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Chapter 6 - A Tiger by The Tail
The Warrior Queen lay spreadeagled on her back, cuffed at the ankles and
wrists to iron rings set in the stone floor. Pain from her ordeals still
lingered in her limbs, even if they were not being pulled, but her tormentors
obviously deemed that she had not suffered enough, because honey had been
smeared on the sensitive parts of her body and she had been left as the sole
food for an unknown number of biting insects, horseflies she would guess.
In spite of the bites, however, once she regained some sense the Warrior Queen
recognized that this was her first chance to rest her battered body, and tried
hard to ignore the occasional bite, with mixed success. She managed to
actually sleep, in fitful naps, and felt somewhat reinvigorated when heavy
footsteps approached. She had been aware of her exceptional stamina and
endurance before, and at the back of her mind was proud of how she endured the
torments, but she would not last without rest.
She had no illusions about the state of her body, however; she was covered
with wounds, welts and bruises, encrusted blood and a number of mild burns;
most of her muscles, including some which never would under ordinary
circumstances, were strained; her joints ached and her ligaments had been
almost torn; her private parts had bled profusely, and would probably become
infected unless treated in short order.
She allowed herself to gasp audibly when a fly bit her, as she planned to look
as weak and vulnerable as possible and wrench her chance at freeing herself
today, before another day of tortures left her forever unable to even try. She
would have tried yesterday, but for her racked body.
Their torches shed some light on the sinister devices in the torture chamber
and she noticed that it was just her three tormentors and the ever present
husk of Zhorun. She recollected smelling his presence during the days of her
ordeal, as he used to come closer when she was at the peak of her agonies. The
location of Lyral was apparently of such importance to him that he could
devote his entire day to witnessing her torture - maybe he no longer slept ?
When the Easterner freed her wrists, she feigned relief, hoping the man would
not notice her tension. He did not; when both her ankles were free, she sprang
up and kicked him savagely under the chin, sending him sprawling on the floor.
As she had hoped, everybody was frozen in surprise at this sudden turn of the
events, the Southerner gaping at her in disbelief. She longed for a weapon,
but none was within immediate reach and time was her only advantage, so she
rushed Grod, hoping to bring down the strongly built executioner before he had
time to assess the situation. Her wounded feet would not let her move with her
once proverbial quickness, but she managed to push her fist into his plexus
before he could dodge her. She had discarded a kick to the groin because he
wore a leather apron.
He half turned however, and her fist landed on his ribs, probably crushing one
or two, but she had missed her chance to take him out. The robed corpse behind
waved his hands and cold tendrils of magic appeared around her limbs, while
the Southerner turned and ran screaming for his life. Grod attempted a low
punch, but she dodged him easily, and landed a crushing blow on his nose,
although not strong enough to drive the cartilage up into the brain as she
used to be capable of.
Grod fell to his knees, blood spurting from his nose, and the Warrior Queen
moved a step toward the frail corpse under the black robe, hampered but not
held by the tendrils. Hate burned white in her eyes, and with a mighty effort
she tore the tendrils asunder.
The tendrils had bought the wizard the time for a more involved spell,
however, and six armored guards appeared around him, creatures of foul magic
brought from beyond the grave only in the direst of emergencies. "Seize her."
he hissed, furious now that he no longer feared for his wretched existence.
And seize her they did, at last, but only after losing two of their numbers in
the fight against a bare handed young woman. The Easterner woke cursing, as
the kick meant to snap his neck had merely strained it, while the Southerner
hid behind a rack until Zhorun's voice called him, "Come here, Hadrad. She's
no longer a threat." Grod was promptly dismissed so that he could be treated.
Zhorun moved limply near her, saying "Still defiant, still fighting. But your
little stunt failed. You won't be given a chance to try again, and I'll gladly
let my servants take their revenge on you with more tortures. Unless you have
something to tell me, that is."
She stood still, stymied at her failure but exalted by the fear she had for a
moment guessed under the black robes. So they had more tortures for her ?
"Bring them on." she spat, "You'll never put your clutches on Lyral, wretch."
