Harvest Of Tears - The Organization Series 4

HARVEST OF TEARS

CHAPTER 10

By slave ruthie

 

Master Charles put the letter on the sheaf of copied documents and stared across at his diminutive slave lying in the king size bed.  Aside from occasionally pulling up her feet as far as the ankle chain allowed, she had barely moved and seemed to be in a deep sleep. 

 

It was impossible - she did not even look like the R_____ clones, although he had only ever seen photos and a video of one being killed after she had broken her trainer's back.  It had taken three guards with shock prods to get her off his twisted body, then several bullets, including one through her heart, before she had finally stopped lashing out.  The Institute had tried to create perfect slaves but had ended up breeding monsters.  Those who died in infancy and the terribly deformed fetuses that mercifully failed to reach birth were the lucky ones.

 

He took another sip of the 25-year-old Macallan whisky to steady his nerves and reached inside the envelope for the last few items.  He picked up the twisted steel ring and examined the sheered edges where it had broken - not only had the ring been buckled out of shape but the metal had been cleanly snapped through. 

 

There were also several rosettes for First Place in Slave Obedience Exams and Artistic Merit in Pole Dancing, and a Certificate of Commendation for unaccompanied singing 'My Love For Master' at the European Slavery Convention in the previous year.  It pained him to realize that his virtually mute slave once had a fine voice and that he had ruined it when she was slowly choking while she fought against execution on the spike. 

 

Then there was the collar.  Master Charles held it up to examine the beautiful craftsmanship of the ornate gold band.  It was embossed with an interwoven Celtic design and bore the inscription:  'Alexa 7663389 - Propriété de Maître Étienne _____ - Château ________'.  Attached to the tether ring near the almost invisible slide lock was the fiercely coveted and highly prized Médaille d'Or to show she had attained the highest possible Slave Index rating  - 10 points.  In open auction, a slave sold with this extremely rare gold disc on her collar could command a seven-figure sum and he actually owned one!

 

Perhaps Stephen had kept these poignant reminders of Alexa's achievements to plead the case for her survival.  However, her first Master also knew very well what had to be done and had avoided doing it.  Master Charles felt no anger towards his deceased friend and former mentor.  After all, Stephen had been slowly dying of lung cancer - his judgment would have been affected by the terminal illness and pain meds.  Master Charles lifted the crystal glass to his lips, paused then put it down again without taking a sip.  He had lost all appetite for his favorite drink and knew the reason why – he was faced with an awful task.  The self-imposed solitude of the last near-decade had been a safe alternative to repeating the awful pain of losing his dear wife.  By claiming Alexa, he had broken the curse of loneliness and found new joy and hope…but all of this was about to be lost once he did his duty as Head of Security and killed the little slave who lay sleeping on his bed.  It wasn’t fair!

 

Pacing the floor of the suite, he went over and over in his mind the pros and cons of allowing Alexa to live or executing her as quickly as possible.  Was she really as dangerous as the doctor believed?  She was not a pure clone – she was merely a small, extremely submissive girl who was so compliant she never objected or challenged any order or demand.  Perhaps the cuff ring had been broken before Alexa had bent it apart.  That must be the answer – some other girl had weakened it first as she died on the spike.  Anyway, how could he face Rosario and explain that her little ward and adopted Family member was dead because Alexa presented too great a risk, not just because of what she might do but because of what she represented?  It would cause a war between the Mafia and the Organization.  All the years of careful negotiations and co-operation to keep organized crime in the States under joint Government and Family control rather than in the hands of unpredictable foreign gangs would be wasted.  It would have a knock-on effect throughout the criminal world and break the secret  treaty that had delivered Fascist Italy into Allied hands.  No, he would have to think of another pretext to justify killing Alexa that would satisfy Rosario…but what could he possibly say? 

