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Chapter 12 - Lyral's Fears
In the darkness of the chamber below the ruins of Zhorun's former castle,
Lyral's sobs subsided slowly as the pain from the day's ordeal receded. She
was sitting on the floor, her legs wide open, cuffed at the ankle and knee to
iron bars crossing behind her neck and continuing up to her wrists. Legs and
arms were braided along the bars, rekindling the agonies of the rack in her
strained muscles whenever she flinched because of the rash from the nettles.
As her mind cleared, and her sobs waned, she took notice of a noise in the
room, a pitiful moan occasionally bursting into wheezing cries of helpless
agony. Horrified, she called through the gag, "Kayleen! Where are you ?"
She thought she heard the words "Lyral, help me please" slip between moans,
but her concern and the uninterrupted litany of her friend's agony were enough
to bring her in the vicinities, although pain shot through her muscles each
time she ambled crablike on the stone floor. Unable to see, she was close
enough to smell her friend's presence, and prodding about bumped her face into
cold rock, so she started circling around what she thought was a pillar.
Only after searching at length, taxing her tormented muscles, did she realize
that the rock was where her friend should be, so she called out, "Kayleen, do
you hear me ? I am near, I can smell you, but all I can touch is this rock."
Kayleen's rasping whisper sent shivers down Lyral's spine, "It is ... me. The
rock hangs off my feet." The rest of her words, if any, died in a cry. Unable
to make sense of this nightmare, Lyral forced herself to calm down to call
upon her powers, concentrating until a pearly glow started to light the area.
A gasp of horror rose from her throat at what the soft light revealed. The
Warrior Queen hung from her wrists, her slender figure pulled taut by a large
rock fastened to her ankle cuffs. Her body was wound in coils of knotted,
coarse hemp rope, cruelly tightened over her wounds and compressing her
breasts onto her chest. The nipples protruded through the rope, tightly bound
with thin cord to her love bud, pulling it up and exposing its wounded flesh
to the chafing of a savagely tight crotch rope.
In the darkness, Zhorun receded before the pearly glow, its pure light burning
his undead skin even at distance. He silently cursed before the revelation of
the power Priestesses wielded, largely unused today but presumably strong
enough in the past to completely cleanse the kingdom from his ilk. He watched
as Lyral managed to grab onto the hanging rock, at which Kayleen pulled up her
strong legs and helped her up, jerking and twisting as the effort rekindled no
end of agonies in her wounded flesh.
Lyral put her tears aside and concentrated again, kissing her friend's blood
encrusted leg to deliver her power, grasping at Kayleen's bonds as her
friend's body shuddered while the wounds stopped bleeding and healed, the skin
reforming on her mons and even the blonde curls of pubic hair growing back.
The healing coursed like fluid bliss through Kayleen's body, leaving her again
her former self, although once the effect subsided her wrists started aching
as the cuffs supported her own weight, part of Lyral's and the slab. She could
speak now, "Lyral, heaven knows I owe you my life again. Are you all right ?"
Lyral was still in pain from her ordeals, unable to heal herself as her power
was spent, but she did not want her brave friend to know that. A strange
feeling stirred within her as her lips lingered on Kayleen's muscular thigh,
and her nostrils smelled her sex, a deep tingle Lyral could not quite pinpoint
but which merged with her relief at perceiving her friend whole again. She let
herself slide on the floor and asked, "How late do you think it is ?"
"Early night, I'd say. We have a few hours of respite" answered Kayleen.
"Then it begins again, Kayleen ? Every day ? Bloody torture by day and
merciless restraints by night, until either of us caves in ?"
"Until the tables are turned, Lyral. I almost managed to set myself free once,
but Zhorun summoned more guards by magic and I was subdued. Our only choice,
at present, is to endure whatever they visit on us. By holding on, we buy time
for our friends to locate us and prepare our rescue."
"Maybe we could tell them where Shandra was. By now, she should have guessed
that something is wrong, and they would find nothing."
"And then what, Lyral ? They would think we lied and start all over again. And
if they found her, what would be our fate once we were no longer of value ?"
"I'm sorry, Kayleen. I am ... scared. I've never been through a pain like
today, and I was about to tell them where Shandra is at least twice. I cannot
understand how you managed to endure the horrors they are putting you through
for over a week, but I know I'll never be able to."
"Don't underestimate yourself, Lyral. Initially my torments were not as horrid
as those you witnessed, yet at the time I also thought I could not stand
another day. We must be strong, Lyral, because if Zhorun is putting off the
conquest of the Kingdom to capture the three of us, we must prevent him from
succeeding even if we don't understand why."
Lyral could find no fault in Kayleen's reasoning, and in any case was so tired
that she didn't even try. Healing by itself was tiring, and her strength had
been sorely sapped during the day. Maybe, if she managed to rest, she would be
able to heal herself before daybreak.
When the torches from the three tormentors brought light to the chamber again,
Lyral was still sleeping, but Kayleen was fully awake. When the Southerner
approached her, not even bothering to ask her to talk, she tensed, considering
her chances to catch the old man off guard, but her eyes betrayed her intent
and he smiled evilly, "Plotting nasty tricks, Your Haughtiness ?"
He lowered her on the floor and without untying any rope dragged her by the
nipple cords across the stone floor, her strong body wriggling to keep up as
pain distorted her features. Tightening her collar, he pushed her face down
onto a sloping wooden platform, its surface crisscrossed by creases drawing a
diamond pattern of pointed wedges. He cuffed her wrists and elbows behind her
back, pulling them up painfully before allowing her to breathe normally again.