Without a word, Zhorun receded. When Grod joined them again, his nose and ribs
visibly bandaged, he spoke to his three servants, "You have been careless, and
you paid for it. Make sure this does not happen again, and proceed with her
interrogation until she provides the information I want."
Grod produced an iron collar with a screw on its front and tied it around her
neck. Turning the screw tightened the collar and crushed the windpipe, so her
breathing was first restricted and then obstructed, her face turning pale
until the screw was turned back. "This will keep her spirits in check from now
on." he growled, his voice distorted by the nose bandage.
The Easterner tightened the collar some more before moving her to a wooden
trestle, bending her arms over an horizontal beam and cuffing them behind the
neck, and took similar precautions when doubling her legs outwards and cuffing
her ankles to another beam, where her lower back rested. Only when an iron
band was closed around her waist did he loosen the device, her belabored
breathing heaving her tantalizingly exposed breasts.
The silent torturer fetched a wooden thumbscrew and tightened it around her
left thumb, until she gasped, then did the same to her right thumb. There was
no counting, no mercy, as finger after finger was tightened in a screw while
the Warrior Queen agonized silently on the trestle, pain already gnawing at
her but her resolve emboldened by the obvious discomfort of his neck.
Each of her torturers had his pet peeves, and as she expected he proceeded
with her toes, tightening them almost to the point of breaking them in the
wooden vises. He then lambasted toes and fingers alike with a wooden cane,
wrenching but a gasp from her but bringing tears to her eyes already.
The next two screws he tightened around her nipples, watching her eyes shut
tight in pain and her clenched teeth suppress a scream, and then caned them at
length as she writhed on the trestle. He rummaged in his tray until he found
two screws about three fingers wide which he tightened on her outer labia,
pulling them apart with cords winding around her body and crossing behind her
neck to reach her nipple screws, which he pulled shorter and shorter until her
back arched, the cane landing between her legs and on her distended breasts
equally as she bravely stifled screams of utter agony, fighting dread at the
thought that he was torturing her harder than before.
The wry Easterner fetched a larger wooden vise and trapped her left foot in
it, tightening it savagely with his ear to the device, careful not to break
the bone. Her strong body glistened with sweat as she fought the mounting
pain, her thigh muscles flexing in a vain attempt to escape the world of hurt
rising from her constricted foot. When he did the same to her other foot, her
buckling exposed the pink softness below her raw mound, the Southerner
drooling at the thought of the delights he would soon enjoy.
Her forearms were next encased in vises, three wooden vises connected by an
iron rail, and the one in the middle tightened in the opposite direction, his
fingers probing as she writhed in deep suffering while her forearms were being
bent near breaking point. The wood bit deep in her flesh, cutting into the
muscles and digging creases of compressed flesh in her slender forearms.
He started caning her again, on the undersides of her distended breasts, each
twist and squirm sending more pain through her forearms, and then moved to her
side and encased her left leg and thigh in vises, connected by three iron
bars, one lying above the angle between leg and thigh, one below, and one snug
between the two and her knee. Again the middle vise tightened in the opposite
direction with respect to the other two, the longer bones of leg and thigh
visibly bent as the wooden vises dug in the firm flesh and hurt horribly as
she still attempted to stifle her cries, her blonde mane shaking frantically.
After caning the exposed flesh on the insides of her thigh, he pulled on the
iron bar under her knee, bringing it above the beam where her ankle was
cuffed, savagely tearing at her hip joint and bending her knee, her face a
mask of agony but her screams still muted behind clenched teeth. He then moved
to her right side, and leisurely applied a similar contraption.
Her nipples and cunt lips had turned purplish from the uninterrupted
compression, but he ignored her eyes widening in horror and pulled at them
with pincers, distending them until he could tighten another vise on each.
Another large vise was placed high up her abdomen, just below the ribcage, and
when it was closed her panting turned to wheezing as she could no longer take
deep breathes without hurting herself.
