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Crown of Torments

Chapter 5 A Plan Hatches

Chapter 5 - A Plan Hatches


Kayleen yowled as her feet slid again on the greased bronze ball and pain shot

from her thumbs down her aching arms. She hung in the dark torture chamber,

the balls of her chained feet seeking the four-inch bronze sphere on which she

could not manage a steady grip, as the thumbs locked in screws high above her

head bore the entire weight of her aching, suspended body.


Droplets of blood fell on her face as another slip ground the screws into her

blood encrusted thumbs, her manacled wrists preventing her from grasping at

the chain rising above into the unlit emptiness. Her waist was again clinched

in the accursed iron band intended to constrict her breathing, which it did.


The Warrior Queen pondered her fate, baffled by the behavior of her captors,

desperately searching for an opening. They were not actually attempting sleep

deprivation, as she was allowed any fitful naps her wracked body managed to

slip into; they were not attempting to break her by exhaustion, as they fed

her after, and sometimes even in the middle of, each session.


She cracked a smile at the thought of the liquid food, mostly honey and some

herbal preparations whose effects she could not discern; apparently, they did

not want their brand new torture chamber messed up too much. Pain suddenly

gripped her thumbs as she slipped and had to regain her precarious footing, a

daunting task for her racked muscles. They were not attempting to break her in

a single surge, always allowing some respite in the course of each session.


And they had grown complacent about that, no longer keeping her fully tied as

they switched turns and sometimes even as they changed from one torment to

another. Her body was still strong, although at present every single muscle

ached terribly, but they were no fighters, and surprise would be on her side.

Zhorun's presence was an unknown, as she had no idea of how his present nature

had affected him, yet wizards made poor close range combatants.


Time was not on her side, however, as her strength would not endure forever

and she could not fathom when they would start to really damage her. She was

less worried about fighting three against one; she could take out the first by

surprise, preferably the old fart or the puny Easterner. Grod would be a tough

opponent in her condition. She had to rest somehow, if she was to snatch the

chance of freeing herself when fate offered her one, but as the screws bit

into her thumbs again she was reminded of the the difficulties involved.


When the Warrior Queen heard the dreaded footsteps, after a night devoid of

any rest or respite, she cursed because exhaustion made her plan essentially

unfeasible and she would have had to withstand another day of whatever horrors

they had prepared for her. She considered pretending to be on the verge of

breaking, but she loathed the thought and it would be of no use today.


The three brought torches, whose light shone on her taut body, causing the

swarthy Southerner to wet his mouth in anticipation. Kayleen was freed from

the thumbscrews and her arms were bent behind her back in a reverse prayer

position, her legs were doubled under her with the ankle cuffs tied to bands

tightened on her thighs at the hip, and the band around her waist was used to

lift her off the floor, her face up, her back bent backwards and her generous

breasts full and firm on her ample chest.


Already excited, the Southerner freed his member from his flowing robes and

thrust it into her on the spot, forcing her tight love channel open again,

rasping at its dry walls and enjoying every second of the pain and disgust she

tried to stifle in her voice but could not hide from her face. He pumped her

raw with brief, rutting thrusts, rocking her body back and forth.


"First things first." he declaimed, then fetched a tray and affixed a steel

staff, over four feet long, to the chain holding her weight, followed by

another crossing the first in the middle. The staves were strong but thin and

had dozens of tiny hooks underneath. He added another, shorter staff crossing

the other in the middle, parallel to her midsection. Although Kayleen had no

doubt about the general intent behind the contraption, she could not help but

wonder how it was supposed to hurt her.


Her doubts were soon washed away as he produced a thin steel chain ending in a

bronze clamp, which he brought against her left breast, pinching a fold of

firm flesh with his right hand, onto which he snapped the clamp which he then

hung to a hook, making sure the fine chain was taut. The clamp was painful,

although not nearly as painful as most of what she had been subjected to in

this chamber, but dread mounted over her as she counted the hooks above.


The next was placed inside her thigh, near the knee, and forced her to buckle

to the right because the chain was too short. The one after that closed on the

soft flesh under her right breast, and the short chain again forced her to

raise her shoulders as a gasp escaped her lips. Her fiendish tormentor used

clamps whose chain had different lengths, so as he added more her weight still

pulled only at those added last and she had to twist and turn for his delight.


