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Chapter 13 - Zhorun's Discoveries
In the echoing darkness of the unlit torture chamber under the ruins of his
former castle, the undead corpse of the once powerful wizard Zhorun stood
silent and motionless, his unearthly gaze savoring the plight of his captives.
Kayleen had been bent over a wedge-shaped steel bar, her spread legs trembling
as the cuffs at her ankles kept the balls of her feet resting on wooden wedges
while her arms cuffed at the elbows and wrists were painfully twisted above
her shoulders and fastened to a ring in the floor.
Lyral's ankles were also cuffed to rings in the floor, spreading her thighs
just enough to let her hands slide out under the buttocks and placing her face
exactly under her friend's bleeding crotch. A fine chain ran from her wrists,
through a number of pulleys, to hooks piercing Kayleen's nipples, so even the
slightest movement from her hands wrenched screams of pain from her friend.
Lyral could not help jerking and crying in horror when a drop of her friend's
blood splashed on her face.
Deviously, Lyral's restraints prevented her from healing Kayleen except by
arching herself to reach the inside of her thighs, but doing so could tear her
friend's nipples off, and Lyral could not find the resolve to try again.
Fighting the urge to let the torment continue, Zhorun put his plan in motion
with a silent command from his mind and soon a new noise could be heard in the
room, the clanking of metal and the shuffling of feet.
"Who goes there ?" asked Kayleen, an edge of dread in her voice.
No answer came, and Lyral also focused on the noise, and when a whiff of
rotten stench reached her nostrils, concentrating, she caused a pearly glow to
diffuse around them, and gasped in horror at the sight of a rotting corpse
walking towards them in halting steps, a hapless prisoner judging from the
broken chains at his wrists and ankles, a crude wooden stalk making what
remained of his member rigid and protruding. "No, please, no. Not this,"
whispered Kayleen, her voice trembling.
Horrified, Lyral watched as the corpse widened his steps to avoid her and
bring his member in line with Kayleen's bleeding orifices, but then she shook
herself and let her power surge in a blaze of white light, which tore through
the corpse, hurting Zhorun's inquiring sight even a hundred paces away.
"There's another!" cried Kayleen, her hearing still keen, fear in her voice.
Lyral dispatched the second corpse before it got near Kayleen, but now that
she was back to some semblance of her former self, dread gripped her mind.
"Kayleen, you must be healed immediately. Even if this means to tear your
nipples off, the wounds in your ... privates are awful. But if more corpses
were to come, I might find myself lacking the power to destroy them all, and
even a single one would ... kill you, I mean."
"How many could you get rid of ?", asked Kayleen, Warrior Queen again.
"If I heal you now, maybe two or three. More than a dozen, otherwise. I wish I
could do the same with Zhorun, but I'm afraid he is far too powerful for me,
even if I were to get rid of this wizard gag still in my mouth,"
A dozen. Being ravaged by corpses, repeatedly. Kayleen trembled in dread at
the thought, but her pain-wracked body craved Lyral's healing touch, and she
really had no choice, "Do it now, Lyral. I'll try to make things easier"
Lyral gathered her resolve and arched, reaching her friend's thigh with her
lips while her friend's attempts to stifle the pain in the nipples failed with
a scream, and the healing power diffused into the wounded body of the blonde
warrior. Zhorun's mind rejoiced, as he now knew to what extent Priestesses
could be overwhelmed by numbers. He had ordered to gather information about
them, and although they were somewhat secretive, they were by no means
prepared for what he had in mind. And there were not many, much less than in
the past. He left, to investigate the new strategies thus made feasible before
the torture of the prisoners resumed in the upcoming morning.
Shaking under the impression of her friend's horrid torments, gathered during
the healing process, Lyral asked, "Kayleen, when the swarthy old man ..."
"Raped me ?"
"How did you withstand that, and what he did thereafter ?" sobbed Lyral, with
fright in her voice, "When he set his hands on me, I was so afraid that I
would have told him anything. How can you be so brave ?"
"I am not as brave as you think," whispered Kayleen, stabbed by guilt.
"But my tortures are nothing before the torments you face! And the old man is
the worst, the things he does, ..., angels of heaven, he ripped you apart!"
cried Lyral, her warm tears dripping on Kayleen's legs.
"Don't dwell on it, Lyral. They want that, they want us to quiver in fear and
betray Shandra. Maybe they're trying to scare you into talking, and maybe
tomorrow they'll force me to watch you being tortured. We're toys in their
hands, they can do anything they want with us, but as long as we hold on, they
lose. Remember, Lyral, we must not give up. For ourselves, for each other,
for all our friends out there. They will rescue us, if we buy them some time."
Lyral pursued the matter no further, and Kayleen considered her own words,
brave words for someone who had betrayed an innocent young girl into this hell
of unrelenting torment. Words backed by hard facts, however, and in order to
amend her misdeeds she had to find an angle somehow.
Kayleen spent the rest of the night pondering their predicament, until she
recognized the footsteps which announced another day of torment. She called
Lyral's name, waking her up from her fitful, tormented sleep, and whispered,
"Lyral, wake up! Heal yourself, time is running out."
Lyral woke with a yelp, her mind heavy with dread, but as always Kayleen's
pragmatic suggestions spurred her to action and she managed to heal herself,
while Kayleen kept still. Their captors probably knew how Lyral helped her,
but she wanted to concede nothing.
The Easterner dragged Lyral away, while Grod tightened Kayleen's collar and
released her, dragging her muscular body under two chains where he fastened
her wrist cuffs, twisting back her arms at the shoulders and cuffing each
ankle to the corresponding wrist with another chain, pulling her legs off the
floor, horizontal and spread about two feet.
Before her, ten paces away, Lyral was having her wrists cuffed to a chain over
her head, and the Easterner then cuffed her ankles to another chain hanging
from the ceiling, pulling her legs up as if sitting in mid air.
Grod placed three buckets on the floor, and picked up a flogger from the
first, at the sight of which both girls cringed in dread. Each of its nine
strands ended in a heavy lead clip, and the thin leather, knotted every two
inches and soaked with liquid from the bucket, glittered menacingly.
The wry Easterner produced instead a long, slender cane and swinging it in a
wide arc slashed Lyral's thin arm, leaving an angry red stripe and eliciting a
shrill cry from her gagged mouth. Grod flexed his muscles and landed the
flogger on Kayleen's shoulder blades, obtaining a stifled gasp which turned
into a low hiss as the strong vinegar soaking the flogger seeped into the
bleeding welts left by the knots. While Kayleen shook her chains, the cane
slashed Lyral's ass cheeks, causing her to cry aloud and start weeping.
