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Chapter 9 - The Cruel Hand of Fate
Kayleen hung by her toes in the dark chamber under the ruins of Zhorun's
castle, sobbing softly from the unrelenting bite of the screws gouging the
flesh around her swollen toes and crying occasionally when a fly bit her,
unaware that her tormentors had been woken up in the middle of the night.
She cried when a bite caused her to jerk her legs, sending her swinging slowly
and gasping as pain shot down from her toes, just as in a distant room her
three torturers bowed before the robed figure who addressed them. In the unlit
chamber, her strained arms were a bundle of dull pain, and the throbbing burns
from the slivers hurt even when she managed to remain completely motionless.
"The Priestess has been located, and a warband is on the way to seize her. She
had sent word that any news about the Queen should be relayed to Tharnall
Shrine, and I still have some bright elements in my service." Zhorun's voice
was but a whisper, but the gloating and anticipation were unmistakable.
In the chamber, Kayleen arched when a fly bit her left nipple, again, as the
encrusted blood made them preferred targets. Her cries did not reach the room
where her nemesis was explaining how how his plans would unfold, "Before
proceeding, I have to understand how the Priestess' powers operate, as her ilk
might become a menace to my plans. It is a matter of record that she used to
heal the Queen after battles, so I want her to do the same under my scrutiny.
I want you to really hurt the Queen today, I want the damage to be visible to
the eye and felt on touch, so that when our Priestess meets her friend, she'll
not hesitate to use her healing powers."
Hanging in misery, Kayleen could not hear the dreadful orders, her predicament
was torturous enough as she swung slowly from her bleeding toes. Her tormentors
bowed as more orders were whispered, "She'll be allowed some respite tomorrow,
as if her blabbering had led us to the hideout of the friend she is so loyal
to, and we no longer needed her cooperation. I want her to believe that her
sacrifices have been in vain, so that she'll have less reason to be stubborn in
refusing us the location where the Sorceress hides. With all three of them in
my power, nothing will stand before what once was mine."
When Kayleen heard the approaching footsteps, she almost felt relieved,
although she knew that her release would be brief and would soon result in
more suffering. They cleaned her with buckets of cold water, then the
Easterner tightened her collar, released her, and dragged her to a wooden
rail. Unlike the one where she had spent a torturous night, however, this had
had its edge hacked raw, with dents and notches brimming with ugly splinters.
It took Grod's help, even in her condition, to force her to straddle it. Her
arms were cuffed behind her head, the left wrist to the right elbow and vice
versa, an iron band was clinched on her waist, and then she screamed when they
pulled her legs from under her to fasten her ankle cuffs to an iron bar
hanging from the rail. Her feminine parts leaned on the torturous edge under
her full body weight, and the chains fastened on her elbow cuffs were designed
to keep her from falling sideways without relieving the pressure on her groin.
Her panting cries turned to a howl when the thin, barbed whip wielded by the
wry Easterner lashed her right thigh, her jerk causing her groin to chafe
against the wooden nightmare between her legs. After but three strikes, blood
started to trickle from her wounded privates as each twich and jerk ground
them on the slivers and dents of the hellish wooden device.
The whip landed on her back, leaving a thin stripe punctuated in crimson, and
she cried desperately when her reaction lodged a splinter in her cunt lips. The
next strike coiled around her back, causing her to bend and pull back on the
rail, chafing the soft flesh between the ass hole and the vulva. Her tormentor
then expertly lashed her ass cheeks, sending her pelvis forward with a
agonizing howl as the movement ground more splinters into her bleeding sex.
Slowly, deliberately, the Easterner alternated lashes to her shoulders, which
sent her pelvis forward, with lashes to her belly, which sent it back, or
lashes to her buttocks with lashes to her ribcage, for the same effect. The
bloody stripes crisscrossed her body, still shapely but now heavily marked
after days of relentless torment, and her cries of anguish rose and waned in
rhythm with the grinding of her feminine flesh on the hellish rail.