He tightened an iron band around her waist, then clamped her nipples and
pulled the cords around her neck, elongating her firm breasts into distended
cones. When he let go, the wooden points dug painfully in the soft undersides
of her firm breasts, while he bent her legs wide above her back and cuffed
them at the far corners of the post, pushing her front ever more onto the
wedges.
"Now, I hope you can wait telling us about that Sorceress," he mocked.
After contemplating the twitching rosette of her anus, he disrobed and
penetrated it viciously, enjoying the muffled shriek of pain and humiliation
which shook her. He kept pushing violently, each thrust rewarded by his victim
impaling herself on his member in order to pull away from the pointed wedges.
Lyral watched in horror the violation of her friend, unable to avert her gaze,
essentially ignoring Grod as he unfastened her from the crossed bars and
cuffed her elbows, ankles and wrists together, then fastened iron bands around
her knees and thighs. She was forced to drink from the same jug which she had
seen used for Kayleen, wondering at the purpose of the syrupy liquid.
Meanwhile the old Southerner, spent but not sated, fetched a wooden club,
sculpted like a large phallus and nudged Kayleen's reddish sphincter, drooling
as she trembled, pushing it in only after teasing her repeatedly. Her body
convulsed on the wedged surface as a hiss of agony escaped her clenched lips.
This protracted humiliation was but the first. He fetched a larger device and
pushed it in with vicious abandon, distending her sphincter as she hissed and
shook under the unrelenting assault. He moved the other devices before her,
and waited until her eyes widened in fear before picking up one of frightening
girth, which he pushed in and pulled out with his full strength, tearing her
sphincter while she managed to stifle her howls into gasping hisses.
"Now that we've found the right size, we start the fun." he said, pushing it
in with intoxicated abandon. The pain in her ass was unbearable, the muscles
of the walls straining and chafing while the relentless tearing at the
sphincter widened its bleeding wounds. New waves of agony shot through her
buckling body, prodded by the pointed wedges as she tried to stifle her
screams and howls.
Lyral's attention returned to her own predicament when Grod tightened a thin
iron chain around her plump breasts, filling her eyes with terror as she
begged, "Please, not this. Please."
"Tell the Master about the Sorceress, girl. You'll spare yourself and your
friend there further pain," answered Grod quietly. When she sobbed silently,
he pulled the chain taut, lifting her on her toes as she screamed in fear.
The Southerner pumped the device tirelessly, a feat for his age, enjoying
Kayleen's protracted suffering while blood trickled from the tearing wounds on
the rim of her sphincter. Cramps surged in muscles which seldom saw any, and
the torment continued uninterrupted until his member hardened again.
Drooling, he changed the device with one which he wore around the waist, and
penetrated her vagina with his real member while pushing the wooden one into
her bleeding asshole again. He felt his victim's body shake under the scream
of outraged agony she would not let out of her lips, grabbing her hips as he
repeatedly thrust into her, until his semen mixed with blood.
Still excited, he picked up another wooden implement, three inches wide and
proportionately longer, teasing her chafed love channel repeatedly and
enjoying her jerks before pushing the device in with both hands. He protracted
his thrusting with gleeful abandon, painfully distending the rim of muscle at
the entrance and scraping the walls as she hissed in agony.
Lyral wept and shut her eyes before the ravaging of her friend, not realizing
that the desperate hisses of stifled agony would be no better, but opened them
when the chain around her breasts tightened painfully as her flailing feet
left the floor and she hung by her constricted breasts, screaming from a pain
unlike any other she had encountered before.
Kayleen's tormentor angled the wedge so that each thrust crushed the sensitive
tissue inside the upper cleft of her vagina, wrenching desperate hisses of
agony from her clenched lips. Each thrust ripped her torn wounds wider while
she convulsed between gasps and hisses, hiding the unbearable pain behind her
contorted visage but unable to still her convulsing body.
He let the four inches of the next implement dangle before her teary eyes
until her mouth formed a silent "No" in absolute horror. With triumph in his
voice, he whispered, "Beg for the flesh, if you want to be spared the wood."
Kayleen shut her lips, her features hardening like her resolve, clinging to
something she did not want to give up. Her tormentor, enraged, grabbed the
monstrous phallus and pushed it in, slowly and deliberately, savoring her
jerks as it tore her apart while she ground her front on the pointed wedges.
To increase her pain, he tightened her collar, pushing the device in only when
he saw the muscles clutch it, savoring the sight of the tearing wounds along
the rim widening under his thrust as a scream wheezed through her constricted
throat. With unrelenting cruelty, he alternated thrusting while her spasming
muscle clutched the device to pulling when she caught her breath, rending the
torn muscle while she convulsed in unbridled agony.
"I haven't heard you beg, Whore Queen. It won't stop, you know. I'm in no
hurry," whispered the old man as he pulled out the wedge again.
He deliberately protracted her torment until the sensitive flesh on the upper
cleft of her love channel tore, stopping just as his victim stiffened and
jerked in unbelievable pain, clenching her teeth and pressing her face on the
platform to keep her surging howl from breaking out in earnest. Kayleen shook
and buckled as the agony from her torn femininity mounted and waned, while her
tormentor doused her trembling body with cold water.