The flogger raked Kayleen's buttocks, leaving half a score of parallel red
stripes punctuated by bleeding welts. Again, the vinegar started stinging
fiercely, causing Kayleen to twitch and the Southerner nearby to savor the
sight of the Northern beauty buckling in her bonds. Lyral cried when the cane
struck her back, averting her gaze from Kayleen's plight.
Kayleen hissed in suppressed agony when the flogger slashed the soles of her
feet, first one then the other in quick succession, trembling as she realized
that this flogger was worse than the bullwhip and dreading what could happen
if it were used without long pauses after each strike. Lyral cried in rage as
the cane tore at her armpit, drawing a thin cut.
The flogger struck Kayleen's left calf, coiling around and raking the skin, a
vicious lash, meant to draw the howl which took all her resolve to stifle as
her muscles stiffened and flexed in silent agony, the burn from the first lash
still tormenting her shoulders because of the vinegar, so each lash added more
and more pain to her misery.
While Grod lashed Kayleen's other calf, Lyral was buckling in her chains, in
the vain attempt to safeguard her breasts from the cane, shrieking in despair
each time the Easterner slashed her soft flesh. Kayleen drew a long, agonized
breath when the flogger tore across her thighs, masterfully striking the
crease between buttock and thigh and the soft flesh behind the upper thigh.
That strike was followed immediately by another on the small of her back, the
breath turning to a gasp and her buckling to a frenzy, as the compounded pain
deeply taxed her resolve. Cold water was splashed on her face.
Lyral howled when the cane slashed the soles of her feet, and Kayleen's fists
clenched as she helplessly witnessed her friend's torment, and then opened
spasmodically as Grod raked the flogger across her front, slashing her abdomen
and breasts in a single strike which caused her to arch her back, throwing her
head back as she forced the howl surging from her throat into a seething hiss.
Lyral wept, lost in her own pain, while the flogger slashed her friend's
dangling body again. Slowly, Grod lashed Kayleen's soles, her calves, and the
front and back of her thighs, biding his time in order for the vinegar to
wrench new hisses and buckles from her pain-wracked body. In a corner of her
mind, she cursed him for forcing her to put up quite a show before the leering
eyes of the old Southerner, which ogled her heaving breasts, buckling hips and
slender legs as she contorted under the flogger.
While Lyral was allowed frequent pauses, Kayleen's only respite were short
sips of syrupy liquid. As her torment was protracted, rivulets of blood
started crossing on her flesh, each strike of the flogger causing a frenzy of
buckling agony as it landed on already smarting flesh. She was repeatedly
splashed with cold water, and her gasps rose in pitch when the flogger landed
between her legs, her thighs flexing deliciously under the harsh slashes of
the leather tails as Lyral turned her gaze in tears.
When Kayleen's convulsions under the flogger waned to twitches, Grod suspended
the torment and lowered her to the floor. He cuffed her elbows and wrists
together, then slid a low bench across the small of her back, lifting it about
two feet from the cold stone floor and cuffed her ankles wide at the corners
of the bench, twisting her legs painfully open. A chain was fastened to her
wrists and used to pull her in a tight hogtie, arching her back and exposing
her full, striped breasts. She tried to shun the beverage brought to her lips,
but Grod pinched her nose and poured it down her mouth.
The burly executioner circled her panting form and picked up a flogger which
had been soaking in a different bucket, one with nine long, heavy tails of
twisted animal hair. Unlike the previous, the tails were heavy with dripping
liquid. He swung it in a wide arc and brought it down between her folded leg
and thigh, causing her to buckle spasmodically as the knots tore the skin and
a curtailed scream screeched behind her clenched teeth.
Her contorted face relaxed only briefly, and then set again as she stifled a
gasp from the strong ammonia soaking the flogger, her bent leg twisting under
the mounting sting in the welts. Tears flowed from her eyes as another scream
was contained behind her clenched teeth when her tormentor brought the flogger
down on her abdomen, tracing bleeding stripes of torn skin.
The next strike fell under the already wounded sole of her right foot, and her
tormentor soon followed with another on the other foot, causing her restrained
body to twitch delightfully as hissing gasps escaped her clenched mouth. The
mounting pain under her soles rose to unbearable agony as no inch of the soft
flesh was safe from the tails and the caustic, and the repeated strikes
brought her desperate hisses to new heights on par with Lyral's unbridled
screaming as the cane trounced her nipples.
Unlike the vinegar, which protracted the pain of the wound, ammonia actually
irritated it, and thus repeated flogging of the same area caused the pain to
increase without bounds, as Kayleen found out when her tormentor targeted her
upthrust belly, drawing stripe after stripe of agonizing torment as she
buckled in her restraints, her body covered in sweat and her chest heaving as
she fought to stifle the screams rising from her tormented throat.
When her tormentor brought the flogger crashing on her proud, full breasts, a
scream of raw animal agony escaped her clenched lips and resounded in the
torture chamber, turning Lyral's teary gaze in time to see her friend's
convulsing body arch as new bleeding stripes graced her chest. For an instant,
Kayleen felt the grip of sheer terror at the thought of her breasts under a
succession of strikes like the one visited on her belly, and was about to
plead mercy, but Lyral's scream as the Easterner caned her soles reminded her
of her own brave words.
She managed to find her resolve just in time for the next strike, a vicious
slash across her quivering breasts which almost caused her to let out another
scream, followed after a long pause by a third, angled to rake across the
first two to maximize the pain from the ammonia. Strike after strike, pausing
only to soak the flogger every few times, the burly executioner slowly whipped
her proud breasts raw, ignoring her convulsing jerks, the mounting hisses of
unbridled agony and the occasional howling scream.
Trapped in a world of hurt, her breasts two globes of burning pain, Kayleen
found a new depth of agony when he targeted her nipples, which thus far had
been wounded only by accident. She managed to stifle her screams at first, but
as he protracted the torment the pain overwhelmed her and she cried out her
misery at the top of her lungs, sputtering when cold water was splashed on
her, spasmodically convulsing in her restraints after each lash as her ankles
and wrists bled in the tight grip of the iron cuffs.