In this position she was caned at length, her tormentor tightening vises here
and there leisurely as she attempted to concentrate on matters distanced from
her predicament, but could only think about the searing pain from the
unyielding vises. He finally added vises to her inner lips and her love
button, and tightened them one turn at a time, her beautiful face contorted in
a muted scream of hellish agony which he prolonged intently.
When she passed out, her restraints were removed with great care, and then she
was revived and made to drink from a jug. The syrup tasted different, and her
tormentor said coldly "Longer pain." She felt her mind clear, but the collar
was tightened on her windpipe as she was being tied upside down, her back to a
pole, her ankles cuffed up at the top and her arms pulled along an iron rail
which was soon cranked to horizontal position, her arms painfully rotating in
their sockets as a consequence. An iron band was tightened at her waist.
A different vise encased her toes, built from four ridged rods inserted
between the toes and two pressure bars connected by paired screws, which when
tightened crushed the toes onto the ridged rods. The first agony of her
renewed ordeal shot down her leg, her head jerking as this was much worse than
even five screws on the same foot. A similar device was applied to her right
hand, and then her right foot and left hand followed, as she pressed the chin
on her chest in spasmodic agony and a suppressed cry hummed behind her tight
lips.
When she saw what he had fetched, her heart sank. The inside of the vises he
was tightening around her legs had been rasped and hacked, and would chafe and
wound her skin horribly when tightened. Her fears found immediate confirmation
as the vises around her legs started to hurt and bleed in places, cutting into
her distended muscles on each turn of the screws. To add to her misery, he
caned her feet in order to cause her legs to twitch and vises to chafe into
her already wounded flesh.
Similar vises were tightened around her ribcage, above and below the breasts,
and then her arms were similarly encircled by raw bracelets of wooden agony,
the cane landing on her breasts to force her to grind herself onto the rasping
wood more and more. Her thighs were not spared, either.
A wail of anguish almost escaped her lips when the raw teeth of a vise closed
on her left breast, cutting at the base into the soft underside. He tightened
it some and then applied the other, connecting them with a cord to prevent
them from sliding off as the actual tightening began. The pain soon brought
her on the verge of passing out, but dread mounted in her as no respite came
while the pain in her bulging and distorted tits kept increasing.
More vises where applied to her cunt lips, the blood already dripping from her
breasts was soon joined by blood from her nether regions, the raw wood
tightened mercilessly, and from her love bud, constricted almost to the point
of bursting in the rasping grip of another wooden horror, a scream at the top
of the lungs mounting behind her shaken resolve as droplets of blood descended
her body like rivulets of pain, eroding her determination.
Two more vises were tightened savagely on her purplish nipples, and the cane
was brought on her soles, palms and underbelly, her delightful body writhing
and grinding the vises into the wounded flesh. Her tormentor alternated
turning a vise to lashing out with the cane, at leisure, making sure she was
given no respite from the unyielding pain. She would soon lose her defiance
again, and her screams would delight the ears of the onlookers much as the
writhing of her delectable body delighted the eyes.
Kayleen lost track of time, pain shooting into her from all over her body but
not bringing about the release she desperately yearned for, now undeniably
late in coming as her resolve was being consumed by the blazing fire from her
nipples and clitoris, the vulnerable pieces of feminine flesh her tormentors
invariably targeted again and again.
Only after an excruciatingly long time was she given some respite, and only
because tightening a vise or caning a nipple produced a less pronounced
reaction, hinting at a deeper exhaustion which had not been overcome by the
drugs fed to her. Again, much care was exercised in freeing her and tying her
arms behind a beam placed under her shoulders, bent at the elbow in a
painfully unnatural position. Her ankles were cuffed together, and a
thumbscrew tightened together the big toes of her feet.
When her tormentor lowered the chain above her, she wished for a moment that
she could scream her anguish and dread, because a wide breast press of rasped
wood hung from the chain, and she knew instantly the fate that would soon
befall her breasts.
The vise was tightened across both breasts and tied into place with cords, and
then the chain was pulled, forcing her on tiptoes to reduce the strain on her
tortured globes. The thumbscrew actually allowed only her big toes to bear the
weight of the body, and soon blood encrusted it as it bit in their flesh under
her waddling weight.