Meanwhile, Lyral had been watching the horrid violation of her friend while
hanging from her soft breasts, now turned into purple globes of constricted
agony. Occasionally Grod prodded them with a pointed wooden stick, sending her
into jerking frenzies of fitful screaming, but the mounting agony did not
blind her to how much harsher were the torments inflicted on her friend.
Kayleen was briefly freed from her restraints, only to be turned face up, her
back on the wedges and her legs pulled up by cuffing her ankles to her wrists.
Her nipples were two blazing embers of clamped agony, and her front bore the
bruises of dozens of wedge points.
But her voice rose in tormented hisses only when the Southerner penetrated her
exposed vagina, deliberately pushing his member into the wounded cleft at its
top, ripping it a bit wider with each frenzied thrust, savoring the hellish
pain on her contorted face while her body convulsed in agony. When at last he
came, he smeared his salty semen on the wound to enjoy a last gasp from her.
Lyral watched the scene in absolute horror, forgetting the pain from her
constricted breasts momentarily, unable to avert her gaze until she puked at
the Southerner's last act. Unable to believe at what Kayleen was enduring
without passing out, her thought returned to the syrupy liquid the torturers
fed them, recalling from her apprenticeship that sugar was to be avoided when
under pain, and recognizing the taste of stimulant herbs. She realized that
the same beverage had also been fed to her when Grod stabbed her left breast
again and she screamed in agony herself, instead of passing out.
Kayleen failed to hide a sob of despair when her tormentor, while pouring more
liquid into her parched mouth, fetched another sick instrument of violation, a
wooden phallus whose surface was studded with knobs, but managed to stifle her
agonized scream as the Southerner drove it into her bleeding asshole, each
knob gouging her innards after violating the sphincter.
"Take this, Whore Queen. Let me see your hips dance!" he shouted.
Instead of pushing it back and forth, the swarthy Southerner twisted the
device left and right, wrenching a new agonized hiss on each turn and enjoying
the sight of her hips turning accordingly, frantically attempting to lessen
the pain. Although the knobs were not sharp, the slowly protracted twisting,
punctuated by Kayleen's gasping hisses, gouged her innards, drawing blood in
trickles which washed away when she was doused in cold water.
Her mind wandered off in the haze of hellish pain as he switched to a larger
implement of torment, still obstinately refusing to scream as the knobs dug
new creeks of blazing pain into her wounded innards, but unable to prevent the
abysmal suffering from surging through her clenched teeth.
Lyral kept screaming whenever Grod prodded her bulging breasts with the wooden
fork, no longer seeking Kayleen's eyes in the pauses her tormentor allowed,
not aware of the fact that her friend felt each scream as a stab of guilt
straight into the guts, a little thing before the agonies of torture but
painful on a deeper level.
Kayleen registered a new blazing pain when the swarthy Southerner introduced a
knobbed wooden monstrosity into her ravaged love channel, pushing it deep in
before twisting it so that the knobs crowding the tip tore at her cervix,
shooting new waves of hellish pain up her body as she shook, her teeth
chattering after drawing a loud, agonized breath.
Each twist of the horrid implement compounded the agony of her torn flesh with
deep gouges on the inner walls, which started bleeding when the torment was
cruelly protracted in spite of her pitiful, wheezing hisses and labored
breathing. She was given some of the accursed beverage laced with drugs that
her parched throat nonetheless craved, but she sputtered most of it as the
swarthy Southerner twisted the device while she was drinking.
"If one is not enough, let's see if two can make you sing," he growled.
When he inserted both implements, doubling her pain, and started twisting them
in opposite directions, bile rose to her mouth as she tried to contain an
inhuman howl of agony, managing only to stifle it into a wheezing scream full
of despair. This man, with his fixation on sexual tortures, was her true
nemesis, the one she dreaded had guessed her deep fears and could one day
break her will. But rage surged in her at the thought, and between two
agonized hisses she spat a "Not today!" whose meaning nobody guessed.
Lyral could not see her friend's reaction, because the pain shooting from her
purplish breasts when Grod prodded them overwhelmed her, her legs flailing in
mid air unimpeded by the loose chain connecting her ankle cuffs at the same
rhythm of her desperate, anguished screams.
The Southerner so enjoyed tormenting Kayleen that it took him some time to
notice her new resolve, and he was taken somewhat by surprise. His hands
slowed in their relentless assault, and his gaze inspected his victim's
visage, her clenched teeth now almost smiling in triumph as she managed to
contain the horrible pain into mere gasps.
For a while, Kayleen exalted in her little moral victory, gritting her teeth
when he started rasping both implements back and forth, ravaging her orifices
as the knobs gouged the flesh and drew abundant blood, so much that Grod put
aside the torment of Lyral's bruised breasts and neared. But the Southerner
smiled evilly, and suspended the torture.
"I'll wipe that smile from your pretty face, girl!" he whispered.
Kayleen's legs were doubled under her thighs, cuffing the ankles to the iron
bands clenching them, and her arms were bound behind her back in a reversed
prayer position. She was now bleeding profusely, but the Southerner produced
more of the clips he had used the day before to staunch the loss from her cuts
and started clipping the wounds inside her innards, smiling as this turned
into a new torment for Kayleen's ravaged sex, at least where the wounds could
be reached. She was doused in cold water again.