 

 And what of himself – he had built his reputation as a Council member on his rigid, unwavering sense of duty.  Yet he had risked throwing away everything when he relented while Alexa hung in the noose.  Instead of placing her back on the spike and watching her slowly impale herself while she choked, he had inexplicably lifted her up, freed her collar then resuscitated her.  When he informed his fellow members that he was claiming Stephen’s personal slave for himself, Contessa D’____, the head of Buenos Aires operations, had phoned him to ask if he was unwell!  What was he supposed to do now - destroy all the incriminating evidence of Alexa’s origins and pretend she was just another slave?  But what happened if she WAS dangerous?  Alexa could attack him or some other Master.  She might even resist while he tried to kill her.  The thought was enough to provoke him into reaching down to check she was securely fettered to the bed.  She was still restrained but he added an extra pair of heavy-duty rigid cuffs to her wrists so she could definitely not fight back.  Master Charles slumped into his chair and contemplated his next move.  Should he throw away his personal happiness and do his duty or let his pretty little slave live on and ignore the risk to himself and others?  No, it was far from easy.  In fact, it was an awful dilemma to face alone.  For a brief, foolish moment he considered waking Alexa to ask her opinion on her own fate.  No, that would be cruel and potentially quite risky if she was as dangerous as the doctor had warned.  Taking a deep breath, he reluctantly made up his mind.

 

Draining his glass, Master Charles sighed heavily and reached into his jacket pocket for the garroting wire.  He had to set aside any personal feelings - Alexa could not possibly be allowed to live now that her true origins had been revealed.  He gently loosened the three buckles at the back of the posture collar and managed to remove it without waking her.  Slipping the end of the wire under her freshly exposed neck, he re-threaded it through the eyelet and re-attached the pull-ring.  One sharp, powerful tug upwards would rapidly crush her windpipe and cut off the blood flow to her brain, while dislocating her second and third neck vertebrae to sever her spinal chord.  It would happen so fast that Alexa would barely feel a thing before losing consciousness.  A simple, clean death.

 

But it was far from simple.  She lay on her side, her mouth slightly parted as she innocently slept away the last few seconds of her life.  He thought of the first woman he had ever killed - a radical student organizer who had rebelled against her country's corrupt régime.  Her father had been a government minister but she knew too much about his perverse sexual tastes and could have caused a brutal civil war if she had exposed him.  Her name had been Esmeralda and she had been so beautiful that the younger Charles had almost failed the C__ contract.  He had seduced her, made love to her, then snapped her soft neck with his bare hands. 

 

Some of the faces of other women and girls who had either died at his command or from his own actions began to invade his thoughts - the attractive but deadly terrorist, posing as a high-class hooker, who nearly succeeded in her bid to assassinate a key industrialist...the tearful house slave who had inadvertently killed a guest in a bondage game that had gone wrong...the pretty girl tourist who had unfortunately witnessed an army major raping a...STOP it!

 

He tightened his grip on the garrote ring and steeled himself.  This was so hard.  His hand was shaking and his mouth felt dry.  Alexa roused slightly and licked her lips but did not wake up.  He could smell her feminine, slightly earthy scent that he had come to know and love so well.  Come ON, man - control yourself!  Make it quick so she doesn't suffer.  You owe her that at least.  He tensed his body, took a deep breath and....heard a familiar, unmistakable voice that gently whispered, "Bring her back home, my beloved."

 

LAURA?  Master Charles let go of the garrote and turned around in shock.  Of course, there was no one else in the room.  He must have been hallucinating - how could his deceased wife speak, unless it was inside his mind?  Laura - my dear, sweet Laura who brought home and nursed wounded animals and birds.  Laura, whose life had been so cruelly taken when she had died in his arms.   

 

Then Master Charles did something that had not happened since he had buried his pet dog when he was ten - his eyes filled with tears from years of bottled-up grief as he sank to his knees and fought against the urge to weep.

 

*****

 

"Careful!"  Rosario hissed in discomfort.  "Be more gentle - I am not one of your slaves!"

 

"Pardonnez-moi, just a few more centimétres.  Please relax and they will go in easier.”  Gérard slowly pulled the crotch strap higher and tried to think of something that was completely non-sexual to ease the throbbing in his stiff penis.  Mon Dieu - c'est très difficile, he thought, while kneeling before the stunningly clad Maîtresse Rosario in her leather suit.  Think of the weather, you fool - think of ANYTHING to take your mind off the dildoes that you moistened with your tongue...their pointed tips penetrating her ass and vulva as the strap-on belt is tightened...ahh, MERDE!