At length, he switched to a different target and landed the whip across the
soles of her feet, noting that this caused her to pull her pelvis forward,
then on her breasts, which caused her to pull it backwards again with a howl of
agony as the small barbs tore the firm flesh. Her torment rose to a new level
of agony, as the pain from her breasts and soles was sharper and deeper than
the pain from areas of thicker skin. Her cries rose accordingly, hoarse from
screaming and wheezing, her panting chest already glistening with the
perspiration of unrelenting torment.
Over time, her breasts transformed from full, firm globes any woman would be
proud of to striped, bleeding mounds of quivering, tormented flesh. To prevent
her from being overwhelmed, and protract her torment, he moved behind her and
lashed her right thigh, followed by her left armpit, attempting to cause her to
tilt on the torturous edge. After a few attempts her renewed cries told him
that he had been successful, and Kayleen found new agonies between her legs as
her private parts ground on hitherto undiscovered dents and splinters.
Scream after scream, her mind wandered off, in search of realms other than the
world of hurt she was going through, and words escaped her mouth, unimpeded,
foreign to her tormentor but duly noted from the ever present, silent corpse of
the former wizard. Although none had been of any use, he kept saying to himself
that they could carry important clues, blind to the true reason behind his
uninterrupted presence at the torture of his slayer to the detriment of his
other activities: he derived intense pleasure from her torment, her screams,
and was determined to see it protracted as long as possible. The woman he had
paid little heed to in life was now the object of a lust from beyond the grave
which reveled in pain and agony to soothe the torments of undeath.
Something churned in Zhorun's loins, now the province of graveworms only, when
her head bent back and cried in agony, the tendons of the neck distended as her
scream grew and waned. Something stirred when her delightful body twitched on
the rail under the whip, and her supple thighs lifted a bit as the barbs tore
at them. He wanted to savor each droplet of blood, each welt, each scream, and
his empty eye sockets feasted on her bleeding breasts heaving in pain.
The Easterner moved to her front and brought his attentions back to her mauled
breasts, landing a vicious strike on her left breast and waiting for her shrill
cry to subside before slashing at the front of her right thigh, leaving pearls
of crimson along the stripe reaching almost to the full length of her slender
limb. Front or back, the lashes still forced her to respond by tilting left and
right over the hellish edge, to her tormentor's satisfaction.
In a maze of maddened pain, Kayleen was still herself enough to notice that
all stops had been pulled, and as she howled from yet another lash at her left
breast, her eyes confirmed to her that even profuse bleeding seemed to worry
him no more. A new stabbing pain rose from her vagina as a splinter pierced
the rim, her yowl lost in the scream resulting from another vicious strike on
her thigh. In spite of the agony brought by the barbed whip, the grinding pain
from her private parts and the stabbing from the splinters lodging in her flesh
and then breaking when she jerked and twitched was the worst.
As if to contradict her, white hot pain exploded in her left breast as the whip
tore, not for the first time, across the bloodied nipple and a barb lodged in
it before being yanked away by the force of the blow. Her mind returned to the
horror of the burning slivers, the agonies of multiple dislocations hanging
from her twisted arms, or the humiliation of rape, each past horror competing
with the others in search of an escape from her current agony.
Her tormentor whipped her soles again, followed by her ribcage, and then her
buttocks, no longer attempting to cause her to move in some direction but just
intent on keeping her astride the hellish rail, now smeared with the blood from
her wounded feminine parts. Something told her he had a new torment in store
for her, an easy guess which he soon fulfilled.
The Easterner used his fingers to open her clitoral hood wide, then started
alternating lashes on her left and right breast, forcing her to turn sideways
on each blow and discover new agonies between her legs, as her love button was
dragged left and right over the torturous edge. Dread rose in her with the
pain in her bleeding breasts, only to be blanked by agony when her clitoris was
pierced by a splinter and she howled to high heaven.