He then moved her under a metal post and started pinching folds of soft flesh
from her inner thighs and closing clasps on each, smiling as he could see in
Kayleen's eyes the recollection of her nightmarish suspension from the same
clasps a few days ago. His member hardened when he pulled her off the ground,
her stifled cry of despair music to his ears. He pulled her up until her
wounded feminine parts reached a slender steel band jutting from the post.
Her eyes widened when he fetched two wooden wedges of frightening girth,
deeply creased along their tapering length and viciously knobbed. She had
already experienced in earnest how the alternating creases and ridges tore at
the rim of her orifices, and the knobs promised even more dreadful torments.
He inserted both halfway into her rectum and vagina, in spite of her buckling,
and fastened their base to the steel band.
With an evil smile, he started using the pliers to tighten more clips on her
wounds and her cunt lips, her clitoris, and her pubic hair, which he evidently
was obsessed with. Kayleen cried silently as each clip brought new stabs of
agony to her wounded flesh, but buckled and hissed when he used the pliers to
tighten them on the torn edges of her ripped vagina.
"No longer so high and mighty, are you ?" he mocked.
The room fell silent, except for Lyral's sobbing wails, and the silence
brought even her eyes on Kayleen's hanging body. Her mouth opened wide at the
sight of her friend's predicament, unable to grasp the nature of the torment
but trembling in horror and dread at its wickedness.
With swift confidence, the Southerner wound together the fine chains hailing
from the clips into bundles, joining bundle to bundle until all bundles joined
onto two handles, preparations which brought tears of despair to Kayleen's
eyes, on whose mouth Lyral recognized the words of a prayer. He wrapped the
handles around pulleys from the ceiling.
With his full weight, the Southerner pulled down on both handles, pulling his
victim by her clipped wounds up the serrated girth of the wooden implements,
wrenching such an anguished howl of torn agony from Kayleen that even her
supreme effort at containing it only managed to reduce its volume and pitch,
but not its blood-curling intensity. A second scream followed, the equal of
the first as he released his pull and she fell down, the knobs rasping her
innards while her position limited the loss of blood but not the pain.
Kayleen was pulled onto the serrated girths again, still howling in sheer
agony behind clenched teeth and renewing her repressed bellow when pulled
down, trembling in devastating fits of coughing while her tormentor paused to
savor her misery. He poured some syrup onto her mouth, then pulled her up
again, laughing as the clips wrenched curls of blonde hair from her
bloodstained mons while her torn vulva bore new deep gashes caused by the
clips digging through the flesh.
"Now we're starting to hear you sing, Your Haughtiness," he growled.
The swarthy Southerner pulled his victim up and down with unrelenting,
inebriated abandon. but in spite of his enthusiasm, or maybe in its wake,
paused frequently, repositioning the clips on the parts where they slid out of
place, turning each pause from a moment of respite into a new agony as the
pliers tightened the iron clips all over her wounded flesh.
Kayleen's battered nether parts turned slowly into a mounting hell of searing
pain, shaken by howls and cries which crowded behind her clenched teeth and
seeped through in drawn out hisses of gut-wrenching torment, which shook her
resolve just like her body convulsed from the wracking pain of the
uninterrupted torture. Biding his time, her tormentor started shortening the
chain leading to the clips placed on her most sensitive parts, such as the
clitoris or the horrid wound above the vagina, increasing her torment notch
after notch and protracting it unrelentingly beyond all boundaries of cruelty.
When her reaction to the hellish pain subsided into stupor, the Southerner
removed the wooden devices from her bloodied innards and then, as she breathed
in relief, penetrated her violently, ripping her torn vagina even wider and
savoring the despair in her primal, agonized howl before she caught herself in
a supreme effort and stifled those which followed.
"Hah! Feel it, Whore Queen!" he shouted repeatedly in a frenzy of thrusting.
Lyral witnessed this last violation of her friend while being released from
her breast suspension, and shrieked in terror through her gag at the sight,
curling in a ball of trembling flesh, too scared to do anything but sob when
Grod asked her to reveal the location of the Sorceress.
Kayleen floated in a sea of utter agony, lost in maddened pain, but recovered
a little after drinking from the jug brought to her lips by Grod, enough to
realize that her wrists had been cuffed to a short steel bar, and her ankles
to another, and she was hanging in a slump. Below her was a rectangular tank,
and Chang was lowering her into the liquid.
The tub was full of water, soothing cold water, and her sigh of relief sounded
incongruous even to herself until it turned to a surprised scream as her
wounds started burning, because the water was so saline that she didn't even
sink, so she pulled herself up in a jerk, distending her long, slender legs
and the strong arms to avoid touching the surface.
Meanwhile, Lyral's shriek of unbounded terror echoed in the torture chamber as
the Southerner grabbed her, in spite of her frantic attempts to avoid him by
wriggling on the cold stone floor. Had he been able, he would have probably
ignored Zhorun's orders and raped the little frightened morsel on the spot,
but in his conditions he just cuffed her ankles together and closed iron bands
around her knees, thighs and waist. He bent her arms behind her neck before
cuffing her elbows and wrists together, pulling her ankles until he could
fasten them to her wrists in a hogtie which arched her back and exposed her
soft, plump breasts, still trembling under his touch.
Kayleen's back burst in searing agony when three barbed strands of thin
leather traced bloody welts across her shoulder blades, causing her to jerk
and contract her muscles, splashing into the salty water. A second strike
landed on her side and coiled around her buckling torso, leaving three angry
welts on her muscular abdomen.