 

"Having a 'spot' of trouble down there?"  Rosario's softly mocking tone indicated that she knew full well what had just happened to her embarrassed assistant.  "Never mind.  There is a bathroom behind that mirror."  She followed him with her eyes as he quickly left to clean himself up.  "Anyway, I'm sure there's plenty more where that 'cums' from!"  Oh, but you are too cruel, she chuckled at her own wicked sense of humor.  A flicked switch shut off the fierce buzzing from the unit that had been delivering electric shocks to her new slave's tortured body.  Good - now that she is safe to touch, we can proceed with the next level of Maria's enslavement, she thought.

 

Striding around the prone body of her new slave, Rosario traced her gloved hand up Maria's spine, noticing with pleasure how the girl shivered.  Without any warning, she reached under the girl's chest and pulled the clamp from Maria's left nipple.  Ignoring her slave's renewed screams of pain as the blood rushed back into the crushed flesh, she swiftly yanked the other clamp away.  "Having these removed must be SUCH a relief.  You may thank me properly later."  Rosario leaned across the captive's red-striped back and pulled the silver wire out of her urethra.  "I expect that was the most painful electrode, unless it was...THIS one?"  Oh what sweet music a muffled squeal of pain makes!  "Now, let me see what I shall use to deflower you, slave."  She smiled at the frantic noises that Maria was making past her gag.  "Will it be the smooth, slim line dildo?  No - too mild and you are obviously a girl who appreciates a LOT of stimulation.  Ahh, the very thing!"  Rosario slid the base of the shaft onto the metal rod at the front of her crotch strap with a satisfying click as it locked in place.  She reached over and loosened Maria's blindfold, making the helpless girl blink painfully in the harsh spotlights.

 

"Look what I have for you, slave.  Not quite your size, I know, but you will be amazed how pliant and accommodating a girl can be when she has to." 

 

"Nnnn!  Mmmph!  Nnnn!!!"  Maria stared in wide-eyed horror at the huge, black dildo sticking out from just above Mistress Rosario's crotch.

 

"Isn't it lovely?  Somewhat larger than the real thing but beautifully proportioned, don't you think?  I am particularly impressed with the little spikes just under the glans and these ridged veins - what a lucky slave girl you are to have this for your first lover."  Rosario savored the look of horror in her victim's eyes - by the time she had finished with the little bitch, her ex-maid would never forget the night that she was reduced to utter submission.  Ample repayment for Maria's surly looks and insolence as she sulked and pouted when given an order.  So the little tart thought she was too good for domestic service?  Well, 'daddy's girl' was in for one hell of a shock, and not just because her precious papa had sold his daughter to the Family in a vain attempt to save his own miserable hide.  No, the poor little bitch was destined for a worse hell than anything that Rosario might offer.  But not just yet, not until she had sport with her prey.  How appropriate, she mused, for here she stood in a catsuit, toying with her little captive.  Miaow, indeed!

 

Maria shook her head desperately while the black-clad Mistress of the house removed the disgusting thing from her mouth.  But she left the ring that was cruelly forcing her lips apart in place. "Uuhh!  Huhhh-oohh!"

 

"You want to lick it?  My, my - what a dirty little SLUT you are!  And I thought you were SUCH a prim and proper young lady."  Rosario smiled and waved the tip of the strap-on dildo close to her face.  "Not yet, slave.  Not until it's worth licking!" 

 

At that moment, the mirrored bathroom door opened as a sheepish-looking Gérard stepped into the gymnasium.  "Be a dear and stay in there for a bit longer.  Maria and I are having a private moment together - a little 'girl-on-girl' thing, okay?"  As he retreated and re-closed the door, she bent down to whisper in the helpless girl's ear.  "Yes, he's mine too but the good doctor will just have to wait his turn.  Now, where were we?  Oh yes.  Ready, my slave?"

 

Resting her hands on Maria's trembling hips, Mistress Rosario slowly pressed the tip of the huge dildo forwards until it was nudging the girl's virginal cunt lips apart.  "I know it's cold, slave, but don't worry - we'll have it warmed up in no time."  Ignoring Maria's increasingly loud whimpering, she began to push forwards.

