arousal

as he reveled inside her, pressing her innards against the pulled twines while

the shearing of her femininity continued among her tormentor's mad laughs of

perverted triumph. She hoped that it would stop, and it would not, it got

worse as he kept pulling on the twines. She prayed that he would tire, but he

increased his thrusting as if possessed by a lust from the pits of hell

itself. She prayed that she would die, but he continued jarring her pain

wracked body for an unbelievable length of time while she was consumed by

frenzies of hapless screaming and arched in spasmodic agony.


After making her drink from the jug again, he invaded her sphincter. He had

used the astringent liberally, but replacing the bristles with spikes meant

that her own blood soon provided the lubrication her desperate howls

desperately begged for. He did not protract this violation for long, and had

Lyral brought forth to heal the worst wounds. He then brought forth a large

container of liquid, whose funnel he inserted in her rectum which he then

proceeded to fill with astringent and sew shut while she howled in mad pain.


He started cranking the liquid inside her and her eyes bulged while she arched

in sudden fear. The torment mounted with each crank as the liquid seeped into

every available nook and cranny, finding more abrasions and wounds to sting as

pressure increased. She could not believe that such pain could last for so

long and still get worse over time, but as her jerks snapped new splinters in

her broken bones even such remnants of coherent thought were washed away.


She shook herself as the syrup mixed with froth in her poor mouth, dimly aware

that Lyral had healed her a bit and sputtering as the liquid made, as always,

the pain worse. She had been allowed to empty her bowels, which still burned

enough to keep her screaming for a week, and no sooner did she take a breath

than her tormentor thrust into her rectum, this time after coating the leather

with irritant paste mixed with gross sand. Awareness flashed through her mind

again, and she was now aware that magic was being used.


She howled in demented pain when his hands caught her ribs and pulled down her

pain wracked body against his invading member, thrust with vicious abandon up

her bowels in drug-induced lust. The gruesome violation dragged her down

depths of frenzied torment made worse by the invasion of liquid agony she had

just endured, and the protracted rasping from the hellish sand slowly brought

her near the edge of pain-induced insanity.


She continued screaming even after the violation stopped, trembling from the

agony seared deep in her bowels by the brutal scraping with the sand and

sputtering as the contents of the jug were poured in her mouth. Of the many

torments heaped on her orifices, scraping wounded raw flesh with sand was

possibly the worst, even worse than the spikes, because blood made it worse as

the grains stuck and continued to inflict pain.


His flaccid member entered her mouth, and somehow in a deep recess of her mind

she still managed to rage against the violation, as if it had not been part of

what he liked to perpetrate on her for days, as if she could prevent him from

doing as he pleased. She vaguely remembered the agony wracking her bones as

the rails were cranked into position, and she saw as if through murky water

her own body shivering and arching as some caustic liquid was dribbled over

her abraded limbs to pleasure his member with her gurgling screams.


The clear liquid seeped in the innumerable abrasions before starting to hiss

and sizzle faintly, causing exquisite frenzies of spasmodic howling which his

expert hand could mold by varying the amount of liquid poured and the speed at

which it left the vial. He fully intended to make it last, drop by drop, but

he could not help but indulge in the sight of how her pierced clitoris

twitched on the impaling needle when the liquid caught hold, and so he often

returned to the raw nub of feminine flesh, savoring how her gurgling screams

bubbled in mounting despair around his throbbing manhood.


To continue the torment he would have had to call upon Lyral's healing, so he

shifted his ministrations to her stretched nipples instead, which twitched

almost as deliciously and brought similar pleasure from her harrowing screams

of wretched woe. Besides, even ordinary abraded flesh provided enough pleasure

when it curled and sizzled under the caustic, so he managed to protract the

torture until he could feel his member harden again in drug-induced lust.


Kayleen burst in a scream when he popped out, and continued as the liquid kept

burning her mercilessly, pausing only when awareness returned to her just

before he started cranking the rails up, enough to lower her crotch to drive

into it with vicious strength. His hands clawed her poor breasts, grabbing the

mauled flesh to pull her brutally onto his member, making her howl in demented

pain as the gross sand inflicted gruesome torments on the raw walls of her

love channel. The nightmarish violation was protracted through a row of cruel

pauses, which he introduced whenever he saw hope in her eyes just to savor her

despair when he suddenly thrust into her again, ripping the cuts around the

rim of her vagina open some more while she arched in screaming despair.


When the excruciating defilement finally stopped, she thought for a moment

that her prayers had been heard, but then she caught her tormentor preparing

another container of foul liquid. How could she be brave before the horror

about to be perpetrated on her she did not know, but somehow the words of a

prayer formed in her mind as the Southerner pushed a funnel into her bleeding

vagina and brutally stitched her torn labia around the funnel in spite of her

mindless attempts to oppose him.


When the liquid was allowed to flow, a burst of searing agony coursed through

her reclined body as the caustic liquid inflamed her insides mercilessly,

engulfing the shredded strands of torn flesh in a wave of relentless torment.

Her mouth opened in a howl so anguished that the voice broke as her ribs

cracked and only wheezing screams followed in its wake, harrowing phantoms of

agonies too atrocious to contain and which continued their assault as more

liquid was poured inside her. Lost in horrors beyond the boundaries of sanity,

she looked at the clanking rails, wondering how they could withstand her

protracted frenzies of mindless buckling or the rabid jerks which pushed

splinters of bleeding bone through the knotted muscles.


The liquid continued to flow while her agonies mounted, even after Lyral was

briefly brought forth to heal her, and her screams continued to echo under the

vaults of the torture chamber while her innards were slowly filled with the

agonizing concoction. She lost count of how many screams wracked her until the

liquid started gushing out from the cuts of her stitched labia, too mauled to

be sealed tight even if he had attempted it. As awareness flashed through her

mind again, she realized while the pain increased that this had never been the

intent anyway, because the caustic bursting through the cuts in her labia was

one of the few means of pain that could possibly increase her agonies beyond

the point they already stood, as her desperate howls testified.


The funnel was removed from inside her and the opening stitched with knotted

twine, then the rails were slowly cranked, her twitching body suspended

between them, quivering in screaming pain as her weight shifted from one

fracture to another. Over the journey, she realized that the liquid inside her

was increasingly pressing down against her stitched flesh, seeping through the

cuts and bursting them painfully as it burned its way out while at the same

time soaking the twine which held the tatters of her flesh in place.


Before Zhorun's eyes, Kayleen's body started buckling spasmodically as the

horrid torment of the caustic pouring through her stitched vagina made her

arch and scream in harrowing pain, repeatedly making bloody splinters of her

broken bones snap through her twitching flesh at the rhyme of screams and

howls from the Bone Dance resurfaced from times of ancient malevolence.



Review This Story || Author: Synon55
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