With deliberate patience, her tormentor continued lashing her breasts until
another bloodcurdling howl rose from her, and insisted on the quest for these
peaks of agony until the lashes on her breasts resulted in little more than a
whimper. Then Grod was called upon to treat her wounds, and her cries rose
again as her bloody breasts were treated at length. She drank avidly from the
jug of her undoing, the consequences forgotten as her tormented mind wandered
in a labyrinth of pain.
The old Southerner was next, and he produced a pair of iron pliers with a grin
that brought the reinvigorated Kayleen new dread, as she compared the agonies
of wooden pliers with what iron pliers could do. Her eyes shut in a scream as
he closed the pliers on the flesh of her thigh, pulled, and twisted, each twist
a new cry as her flesh bruised and chafed under the merciless iron jaws.
He laughed aloud, ogling her heaving chest as she sobbed and panted, and then
closed the jaws on her left calf, enjoying her screams and protracting her
agony until her wheezing cries trailed to a sobbing wail. He moved to the soft
flesh of her left armpit then, savoring her despair as she could easily dread
where he would maul her sooner or later, and postponing the delightful moment.
Inspired by the Easterner's adeptness, he sank the pliers in the firm flesh of
her buttocks and pulled her backward, twist by twist, dragging her wounded
flesh on the rail again as she screamed in hellish pain, and then closed them
on her mons and pulled her forward in fitful screams of maddened agony. Aroused
but unable to satisfy his lust, he sank his own teeth on her left nipple,
twisting it in unison with the jaws on her mons, keeping his sanity just enough
not to tear it off as Grod stepped closer, silently remembering the old man of
their mutual agreement.
Still aroused, he mouthed and bit her once proud but still generously
proportioned breasts while twisting the jaws on her ass and groin flesh, unable
to reach a release and protracting the torment and humiliation of his victim
much longer as a consequence. He stopped the torment only to sink the pliers in
the wooden edge, pulling and twisting the bloodstained wood before her
horrified eyes, in order to raise new edges and dents before dragging her onto
them by her mons, again wishing her pubic hair had regrown, as he fancied
pulling it out with the iron pliers while she ground her slit on the rail.
With a crazed shine in the eyes, he closed the pliers on the nail of her pinky
and slowly twisted it out of its seat among her desperate cries, sinking his
teeth into her breast flesh again. Her despair rose to new heights as she
realized how her fate would unfold next, but the pain, as each nail was pulled
with agonizing slowness while his teeth savaged her breasts, seared her mind
and seeped into her screams and screeches, echoing in the vast chamber like a
chorus from the hell she was descending into.
When he moved to her toes he could no longer bite her, but this brought her
little respite because the pain was more intense and shook her to the bone,
always compounded by the relentless grinding of her bleeding feminine parts,
now punctured by at least a dozen hellish splinters which her own jerks and
twitches dug deeper into the tormented flesh.
Still unable to find release, he grabbed her face and closed the iron pliers
on her tongue, opening the gates of a new hell as the sensitive flesh was
mauled and twisted to the point of bleeding, her choked screams turning to
pitiful gurgles as he unrelentingly tore and twisted, stopping just short of
ripping her tongue out.
Kayleen was already drowning in the nightmarish pain rising from her groin,
where the unrelenting grinding in response to the torments visited on the rest
of her body had already resulting in chafing the skin raw and embedding more
than a dozen splinters, most of which broken or bound to be broken as she could
not help but jerk and twitch in response to the tortures.
The leering Southerner closed the iron jaws of the pliers on her pinky, right
on the seat where her nail used to be, and as blood squirted from the tortured
nail bed a cry of helpless agony erupted from her lips, followed by fitful
gasps as he twisted the wounded flesh in his grip. Finger after finger, he
visited this new horror on his writhing victim, her pain never receding as her
jerks and spasms were now grinding her flesh on the wooden rail, especially
between the sphincter and the vulva where the soft skin had been chafed raw.