 

Gérard stared at his reflection in the vanity mirror as he sat on the toilet, listening to the animal screams of pain coming through the door.  Rosario had sent him back inside the bathroom like a child who was too young to witness 'grown up' things.  He felt deeply humiliated...and strangely thrilled - what was happening to him?  He looked down at the Master's Ring on his right hand - he sensed now that it did not tell the entire story.  This domineering young woman had shattered his illusion of simple, uncomplicated dominance.  Gérard knew the rules had changed and everything in his life had suddenly become complicated.  The girl was shrieking in agony now but he could also hear a woman's musical voice - Rosario was actually SINGING while she violated Maria with the dildo!  Oh, elle est magnifique! 

 

Ah merde - his unruly penis had sprung to attention again.  He couldn't help himself.  Unzipping the fly of his slacks, Gérard took hold of his throbbing erection, and then leaned against the bathroom wall with his eyes closed.  He imagined the scene being played out in the gymnasium and listened to the duet of Rosario's laughter and Maria's howl of distress as her virginal hymen was brutally ripped apart.  As he stroked and rubbed his hard flesh between his finger and thumb, another fragile membrane - the one that separated fantasy and reality - also began to weaken.  He replaced the whimpering maid in his mind - it was HIS naked, exposed body cruelly splayed on the frame.  And Maîtresse Rosario was penetrating his ass, not Maria's cunt.  As he conjured the disturbing and exquisitely arousing image, his movements became more energetic.  At least he had enough foresight to use a tissue this time...

 

Rosario pulled the dildo clear of the weeping slave's ravaged pussy.  She had only penetrated the girl with two thirds of the broad shaft in case she went too far and ruptured more than Maria's hymen.  "So you WERE a virgin after all."  As she walked round to her victim's head, she could not resist grinding her hips to increase the delightful sensations in her own filled rectum and vagina.  In fact, she was so tantalizingly close to orgasm that the movement made her hiss with pleasure - not an earth-shattering climax but pleasant enough in its own way, like a good antipasto that stimulates the senses without ruining the appetite for the courses to follow.

 

"Well, slave, I promised you would have something worth licking, and here it is - your very own pussy flavored Popsicle, with added virginal blood."  But Maria did not even want to LOOK at the obscene instrument of her brutal deflowering and the LAST thing she wanted to do was taste the red-smeared surface!  She was given no choice.  Rosario tightly grasped a handful of her maid's hair and forced her head towards the dildo. "You WILL lick the tip, slave, unless you want me to turn that electrical device back on at the maximum setting?  No?  Well, LICK it clean, bitch. NOW!"

 

Maria stared down in misery at the pool of tears and saliva that had dripped from her face.  She was exhausted, cold, and in desperate agony.  And now this!  Maria hated the Italian-American bitch for what she had done but she feared her even more.  An unwelcome thought shocked her to her core - she now shared an irreversible bond with Mistress Rosario.  For this cruel woman (a WOMAN, sweet Jesu) had taken away her virginity and her freedom.  Her dreams of gracing the European catwalks as a model and fashion designer were shattered.  Maria felt broken, defeated, and despoiled.

 

Her hair was being gripped so hard she feared it would be torn from her scalp.  Maria did not try to resist as Mistress Rosario pulled her head up until her forced-open mouth was so close to the disgusting black violator that she could smell it - the pungent scent of warm, rubber mingled with the sweaty, mildly bitter aroma of her privates...and the stench of blood.  Giving out a tiny, animal-like whimper, Maria closed her eyes and put her tongue through the ring in her mouth.

 

"No, slave.  Open your eyes while you lick."  Rosario felt a surge of triumph as her new toy lapped the tip of the soiled dildo.  Another feeling - tenderness, surprised her.  It moved her to stroke Maria's head and softly murmur.  "You are a proper woman now, slave.  Never forget this - tonight is the night you grew up."  