Other vises where tightened at the base of her nipples, and a large one
encased her thighs one against the other, pushing the hips outwards, each step
now a jerk reverberating through her hip joints. The cane landed on her
buttocks, the strikes pushing her around on her big thumbs in a circle which
soon became a bloody trail, her breast purplish and swollen, occasionally
seared by the accursed cane.
He reached in the crease between her thighs and tightened a vise on her love
bud again, then added vises on the tip of her nipples and connected the two
with cords wound behind her back, which he shortened until her feminine flesh
looked on the verge of being wrenched away, the breasts distorted by the
concomitant compression from the press and pull from the nipples. And the
exposed undersides a soft target which the cane soon visited.
After adding vises around the ribcage, he selected a longer, thicker cane,
which Kayleen felt she had been subjected to before, and lashed at the soft
flesh behind her thighs. The recognition of the cane used when he was dunking
her was immediately swamped under a wave of pain, caused by the full weight of
her body bearing on her breasts as the strike from the cane had caused her
legs to pull close in reflex.
He started playing with her like a puppeteer, a strike on her striped ass
cheeks for a step forward, a strike on her belly for a step backward, a strike
behind her calves or thighs for an agonizing instant of white hot pain hanging
from her breasts while the legs grasped frantically for the floor. Lashing her
left arm caused her to painfully turn to the left, lashing her right arm
turned her to the right. Her toes left a trail of blood on the floor.
He moved besides her and tightened the screws, one by one, then grabbed her
left breast with pliers and pulled, twisting as if to wrench it from her body,
bile burning her throat as the scream to top all screams raged at her weakened
will, but actually just enough to add a vise around it and tighten it as she
hissed and shook her head. He no longer seemed to care about breaking her, his
cold eyes only intent on causing her as much pain as possible.
He resumed his puppet play, the extra vises adding new agonies to the endless
hurt which wracked her when her thumbs left the ground, and pulled her around
in circles and counter circles, her toes occasionally skidding over her own
sweat and blood before painfully regaining what little balance she could
muster. No blessed release reached her, nothing took her even momentarily away
from her ordeal; her torment was suspended only when the cane would no longer
get her moving.
The old Southerner stepped in as Grod was looking after her wounds, real
bleeding wounds, although the skin had been chafed but not deeply cut and no
major vessels had been damaged. She noticed a new callousness in Grod's touch,
but her gaze locked onto the preparations of the Southerner who was visibly
aroused at the thought of what he was about to visit on the delectable body of
this Northern goddess.
He was busying himself with a pole, mounted on a sturdy four beamed rest, on
top of which rested a wooden cone, about one inch at the rounded top and
tapering to ten or twelve inches at the base. The pole could be adjusted in
height, but what filled her with dread was near the bottom, a short spreader
bar with cuffs at the ends and a middle ring loosely encircling the pole.
She could barely breathe because of the collar, but she turned from Grod's
grasp when the old Southerner came to her, attempting a reaction which was
stifled immediately as she was still cuffed at the ankles and wrists, and
still cuffed she was brought to the pole and seated on it, the dull tip
nudging at her sphincter, her arms bent behind her neck but chained to a
savagely tight iron band at her waist and her legs distended along the pole
and cuffed to the bar, the balls of her feet on a pile of wooden slabs.
The Southerner, grinning, shortened the chain between her cuffs and the waist
band, bending her backwards and pushing out her full, firm breasts, his gaze
transfixed as they heaved while she breathed hard because of the collar,
which was finally loosened. But her respite was short lived, because he also
removed some slabs from under her feet, which dangled in mid air unable to
reach the pole. The pressure on her anus became immediately painful as the
rounded point pushed in, until she desperately clenched her thighs.
"Now, my dear butterfly, we've got you just where we wanted." he leered, and
brought forward a round glass jug encased in a decorated wooden and ivory
framework, its lower half heated by a sizable oil burner. Four hoses departed
from the the top, each ending in a bronze crocodile head, a valve. Each hose
hailed from a separate compartment, two apparently empty and two where leaves
of sorts were being heated.