Instead of respite she was given more laced liquid, and had only the time for
opening her eyes wide in horror before the flogger came down between her
splayed thighs, drawing new bleeding lines of searing agony in the soft flesh,
Lyral's gaze was as glued as the Southerner's on her twitching thighs as the
flogger tore through her nether regions, tracing bleeding welts which hurt
like hell as the ammonia seeped in the wounds, both new and old.
Kayleen's convulsions reached a new peak when her tormentor, after protracting
the flogging of her thighs beyond any measure of human endurance, concentrated
on her bleeding vulva, targeting the mons and sending the tips of the tail
cracking inside her cunt lips, wrenching from behind her clenched teeth howl
after howl of desperate agony. Slowly, splashing her with cold water
occasionally, Grod dragged her down the staircases of hell, whipping her groin
raw just like her breasts, a canvas of crisscrossing purple stripes, rashes
and bleeding welts smarting under the pungent bite of the ammonia solution,
whose smell testified to the number of lashes she had endured.
When her jerks subsided, and only then, Grod interrupted his ministrations,
bringing more laced liquid to her mouth while her mind waded through a haze of
pain, incongruously considering how she could gain some respite by pretending
to no longer feel the pain from the lashes. Grod unfastened her legs from the
bench and pulled them up and wide, cuffing each ankle to a chain from the
ceiling and pulling her up until her torso was almost vertical, sending pain
through her shoulders as her arms twisted in their sockets, while the back of
her neck rested on the cold floor.
Dread filled Kayleen's teary eyes at the thought of what her position entailed
while Grod produced yet another flogger, one consisting of nine long and thin
tails of snake hide, with knots every inch and nasty lead tips. The prospect
of facing it burned through the veils of her suffering just as Lyral's cry
echoed in the room when the cane lacerated her breasts.
The burly executioner flexed his muscles and sent the flogger coiling on her
bare buttocks, tracing half a score of thin cuts across the delectable flesh
and causing her to push her loins forward, opening her thighs even more to the
leering gaze of the omnipresent Southerner. The pain caused her to gurgle as
she managed to suppress a howl of agony and dread at the thought of what the
nine-tailed horror would do to her next.
Instead of following up with another strike, Grod scooped up a ladle of liquid
and dribbled it onto the wound, sending her in a frenzy of hissing gasps and
spasmodic jerks as the bleach burned into the open wounds in her ass cheeks,
its limited cleansing effect of no consolation to Kayleen's agonizing flesh.
Grod walked back to his original position before sending the flogger raking
across her ass cheeks again, causing her to twitch and hiss as more bleach
trickled on her wounds, both old and new, revealing to her new depths of
torment as the liquid flowed down her torso, finding no end of wounds to burn
through and wrenching new desperate gasps from the agonizing Kayleen. The
snake hide flogger inflicted too many cuts for uninterrupted use, so Grod's
technique was to alternate its strikes with bleach aspersions, cleaning the
wounds while deepening the torment of his victim.
The smell of bleach reached Lyral's nostrils after the tip of the cane slashed
her left nipple, and her cry was part her own pain and part horror at her
friend's fitful jerks as the whip traced thin cuts across her arms and
shoulders, each strike bringing new hisses and occasional gurgles from
Kayleen's drooling mouth. Her back was now a bright crimson wash of blood and
irritated skin, each lash tracing a new cut whose blood trickled down as the
bleach seeped in the wound and she writhed at the pain, still determined
enough to keep her silence but inching closer and closer to breaking.
Her torment found new depths when Grod started lashing her distended legs, the
soft, martyrized flesh quivering with thin cuts and trembling as bleach
trickled on it, turning it a fiery crimson every in the increasingly rare
place not yet marked by the horrendous flogging. Kayleen's screams surged
between clenched teeth, harder and harder to tame, and escaped her mouth in
fitful hisses, each drop of bleach bringing new convulsions of her body under
the leering gaze of the Southerner and Lyral's horrified stare.
When the snakeskin tails started coiling around her torso and slashing her
striped breasts, Lyral could no longer stand it. She averted her gaze, too
late to miss the droplets of blood spraying from the raw breast flesh, but
could do nothing for the agonized, hissing gasp erupting from Kayleen's mouth
when bleach trickled on her striped breast. Lyral tried to keep in mind
Kayleen's brave words, but each crack of the whip on Kayleen's bleeding
breasts shook her, and her friend's hisses and gurgles would not go away no
matter how much she shook her head.
"Stop! I'll tell you! Spare her and I'll tell you!" spat Lyral through her gag
after a shrill cry escaped Kayleen's resolve as her bleeding nipple was cut by
a vicious strike from her tireless tormentor, and a series of pitiful hisses
followed as the bleach flowing on her breast started burning the wound.
"Very well," whispered Zhorun, getting nearer to Lyral.
"No! Lyral, don't!" cried the agonizing Kayleen.
"I cannot stand still and let them torture you like this," sobbed Lyral.
"That's nothing! I can stand it! Don't tell them anything, Lyral!"
"If you don't talk, her torture will be immediately resumed," said Zhorun.
"Go ahead! Try your worst! I can take it! Lyral, please, don't tell them,
don't waste all the agonies I withstood thus far!" spat the Warrior Queen.
Sobbing, Lyral closed her eyes and shook her head. On Zhorun's cue, the
Easterner slashed her nipple with the cane, causing her to cry briefly but
still shake her head. Zhorun receded, after gesturing to Grod to proceed.
Grod lashed Kayleen's breasts again, repeatedly, until he managed to cut her
other nipple also, dribbling bleach all over her convulsing body as his victim
hissed and spat "You're not ... hurting me. Try ... harder."
His expression impenetrable, Grod moved to above her head and with his full
force flogged her displayed crotch, causing her thighs to twitch as the snake
skin cut the soft flesh and she suppressed a howl of agony, while Lyral
screamed in dismay. Instead of dribbling more bleach, Grod flogged her again,
at an angle, so that the cuts crossed the others, and then flogged her a third
time, at the opposite angle. When he trickled bleach on her crotch, her
convulsions shook the chains she hung from, just like her desperately
suppressed screams shook Lyral's innocent soul.
The Easterner caned Lyral's soles, first left and then right, pausing between
each strike to let her witness the suffering of her friend and striking each
time Kayleen was splashed with cold water.