 

She listened for a while to her new toy's heartfelt sobs and idly played with Maria's hair.  As usual, Rosario felt a little deflated now that she had achieved her goal.  She accepted it was one of her flaws, that she quickly lost interest in her triumphs and achievements.  Oh well, she could still have a little fun with Maria before the end.  Now she had this stuck-up little Belgian bitch exactly where she wanted her, she found she was eagerly anticipating the expression on Maria's face when the true nature of her precious father's betrayal was revealed.  Now THAT will be worth seeing!

 

Rosario examined the back of Maria's head.  There was the place nonno Marco had taught her about at the base of the skull - where to place the muzzle of your gun for a perfect kill, aiming slightly upwards towards the roof of the mouth, keeping your arm straight then gently squeezing the trigger.  Nonno Marco had blooded his only grandchild when she was fifteen, allowing her to execute a two-timing pimp who had tried to blackmail one of the Family's loyal politicians by filming the man indulging his tastes for under-age gay rape.  She remembered the low-life's pathetic begging and sniveling, cut short when the contents of his head sprayed against the abattoir wall.  Rosario had never told her parents - her obsessively devout momma would have been horrified and her poppa would have accused nonno Marco of corrupting his 'refined young lady'.  She briefly wondered if it felt any different to kill a woman - she would have to ask Alfonso, who had refined his murderous skills at dispatching runaway hookers into an art form.  But first, there were other matters that needed attending to, such as 'Il Dottore Gérardo', for instance.

 

Moving softy to give him no warning, Rosario ground her hips deliciously to intensify the effects of the plugs attached to the inside of the crotch strap.  The sensations created by the counter-weighted dildoes were very agreeable, particularly when she practiced her pelvic floor exercises.  Reaching for the catch, she swiftly opened the bathroom door, took in the scene, and tried not to laugh.

 

"Goodness me, Gérard - I hope you haven't totally 'spent' yourself!"  Rosario grinned at his obvious embarrassment on being found masturbating.  "If you have, it would be SUCH a disappointment and if there's one thing that displeases me above all others, it is being disappointed.  Don't you agree?"

 

"I...ah, err...oui, Maîtresse."  Mon Dieu!  He had called her 'Mistress'!  What was happening to him?  Gérard felt so humiliated, caught at the moment of ejaculation as this dominant woman towered above him.  "Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, je n'ai pas..."

 

She cut him off.  "Now is not the time for feeble apologies.  You will make it up to me later, Gérard."  He flinched at her emphasis on the word 'will' but made no objection - good.  "Fetch Alfonso and the others.  I think Maria is ready to entertain them." 

 

*****

 

Squatting over the hole in the floor to relieve herself, Caitlin averted her eyes from the camera pointing down from the corner of the cell.  Her life was reduced to a monotonous, cruel routine.  Chained by her neck, she had no clothes, only a thin plastic-covered mattress, and no company.  The cell light was on all the time and there was no window so she had no idea whether it was day or night.  

 

Every so often, the chain from her metal collar was pulled up through a hole in the ceiling until she was forced to stand straight to avoid choking.  Once she was secured, a tiny, elderly oriental woman in a black dress would come in but she never spoke or made a sound.  The first time she hosed Caitlin down, she screamed in panic but the water was warm and she was then given a large towel to dry herself.  The woman never smiled, ignored Caitlin's attempts to communicate, and would simply hand her a hairbrush then silently replenish the two bowls that were filled with little tasteless crackers and water.  Caitlin was even allowed to clean her teeth.  There was something else she had noticed.  The little fingers on both of the old woman's hands were missing.

 

Nobody was particularly cruel towards her.  She wasn't being physically or sexually abused by her captors like they had done on the ship but she was being treated like an animal and she felt terribly isolated.  Why had she been abducted?  Was it because her father was an American senator?  He would be so worried and Caitlin took no comfort in knowing he would be doing everything in his power to rescue her.  They were very close ever since her mother had died in a multiple pile-up when she was ten.  Her baby brother had also been killed in the fiery carnage on the freeway.  Father and daughter had held hands in the soft rain at the cemetery as the large coffin and its tiny companion were lowered into the joint grave.  "Don't worry, daddy," she had bravely whispered as she squeezed his large hand.  "I will look after you."  The tears he had been holding back for her sake came flooding out and little Caitlin joined her father's embrace in grief and love.  She hated leaving home to attend Harvard but they talked on the phone every day.  He had been so proud of her announcement that she wanted to be a human rights lawyer.  Poor daddy - he must be so worried.

