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Crown of Torments

Chapter 6 A Tiger by The Tail

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.




Review This Story || Author: Synon55
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