Grod circled Kayleen's twitching form and placed behind her back, flexing his
muscles and aiming the next strike so that the tips wound over her crotch and
slashed into the lips, cutting thin bleeding wounds in the soft flesh as her
hung body jerked and twisted, her will turning a scream of agony into a cry,
"I can stand it! Don't tell them!". The next strike wrenched a gurgle from
her, and the next one a hissing gasp as her lips were cut again, so that when
Grod dribbled bleach her entire body shook in atrocious convulsions as the
liquid flowed down her front and back, but also seeped into her wounded lips
and entered her orifices. Lyral watched in horror as Kayleen's agonized jerks
tore at the chains, while she cried "Don't talk!"
Grod placed clamps on her cunt lips and on the folds covering her clitoris,
pulling them savagely and fastening them with taut cords. The snakeskin tails
cracked inside the splayed lips, slashing the soft flesh with the tips at the
top of their speed, spraying droplets of blood on her thighs. He dribbled more
bleach, and then flogged her vulva again, and kept alternating bleach and
flogging while Kayleen's hissing gasps merged into a single, uninterrupted
wail of sheer agony, interspersed with desperate cries of "Don't talk!"
When Kayleen came to, she realized that the flogging of her sex had been
protracted until she passed out. Her wounds had been treated, but a spider gag
had been placed in her mouth, and was soon used to pour laced liquid in her
parched throat. Her eyes sought Lyral's, but her friend's horrified gaze was
glued to the Southerner's preparations. Kayleen's heart sank as her gaze
followed Lyral's, and she saw the man laying out a selection of the wooden
wedges carved into implements of violation he was so fond of.
Lyral was being fastened to a large vertical waterwheel, her feet above her
head, but Kayleen was lying on a bench, with her legs pulled up at shoulder
height, the ankles cuffed wide apart to a cross beam. Her arms cuffed at the
elbows and the wrists had been pulled back, and the Southerner was coiling a
thin knotted cord around her left breast, tightening it at the base. Ignoring
Kayleen's gritted teeth he did the same on her other breast, then lowered a
chain from the cross beam and pulled her off the bench by her breasts, smiling
as she clenched her teeth and fought back tears.
"Soon, Your Haughtiness, we'll see what you can really stand. But let's have
some fun first," he said, and moved to her crotch. He smeared some powder on
his fingers and started rubbing it inside her vagina, following up with a soft
sponge to reach deeper inside. Kayleen trembled in dread because there was no
pain, not even itching, and when he disrobed, pulling something onto his
member, she closed her eyes before the inevitable rape.
Lyral cried out in pain as the waterwheel was cranked a few notches, pulling
her body taut and digging dozens of dull iron points in her soft back and
buttocks. Grod splashed her with cold water, allowing her to watch in horror
the brutal rape of her friend.
When the old man's member rasped Kayleen's love channel in a fiery surge of
blazing pain, a scream of agony and surprise escaped her mouth, fueled by the
scraping of the walls parched dry by the white powder. Her violator smiled at
the scream and pumped harder, delighting in wrenching more howls from her, now
that the gag deprived her of the easiest means of stifling them. Her violation
was soon over, as if he could not force himself to wait for what would follow,
but he did not forget to smear his semen on her whip cuts.
He immediately produced a collection of wooden wedges, of increasing size but
all deeply creased, oddly reminiscent of wooden doughnuts on a stick. He
pushed the first inside Kayleen's ass, slowly, the alternating creases and
ridges tearing and pulling at the sphincter as she cried and shook in her
restraints. The last ridge had tiny knobs, which wrenched a deeper wail from
her as they tore at the muscle when it was distended at its maximum.
"Scream all you want, Whore Queen! There's more coming," he growled.
He started pushing and pulling the device viciously, wrenching helpless cries
from his restrained victim as she swung from her breasts under his thrusts,
the mounting pain blazing through her striped body and surging unobstructed
from her distended mouth. Lyral shriveled under the barrage of Kayleen's
cries, torn between the desperate urge to put an end to the horrid torture and
the dedication to her friend.
"She will be tormented until you reveal the whereabouts of the Sorceress,"
whispered the corpse of the former wizard in Lyral's ears, "so there is no
point in protracting her agony. You'll break before her."
Panting, the old Southerner paused, poured the contents of the jug in
Kayleen's mouth, and fetched another wooden horror, whose frightening girth
disappeared in her parched vagina, bringing a blood-curling scream from her
sore throat. Her body swung in fitful jerks as her tormentor drove the wedge
back and forth, relentlessly tearing at her muscles and rasping her dried
channel. Her screams rose even higher when he switched to a larger implement,
and then to the next one, which ended up smeared with blood from her wounds
and the scratches being inflicted on her insides.
Her screams turned to sputtering gurgles when she was forced to drink, and
then subsided until he resumed the violation of her bowels, grabbing her pubic
hair with one hand and driving the wedge with the other, protracting her
convulsing jerks and pitiful cries until her sphincter was torn, wrenching a
howl of unbridled pain from her mouth as her body stiffened in sheer agony.
"Next one will make you squeal like the sow you are," he panted.
Without removing the wedge from her bleeding ass, he pushed another into her
sore vagina, renewing her cries as the implement was so large that he could
not push it inside. Drooling, he put a foot on the wedge and grabbed her pubic
hair with both hands, pushing it inside by force as she howled in unparalleled
agony while each ridge tore through the entrance, the knobs ripping bleeding
wounds in the distended muscle just as her screams rose under the vaults of
the torture chamber.
Lyral's own cries joined her friend's as her joints creaked under the pull of
the rack and the iron studs raked her back, but most of the dread in her cries
was still at her friend's violation, although the shame was fully hers as she
was proving unable to withstand a torture which to her eyes was nothing before
what her friend was enduring.
"Your friend has endured only two weeks of torture so far, and she's already
near collapse. What will be of her after two months ?" screeched Zhorun.
Aroused, Kayleen's tormentor smeared a reddish powder on two wedges and pushed
them into her orifices, then fixed a plank to the bench at crotch height and
circled her while her moans turned to shrieks as the hot pepper burned her
insides. The swarthy Southerner positioned at her head, disrobed his member
and penetrated her screaming mouth, pushing into her so that the bottom of the
wedges crashed into the plank as she swung from her breasts under his thrusts.
He protracted her humiliation until her fitful screams brought him to climax,
savoring her choked humiliation and bitter torment while the powder blazed her
insides and each thrust sent the wedge against her cervix. After coming, he
lazily kept pushing, wrenching new spasms of torment from her swinging body.