After over twenty clamps, the last biting the tender flesh of her underbelly,

he contemplated his handiwork and then casually leaned on her thighs, drawing

a spiteful hiss as she grimaced to stand the pain. He kept leaning, his grin

widening, until the clamp snapped and she jerked with a strangled scream when

another was pulled suddenly. He rose, and waited until her panting subsided,

then, locking his gaze into hers, moved between her legs.


Fear and humiliation turned into burning hatred as he violated her again, the

clamps pulling and tearing whenever he pushed and coming off with audible

snaps, as she desperately tried to deny him at least the satisfaction of

hearing her scream, with limited results. Her marked flesh grew new bruises as

each clamp was yanked under his lust, although most often than not little

actual damage occurred, and he ran out of clamps some time before climaxing.


"We'll have to try again with more, my dear. I am no longer the man of my

youth but apparently you rekindled some flame here." he said panting while she

sobbed softly. He recovered his clamps and started over, reaching under her to

clamp some more under her back and her ass cheeks, but leaving most for her

inner thighs and breasts. He then pulled at her left nipple and clamped it,

allowing some slack as her jaw set among tears, then pinched the other.


He then moved beside her and pulled her blonde mane downward, yanking a clamp

and then another as he said in her ear "Dance for me, Whore Queen, until I am

ready for you again." And dance she did, in spite of herself, as he pulled at

her hair or sent her spinning, the clamps snapping in quick succession as she

wound around the chain holding her waist and then back, her body convulsing in

a vain attempt to lessen the pain and her stifled, fitful cries arousing him

until he violated her again in a frenzy of snapping clamps.


As the Warrior Queen was lowered to the floor, only seething hate allowed her

to notice that she was being allowed a moment of respite just as exhaustion

was creeping over her. She was however not freed this time, as the chain was

moved from her belly to her back, suspending her face down above the stone

floor, her torso slightly leaning forward and her still doubled legs finding

no comfortable position.


Her sweating tormentor fetched from his accursed tray a clasp of a different

kind, the bronze jaws at least twice as wide but wickedly jagged and with a

single ring in place of the fine chain. Leisurely, he closed the jaws on a

fold of flesh along her sculpted abdomen, apparently unconcerned when she

barely flinched. He added a few more and then pulled her head up by her

disheveled hair, so that she could not see the lead weight that he attached to

the first clasp and hoping to savor her visage contorting under pain.


He was not disappointed, although screams would have been welcome, so he sent

her spinning. Unlike before, the clasps would not go off but simply keep

pulling, rising as she spun around, falling as she slowed down and then rising

again as she spun in the opposite direction. He would have liked to close his

eyes and gauge the progress of her by her screams, but she still defied him.


He hung a few clasps to her labia, sending her for another spin, to no avail.

Well, he was not running out of clasps. He hung one to each breast, then more

to her inner lips and inside her thigh, each time sending her spinning. He

savagely clasped her love bud and her nipples, savoring the yowls as she spun.


When he felt ready, he moved behind her, freed his member from the robes and

put his hands on her ass cheeks, the thumbs digging on each side of the

rosette of her anus. A muted "No" formed on her mouth as she realized what was

going to happen. His member pushed into her, slowly at first, forcing her

sphincter, then he pumped deeper, and the weights hanging off the clasps

danced under her, her body twitching under the pain, her throat hoarse in the

effort to hold her mounting anguish, and her mind seething at the humiliation.


He was not done with humiliations, however. He moved before her and pinched

her nose, so that she had to open her mouth to receive the hollow gag meant

for her final abuse. But Kayleen guessed the intent and finding strength in

desperation managed to thwart all attempts at gagging her, so he left.


When he came back, he wore gloves and carried a handful of stinging tree

leaves. Dread filled her eyes as he folded a leaf into a clasp, turning to

agony as he closed it on her left nipple, but she managed to hold the cries

she had not held when first exposed to the hellish leaves; the same fate

befell her other nipple, her cunt lips and her love bud, yet she did not give.


Instead of weights, he snapped the clamps on the clasp rings, so that he could

gather the chains in his left hand, then held the gag before her mouth and

said "When you've had enough, take it." He jerked at the chains and the clasps

ground the leaves into her tender parts, a scream of agonized suffering

escaping her lips in spite of her vain efforts to contain it. He jerked again,

and kept jerking, until her screams turned to gurgles, but she seemed bent on

defying him. Incensed, he kept yanking at the clasps until he managed to gag

her exhausted mouth by force. He could have waited until she recovered, but

lust overcame cruelty and he throat fucked his victim into unconsciousness.