She stifled a scream when the salt reached a place in her pubic area where the
clips had pulled hair and skin, and pulled herself up spasmodically at the
thought of the agony she would face if her privates got immersed in the salt
water. Another lash coiled around her thighs, causing her to twirl in her
bonds and receive the next one on her firm breasts, the three lines of fire
leaving a bloody mark which caused her to hiss in sheer pain and turn again.
Without pause, the three strands raked her shapely ass cheeks, each strike
tracing three crimson lines of intense pain. Although lighter than the
bullwhip, this whip had steel barbs every inch or so, and the Easterner
wielded it with skill and surprising strength. Once dozens of bloody welts
marked her buttocks, he sent the whip coiling around her side, pulling so that
she whirled in mid air, exposing her front.
On the next strike, the barbed tips raked her torn mons, and she contracted
her legs involuntarily, plunging her bloodied ass cheeks into the salt water.
Her body stiffened and a protracted hiss escaped her mouth, and she pulled
herself up, twitching in the vain attempt to escape the harsh caress of the
concentrated saline solution.
The whip drew three crimson lines across her taut belly, and she drew a breath
of suppressed agony in the effort to keep her muscles in tension and avoid any
further contact with the accursed liquid below her. Her tormentor lashed her
breasts again, and she almost fell as her face contorted in pain, but at the
last moment she managed to push herself up again. She had to distend her body
in order to keep it away from the harsh bite of the salt water, and this
position exposed her exquisitely to the harsh kisses of the whip.
Her breasts quivered when he lashed them again, and she stiffened desperately,
receiving the next three lashes on her breasts rather than falling in the
water, then he coiled the whip around her side and turned her around, lashing
her strong back and occasionally her arms. At the third strike on her left
arm, her muscles gave and she fell into the salt water, jerking and trashing
as she stifled a gasping howl of burning pain and managed to pull herself up
again, trashing as the salt burned her whipped front and breasts.
Her tormentor moved to her soles, not because they could contact the water but
because each lash caused her taut leg to twitch, and she clenched her teeth to
avoid falling with her bleeding feminine parts into the saline agony below.
He lashed her calves, and her legs twitched, and he lashed them again. She
turned in her bonds, receiving the next strikes on her front thighs.
Lyral writhed on the cold stone floor, moaning in pain from her strained
muscles and sobbing in dread of what the Southerner would do to her arched
body. Deep inside her, she thought that he would ask about the Sorceress, she
would cave in, and it would be all over, and yet she knew it would not. But
the old Southerner fetched a pair of wooden pliers whose jaws were covered in
stiff boar bristles, and waved them before her teary eyes.
The wry Easterner coiled the whip around Kayleen's upper chest and pulled,
raking the barbs along her breasts to force her to turn again and lash the
soft back of her thighs, a strike which wrenched from her a deep, rasping cry
of suppressed agony as she brushed the water. He lashed her soles again, and
then sent the tip flying between her legs, forcing her to spread her thighs in
response, the legs bending at the knee and plunging her into the salt water.
She tried to suppress a howl of utter agony, managing to turn it into a
hissing breath of despair, but took a few seconds to pull her convulsing body
up again, and kept buckling and gasping in mid air as the water burned at her
wounded privates, almost ignoring the lashes of the whip on her back as the
pain from the concentrated salt in her open wounds surpassed it.
The worst thing about this torment was that salt water continued to burn after
the initial immersion, seeping into the wounds and wreaking its harsh caress
with unmerciful persistence. Kayleen tried to stiffen her muscles and keep her
body distended, in spite of the barbed whip, but the Easterner knew where to
strike to cause her limbs to give.
Lyral screamed when the jaws of the pliers closed on the soft flesh of her
thigh, pricking it with hundreds of bristles. In spite of her experience with
the memory of her friend's torment, she had rarely been exposed to pain before
and found the pricking of the bristles unbearable, not realizing how her
tormentor laughed at her, anticipating her real torture once Zhorun's
restrictions about her maidenhood were lifted.
Kayleen's body, especially her breasts and ass cheeks, had been slowly turned
into a crisscrossed canvas of bleeding welts, spottily encrusted with salt
from over a dozen plunges caused by the whip rending her breasts, her soles,
her armpits and her bleeding crotch. She cried to herself, sinking her mouth
in her arm to stifle the scream, when her tired muscles gave and her whipped
nipples brushed the saline surface.
Her tormentor pulled her up, tightened her collar and cautiously changed how
she was bound, pulling her arms painfully behind her. The ramifications of
this simple change became horribly evident to her when he pulled her up again,
because now she had to stiffen her legs and her arms behind her back to avoid
plunging her loins into the water, lewdly exposing her full front to the whip.
"Talk now", said the Easterner, impenetrable as always.
"Now our friend from the East had a really nice idea," said the Southerner,
interrupting the torture of Lyral to savor the sight of Kayleen's strong,
athletic body writhing under the whip while trying desperately to keep her
slender legs and strong arms straight, arching away from the liquid and
exposing the firm, striped breasts and the crotch, where encrusted blood stuck
to the blonde curls above her sex.
When the tips slashed between her cunt lips, Kayleen's limbs contracted and
she fell into the water, a scream of rage and agony hissing through her lips
and turning into a suppressed howl of trembling torment as the salt water
washed over her wounded flesh. She managed to pull herself up again, but now
the water had seeped into her wounds and she hung in midair, jerking and
buckling, her head shaking back and forth and her eyes shedding bitter tears
while she stifled the world of hurt roaring up from her violated orifices.