"Some misguided fool removed your gag." he said. "The gag makes you more
willing to sing for us, among other things." he added, paying no heed to her
baleful stare. As disgust mounted within her, he brought a hose near her
nipple and opened the valve, a surge of hot air caressing her poor feminine
flesh. She jerked away with a gasp, the pain to the nipple compounded by a
stab from below her as her thighs had allowed the cone to enter her some more.
He contemplated her feet, now a few inches above the ground but frantically
searching for a rest, and savored her thighs clenching in fear as he brought
the crocodile head between her legs. The bronze head breathed on her vulva,
forcing her to open her thighs, writhe and buckle, rocking the pole as her
delicate skin turned pink. How she managed not to scream, she couldn't tell.
"Obstinate silence again." he muttered, then tightened the collar and pinched
her nose, but it took him many attempts nevertheless to push into her mouth a
strong steel gag, the extremities bending around her mouth like spider legs on
her scratched cheeks. When he moved the hose at her other breast and unleashed
it, however, he was rewarded by a steadily increasing wail of torment as the
hot air assaulted her nipple.
He emptied a jug down her mouth, the bitter taste of the drug mixed with the
honey as she coughed it up. The hose was brought behind her back and turned
loose on her ass cheeks, so he could solace himself with her screams and wails
as he slowly moved its head in broad circles, first left then right, grinding
the cone into her orifice with each gyration of her shapely buttocks and each
strangled cry from her sore throat.
Kayleen caught herself blabbering between screams, but the pain was beyond her
and the searing whiff of the hose gave her no respite, although he alternated
between the two hoses not burning leaves as they apparently took some time to
recharge between uses. The cone had distended her sphincter and reopened the
wounds from her previous ordeals.
Her nemesis was playing with her misery, and enjoying it immensely. Sometimes
he would target her thighs or groin, forcing her to lose her grip and impale
herself more on the hellish wooden tormentor, sometimes he would martyrize a
breast, forcing her to rotate her body to avert the fiery breath and once more
grind the cone into her savaged innards, but now and then he would place it
just under her private parts, so that to spare them she had to push herself up
at any cost with short sitting jumps, the cone jarring into her as she landed
on her torn sphincter after each.
Aroused by her writhing but still shapely body, he disrobed and penetrated her
in a rutting upwards surge, her outraged cry music to his ears, each thrust
pushing her up a bit and ravaging her distended asshole thereafter. Once
satisfied, he pushed a bronze crocodile into her vagina as her gagged mouth
babbled "No, No!" and opened it half way, the scalding whisper soon turning
her twitching body into a frantically screaming puppet of pain.
Her eyes opened wide in horror and disbelief when respite only came as he
penetrated her again, the sore walls of her love channel blazing at the
intrusion, her throat howling to high heaven as she was subjected to his
abject lust. Although his rut was soon over, her suffering was not, as his
game was now to keep a hose blowing on the same piece of flesh in spite of her
buckling and twitching, and her long wails of hopeless anguish turned into
howls of agony when the breath lingered on her clitoris or nipple.
She could not tell whether he finally tired of his games or her body robbed
him of further delights by withdrawing from further pain, but at last she was
lifted from the bloodstained cone, and let face down on the stone floor, still
savagely restrained. The jug was emptied through her gag, and a soothing
ointment was rubbed on her burns.
She had found respite but not mercy, however, because the Southerner pulled
her head up by her blonde hair and pushed his member through her gag, her cry
dying off in a gurgle as he had his way with her again. He then pulled her up
and positioned her vagina on top of the cone, guiding it as it entered her
while her sobs turned into wails and then a cry as her muscles were stretched
by the already bloodstained intruder and the wooden surface chafed the
blistered insides of her love channel.
She still stood on her feet, her back arched and the face staring into the
ceiling as her arms were still pulled down to the waist band, but her nemesis
grasped her leg and doubled it under the thigh, cuffing the ankle to an iron
band at the hip. Her body shifted and oscillated forwards, in search of
balance, and found it by swinging the thighs backwards and the chest forwards,
her whole weight on the wooden cone pushing upwards through her now vertical
love channel.