When her buckling subsided, he lowered her on the bench and made her drink,
then inspected at length her orifices, without following up with any
treatment. She was turned face down, her arms pulled up vertically behind her
back, and he clamped her nipples. Her legs were spread wide and her ankles
cuffed to rings in the floor, at shoulder height, while the clamps of her
nipples were pulled to a ring set at crotch height, forcing most of her weight
on her twisted shoulders and exposing her orifices to further violations.
"Maybe you think you can get away with it, but you won't. You'll just keep
screaming until you break, " added her tormentor.
He smeared oil on another wedge, and then repeatedly rolled it in rough sand,
his preparations not visible to the sobbing Kayleen but in plain sight for
Lyral, who averted her gaze when her friend's cry of despair rose in the
chamber as the wedge was thrust into her bowels. The old Southerner pushed it
in with both hands and twisted it, savoring how her body buckled with each
twist in the desperate attempt to lessen the scraping of her innards by the
sand, while the hot pepper oil burned them like searing flame.
After protracting her violation until he ran out of breath, he paused and
switched to a larger wedge, confident that the oil would help it slid in at
the price of more scraping torment. The next larger slid in with agonizing
difficulty, and Kayleen's howls now shook her body in rhythm with the thrusts
and twists of the devilish implement, each jerk tearing at her nipples.
Lyral caught her breath after screaming her lungs out from the sudden release
of her racked limbs, her gaze racing to her friend's convulsing form and the
horrors the old man was inflicting. Her mind twitched like a worm on a fish
hook before the sexual depravity of the torments he came up with, scared sick
of their viciousness and yet unable to keep her mind off them.
"Either of you will break, sooner rather than later if your screams are any
indication, and once I had the Sorceress properly dealt with, no one would
stand before me." whispered the corpse which had been a powerful wizard.
After another pause, the old Southerner scooped up some sand and smeared it
inside Kayleen's vagina, then pushed a dreadfully large wedge inside, twisting
its raw girth specifically to grind the sand inside the sensitive upper part
of her love channel. Kayleen screamed repeatedly in agony as the minute
particles of sand abraded the dry wall behind the upper part of the vaginal
rim, turning the pink source of female pleasure into a grinding hell of bloody
agony. Howls of torment escaped her parched lips as her hips convulsed with
each twist of the sand encrusted wedge, twitching as blood smeared the wood.
The amount of oil burning Kayleen's innards was such that even when he paused
for breath she found no respite, twitching in her restraints as waves of fire
rose from her insides and the pain compounded the ache in her arms and the
mounting pain in her nipples, subjected to harsh pulls whenever she jerked.
Her torment was resumed with a larger wedge, so large that it would never fit
if not for the oil, and when he pushed it in she cried in despair, still
herself enough to know that her torture was not even halfway. After splashing
her with cold water, the old man protracted the scraping of her vagina until
her anguished screams turned to pitiful wheezes.
"Look at yourself, Warrior Queen. You thought you had me defeated, and now it
is you who tastes bile in defeat. Once your pride has been shattered, I'll
manage to repay you of your deeds in full," said Zhorun.
Kayleen was lowered to the floor, still twitching and crying because of the
burning oil in her insides, and placed face up on the bench, her arms pulled
up behind her and tied to a ring on the floor, her thighs pulled wide by iron
bands at the knees and cuffed at the ankles. The laced liquid was poured down
her mouth again, and a thin cord was tied around her nipples and used to pull
her off the bench, turning her cries into a single, fitful wail as this
rekindled torment compounded the horrors she was undergoing.
Lyral paid little heed to her friend's predicament this time, as the rack was
tearing at her joints with unprecedented viciousness and the iron points in
her back and buttocks were drawing blood. She screamed in sheer agony as the
pain from the points caused her to twitch again, sending blazes of white hot
agony through her joints already near the point of dislocation.
"Now we see if Her Haughtiness can stand this," said the Southerner to Lyral,
holding up a wedge hacked raw, bristling with cuts, dents, and loose slivers.
Lyral saw the horrid device through a haze of bitter tears, and could not
bring herself to waste her friend's incredible endurance, but the thought of
her friend suffering that horror weighed on her mind.
Eager to get going, the Southerner moved back near Kayleen and watched as she
shut her eyes, her mouth forming a silent "No," which he enjoyed immensely, at
least until her head rose defiantly and she shouted "No, Lyral, don't talk!
Whatever they do to me, don't talk!"
Stymied on one hand, yet secretly pleased, he pushed the horrid device into
her swollen anus, scratching and tearing the walls while she shouted her lungs
out in a fitful howl of unbridled agony. Clutching her pubic hair with one
hand, he started pushing and pulling rhythmically, abrading her sphincter and
puncturing the inner walls of her rectum with dozens of tiny wooden splinters.
This, the sweat, the blood and the screams of this northern beauty suffering
at his hands ... this was his elixir of youth. After a protracted scraping, he
slowed his rhythm and started twisting instead, savoring the twitching of her
splayed thighs as blood soaked the wedge. Her head shook left and right as her
torment continued unabated, serving gut-wrenching screams of absolute agony on
the plate of his rekindled arousal.
To prevent her from bleeding too much, he pulled the wedge out and pushed in
another, smeared with the paste used to staunch open wounds, smiling as this
also caused her to gasp at the new intrusion. He splashed her with more cold
water, then his smile turned to an evil leer, and Kayleen's screams rose to
new heights when he squirted salt water into her ravaged rectum.
Kayleen's mind reeled in a sea of rolling waves of pain, no longer able to
cling to her last measure of defiance as he had robbed her of the ability to
deprive them of her screams. A new howl escaped her mouth as bitter tears flew
from her eyes when another raw wedge penetrated her vagina, digging deep
gouges on its walls and puncturing the rim with countless thin slivers in a
searing invasion of unparalleled cruelty.
"Now scream your lungs out, Whore Queen!"
He started twisting the wedge, and her bellows rose in frenzied agony as her
buckling spasmodically attempted to second the twists of the device to avoid
the dents on the wooden surface from cutting new gashes in her swollen love
channel, each jerk bringing stabs of tearing pain from her bound nipples also,
in a symphony of torment of which the old Southerner was director, composer
and enraptured spectator.
Lyral sobbed, as she was also the unwilling spectator of her friend's agonies,
unable to offset them and vaguely clinging to the hope that night would bring
a chance to soothe them. Her own suffering no longer looked tame to her, as
the pain in her joints increased mercilessly on each crank of the rack, but
she was still deeply ashamed of her inability to withstand the torture.