 

The chain from her collar was being pulled up again but she had only just been cleaned and fed!  Something was different.  She soon had to stand on tiptoe.  This time, the chain was too tight - she would choke and hang!  The cell door was flung open.  Two burly oriental men came over.  One pinned her arms behind her back and manacled her wrists together while the other man kicked her feet apart then clamped cuffs on the ends of a short chain around her ankles.

 

When one of the unsmiling men held up a ring gag on a leather strap and pointed to her mouth, she began to cry.  "Please!  Oh don't, please don't rape me!  My father is...UURRGGHH!!!"  But he had simply nodded to his companion who yanked up and held the chain from her collar with one muscular arm.  Caitlin dangled, gurgling and choking in terror.  Her eyes bulged as her feet writhed in a desperate dance in search of firm ground.  Just when she began to lose the battle for life, she was released and held up by her arms until she recovered.

 

The stern-faced oriental lifted up the ring gag a second time.  Caitlin tried to plead with her tear-filled eyes but when she felt her collar being pulled upwards again, she quickly opened her mouth.  The large ring tasted horrible, its leather cover was pitted with bite marks and her mouth was forced as far open as it would possibly go.  By the time the buckle had been severely tightened behind her head with the ring firmly wedged behind her front teeth, she was shaking and weeping in fearful anticipation.  The man behind again took a firm hold of her upper arms, pinning her back against his chest.  His colleague slowly lifted a long metal object inches away from her face.  Opening his mouth, he put out his tongue and waited.  She stared, uncomprehendingly at his gesture and forced herself to look at the instrument in his hand.  The shiny, stainless steel object looked like a cross between locking forceps and barbecue tongs!  Noticing her horrified reaction, the man smiled and opened the wide snout apart to reveal the four inward-pointing curved spikes that would pierce, grip and pull whatever was caught between these metal fangs.

 

Caitlin felt her stomach churn in revulsion as the meaning of the man's gesture hit home.  He wanted - oh God, NO!  He actually expected her to stick her own tongue through the ring so he could seize it and then he would do...w-what?

 

There was nothing she could do to resist.  Chained, firmly held and completely at their mercy, she knew they would easily choke her again until she submitted.  With her mouth readily forced open, the man could simply reach in and draw out her tongue with the savage, pointed instrument but he wanted her to co-operate in her own torture!  What was he going to do to her poor tongue?  Caitlin faced a stark choice: comply and endure the cruelty of the tongs, or resist only to suffer even more then still endure the crushing metallic bite inside her prized apart mouth.  Her assailant frowned impatiently.  He seized hold of the hair on her scalp to keep her head still and moved the vicious pliers towards her parted lips.  Trembling in abject fear, Caitlin finally put out her tongue and squeezed her eyes shut, knowing that she would not like to see what was about to happen.

 

The pain was indescribable.  She howled and clawed at her own buttocks with her cuffed hands and pulled up her right leg as far as the ankle chain would allow.  Caitlin could hear her own screams echoing around the concrete cell as the man squeezed the jaws closed on her tongue.  She tasted her own salty blood as the four sharp teeth punctured her flesh, driven deeper with each horrible click of the locking forceps.  When her torturer released her hair and pulled her tongue as far out through the ring as possible, Caitlin began to gasp and struggle while her eyes grew huge in terror.  The other man now held her in such a tight, bear-like hug that even breathing was barely possible.  The man in front transferred the clamp to his left hand but did not ease the tension on her cruelly distended tongue.  Instead, he smiled once more and held up a short, deeply serrated, red-stained fish gutting knife!

 

Oh God - he's going to cut out my tongue!  Caitlin gurgled and moaned in shocked disbelief as she watched the instrument of her imminent mutilation disappear below her vision.  She could feel the cold, flat blade against the edge of her mouth, beginning to gently rub up and down across her lips as the left side of her tongue stung with awful pain.  Nooooo, NOOOOO!!!