A rising howl of agony erupted from her gagged mouth as the cone entered her
with sober swiftness, visibly distending the muscles at the entrance of the
vagina, old wounds reddening again, until she savagely clenched her thighs and
managed to stop its progression.
His eyes engorged themselves on her generously proportioned breasts heaving
between her sobs, and as if in a dream he brought a hose to each and opened
the bronze valves, chasing her breasts as she buckled and twisted, impaling
herself further down the wooden cone.
The dull tip of the cone already pressed on her cervix, and the pain from the
chafed, blistering walls was enough to prevent her from finding respite
however she tried to move, so he just stood there and watched. Her blonde mane
undulated as she jerked her head, the eyes shut tight in a face beautiful even
in her agony, the tendons of the neck taut under the iron collar, the
delightful mounds of her breasts proud and firm, pink and angry red in places,
heaving as her ribcage fought for air, and the strong, slender thigh clenching
the wooden member in an obscene parody of the love act ... his gaze drank it
all up, the exhilarant wine of suffering sweet on his eyes and the symphony of
her screams delightful to his ears.
In her sobs and wails, Kayleen pronounced words at random, some sweet to the
ears such as "Mercy", others nonsensical such as "walkway". Leisurely, he
pulled at one of the hoses he had disregarded so far and applied it to her
left breast, laughing as she jerked in surprise at the soothing effect of the
herbal fumes. When he let hot hair blow on the soothed skin, however, her
screams soon resumed, at which he applied the soothing smoke again. Each time
she screamed longer and louder, as the soothing fumes actually allowed the hot
air to linger on the skin without damaging it.
He moved to the soles of her feet, and alternated the hoses on each, her
screeches interrupted only by tearful sobbing and exploding in anguished howls
whenever he lingered some more. He started teasing her, soothing places he did
not subsequently torment, to see her squirm in the vain attempt to escape the
fiery breath of the crocodile heads. Her legs and thighs were not spared, but
he found a special delight in the screams wrenched from her mouth when he
applied the torment to her armpits.
As always, he saved the best for the last. He moved before her and played with
her abdomen and front thighs somewhat, unable to meet the gaze of her teary
eyes as he would have liked to do, and then brought the soothing hose to her
left nipple and the fiery hose to the her right nipple. He chased them, as she
ground herself on the cone in spasmodic jerks to avoid the unrelenting pain in
her burnt nipples, and exchanged the hoses over and over again, keeping an eye
on the angry red pieces of feminine flesh which the three of them had agreed
to torment without causing permanent damage.
The soothing fumes worked well, but he would have liked to bristle and char
the delectable appendages all by himself now, resenting the obligation to
share the exquisite pleasure with the others. She was blabbering again, she
would in all likelihood break soon.
And then an evil thought struck his mind, and he whispered a cruel lie, "Talk
now, girl. Tell the old wizard what he wants to know. He promised that you
would be the prize for whoever broke you, and I want you for my pleasures
only." He saw his words had found his mark when her teary eyes bulged in
horror: she would not break just now, and he would be allowed to continue at
his game unimpeded. He had not thought out all the consequences, however.
He brought both heads blowing on her crotch, the fiery blow following the
soothing blow an inch behind, and followed the torn line of muscle at the
entrance of her vagina before nudging them under the fold above her clitoris,
her maddened screams all he wanted to hear from her as he slowly twisted the
two hoses so that he could keep them on without undue damage.
The cone had entered her to the point of visibly distending her lower belly,
and blood percolated down in tiny drops, yet she still yanked herself around
whenever the twin breaths licked at her, and he resumed his game of forcing
her to grind herself on the wooden tormentor. He played it onto her crotch and
inner thighs until she no longer reacted.