Further agonies arose from her bloodied toes as the wounded nail beds felt,
one by one, the bite of the pliers. His bulging member allowed no doubt about
his arousal, and a corner of her mind almost hoped that he would rape her
instead of tormenting her wounded feet further, but it did not happen and she
had to suffer through the mauling of toe after toe in full.
When her tormentor suddenly paused, dread mounted in her and fought with the
urge to open her eyes and see what he was up to, and her fears materialized
when the pliers closed on her mauled breast flesh in a fiery wave of pain
which rose through her body and erupted from her mouth in heart-rending
scream. When her scream waned, her tormentor mauled her other breast, twisting
it a few times to see her face contort in agony each time.
He then pinched the soft undersides, which had been spared the worst of the
whipping, between the very tips of the iron jaws, pulling and twisting her
flesh down the stairs of yet another hell until he managed to rip off some
skin and flesh as she screamed like never before. Proud of his accomplishment,
he moved to her other breast and repeated it, slowly and deliberately, until
she howled in deranged pain again and blood flowed down the wound, which he
treated casually on the spot.
With a leering grin, he moved the pliers over her twitching body, in search of
soft flesh to subject to the same treatment, lingering over her nipples as she
cried in dread but then descending on the flesh of the inner thigh, careful to
keep away from major vessels but pulling and twisting as she buckled in agony
until another tiny morsel of tormented flesh was wrenched from her. The crease
between thigh and buttock was his next target, and again he visited untold
agonies on her until he managed to tear another bit of flesh from her now
bloodstained body.
He suspended her torment and called upon Grod to treat her wounds, and she was
released from the agony of the rail, curling in a ball of whimpering pain as
her hands attempted to soothe the agony in her breasts and between her legs.
She screeched like a maddened animal as the old Southerner cuffed her ankles
to bands tightened around her hips and dragged her under crossed steel bars
hanging from the ceiling, which she recognized when he clasped a fold of flesh
from her inner thigh and hung the chain to one of the hooks.
The renewed horror at hanging from the clasps again spurred her to a vain
attempt at resistance, but after a number of bitter cries and desperate gasps
she was lifted off the floor in a convulsing howl as the clasps pulled on her
wounded flesh. He savored her writhing and then, looking at Grod, encased
her nipples and clitoris in snugly fitting metal cups, securing them in place
with more clamps which added little to her suffering.
With a grin of anticipation he then moved to her head and tightened her collar
until she choked, enabling him to force the gag in her mouth again. He pushed
his hard member into her screaming mouth and, blocking her head between his
legs, closed a pair of pliers on each nipple in a frenzy of arousal, the cup
preventing the pliers from shredding the flesh but allowing them to effect
pain in abundance. Twisting and pulling, he forced her to scream his member to
climax, and such was his arousal that he continued until her bleeding mouth
was forced to scream him all the way through another release while the pliers
tormented her clitoris.
He then positioned between her legs, his eyes bulging under the influence of
some drug, and to her horror savagely pulled away the metal cups, clamps
included, before penetrating her with frenzied, jarring thrusts each of which
pulled off one or more clasp, incrementing her agonies as the remaining clasps
bore her weight by tightening on her whipped and wounded flesh. He closed the
pliers on her breasts, twisting and pulling, but stopped short of shredding
flesh or nipple, although he spared neither.
Still in a rut, his face pink red under the swarthy complexion, he next
penetrated her ass, her raucous screams now a mere echo of the agony she was
being subjected to as her spent voice was taxed beyond human endurance. The
last clasps gave by tearing at her skin and she fell to the ground with a cry,
but he turned her on her back and penetrated her again on the floor.
He pulled her up by her collar, still impaled on his rock hard member, and
brought the pliers to bear on her clitoris from behind, pulling and twisting
as she twitched on his member, twice sending Grod away with a snarled, "She
still feels it" punctuated by her anguished cry as the pliers twisted her to
renewed agony. Only reluctantly, panting, did he release her at last, her
clitoris shredded to the point of being barely recognizable and her nipples
only slightly better off. He rose, ignoring the disapproving look on the
faces of the other two.