When she came to, she was lying face down on the floor, still gagged, her arms

now cuffed behind her neck to an iron collar and her legs opened painfully

wide by a ten feet iron bar resting behind the small of her back, to which

ankle cuffs and thigh bands had been clinched. Above her, a matching iron bar

hung from a chain, with the now familiar hooks he used to hang his clamps to.

But he was not using clamps with time, he was using the same clasps whose

wickedly jagged jaws could chafe her skin raw when pulled.


Kayleen could not help but despair at the thought of more torture at the hands

of this pig, but she was not allowed time for more because as soon as he had

enough clasps on her to hold her weight, he lifted her off the floor by the

clasps running the whole length of her distended legs. Her shaken resolve

shattered at the sudden pain and she screamed in earnest through the gag.


Only when he was done adding more clasps all over her body, with chains of

different lengths, did he clasp her breasts in earnest, lust coursing through

his hands as he tightened the clasps on her firm tit flesh, enjoying her cries

and gasps. But he had saved his worst for last.


He opened her cunt lips wide and clinched a pair of clasps on each, pulling

them to distend the lips further as she shrieked, then followed on with

another pair of clasps, and then another, a wheel of clasps deforming her cunt

lips which he completed by clasping her love button and pulling at it savagely

until it was distended enough to clasp it once more at the base.


When her cries subsided he moved behind her back, hissing "Now your tongue

makes an old man hard again." grabbed a handle in each hand and pulled her up

by the clamps on her breasts, forcing her to arch her back and bringing her

gagged mouth at the height of his flaccid member. A howl rose from her throat,

the clasps chafing her breasts raw, but she defied him and however he jerked

the clamps, she still denied him this humiliation of her.


Her refusal incensed him to the point of leaving on the spot. Unbeknownst to

the others, he had in his room the means to serve the bitch right. When he

returned, his member was already bulging and his erection became prodigious

when he savagely pulled her up again. Kayleen's eyes were wide with horror as

he pushed into her throat in a frenzied rut.


The savage violation lasted much longer than before, his wild thrusts snapping

a number of clasps from her chafed breasts, but did not exhaust him. After a

brief pause he moved between her legs, pulled her up by the clasps on her

breasts again and savagely penetrated her ass as humiliation and pain shot

through her forlorn screams, each thrust snapping some clasp holding her

weight until she fell on the floor, her legs chafed all over.


His drug-induced lust still not sated, he put a leather sheath on his bulging

member, rubbed it with stinging tree leaves drawing a strangled "No" from his

victim's ravaged throat, and viciously fucked her on the floor, pulling her

groin onto his erect member by the clasps on her nether lips, and after those

snapped off, by those on her love bud.


Whatever merciful entity made her pass out again did a half-hearted job,

because she awoke in pain on the cold stone floor, sobbing, gazing at the

Easterner who eyed her coldly. She was dragged to a rail bench and her wrists

and ankles cuffed to the ends, while an iron band was clinched at her waist.

She was pulled taut, but the bench was not intended to rack her.


The man moved to the head of the bench, took her left middle finger and

encased it in some metal contraption, which she could not see but whose cold

touch she felt and soon turned into pressure as he operated the device, slowly

bending her finger backwards, the ever increasing pain shooting through her

hand even when he just sat idle and increasing when he tightened it. He did

the same on her other hand, tightening one and then the other until she

thought that he would snap her fingers.


Her tormentor instead stopped just short of that, and simply moved to the next

finger on each hand, visiting each in turn with excruciating slowness as sweat

glistened over her body, her generous breasts heaving under the effort and her

jaw clenched in the effort to withstand the unrelenting pain.


Her toes soon underwent the same treatment, the ligaments stretched near

breaking point toe by toe and the unrelenting pain compounding that from her

ailing fingers. He surveyed her writhing form, the head shaking and the teeth

clenched to fight back the screams, and bid his time before moving by her arms

and encasing her right elbow in another iron contraption.


The Warrior Queen was able to see enough of the latter device to guess at its

functioning: iron bands encasing the elbows and a vise bending it backwards,

tearing at the ligaments of the upper and fore arm. Her guesses found

immediate confirmation as the pain from her bent elbow joined that from her

fingers and toes. The deviousness of this torture was that the pain never

decreased, each device unrelentingly tormenting a different joint but not

causing shock or permanent damage. Yet.