They still kept her restrained, but Kayleen was delirious and could not even
stand, much less fight. She was physically drained, yet neither exhaustion nor
unrelenting pain had allowed her the respite of unconsciousness. The thought
of refusing the jug occurred to her, although her parched throat craved it,
because they were adding some drug for prolonging her suffering.
Grod dragged her to a rack, grimacing when he lifted her. "I must have broken
his ribs," she thought. He had tightened the collar, and cuffed her wrists
and ankles with wide, padded cuffs before releasing it again. She shivered at
the thought of being stretched on the rack again, the pain in her muscles
almost rekindling at the thought in spite of the burns all over her body and
the agony from her torn passages.
He poured another jug down her gag, before she could resolve herself to refuse
it, and then started summarily treating her wounded orifices. She could not
tell why, but a "Thanks" came to her lips, and their gazes locked. She saw his
eyes harden when more pain shot from his ribs.
This rack was rather elaborate, consisting of a main bench and four
outstretched arms for the limbs, with a separate, complex winch at the end of
each. Each arm could be repositioned using a pair of cranks. She was currently
bound spreadeagled, the rack arms forming an X, and he tightened studded iron
bands at her hips, shoulders and waist, immobilizing her torso.
With steel in his eyes, Grod then moved between her legs and disrobed. Her
wail was half dread, half despair, as something within her soul shattered with
his first thrust. Her sore parts were ravaged again, with cold determination
and merciless strength, her wails and sobs falling on deaf ears as he pressed
on, the Southerner snickering at them in a corner.
Once done, he moved to the left upper arm and rotated it, twisting her arm in
the socket. He repeated the operation with the other arm, lowering them below
chest level, pushing her shoulder blades together and her martyrized breasts
proudly upwards. The muscles strained on the previous session hurt anew, and
others which had been spared flexed, her position not painful yet but her
future bleak in the hands of a connoisseur in the human body.
Pain arrived soon, when he cranked the rollers at the end of each arm and
pulled her arms, pulling the wrist against the bands at shoulder height and
stretching the twisted elbow and the arm out of its socket. He alternated the
left and right arm, the pain unlike the unyielding pull of her previous
racking but a white hot flash from the elbow, wrist and shoulder while muscle
and even ligaments were torn and released as her screams resounded in the vast
emptiness of the torture chamber.
What she could not see was that each roller had a device which reversed the
pull for a brief moment, so her limbs were steadily pulled, suddenly released
and then yanked back into traction. When her limbs were pulled taut and pain
burnt in her shoulder joints, he started whipping her breasts.
Her screams rose to new heights as each strike left a crimson stripe on her
firm flesh, the pain compounding the agony from her racked limbs as she pulled
on them in the vain attempt to escape the whip. Unlike before, now the torture
could be kept up, and at length her breasts turned into globes of crimson pain
while her arms hurt as if they were about to be torn from her body.
Putting the whip aside, he inspected her arms and fetched ominous iron clamps
which he proceeded to tighten on the tendons and muscles, either on sight or
after inspecting her arm with expert fingers, turning the screws until they
bit hard in the taut flesh.
He then poured on her arms cold water in quantity, and once this treatment
had knotted them cranked the rollers, her cold muscles cramping under the pull
and prevented from extending by the unyielding bit of the clamps. Each sudden
yanking of the hellish device wrenched another scream from her, and to her
disbelief he brought the whip down on her striped tits again, alternating a
crank on the roller and a lash at the opposing tit, drawing blood as the welts
crossed each other again and again.
When he moved to her legs, dread mounted in her and she started spouting words
at random, interspersed by cries as he cranked the lower arms of the rack to
spread her legs wider and down, twisting them at the hip joints and again
pulling not only at muscles which had been already strained on the flat rack,
but also at ligaments sorely tested by Chang's ministrations.
Grod worked intently, apparently neither moved nor thrilled when she started
to scream again as he cranked the rollers, distending her legs and sending
pain through her ankles, knees and hips. The cross rack was designed to pull
at the limbs without endangering the spine, and it was achieving just that,
the legs pulled against the unyielding iron band at each hip. The stretching
made the leg and thigh muscles exquisitely prominent, and tightening screws
on them was a much quicker affair.