Grod, obviously the most skilled of the three in keeping his victims alive,
treated her wounds at length, but then cuffed her left ankle to her left wrist
and her right ankle to her right wrist before dragging her under a chain from
the ceiling, at the end of which she recognized in horror a vise, sized to
crush the breasts of a well endowed woman. Her breasts.
She could not move her gaze from the wooden jaws of the breast press, cruelly
hacked and dented just like the horrid rail, and a muted "No" rose to her lips
as the waves of pain from her tormented body receded before the memories of
the torments wrought by similar instruments during her previous ordeals. The
image of Lyral writhing in its grip flashed through her mind, but brought
guilt instead of new resolve, because something deep inside told her that she
would break today, that her tormentors had been allowed to maim her body and
that she would never rise out of the resulting hell unless she conceded them
what their Master required.
Her fears materialized when Grod closed the device over her bloodied breasts
and tightened its jaws, sinking them into the firm flesh in an agony of wooden
jaggies, dents and splinters which sent new rivulets of blood down her already
bloody chest. She screamed and screamed again on each turn of the vise, only
to explode in a howl of agony when he pulled her up by her bulging mounds,
lifting her over two feet off the floor, all the wounds on both breasts
reopening under the painful pressure. Blood flowed down freely before
subsiding as circulation was reduced, but her screams continued unabated and
rose to new heights when he treated her wounds as she hung in agony.
She swung lazily in a nightmare of unrelenting pain until her gaze noticed
that Grod was up to something, He had fetched a bulbous wooden handle, like a
short club, and was testing that its three segments opened correctly when a
screw was turned. A smaller replica of the same device lay nearby, and he
tested that as well before folding it back and moving near her.
When he pushed it up her ass hole, realization hit Kayleen and the memory of
past violations surged within her and escaped her lips in a scream of horror
and despair. Something within her wanted to cry "No!" and "Please!" or
"Enough!" but only mangled nonsense resulted, her panic now beyond even the
rational option of surrendering the information they wanted.
The rough wooden head tore past her sphincter with some difficulty, and she
screamed mostly because any movement brought new torments to her constricted
breasts, but when he inserted the device in full she could feel its length in
her bowels and screamed in dread at the first creak of the screw, but gasping
at the pain from in her breasts breast. Turn after turn, the segments of the
device opened within her and tore at her insides, distending her sphincter
from the inside just like the cone had distended it from the outside.
He turned the device inside her, causing actual pain this time, the harbinger
of the agonies to come as the segments separated further within her and started
tearing her innards to the limits of their elasticity. A dull ache formed at
the rim of her ass hole as a ridge on each segment started tearing at it,
rising to higher levels of pain on each turn of the screw. Then agony mounted
turn after turn as her bowels distended and her rim muscle tore and bled, her
screams a nightmare of agony renewed whenever he twisted the device.
Instead of tearing her open to death, however, Grod walked her on the thin
line of agony by unscrewing the pear, twisting it, and then screwing it again,
each time wrenching unbridled screams of maddened pain from her parched lips,
even treating the tearing wounds on the rim of her ass hole between a twist
and the next in order to protract her agonies.
After removing the pear, he treated her and let her drink some more, but then
picked up another, larger wooden pear, its curving surface sporting dull
wooden studs and with jagged ridges at the base. Kayleen eyed it with
horrified incredulity, unable to believe at this new twist of her nightmare,
her mouth frozen in a muted "No" as her head shook spasmodically.
She screamed in despair as he forced the pear inside her love channel, her
bitter tears lost on his unmoved expression, her frightened eyes two liquid
pools of tormented madness which bulged with horror as he twisted the pear,
raking her insides and wrenching a scream of despair from her taxed throat.