After her elbows, he encased both her knees in a similar contraption, bending

her leg inwards at the knee in spite of the muscles flexing under her

glistening skin, the unrelenting pain heavy on her breathing and her face

contorted in the effort to resist the mounting agonies inflicted upon her.


Another iron device was tightened around her shoulders, pushing her shoulder

blades up behind her back, her arms on the way to dislocating as the device

pulled them down. But the worst device was placed at her hips, pulling up and

apart her thigh bones out of their sockets. Her once fine stretched body was

now contorted at odd angles in the iron devices encasing her, the

uninterrupted pain now worsened because new agonies shot through her shoulder

joints whenever her chest heaved against the shoulder device.


As time passed, her endurance was sorely tested because the pain from her bent

joints and stretched ligaments never subsided. Her tormentor bid his time, and

then applied a second vise on her left hand, encasing her pinky and bending it

almost to the point of tearing the ligament. Her eyes were clenched shut, but

he rapped on her chest three times with his knuckles, her surprise such that

she almost let her mounting screams escape the tightened lips. Soon she

understood that each rap was another finger bent, the pain blazing in her

hands and the promise of more in his quiet rapping as he moved to the toes.


Just as she thought that there was nothing more to bend in her ailing body, he

fetched a thin steel switch and rapped it on her heaving breasts, slashing the

nipples, wrenching a yowl of pain through her clenched teeth as her torso

moved in reaction. The switch landed next in the palm of her left hand, and

agony shot up her arm as her muscles contracted, tearing at the distended

ligaments. After a long pause, the switch landed on her nipples again, her

shoulders a world of hurt as the jerk of her chest moved her shoulder blades.


The Easterner rapped at her crotch, through the crease between her thighs

caused by the bending of her hips, and she cried behind gritting teeth as her

buckling caused her hip joints to creak in blazing agony. He started circling

her, leisurely, rapping her exposed flesh now and then to bring renewed pain

to her bent joints and distended ligaments, until her endurance waned.


After being painfully released from the vises and the bench, Kayleen's sore

body fell on the cold floor, curling in a silently sobbing ball in a vain

attempt to escape the pain. The Easterner tied her to a post, her arms pulled

straight above her head along the sides of the post by iron bands at the

shoulders and elbows, and her thighs spread outwards, encased at the hip and

knee by iron bands. She drank from the jug brought to her lips as iron bands

were clenched above and below her breasts and at the waist.


Although the cuffs had not been removed from her wrists, she was restrained by

twin studded iron plates, encasing her palms and extended fingers like tight

metal gloves. The Easterner gauged her condition in a single cold glance, and

then turned a crank, twisting her wrists outwards.


Her elbows could rotate to compensate the torsion of her wrists, but her

shoulders much less so, and soon the twist applied to her palms reached a

point which was too much for her elbows, and pain mounted at her wrists,

elbows and shoulders as he increased the pull on her palms, inch by inch,

hoping to see defeat dawn on her pain-wracked expression.


As his gaze only met furiously clenched teeth, he bid his time and then moved

to her feet. They also were encased in studded iron bands, veritable sandals

of torment, which he rotated outwards, bending her legs at the ankle and the

knee, the position immediately painful because the knee could give only a

little and her thighs were already splayed. Sweat covered her skin again,

muffled cries punctuating her belabored breathing whenever he twisted her

restraints some more.


The silent Easterner sat behind her, studying her twitches and moans as the

unrelenting torment of her bent limbs wracked her strong frame, the pain never

decreasing and dread building up as she could not see what the origin of her

suffering had in store. He paused until, according to his experience, the

victim started hoping that no new torment would be added, and then turned a

crank pushing a wedge behind her shoulder blades, sending new pain blazing

through her shoulder joints and constricting her heaving chest.


Breathing turned into an exercise in agony for Kayleen, as attempting a deep

breath tore at her shoulder joints, and she dreaded the silent tormentor

behind her back, certain that he would draw her through this hell only to take

her into another. When he did, this occurred through another wedge, pushing

her buttocks away from the post and tearing at her hip joints, as if to wrench

them out of place inch by inch, and the anguished screams she denied her

tormentor raged within her, escaping only as gasps and hisses.