The Easterner brought the whip onto her arms, pausing between each lash as she
tried to cope with the pain and jerked as her loins still burned relentlessly,
until her buckles caused her to turn in mid air and her pubic area plunged
into the water, her clenched mouth suppressing another gut wrenching scream.
Her buckling and hissing became frantic as she splashed about in agony, no
longer able to pull herself up because her bent arms offered no leverage.
He lashed her twitching shoulder blades, and the cleft between her striped
buttocks, watching her writhe in a haze of maddening pain until she tried to
turn around again, failing with a suppressed howl as the tips of the whip
raked down the breast which she had exquisitely offered, a masterful strike
which incurred Grod's silent approval as the Easterner had managed to bring
the steel tips to brush her breast flesh at the edge of their downward arch.
Lyral's voice rose in a frightened scream as the Southerner crushed her left
nipple between the bristled jaws, twisting and pulling while she jerked in
pain. Drooling, the old man cupped her other breast and closed the jaws around
its plump softness, dragging the bristles over the pale flesh while she
quivered and howled in anguish.
Still agonizing from the harsh bite of the salt water all over her wounded
orifices, Kayleen trashed about, screaming into her clenched teeth, trying
again to turn around and encountering again the searing pain of Chang's whip
on her breast. But the pain in her feminine orifices, the unrelenting bite of
the burning salt, hurt her on a deeper level, rousing terrors she had never
encountered before, so after several more attempts, which resulted in further
bloody cuts across her left breast, another thought occurred to her and she
pushed her ass up, plunging her head and torso into the cold water.
The little relief she gained for her smarting wounds was immediately
overshadowed by the sting of the salt water on her whip marks, especially the
cuts on her left breast, and bubbles rose under the water just as her head
jerked up in a sputtering scream which escaped her will just as it had escaped
her lips. The movement brought her wounded loins back into the water, washing
a new wave of agony into her wounded orifices.
Unable to find respite, Kayleen's body buckled and splashed, alternating
between plunging either the chest or the groin into the saline torment, each
dive increasing her own misery as the salt clung to her skin and seeped into
her wounds. The Easterner lashed her back and her buttocks when her lower part
was underwater, and her thighs and calves when she submerged her chest,
occasionally bringing the tips to coil around the crease under her ass cheeks
and swing into her wounded sex.
When she looked on the verge of drowning, his whip coiled around her chest
and, dragging the barbs across her breasts, forced her to turn around,
offering her an apparent chance to relieve her wounded femininity from the
salt water, at the price of straining herself into an exquisitely exposed
position. The lash immediately exploited her vulnerability, landing on the
blonde curls above her sex and wrenching a strained hiss of abysmal torment
from her parched throat.
Lyral shook spasmodically in her restraints when the Southerner's hand closed
on her pubic hair, pulling her off the floor with one hand around and the
pliers crushing her right nipple with the other, enjoying her twitching while
she screamed in abandon. Laughing, he started to pull her higher and let her
fall, to rip at her pubic hair and trash the nipple.
Kayleen's unrelenting agony found little respite from lifting her privates
above the salt water, because the repeated immersions had allowed the water to
seep into every wound and crevice, including her dripping blonde curls, and
now the salt kept biting unrelentingly at her open wounds, causing her to
buckle and strain in mid air, an inviting target for the whip which landed on
her legs, her stiffened belly, her breasts and her arms, pausing after each
strike as a new fitful hiss rose from her convulsing body.
The intermittent whipping protracted her torment long enough to let her get
some relief as the salt in her wounded privates diminished somewhat, long
enough to cover her from hand to toe in bleeding whip marks, and long enough
to tax her muscles under the strain of keeping herself above the water. Dread
mounted in her face at the realization that the Easterner's recent lashes had
been targeting her tired limbs instead of the soft spots of her slender body,
and dread tinged her gasps when a limb trembled as the barbed whip raked it,
compounding the ache of protracted fatigue with the bite of wounded flesh.
Her strong body faced the barbed whip in a protracted contest of
determination, her resolve strong enough to hold herself up even when the tips
landed on her feminine parts, clanking on the iron clips still keeping her
wounds from bleeding too much. She held out when her tormentor tried again, so
he started coiling the whip around her and pulling to turn her around, but she
resisted even that. When the tips cracked on her left nipple, however, she
turned in reaction, and each subsequent strike forced her to turn some more,
until she turned around and splashed into the salt water with a cry of
defeated despair she could not stifle, although she managed to turn the
subsequent howl into a desperate hiss as salt washed over her wounds again.
Lyral continued screaming desperately as she was now being lifted and dropped
by her nipples crushed between the Southerner's bristled pliers, almost
joyfully playing with her pale, soft body now marked by the rashes left by the
relentless application of the blisters.
Unlike before, the wry Easterner used the whip to keep the twitching Kayleen
from escaping the harsh bite of the salt water, by countering not only her
attempts at turning around, but also those at lifting her pelvic section above
water, slashing the back of her thighs and the cleft between her legs whenever
she attempted to pull herself up. Her saline torment continued unabated until
her labored breathing turned to a wheeze, at which she was finally lowered on
the floor, still gasping and convulsing from the salt in her wounds.
Ignoring her pitiful wheezing, Grod tightened the collar onto her windpipe as
he dragged her to a heavy three-plank bench, placing her with her back leaning
on the sloping middle plank. Her arms were twisted up behind her, the elbows
tightened together in some restraint she could not see.