As he slowly screwed the segments open, pain rose again in her screams, both
from her tormented breasts and increasingly from her ravaged insides, as the
dull points pressed against unprotected tissues and the segments distended her
innards. Fire surged inside the muscular rim of her love channel as the pear
opened to the point of tearing at it, reopening previous wounds which bled
anew and tormenting the places where the ridges crossed the distended tissue.
A new agony surged within her when the tip of the device touched her cervix
and started grinding into it on each turn of the screw, wrenching new screams
of unbridled agony from her in spite of there being no spike or blade, just
dull wooden points grinding on raw tissue. The whole device was now smeared
with blood, dripping from her wounded insides and from her torn muscle ring,
so much that he suspended her torment and treated at least the latter.
The resumption of her torment brought renewed agony as he started twisting the
device, the raking of the dull points a veritable agony as if a monstrous
infant clawed her innards raw, the whole device an obscene parody of
childbirth and a hellish replica of its travails with no outcome to follow.
With deliberate slowness he would unscrew the pear, twist it once or twice,
then screw it again. Unlike the anal pear, the vaginal pear could be screwed
open to a girth which had to be seen to be believed, a curse wrought upon the
victims by the necessities of childbirth. Kayleen had no mind for such
thoughts in her pain-wracked condition, but her tormentor was experienced in
the use of the device, and knew he could push her down a very long trail of
agony before reaching the limits of what even an ordinary woman could endure.
Turn after turn, twist after twist, he widened the segments, her screams
rising each time to unbelievable heights as she discovered new depths of her
personal hell. When he twisted the device, she shook in a fitful howl which
reverberated through her whole body like a chord from some diabolical
musician, and when he turned the crank her loins writhed as blood gushed from
her torn muscular ring.
Nearing the maximum extension of the device, he added a new torment by
fastening a chain to the free end of the pear and lifting her pelvis by the
chain, reducing the pull on her breasts but distending her vagina even further
in an uninterrupted pull which fueled a heart-wrenching howl the likes of
which had rarely resonated even in this chamber of horrors, but which was
topped when he disengaged the chain fastened to the breast press and let her
dangle from the pear, a slowly swinging pendulum of unbridled agony.
As intended, the upside down position stemmed the blood loss somewhat,
allowing him to protract the torment and even renew it by unscrewing the pear,
grab her by her shoulders and twist her body in a half turn, as the tortured
scream rising from the wasted husk of the former Warrior Queen covered the
sound of the wooden studs rasping at her innards and then rose in pitch as he
dropped her by a few inches, the pear yanking at her innards and tearing at
the ring of muscles which bore most of her weight.
In order to carry out his Master's orders, he dropped on her tortured left
breast a few drops of sizzling thin oil, which flowed freely on the skin
leaving an angry burnt trail which split in a web of agonizing stripes which
would certainly qualify as visible while causing little actual damage, and
forced her to twist sideways churning the studded pear inside herself for new
depths of agony.
Each sizzling droplet brought new howls above and beyond her uninterrupted,
hoarse screaming, and traced new trails of blazing pain over her tortured
skin, but also wrenched new howls from her tortured innards as she jerked and
turned under the sizzling heat. He no longer needed to drop her, which could
cause her muscles to give, and concentrated on the oil instead, dripping some
inside her thighs and then landing a drip on her bleeding clitoris which
resulted in a spastic jerk followed by a inhuman howl which trailed off in
fitful cries, to be rekindled when he dropped another, and the next, the first
two of a nightmarish sequel which ended only when she passed out.
It took more than cold water and smelling salts to bring her back, and when
she drank from the jug, she trembled and coughed. Her teary eyes closed in
despair when they focused on the leering visage of the old Southerner,
literally drooling at the prospect of torturing her again.
He placed her sitting against a post, her arms cuffed above her head and her
thighs opened wide, pushing her pelvis outward. When he added iron bands at
the knee and thigh to her ankle cuffs, it no longer rested on the seat and
hung exposed between her splayed thighs. Although she was already well
restrained, he added more bands at her elbows, shoulders, waist and chest,
effectively immobilizing her.