The Southerner paused, panting while Kayleen convulsed in a frenzy of screams
after he had dribbled bleach inside her wounded womb, and then resumed the
torment of her ass, twisting the wedge as she buckled spasmodically. He kept
alternating wood and bleach, womb and bowels, until she no longer reacted, at
which he sighed and called upon Grod for some much needed treatment of her
wounded innards and a sip from the jug.
It took longer than usual before she was deemed ready for further torment, but
she was placed with her back on the ground, and then her legs were pulled up
and above her shoulders, bending her until she rested on her shoulders, her
arms still painfully cuffed at the elbows and her ankles cuffed wide to rings
set in the floor.
"She will be tortured until you talk," whispered Zhorun to Lyral, "because she
is too proud to break, unlike you, and because her idea of the Sorceress'
whereabouts might be out of date. I want you to talk, and her to suffer."
Kayleen's body still twitched from the accumulated pain of the horrid ordeals
she had been subjected to. Her respite had been a cruelty of sorts as she had
hoped her torment was over, but had been plunged in hell soon thereafter. The
old Southerner pushed yet another wedge in her martyrized rectum, an horror of
splintered shards glued together, which wrenched a desperate howl of sheer
agony from her raucous throat as he wound the device deeper and deeper.
Another bundle of slivers was pushed into her swelling love channel, each
twist drawing another agonized scream of frenzied torment from her shaking
body, her gaping mouth drooling as her screams surged without interruption
while the slivers punctured her womb. Her position allowed him to twist and
turn the bundle with both hands, and his full force raked her womb mercilessly
while her restraints no longer allowed her hips to turn and stem the assault,
which was repeated over and over until he tired of her screams.
"She must suffer, my esteemed guest. Proceed, unless our Priestess here has
something to tell me," screeched Zhorun's voice when the old man paused.
The old Southerner produced a slender wedge and put the tip against a crack at
the bottom of the bundle violating her anus, then with considerable force
hammered it in, distending the bundle and pushing it against the swollen walls
of her rectum while her body stiffened for an instant and then convulsed in a
jerking frenzy of unspeakable torment. Buckling in her restraints, she caused
herself further agonies as each movement displaced dozens of tiny slivers
inside her hurt bowels and womb, engendering further spasmodic jerks in a
vicious cycle of inescapable, uninterrupted agony.
Lyral almost puked at this new horror, but her quivering body could not manage
that under the tension caused by the rack. She saw through tear-filled eyes
the robed figure of the former wizard lean over Kayleen's twitching body, as
if to savor every detail, and shuddered at the recollection of what she had
been taught about the wizards who chose to defy the grave.
When Kayleen's exhaustion diminished her twitches, her drooling tormentor
drove another wedge into her rectum, rekindling the spasms of her torment and
the concert of agonized screams. Wedge after wedge, each one smaller than its
predecessor but still distending her bowels among her howls of sheer animal
agony, he protracted Kayleen's torment farther than Lyral thought possible
even after what she had seen him doing.
Drooling and aroused, he moved to Kayleen's head and viciously penetrated her
mouth, leaning on her to drive a wedge in the bundle martyrizing her love
channel, enjoying himself immensely as her mouth gurgled her agony onto his
stiff member, and bringing the hammer down repeatedly, driving the same wedge
deeper and deeper before fetching another and protracting the unrelenting
torment until her desperate, choked screams made him come.
Keeping his member in her mouth, he savored her choking fits of jerking agony
as her buckles racked the slivers against her innards, smiling as he felt the
chance for another arousal in his aged loins. To achieve it, he refrained from
using more wedges and instead poured distilled grain spirit on her twitching
nether regions, soaking the wood.
Her screams reached new heights as the alcoholic liquid seeped into her open
wounds with a burning fury rivaling bleach or saltwater. He let her scream and
buckle until the wood was thoroughly soaked, then leisurely drove more wedges
in, each one squeezing out more alcohol to compound the pain from the slivers,
wrenching Kayleen through convulsing fits of spasmodic jerking and hopeless
screams of demented agony, but failing to rekindle his arousal.
Stymied, the old Southerner fastened a chain to the wooden implement in her
ass and pulled her up from the floor, savoring her renewed howls as the device
slowly receded from her bowels, splintering and tearing the tormented flesh
until she fell down. When a chain was fastened on the bundle in her vagina,
her parched mouth whispered something, which Lyral couldn't quite make out as
it turned into a heart-rending howl of harrowing agony, because the splintered
horror was pulling her vagina inside out, tearing at its stretched walls and
drawing the rim out of its seat in her blood splattered vulva.
With a demented laugh, her tormentor started pulling and releasing the chain,
tearing off her vagina but also breaking the splinters as they ripped through
the muscle while she howled in mindless torment, foaming at the mouth and
shaking as wave after wave of blazing agony blazed through her ravaged
femininity, her teary eyes searching Lyral's gaze in the determined attempt to
convey her desperate message, "Don't talk."
Grod and the Southerner took immediately to treating her profusely bleeding
wounds, wrenching more cries from her as they plucked splinters, smeared paste
and clipped shut the worst wounds. Lyral wept at her friend's abuse, but her
concern was shifting to what kind of restraint they would be left in and how
to reach Kayleen before she died of her wounds, when a screeching whisper
grated on her ears, "Her interrogation is not over. Unless our Priestess has
something to say, that is."
Her eyes bulged in horror at the thought of Kayleen being tortured to death,
while a cold shroud of dread tightened on her heart at the thought of
remaining alone in their hands. As she shook her head, weeping, she heard
Kayleen's whisper something again, unable to believe that she was still brave
enough to face more torture after what she had been put through.
Crying, Lyral said, "Kayleen, you cannot stand any more of this! How much
longer can you hold on ? I cannot let you die like this."
Kayleen's response was cut short by a kick to her face by the Southerner, who
said, "If she feels like it, I say we oblige."
But Lyral's eyes had caught the words on her friend's lips, and she lowered
her head, sobbing and crying, "Torture me! I am weak, I can't stand the pain,
please torture me and spare her. She'll never give up."
With a sickening smile, the Southerner, anticipating the torture of this
victim who cried in despair at mere words, neared Lyral and said "Well, unless
I'm mistaken, it's my turn, so I guess it won't be long, girl,"
Without removing her from the rack, he fetched the bundles of wooden splinters
still smeared with Kayleen's blood and started plucking some with pliers, well
aware of how deeply the horrid device scared the innocent Lyral. But the
orders were to preserve her maidenhood, so he just drove a splinter through
the soft flesh of her armpit while she screamed at the new pain.