As yet another crank was turned, her knees protested as her twisted legs were

also rotated outwards, her pain-wracked hip joints reaching new pinnacles of

searing white agony as the relentless pain of her predicament was compounded

by a rotation which was allowed for only a small angle even in a normal

position. Pure, unadulterated terror descended over her as she discerned among

her barely stifled screams a sickening creaking from her joints as pain

reached new heights, screaming to herself "A cripple! I am going to be

crippled forever!" over and over until she screamed for real when the steel

switch suddenly savaged her exposed breasts.


In spite of the searing pain, nothing was broken as time passed except her

resolve, as the regular application of the switch sent waves of agony through

her body when the muscles contracted, vainly attempting to pull against the

iron devices bending her body. Once more, however, the Easterner noted that he

could break her defiance, but her will would persist until she passed out.

Kayleen woke up hanging upside down, her torso tied to a vertical post with

waist, neck and chest iron bands, her legs pulled wide along twin iron rails,

which already included the iron devices to bend and twist hip, knee and ankle,

although still unwound. Her arms were also pulled along a single horizontal

rail extending from the bottom of the sturdy wooden post.


The Easterner picked up a smallish device, waiting until her gaze focused on

it, then proceeded to apply it to her left toe, bending it again, intent on

rekindling the hell she just left. As before, her elbows and knees were

encased and viciously bent near breaking point, her fingers and toes purplish

at the relentless tearing of her ligaments, her throat sore and her jaw aching

from the effort of containing her screams again.


Once her fingers were in pain, the rail at the bottom of the post was rotated

downward, twisting her shoulder joints, her gasps and hisses the harbingers of

more to come, sweat returning on her twitching body as unrelenting pain

consumed her resolve and gnawed at her determination.


Again the wicked steel switch landed on her exposed flesh, causing her muscles

to contract in reaction and bringing fresh pain as they flexed in vain against

the stretched ligaments. But the purpose of her position soon became apparent

as her leg rails were rotated slightly, one counterclockwise and the other

clockwise, twisting her martyrized hip joints and pulling at her sore muscles.


The Easterner eyed her coldly, then started winding the devices along each leg

until they renewed their compounded agonies, and then cranked first one and

then the other rail into rotating her distended legs, choreographing a dance

of pain in mid air, a dance whose music was her broken voice wailing and

shrieking as her thigh muscles were strained one after another.


The pain in her groin rose and waved as her thighs were distended, twisted,

pulled and torn, her muscles burning and the ligaments pulled near breaking

point as her tormentor unrelentingly wound his hideous device. Her crotch was

pushed forward as both thighs were bent backwards, closer and closer to

tearing them out of their sockets, her voice rising in a howling scream when

the steel switch savagely slashed her crotch and her thighs spasmodically

attempted to pull close, spraining under the effort.


Her tormentor sent her left thigh along a downward arch, while sending her

right thigh upward, causing her pelvis to buckle and twist in a rag doll dance

of pain as her limbs were forced to come full circle and start back, slowly,

agonizingly, the unrelenting pain waxing and waning in each joint, wrenching a

fitful scream from her unwilling mouth whenever agony mounted in both at the

same time.


Time and again she screamed in fear as the pain rose to unbearable levels,

expecting the cracking of bone or the popping sound of dislocation, but her

tormentor bid his time, and exercised her limbs in his ballet of agony while

his victim howled and nonsense words like "Please" and "Mercy" escaped from

her parched lips. "Now you talk." he answered, and resumed his rapping of her

exposed flesh, slowly increasing the strength of each strike and their

frequency, her uninterrupted lambasting inaudible as her fitful cries mingled

with anguished calls to Lyral, the friend for whose sake she was undergoing

this, and whose name last escaped her lips as she lost consciousness.


The shock of cold water brought her back lying on the floor, and Grod brought

a jug to her lips, allowing her to drink at length. Her ankle cuffs had been

supplemented with narrow iron bands along the entire length of her legs and

thighs, and Grod was proceeding to bind her arms behind her in the same

fashion. With dread she realized that the bands were studded on the inside,

not to the point of piercing the skin however, and that the studs had a screw

mount which allowed each to be pushed further down.


Grod paid no heed to a number of bands still on the floor besides her, but

dragged her into a corner where chains hung from pulleys in the ceiling and

lifted her up by tying chains at her knee and elbow bands, her shoulders again

hurting horribly as they bore part of her weight. But her eyes widened in

horror when he brought under her a wooden upwards wedge, positioned it under

her buttocks and lowered her onto it.