 

The sawing stopped almost as soon as it had begun.  Caitlin opened her eyes.  The little oriental women had returned and was tugging urgently on her torturer's right sleeve.  He turned in irritation as she made agitated croaking noises with her opened mouth and showed him several rings in the palm of her wizened, mutilated hand.  It was the first time Caitlin had heard her utter any sounds and she instantly understood that the woman's tongue had been removed just as her own was about to be!  The old lady handed the furious-looking man a clipboard covered with intricate characters.  Caitlin wondered if it was Chinese or perhaps Japanese.  Was she in Japan?

 

The man frowned as he read but then smiled even more cruelly than before.  Whatever the document said had pleased him immensely and that made her even more fearful of her treatment in his hands.  When he handed the clipboard and the vicious knife to the woman, Caitlin relaxed slightly.  But her relief was short-lived.  The man nodded to his assistant who put his left arm tightly around her collared neck and seized a handful of the hair on top of her head to prevent any movement.  The man in front accepted a wooden handled skewer from the little woman and waited while she played the flame from a small gas torch on the sharp tip.  Caitlin had to endure several endless minutes while the broad needle was heated from dull orange to a bright, yellow-white glow.

 

She must have screamed as her tongue was pierced.  Caitlin certainly heard someone's high-pitched shrieks of agonized despair as the skewer pushed and cauterized its way through the tip from top to bottom.  There was also the smell - the unmistakable odor of burnt flesh, like barbecued pork.  Mercifully, she lost consciousness and the excruciating pain faded into gentle oblivion...

 

...Only to return with renewed force as she came round in severe agony.  Caitlin was briefly disoriented.  She was lying on her back on the concrete floor of her cell.  She tasted blood in her mouth and something hard clicked against her teeth.  She began to scream again.  Her tongue was so sore!  But so was her nose, making her eyes stream in response to the pain.  Her ears felt on fire too.  Caitlin lifted her head and stared down at her aching, bleeding breasts - her nipples had been pierced through and ringed!

 

And they weren't finished yet.  The heavily built assistant was prizing her thighs apart with his large hands.  Caitlin could see the bulge of his arm muscles, as her legs were forced open.  She whimpered but he ignored her only to dig his fingers deeper into the soft flesh behind her knees.  The other man held the dreadful white-hot skewer in his right hand and needle-nosed pliers in the other.  He knelt down and reached up between the tops of her thighs.  "Uhhh...UUHH!!!!'  Caitlin cried urgently in panic, shaking her ring-gagged head from side to side in utter dismay as she realized what he was about to do.  The torturer glanced up, smiled broadly, and then returned to his cruel task.  She knew he was taking his time, deliberately extending her torment.  He began to lower the glowing tip towards her most sensitive flesh, and then paused as though a fresh thought had come to mind.  Breaking into a cruel smile, he handed the skewer back to the old woman to keep hot, taking what appeared to be a small toothbrush out of the top pocket of his overalls and squeezing a small amount of red paste from a tiny tube on the bristled end.

 

Caitlin writhed and fought uselessly with her arms fettered and pinned underneath her body.  With expert skill, her assailant masturbated her by tormenting her engorged clitoris with the brush, employing circular motions and brisk, upward strokes.  Her sensitive nub began to itch, sting, and then burn as the chili paste was worked inside the peeled-back hood of her inner folds.  She howled and bashed the base of her skull against the hard floor, trying to batter herself unconscious to escape the excruciating and arousing pleasure-pain.  The old woman swiftly knelt to clamp her head between her vice-like thighs.  Using surprisingly strong arms, she pressed down Caitlin's forehead so all she could do was pant in growing agitation. 