Meanwhile, wearing an expression even more impenetrable than usual on his wry
face, the Easterner cuffed Kayleen's ankles together, cuffed her arms behind
her back and pulled her up by the ankles, half a foot off the floor. He
produced a collection of candles, and placed a kettle over a small coal fire.
He lit a candle, letting it burn for a while on the floor before her eyes, and
then picked it up to drip molten beeswax on her left ass cheek.
The brief illusion of respite suggested by the sweet smell of honey was torn
from Kayleen as the burning wax seared her flesh, sending her buckling and
wrenching a yowl from her savaged throat. Another drop followed, landing on a
whip wound, and so did the subsequent ones, tracing the thin cut in an
unrelenting stream. Although individually each burn paled before what she had
been subjected to so far, the mounting pain wrenched from her a sharp cry of
agonized despair as she recognized the first signs of another ordeal.
Somewhat unusually, the Easterner targeted her torn orifices right on, using
two candles to drip beeswax on her bleeding crotch as she twisted and screamed
under the unrelenting progression of small burns, buckling in the attempt to
obtain some pause as each drop stuck in a gouge or cut and kept searing it in
spite of her writhing attempts to dislodge them.
Her screams mounted as the uninterrupted dripping moved to her bleeding
sphincter, circling the torn rim in spite of her agonized jerks and sending
drops of molten wax down her swollen insides, where they stuck in the recesses
dug by the wooden splinters and seared her relentlessly, causing her to rattle
her chains as she buckled in the vain attempt to stem the pain in her bowels.
Lyral screamed in demented agony as splinters were driven under the nail of
her middle finger and soaked in wood spirit, her jerks tearing at her strained
body even if it was no longer pulled near dislocation. The pain was so intense
that she was sure she would not survive it, but when more were pushed under
her other fingers she found out how wrong she was.
"Our esteemed guest is hopefully fulfilling your wish, Priestess, so I hope
you'll fulfill mine soon. Your friend sounds near breaking anyhow, so you
might as well talk now," screeched Zhorun's voice.
Fetching a new pair of candles, the Easterner targeted the devastated rim of
Kayleen's vagina, dripping wax on the flapping folds of torn flesh around the
rim, the drops lodging where the ripped folds of each tear joined and sticking
there while she jerked in agony, bending at the waist enough to bring her
sweat soaked blonde mane at waist height and then arching while her thighs
twitched open as her femininity burned under the merciless wax.
The dripping of more wax inside her love channel resulted in a frenzy of
hoarse screams, each overlapping its predecessors as the drops fell faster
than she could scream, burning her without mercy as the searing droplets
nudged in the gouges dug by the wooden splinters.
In spite of her buckling and jerking, the Easterner protracted the searing of
her orifices until the area was covered in wax droplets in various stages of
cooling, slowing the dripping as it became harder and harder to find spots of
open skin. Kayleen found no respite from this as the wax took time to cool,
and her world become one of uninterrupted searing agony from dozens of tiny
wax burns no amount of twitching or screaming could dislodge.
Coldly, the Easterner wound a thin cord around the base of her breasts and
used it to pull her chest up in a reclined position, suitable for dripping
beeswax on her full mounds, initially following the thin cuts left from the
tails of the flogger, taking care to let drops lodge inside each wound while
Kayleen's screams were fanned anew and her twitching resumed in earnest.
More wax was dripped on her nipples, and mounting pain raged from her mouth as
the distended tendons of her neck looked on the verge of breaking while she
howled like a mad animal. Drop after drop crowded on her proud breasts until
these also became so covered in wax that further drops would no longer reach
Kayleen's martyrized skin, and her tormentor moved to dripping wax on the
exposed soles of her feet, engendering another sequel of frenzied jerks before
stopping and letting his victim twitch and cry until the wax cooled.
Lyral panted as she had been allowed some respite, shivering from the cold
water doused on her, no longer interested in comparing her torture to that of
her friend as the pain from the slivers under her fingernails was worse than
anything she had ever experienced, but still deeply frightened at the thought
of being in the hands of the man who had been capable of coming up with the
agonies visited on her friend's body.
More syrupy liquid was poured into Kayleen's mouth, and then the Easterner
picked up a bronze cruet, lit a oil burner in its base, and filled it with hot
honey from the kettle. He placed the sprout between her ankles, just under the
cuffs, and tilted it, releasing a thin stream of searing honey down her leg.
Kayleen's knees jerked away and she turned sideways, bending as the liquid
flowed slowly down her crisscrossed leg and along the soft flesh of the inner
thigh, leaving a burning crimson trace while she screamed her lungs out at the
protracted torment. The honey reached her hip and flowed down her belly, the
last drops reaching her bosom after first searing her at the calf.
When he shed some on the sole of her left foot, part of the liquid flowed down
her leg, wrenching a new scream from her sore throat, but most sunk in the
cool wax, melting slowly until it dug through and reached the skin beneath,
already smarting from the beeswax and now seared by the liquid trapped by the
surrounding wax. She screamed when the liquid first burned her, and kept
screaming while the heat persisted until her wild jerks caused it to flow in
rivulets of hot pain. The Easterner poured honey on her other sole, and waited
until it ran its full course before pouring more on her left foot again,
intent on melting away the wax encrusting her seared soles.
Lyral screamed again as slivers were pushed under her toenails, the promise of
ten being eventually driven home already bringing her on the verge of madness
after two. The recollections from her friend's agonies she had picked up
during healing had not prepared her to the intensity of the torment, and in a
corner of her she wondered how her friend could stifle her screams.
"Stubbornness will not help you, Priestess, but it will further your friend's
torment. She will be spared nothing," whispered Zhorun, an edge in his voice.
Kayleen was offered to drink from the jug again and then the Easterner
refilled the cruet, placing it against the back of her left thigh as she
trembled in dread before bursting in a scream of desperate torment as the
liquid flowed down the soft flesh, seared the ass cheek and lost itself in
rivulets of fiery agony down her welted back.
Each pouring of the liquid brought a protracted hell of searing torment as the
viscous liquid flowed slowly down her body, leaving a trail of burning pain
while she screamed and twitched in the frantic effort to keep it from the soft
spots of her tormented body. After repeating the torment of her thighs, the
Easterner started pouring the honey on her ass cheeks directly, searing
already burnt flesh while she cried in demented pain and twitched wildly,
pulling at the cord binding her breasts as if ready to tear them off.