Part of her weight moved onto the point, the discomfort soon turning to a dull

ache, and while she squirmed in search of some respite Grod tightened the

remaining studded bands on her torso, constricting her chest and waist so that

her breathing became immediately uncomfortable. More chains were fastened to

the cuffs at her ankles and wrists, her torso and her legs, so that at the end

she hung in a web of chains. The pain she dreaded came when he loosened the

chains bearing her weight, which rested entirely on the wedge point below her,

in the soft spot between the sphincter and the opening of the vagina.


The point radiated pain up her body, and she could not help but twitch in a

vain attempt to find a less excruciating position, which caused the studs in

her restraints to grind the flesh, each jerk bringing about more pain from the

wedge tormenting her. Grod adjusted the chains holding her in position so that

she would not rock off the point and bid his time, scrutinizing her contorting

face as she grimaced and hissed in uninterrupted torment.


Time passed, and yet the Warrior Queen endured the excruciating torment, each

breath bringing new sufferings as her chest pressed into the studs

constricting it, each jerk a new blaze of pain from below, droplets of blood

on her skin where the chafing from the studs had turned the skin raw. Grod

tightened the studs one by one, a mute menace of further pain to come, but

then loosened some of the chains and slowly pulled others, excruciatingly

drawing her on the point until it entered her sphincter.


After a strangled cry of dread and outrage, her suffering actually subsided,

as her weight was no longer concentrating on the tip, but a whip soon cracked

on her thigh with the full force of Grod's powerful arm, her clenched teeth

fighting a scream of anguish at this new development.


Grod had picked a short, nasty whip of twisted sinew, which could be wielded

in the confined space of the corner, and now lashed her exposed flesh all

over, apparently at random but actually looking for the most effective spots.

Whenever her body jerked under the whip, the wedge point entered her rectum

some more, impossible to dislodge, and soon the pain from her distended

sphincter and the chafing from the gyrations on the wooden tormentor added to

the suffering from the merciless lashes.


Well aware of the developments, Grod concentrated his lashing on the spots

which would push the wedge deeper, targeting her lower back, the underside of

her thighs and the exposed soles of her feet. Her glistening body flexed and

contracted under the assault, her panting often turning into hisses and gasps

as she still held out, determined not to scream for their pleasure.


There was to be no pause to this torment as long as she looked to be taking

the full measure of it, so Grod again loosened some chains and pulled at

others, dragging her body over the tip again until it rested again where it

was before, her twitching body experiencing again its bite but with the added

torment of the accursed lash.


He fetched a pair of raw wooden pliers, waited until her teary gaze focused on

them, and then moved besides her to close them on her left nipple. He could

hear the gritting of her teeth as he started pulling at the nipple, as if to

tear it off from the breast which was flattened against her chest by the

studded iron bands.


Since he had to work in a restricted space, it took him many excruciating

attempts to pull her full breast through the bands by the nipple, her jerks

and twists as the raw wood chafed her sensitive piece of feminine flesh

bringing untold suffering from the diabolical unyielding point. And she also

endured the same on her other breast, before her conditions caused Grod to

allow her a pause, as she was no longer feeling what was being done to her.


Cold water revived her brutally and the suffering resumed, her now exposed

swollen breasts a suitable target for the whip, since in her new position the

most effective strikes where those which forced her to distend her limbs,

increasing the pressure where the point dug into her flesh.


The twisted whip took to her thighs, as upon each lash her legs distended and

a new lance of white hot pain surged from the hellish wedge, and crisscrossed

them where the flesh was free from the bite of the studded bands. Grod bid his

time between each lash, allowing the pain to sink in and the grinding from the

point to do its work, but still she would not scream in spite of the agony

evident on her beautiful face.


He fetched another whip, a short whip which he wet thoroughly and then coated

in wet sand, and with this whip in the right and the pliers in the left moved

to her and closed the pliers on her left nipple, pulling it up to slash the

underside of her left breast. An agonized scream burst behind her clenched

teeth, her face distorted in the effort to contain it, and he lashed her again

to see if he could wrench it from her. After many lashes it became apparent

that she was still defying him, so he bid his time, perusing the effects of

the point on the mask of suffering distorting her face.