 

Caitlin tried so very hard not to cum.  She bit down on the ring gag and really tried to prevent the intense, painful climax from overwhelming her body.  She failed.  As she howled in the lingering throes of the third and fiercest orgasm, she felt the sharp pinch of the pliers on her distended, swollen member.  Her torturer critically examined the glowing tip of the re-heated skewer then returned it to the blowtorch's intense flame.  Caitlin could only look on in horror until he satisfied himself the needle was finally ready to be applied to the front of her splayed-open cleft.  She tensed, holding her breath and tightly squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the awful moment to arrive.  He held off until she exhaled and relaxed then made her convulse in shock as she was cruelly pierced down below.  She didn't feel the ring being threaded through her mutilated clitoris but she knew it would be there, just like the other rings that now violated her ears, nose, tongue and nipples.  Her chief torturer took his time to scrutinize the new piercings.  Lifting up the miniature blowtorch, he frightened her again by employing the flame to singe away the stubble of her regrowing pubic hair with rapid passes across her tender skin.  The stench was terrible but she was not burned, only scared witless.  Smiling with satisfaction, the torturer lightly stroked a fingernail along her puckered cunt then stood up.

 

The men collected their instruments and left the cell without a backwards glance.  Then the old woman removed the ring gag and surprised Caitlin by leaning down to lightly kiss her forehead, as if she was welcoming a fellow initiate into a sacred fellowship.

 

This brief moment of the only kindness Caitlin had been shown since her abduction was abruptly shattered.  Echoes of screaming from what sounded like a young girl in desperate distress were coming through the doorway.  Caitlin tried to lift her head up to see what was happening but the old woman pushed her back down.  The shrieking was getting more frantic.  Caitlin looked imploringly into the sorrowful face of the old woman who was stroking her brow.  As though making her mind up about something, the woman slightly shifted her position, turning her back towards the camera which was now obscured from Caitlin's vision.  Carefully watching the cell doorway, the aged oriental covered Caitlin's eyes when she tried to look where the agonized cries were coming from.  Then she slid her hands very slowly to the sides of Caitlin's neck.  The woman smiled down in gentle compassion and pressed her thumbs into the sides of Caitlin's throat, just behind her jaw.  Caitlin distantly heard the other girl's dreadful howls for a few more seconds before everything receded into blessed darkness.

 

Later, left alone on the floor of the cell, still chained, Caitlin slowly came to in agony.  Every movement brought a new wave of pain.  Looking around, she realized the heavy, steel door remained open.  Across the harshly lit corridor, she could see inside the opposite cell.  A naked, Malayan-looking teenage girl stood in fetters.  Caitlin thought the girl was very attractive with her long, jet hair cascading to her waist.  She was struggling on the points of her toes to stop herself choking in her chained up collar.  The girl was bleeding from her mouth, breasts and heavily from between her legs.  Caitlin felt sick as she figured the girl's tongue, nipples, and clitoris - perhaps her cunt lips too - must have been brutally cut away from her mutilated body. 

 

Making whimpering noises like an injured animal, the girl was obviously weakening as her toes slipped about in the growing red pool under her slim body.  She looked sadly at Caitlin for a moment with her large, dark eyes then twisted herself around with difficulty as though she did not want her fellow prisoner to see her horribly disfigured body.  With a shock, Caitlin noticed this girl was also missing both of her little fingers like the old woman but there was no blood seeping from the stumps on her hands. 

 

Caitlin knew the girl was dying, slowly losing strength as she became too tired to stand on her toes.   Aggravated by loss of blood and shock, the girl finally stopped gurgling to hang limply in her collar.  Her body spun round on the chain, coming to rest facing the cell doorway while urine trickled down her dusky thighs to mingle with the slick, red pool on the cell floor.  Caitlin had never seen anyone die before and knew her captors had wanted her to witness the girl's slow execution.  She looked up in hatred at the camera pointing at her from the rough gray, concrete ceiling.  "Bastards!  You sadistic, evil bastards!" she thickly lisped.

 

Then Caitlin made two solemn promises to herself - that she WOULD survive, no matter what cruelties she had to endure, and that she would exact a terrible revenge on ALL those responsible for her abduction, rape, and torture.  They would pay dearly and the vengeful thought gave Caitlin renewed hope and purpose.  But there was nothing she could do right now except weep for her poor, mutilated body and for the dead girl in the opposite cell.  Pressing her temple to the rough wall, she mournfully whispered, tears streaming down her face and with her injured tongue swollen inside her mouth.  "Daddy, ohh d-daddy!"