Lyral howled while trembling with an intensity which would have caused her to
shake wildly if not for the pull of the rack, unable to withstand the pain of
the splinters her tormentor was driving in her breasts and soaking with wood
spirit. Her mind was now spinning in circles, unable to think about anything
else beyond her unprecedented torment.
When the Easterner's arms tired, he paused and let Kayleen drink again. In
spite of her unparalleled endurance and the drugs in the liquid, she was
nearly exhausted, her mind sliding into madness as her world folded into a
hell of searing torment. Although the honey was somewhat helpful in the
treatment of her bleeding wounds, the burns most certainly weren't, but her
tormentor gave her no further respite and started releasing hot honey on the
inside of her thighs, letting it flow down her crotch and belly as she buckled
and jerked between screams of unabated agony.
After protracting this further torment, he brought the cruet at chest height,
lingering as she wailed in dread at the horror about to be inflicted on her
tormented chest and then burst in a howl as the honey was poured on the
underside of her left breast, a thin stream of steaming liquid circling the
base of the breast and flowing down her ribcage while she twisted in mad pain
and her cries rose through the vaults of the torture chamber.
The cruet was then moved on top, circling along the full mound in order to let
the stream fall on the encrusted wax and melt swaths of it, leaving angry red
skin underneath as the honey oozed down her mounds and she screamed her lungs
out from the devastating torment. Unbelievably, her howls rose in pitch when
he dipped the honey onto her nipples, melting the wax off them and letting the
honey flow until her breasts were mostly free from wax and her voice had
turned to a wheeze from her uninterrupted screaming.
But the horrors of hell descended on her in earnest when he refilled the cruet
and started pouring honey on her crotch, because part of the liquid would melt
through the wax and form a pool onto burned skin from which it could be
dislodged only by spasmodic jerks and buckles, punctuated by heart-rending
howls of appalling torment which found neither consolation nor respite as her
tormentor occasionally dribbled more honey on her orifices.
The Southerner was starting to enjoy tormenting the young Priestess, drooling
at each sliver he managed to push into her nipples, already brimming in wooden
shards and at each scream he wrenched from her mouth when he poured wood
spirit on them. Her plump, pale flesh was delightfully easy to wound, and her
screams bore the sense of despair and anguish he craved in his victims.
Kayleen's torment was protracted until most of the wax melt away, leaving her
crotch area a crisscrossing of angry crimson burns, buckling in despair as the
liquid seeped inside her orifices kept searing her from within and causing her
to scream and cry in helpless agony, which found respite only when the liquid
slowly cooled off while her body was racked by frenzies of coughing.
She was given more syrupy liquid and her breasts were untied, wrenching
another scream from her as normal circulation was restored in the pain-wracked
mounds, but a post was placed against her back and her waist was fastened to
it with an iron band. Her legs were then doubled at the knee, cuffing the
ankles to the respective thighs, and her arms were cuffed together and pulled
up behind her back, arching her and exposing the breasts and crotch which were
the favored targets of all her tormentors.
As more iron bands were added above and below her breasts, Kayleen found
herself completely immobilized, unable to oppose her tormentor as he tightened
a screw around her nipple and pulled her right breast into a cone of burnt
pain, fastening the screw to the post with a fine chain and repeating the
operation with her other nipple. More screws were tightened on her cunt lips,
spreading them painfully wide, and the same fate befell her clitoral hood,
while she cried helplessly, more from dread from what the preparations
entailed than from pain.
A bronze container, heated by burning coals, was lifted above her head, with
over two scores of tiny hoses dangling from it, each ending in a clamp shaped
like a crocodile head. The Easterner placed two clamps on the soft flesh of
the crease between buttock and thigh, ignoring her yowl, then waited.
After a few moments, Kayleen started to scream as hot honey flowed down from
the container onto her clamped flesh, searing it and flowing down her ass
cheeks and her strong back in a thin uninterrupted stream of blazing agony
which engendered a frenzy of screams, while her strong body shivered in the
restrains, shaking them with the strength of utter desperation but unable to
throw them off. Unlike the torment effected by the Easterner's own hand, the
crocodile heads poured hot honey always in the same place, searing already
burnt skin, turning it crimson from angry red and unleashing a blazing hell of
unrelenting pain on Kayleen's screaming frame.
Her tormentor clamped her inner thighs, and then the soft underside of her
breasts, protracting each ministration of uninterrupted burning agony until
her fitful howling wheezed to a pitiful wail and then pouring more syrup into
her parched mouth. When he clamped her cunt lips her jerks actually shook the
post to the point of cracking it twice, and her screams gained in pitch what
they lost in volume as her voice failed to carry the full measure of her
unabated agony, but he kept them clamped and seared until the skin started
peeling off under the uninterrupted flow of searing liquid.
Her nipples were clamped next, and her torment was rekindled in full after the
briefest of respites, her twitching body glistening from the syrupy liquid and
madly straining against her iron restraints while she screamed uninterruptedly
between gasps and coughs as her nipples were slowly seared to peeling and her
breasts turned into mounds of burnt agony from the overflowing liquid hell.
Lyral howled in desperate agony as her tormentor drove more splinters into
those already piercing her breasts and nipples, splitting the old ones and
pushing the new between the two halves which would bulge in the wound just
before the new tip drove deeper.
"She will be tortured mercilessly, you know. The skin can only stand so much
heat before peeling away, but raw flesh takes longer," whispered Zhorun.
Kayleen's mind, wandering in a haze of pain, still clung on the last concept
she had formulated before pain became her sole master, and with unbelievable
bravery she managed to cry a desperate, "Don't talk, Lyral!" before drinking
the laced liquid offered to her, as if she knew what awaited her next.
Her tormentor clamped her clitoris, and the burning liquid trickled on her
love button, wrenching another howl from the bottom of the hell she had been
dragged into, and then engendering a fit of frenzied screams as the honey
dripped unrelentingly on her feminine flesh and seared it, adding burn to burn
and slowly peeling it raw.
Kayleen's torment was protracted beyond all boundaries of endurance, pouring
more syrupy liquid in her screaming mouth and alternating the crocodile clamps
between her nipples and the nub of her femininity, until, in spite of
everything, she slipped into unconsciousness.
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