He bid his time with the cold water, however, so much that she started to cry
again as cramps bit her muscles even without further pulling. When he deemed
her ready, he cranked the rollers in earnest however, her howls rising up the
vaults in bloodcurdling crescendo as he started whipping her crotch.
As with her breasts, each strike brought double pain from the muscles she
pulled by her jerks and twitches, and no respite came as she kept suffering
without interruption under the unrelenting torture. He would crank one leg,
whip at her striped groin, crank the other, and whip her again. Occasionally
the whip found its mark on her inner thighs, but its main target was always
her battered feminine parts.
He cranked her legs again, her hoarse screams still resounding in the chamber,
and then he tightened her collar, moved between her legs again, wore a leather
condom and penetrated her forcefully again, tearing at her ravaged channel and
bringing new agonies in her strained joints each time he pushed into her.
Blood from the spasming ring of muscles torn by the cone mixed with blood from
her whipped privates, and pain from her stretched limbs mixed with the brutal
humiliation of rape. Her fitful screams and sobs lasted her entire violation
and much more, as in pain and misery she twitched of her own accord in the
horrid embrace of the cross rack.
As the impassive Grod prepared the rest of her ordeal, the Southerner's gaze
feasted on her agony, enjoying the spasmodic jerks of the chest and pelvis
tearing at her stretched limbs. She was essentially racking herself, each
movement causing such pain that she could not help but jerk in response, thus
causing herself more pain in an exquisitely vicious circle. The Easterner also
appeared to appreciate the technique.
Grod encased her upper left arm in an iron contraption, did the same for her
upper right arm, and placed similar devices at her hips. Apparently their
operation depended on the rollers at the end of the cross rack arms, but it
was hard to tell their purpose. He then fetched a pair of large, wooden pliers
with the jaws rasped raw and closed it on her left breast, putting a boot on
the rack to pull and twist at it as if to tear it from her chest. Screaming
at the top her lungs she rotated her chest in response, pulling with all her
strength against the arm socket which would not follow.
Nobody could hear the sound, drowned by her demented screams, but all watched
as the flesh at the socket bulged and then sank as she dislocated her own arm,
and then started when the device sprang and reduced it on the fly, triggered
by the sudden drop in resistance effected by the dislocation. White hot waves
of pain rose from arm and breast, her screams uninterruptedly tearing at the
very stones of the chamber, the still impassive Grod waiting until her pain
subsided to rekindle it by moving to her other breast.
Again her screams burst through the gag, punctuated by bloodcurdling howls and
neither decreasing nor diminishing as she slowly dislocated her own arm again
and had the dislocation reduced by the device. Then he closed the pliers
around her left labia, and pulled savagely until her left hip joint underwent
the same dreadful fate, and repeated the gruesome operation her right thigh.
Kayleen floated on a searing wave of relentless agony which rose and fell
but never receded, still screaming uninterruptedly into her gag in spite of
her parched, hoarse throat, wishing she would die instead of suffering any
further. But even as the thought that they could do no worse to her crossed
her mind, she knew it was not over, because the jaws of Grod's pliers closed
on her left breast again.
Still unable to find respite, Kayleen found unending agonies on the cross rack
as each limb was slowly dislocated again, her right arm actually not reducing
correctly and requiring manual intervention from Grod before re-seating
properly. Her maddened screams had echoed in the chamber without interruption
for at least an hour, and no respite was given to her, neither from her
torture nor from her own body. Her other tortures had been suspended when the
pain was no longer being felt, but even the twisted mercy of ultimate cruelty
was denied to her as the pain of dislocation resurfaced fresh each time on her
devastated visage. Her voice waned to a wheeze, consumed in screaming for an
unmerciful audience, but her body still twitched in horrendous pain, racking
itself on the gruesome cross rack, as her repeatedly dislocated limbs radiated
agony into her once athletic frame.
After this nightmare went on for a duration she could not comprehend, Grod
repositioned the rack and fucked her again, slowly and deliberately, the final
humiliation before she was at last released.
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