"A sudden move might get you hurt." he mocked, while his gaze wandered on the
canvas of hellish torment which was her once splendid body, now a tormented
bundle of marks, welts, bruises and burns, her mostly spared face the only
remnant of her former beauty. Blood dripped from her torn innards, and tears
dripped from her worn eyes, as she sank into mute despair awaiting whatever
horror the most sadistic of her tormentors would devise for her.
Grinning, he uncovered his flaccid member and awaited her cry of despair,
saying "Now, I know you would like it, but an old man has his limitations. I
would have thought that the pear would have satisfied you for a while, but it
seems you're insatiable. I will oblige you."
He sheathed his member in a rigid leather harness mimicking an over-sized
penis, and smeared a paste on its surface before rubbing it in sand, enjoying
the look in her eyes immensely. He then kneeled before her and nudged her torn
sphincter before pushing up into her, his hands on her hips forcing her down
as a howl of agony escaped her lips, followed by another as she pulled herself
free only to be forcibly brought down again. Scream after scream, he ground
her insides on the horrid device, the sand scraping her already torn innards
raw and the paste burning like liquid fire.
He pulled out, wrenching from her mouth a last wail of agony, and pushed up
her love channel. He fetched his pliers with a grinning "Remember these?" and
pulled her up and down by pulling on her nipples, almost face to face and
savoring every scream, every agonized gasp, drinking her tormented agony from
her very lips as her blood dripped on the stone floor. In spite of the
unearthly torments, however much she craved it, unconsciousness eluded her,
and her bleeding vagina was scraped raw as he protracted her torment beyond
any reasonable measure of endurance.
"What a mess, girl. It's time to fix it, I'd say." he mocked, pulling out of
her, panting, with a sated expression on his swarthy visage while his victim
screamed and trembled from the her burning insides, twitching and shivering
as blood dripped from her wounds. Her clenched eyes opened, possibly alerted
by the smell, to watch her tormentor heat ghastly implements in a brazier.
He examined a short, curved blade mounted on a ivory handle, then a thin
copper hook, and when satisfied by their appearance moved to her and touched
the hook to one of the innumerable tiny wounds caused by the barbed whip,
causing her to shriek in pain.
"Grod insists that bleeding wounds should be properly cauterized." he grinned,
savoring the horror on her face at the thought of how many tiny wounds brimmed
over her body. He put another hook in the fire and started stabbing wound
after wound, her gasps soon gathering into screams and fitful howls as he
unrelentingly poked her flesh with the burning copper hook.
She had withstood far worse than the small burn of the copper hook, but its
uninterrupted application on wounded flesh caused pain to mount without mercy
and rekindled the burns already inflicted on her skin during her previous
ordeals, something which her tormentor knew very well as he changed the hook
frequently to keep it hot and allow her no respite.
The worse came when he started on the larger wounds, such as scraping her nail
beds, causing her voice to rise in horrid, protracted howls of agony, or
circling her nipples, or sending her down yet undiscovered depths of depraved
cruelty by scratching the raw flesh of her torn sphincter and love channel,
cauterizing it one strip at a time while her howls resonated in horrendous,
protracted frenzies of unbridled agony.
Her tormented body writhed and trembled in its unyielding restraints, allowing
him unrestricted and accurate access to the places where he could cause the
most unbearable pain. With the heated hook he slowly traced each wound in her
exposed vulva, drawing new screams of gut-wrenching agony whenever the hook
sizzled on her burnt flesh. He opened the lips and slowly traced the insides
of each, enjoying her writhing to the point of adding two hooks, one to trace
the wounds and the other leaning on her love button, so that each tremor and
jerk dragged the point across the vulnerable flesh, proving that Grod was not
the only one adept at causing the victims to torture themselves.
After protracting her torment, to the point of faking the cauterization of
wounds which his imagination spotted in the most delectable places, he put the
hook aside and fetched a pair of tweezers. He added two iron bands, one above
and one below her breasts, doused his victim in cold water, closed the
tweezers around her left nipple and doused more cold water, until the bleeding
and burnt flesh stiffened.