For the first time in days, her wrist cuffs were removed, although her wrists
immediately fared no better than her elbows. Her ankle cuffs were also
removed, and her ankles encased in heavy wooden stocks, so she surmised that
the same had occurred to her wrists. Against her better judgment she drank
avidly when the jug was brought to her lips, and the constant harsh sting of
the salt rekindled somewhat as her mind cleared.
Grod moved behind her, busying himself with her wrists, and she felt the
stocks tighten and dull wooden knobs dig into her joints. Dread mounted in her
as she recollected how Grod had a penchant for tormenting bone and muscle.
She heard the sound of wood knocking on wood just as pain shot from her wrists
through her body, wrenching a low gasp from her tired throat. Now the knobs
dug mercilessly into her wrists, in spite of her attempts to relieve the
pressure by twisting herself in a slightly different position, and she drew a
long, desperate breath realizing that this new torment was just being started.
Lyral sobbed softly, her pale curves marked by rashes from the bristled pliers
still encased in iron bands, although in a less strenuous position. The
Easterner produced a swath of damp white cloth, which he soaked abundantly in
a red powder before wrapping it tightly around her calves. As he tightened it
in a knot, Lyral started twitching from the sting of the hot pepper on her
sensitive skin, crying in fear at the sight of reams and reams of cloth.
Instead of continuing the torment of Kayleen's wrists, Grod set up a pair of
stocks around her knees, allowing her frightened gaze to inspect the devices
at length. Each knee was encased between twin wooden planks, each with three
wooden knobs, and four steel rods ran through the corners, keeping the four
planks in line. After setting them up, Grod drove with his hands a wooden
wedge between the two planks pushing on the inner side of her knees,
tightening the device into a source of harsh discomfort. The next wedge he
pushed down with a mallet, each strike wrenching a gasp from her while the
pain in her constricted knees increased and the knobs pressed onto bone.
Again, instead of pursuing the torment of her knees further, he moved to a
different position, and pain started shooting from her elbows, trapped in what
she assumed was a similar contraption. Her ankles were next, and Kayleen
hissed furiously as each strike of the mallet sent lances of hot agony through
her pain wracked body.
But the real pain started once Grod started pushing thinner wedges along the
edges of those already in place, increasing the pressure slowly and gradually,
moving from the ankles, through the knees and the elbows, to the wrists, each
time pausing to let the pain compound the unrelenting grip of the other stocks
as Kayleen sank in a waves of unrelenting torment which wrenched gasping,
shivered moans from her clenched lips.
Meanwhile Lyral was delirious from the burning hot pepper on her soft legs and
thighs, twitching in her restraints and screaming her lungs out as the
uninterrupted pain brought her over the edge, filled with dread at the thought
of what the pain would be like once the Easterner finished wrapping her body
in hot pepper. She writhed and jerked with such intensity that the Easterner
decided to put aside the caning of her soles, as there was no need to force
this victim to grind the powder over her own skin.
Wedge after wedge, Grod trapped Kayleen's joints in a circle of searing pain
where the smallest movement brought unbearable torment, engendering further
jerks which pulled the victim in a vicious spiral of agony which ended only
when she passed out or was unable to jerk further. Since the drugs fed to her
kept Kayleen awake, her exceptional resilience proved her worst enemy as each
thin wedge driven into her restraints plunged her in a protracted frenzy of
gasping hisses, spasmodic jerks and unrelenting agony.
"The pain will get worse, girl. You'll break eventually," whispered Grod.
Her tormentor only needed to drive a wedge in a while to push her down one
more step on the staircases of hell, and he protracted her torture, splashing
her occasionally with cold water, until no more wedges could be added without
crushing the joints or causing her to crush one in her agonized buckling.
Again she drank from the jug, and then Grod fetched four wooden planks which
he placed around her slender legs. In spite of the unrelenting pain, her eyes
widened at the thought of how these would crush her legs, and soon her fears
proved correct as wedges were driven between them, encasing her legs into twin
slabs of wooden agony whose grip engendered new hopeless howls behind her
gritting teeth, her face contorting from the pain and the effort to hide it.
Her forearms were next, and the pain from the limbs she could not see was if
possible even worse, her head shaking left and right as her body convulsed in
the vain attempt to find a position which provided any relief. She was no
longer subject to intermittent frenzies of jerking agony, now the compounded
pain was so intense that she just buckled and quivered in uninterrupted
torment, her gasps and hisses following one another as fast as they escaped
her mouth. Her body was covered in perspiration and short, wheezing breaths
racked her lungs between a suppressed scream and the next.
Her tormentor let her suffering run its full course, biding his time until he
produced another set of planks, which ignoring the dread in her eyes he
proceeded to set up on her thighs. The inside of the planks, instead of knobs,
bristled with raw wooden wedges of different sizes, the larger meant to press
onto the bone and the smaller to grind the soft flesh of the female thigh.
Lyral's body was now wrapped in hot pepper soaked cloth up to her ribcage, and
she was still convulsing in horrible pain, in spite of her physical
exhaustion. Her voice was hoarse from the protracted screaming but still
rising in occasional pitched shrieks as the grinding pain from the red hot
pepper waned and waxed according to her twitches.