He moved the pliers to her other nipple and pulled it savagely up, pausing

before lashing the quivering flesh and listening for her panting voice to

burst into despair, but she still endured and the pain had not broken her will

yet. He operated the chains positioning her again, dragging her soft flesh

over the point with excruciating slowness until it dug through the lower rim

of her vagina end entered it with a sickly thud. To his disappointment, she

managed to hold even this howl behind her clenched teeth, tears flowing from

the eyes as she shook her head incessantly.


To drive the wedge deeper, her torturer slowly modified her position, lowering

the legs and raising her elbows, then fetched the twisted whip again and aimed

at her armpits, her chest rotating under the lash and the wedge grinding

deeper into her. He alternated strikes behind the knee to strikes on the outer

side of each breast, forcing her to undulate and chafe her cunt walls on the

wooden wedge, wails of agony echoing behind her folded lips.


He picked up another pair of pincers, with long thin iron jaws this time, and

inserted them forcefully between her clenched thighs, his dreadful probing

causing her to twitch and turn on the wedge even more frantically than before,

her screams a mounting wave behind the last vestiges of her determination as

droplets of blood stained the wooden wedge.


The jaws finally pinched what he was probing for, her agony bursting in a

scream of anguish as they bit on her love bud, her efforts to escape their

grip driving the wedge deeper and deeper, the torn muscles at the entrance of

her vagina bleeding again as the wedge distended them whenever her pelvis

jerked around, spasmodically searching for relief.


He returned to the wooden pliers and pulled down her left breast by the

nipple, whipping it occasionally but putting as much of his weight onto it to

driver her further down the wedge, then repeated the operation with her right

breast. Not satisfied yet, he kneeled below her suspended body, brought the

right arm wielding the pliers up on her left side and pulled at the nipple

with his full weight, jerking repeatedly, each pull lowering her onto the

wedge until her cries rose into a howl when the point hit her cervix.


A new nightmare began for Kayleen, the whip landing alternately on her left

and right sole, forcing her to rotate the pelvis and savage her innards up to

the cervix on each strike, blood dripping from inside her as her screams first

rose higher and higher and then trailed off, her endurance spent, her will

broken again. Instead of pausing, her tormentor repositioned her so that the

point dug at her urethra, the new pain searing through her while her bloodied

innards got some respite.


As even this new torment lost its bite, her obviously exhausted body not

allowing her to fully experience the torment, he wound new chains around her

pelvis and dragged her weight over the point, helping himself with the iron

pincers, until the full weight of her tormented body rested on her pinched

love button. As the unwinding of chains brought the full weight home, her

cries turned to howls and then rose higher, as cold water was poured on her to

prevent her from passing out.


The whip landed on her right breast, the underside of her thighs, the soles of

her feet; any strike ground her soft piece of feminine flesh mercilessly onto

the wooden tip. Small as it was, the arrangement of chains precluded her from

dislodging herself, although she tried whenever she had some respite between

lashes, causing more agonies on each failed attempt.


Grod produced a jug, heated by burning oil, with a thin dispensing beak, and

tipped it onto her left breast. The scalding water landed above her nipple and

flowed down her body, a few droplets which caused her to jerk more than once,

as the steaming rivulet followed its fiery trail, each movement bringing more

searing pain to her love bud.


The device actually prevented the water from reaching boiling temperature, and

the contents were released in droplets, but Grod spared no part of her body,

each drop a scream as she could not help but jerk herself onto new agonies

from her impaled love bud. Angry patches of reddened skin soon appeared on the

soles of her feet, her arms, her legs, while her spasmodic contortions rattled

the trestle on which the wedge rested, as if she was attempting to break it.


Fixing the trestle brought her some respite at least from the scalding water,

but then Grod started dripping water between her thighs, the water flowing

onto the soft flesh enclosed by the studded bands, and then placed the jug

under her navel and let the water flow, an angry red trail soon forming on her

skin while her screams turned hoarse.


Grod considered, then said "Talk, girl. We haven't even started to harm you

for real, and you're already delirious. You can't hold out much longer."

Behind a haze of pain, Kayleen thought that there was compassion behind his

voice, and warmed at the thought of telling them what they wanted to know and

end this nightmare. She wished for a desperately long instant that she could

talk, but what escaped her parched lips was just "I won't." at which her

torturer resumed liberally dripping scalding water on her contorting body as

the tip of the wedge savaged her love bud, forever and forever until no amount

of cold water could bring her back to consciousness.




Review This Story || Author: Synon55
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