"This is going to hurt." he whispered in repressed anticipation, and then
dragged the crescent shaped blade across the full length of the nipple,
careful to scrape without cutting, as her body stiffened and then heaved in
unparalleled pain. Her wail rose to a cry and to a heart rending howl, but he
kept scraping until he reached the end of the nipple as Kayleen banged her
head against the post in a desperate attempt to end the pain.
After restraining her head with another iron band, he closed the tweezers
around the nipple again, uncovering a different portion, doused with more cold
water and then scraped the exposed portion of the tormented piece of feminine
flesh raw in a deluge of burning agony. Her howl rose again in desperation,
to be followed by another as he repeated the procedure, and by others, until
her nipple was scraped and burned raw, a rod of agony nailing her chest to an
inescapable world of uninterrupted pain.
When he moved to the other nipple, her mouth pleaded and cried, offering to do
whatever he wanted, although still not revealing anything about Lyral, so he
looked up at Zhorun, who nodded silently. With an ecstatic grin on his face,
he proceeded to douse it with water and scrape it with the heated crescent
blade, peeling off the outer layers and exposing the pulsating flesh
underneath. Her screams rose again, on par with the screams caused by her
other nipple as far as intensity, but tinged with desperation as the
conscience of her failure crept under the blanket of pain she was wrapped in.
When he was done, Kayleen trembled and shivered, unable to move but free to
suffer, her broken voice wheezing after innumerable screams but ready to rise
again in a cry of despair as he blew on her excoriated nipples, rekindling
the ungodly pain they had just suffered.
And then he knelt between her legs and grabbed the folds of her clitoris, the
heated blade in the other hand, savoring her broken voice pleading him aloud
for a few moments of pure pleasure before dragging the hot blade over her left
fold, scraping it as the smell of burnt skin rose to his nostrils and her
scream of unbridled agony rose to his ears. He enjoyed the scraping of her
fold, but it was just a prelude to what he liked most, and he made sure she
never had a chance to stop screaming and ruin his masterpiece.
He pulled on the clitoris with the tweezers and doused it with cold water,
then scraped its short length with the heated copper blade as her voice jumped
at him in a howl of delicious agony, the first of a sequel as he kept scraping
in small increments, changing the blade very often to make sure it was always
hot and sharp. As before, they were face to face and he protracted her agony
so that he could raise his gaze and savor the suffering from her very face,
any accidental burns on his fingers a small price to pay for drinking at the
well of her agony, and licking her tears of pain as he slowly burned her love
button raw amidst her delirious howls and fitful screams.
When she was freed and Grod treated her burns, she barely noticed, wracked by
pitiful spasms of wrenching pain and coughing, her mind clinging to the notion
that she had lived through another day of torment, that now she would be given
some respite, albeit under some form of torturous predicament. So when the
Easterner dragged her to a table she screamed like a wild animal, trashing
madly and requiring all three of them to secure her to the table.
She was cuffed spreadeagled on a marble table, with iron bands on her
shoulders and thighs, the head encased in an iron mask which restrained it
completely, denying her the slightest movement. The cold marble was soothing
on her burned back, but above her forehead dangled a bronze contraption which
her gaze could not focus upon. She still moaned and cried as the pain from any
of her many wounds and burns roared its head again.
A droplet of cold water landed on her forehead, just above the nose. After a
while, another followed. Slowly, unrelentingly, but not at regular intervals,
a droplet landed on the exact same spot. The cold water soothed her somewhat,
in spite of the unrelenting pain from her ordeals, but after a while they
seemed to get heavier.
Her tormentors left, bringing the torches along and leaving her in the dark in
the sole company of the unrelenting droplets. Her head started to ache, and
she felt dizzy. In some corner of her mind she remembered the "water torture
from the East", and she sobbed in despair in the realization that she would
soon experience its effectiveness firsthand.
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