When the wedges crushed Kayleen's thighs between the planks, she had to cling
to her resolve in order to suppress the urge to beg for mercy, for a moment of
respite, for no more pain. She had to allow herself a fitful scream, which
echoed under the vaults of the torture chamber, somehow more intense and
gut-wrenching than Lyral's uninterrupted cries.
In the haze of uninterrupted torment, Kayleen suddenly felt stabs of intense
pain rise from her right elbow, and the echo of a cracking sound convinced her
that her jerks had broken it, adding another drop to the world of hurt she was
drowning in. She saw through teary eyes that her once slender legs were now
horribly swollen, and her gaze fixed in horror the sight of her tormentor
starting to encase her left foot in some wooden contraption.
The device, not unlike the ones presently tormenting her, consisted of raw
wooden planks, bundled together with iron bands which could be tightened with
a screw. The inside of the planks had been roughly hacked raw, and creases on
their outside allowed the insertion of wedges under the iron bands.
As he hammered wedge after wedge, the device tightened and her foot turned
into a searing furnace of white hot agony, where each movement chafed the
skin, scraping the raw flesh between wood and bone, and slowly crushing the
creaking bone. She was still able to suppress her screams while the hellish
torment of her foot plunged the rest of her body in spasmodic jerks, which
wrenched ominous creaks from her crushed limbs, and when Grod put her other
foot through the same torment managed to withstand even that, but her face hid
nothing of the unbelievable agonies she was going through, and her contorted
features tightened around each suppressed scream in the supreme effort not to
let it escape, her will to endure the last defining trait of her very self.
Lyral jerked spasmodically as fear gave her new energies, shrieking as she
attempted to prevent the Easterner from wrapping her pale, ripe breasts in the
burning cloth, but her efforts were doomed to failure and the cloths were
savagely tightened around her mounds, sticking them together as the hot pepper
started burning the delicate flesh.
Kayleen craved the respite of unconsciousness, but she was offered the jug
instead, and she drank from it, regretting it when the pain deepened as the
drugs in the beverage took hold. Her tormentor wanted a last attempt at
breaking her will, and produced a bundle of wooden tablets held together by
thin cord which he wrapped around her chest after pulling up her breasts by
the nipples, so that the roughly hewn and splintered inside of the tablets
rested on the underside of her breasts.
When the tables were in place, he placed two wooden planks on the sides of her
ribcage and tightened three iron bands around the whole contraption, at which
Kayleen recognized that the tablets had creases where wedges could be placed,
the device being an enlarged variant of those tormenting her feet.
Grod placed the first wedges by hand, and then started hammering them in, each
one crushing her breasts onto her chest and compressing her ribs, causing her
breathing to become rasped and shallow as deep breaths turned increasingly
painful. Instead of continuing with wedges on her ribcage, however, Grod moved
back to her wrists and hammered another thin wedge between them.
Now fully wrapped in cloth, Lyral kept screaming and twitching with abandon as
the Easterner fastened her ankle cuffs and neck collar to rings in the stone
floor and lifted her in order to push a wooden pyramid under the small of her
back, wrenching new screams from her as the weight of her buckling body rested
painfully on the wooden tip of the wedge.
The unrelenting pain shooting through Kayleen's tormented joints was fanned to
new heights, her mind spinning in dread as she thought she had heard the noise
of cracking bone and her chest burned in agony from the effort to draw in
enough air to fuel the howls surging from the depth of her agonies. Her
tormentor let her convulse through the new wave of pain, and then, after
dousing her in cold water again, drove a wedge between her elbows.
She would have been screaming her lungs out now, if not for her constricted
ribcage and the last vestiges of her resolve, so the sounds escaping her
gaping mouth turned up as wheezing, almost inaudible wails of pitiful torment,
busting into fits of sheer agony when a wedge was driven between her ankles,
and then into choked gurgles when another was forced between her knees.
When he started driving wedges between her limbs, after pouring syrup into her
mouth, Kayleen's convulsed jerks reached new heights of intensity as her
wheezing screams burst through her clenched teeth in spite of her incredible
resolve in the face of the creaking sounds from her joints and limbs, each
marking a place where the bone cracked under the pressure.
Lyral's screams rose in pitch as she felt the cloth tighten around her limbs
while she writhed on the wedge point, unable to withstand the relentless burn
of the hot pepper ground all over her body by the tight wrapping and by her
own uninterrupted jerks. She was so engrossed in her own torment that she had
lost track of what was happening to her friend.
With devilish ability, Grod had managed to place the wooden restraints so that
Kayleen's bones were always on the point of cracking, without actually being
pushed beyond, so that her own jerks caused multiple small cracks instead of
actual fractures. As he added new wedges, new agonies shot through her
constricted joints and limbs, and when she jerked in reaction some constricted
bone or joint would crack as a result.
To protract the torment, all he had to do was to keep her jerking, because she
was now too exhausted and short of breath to keep twitching under the pain of
her crushed bones alone. He reached the saltwater tank where she had suffered
at the hands of Chang, and tested the water, but then, faithful to his
technique, just kept adding wedges between her limbs and around her ribcage,
discarding the thought of pouring salt water on her wounds as unnecessary.
His head rose in surprise when a robed figure neared and turned a ladle,
pouring a trickle of salt water over Kayleen's lap and then moving above the
breasts. She buckled and jerked as the salt stung her wounded skin, and then
hissed in sheer agony when the water reached her devastated crotch. Her
gasping wails and convulsed jerks lasted until the robed figure was satisfied
that salt water no longer caused her more pain than she already was in.
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