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Chapter 15 - At Zhorun's Own Hands
As soon as the three torturers left the chamber, Lyral, worried sick at her
friend's conditions, called out "Kayleen! Try to keep still, I'm coming".
She did not need light to home in on her friend, this time. Kayleen's rasping
sobs and occasional desolate screams provided ample guidance, but Lyral's task
was not easy. She was cuffed at her ankles, elbows and wrists, and iron bands
had been added at her knees, thighs and waist. Her pale skin chafed already
under the restraints, and walking proved so difficult that she gave up and set
about dragging herself on the cold stone floor.
"Please, Lyral, hurry! It's moving! I can feel it moving," cried Kayleen, her
voice on the brink of panic as the rat sewn in her womb started waking up from
its drug-induced stupor. Lyral's eyes shed bitter tears when the scene of her
friend's torment flashed before her eyes, the needle stitching together her
cunt lips while her womb bulged with the drugged rodent.
When she was close enough to smell Kayleen's bleeding wounds, she realized in
horror that just healing her friend would be of no use, since it would not
dislodge the thread stitching her lips. Besides, while some needles would be
pushed out by the wounds closing, those whose tip was free would not. But as
Kayleen's sudden scream confirmed, the problem was the rat.
"Lyral, please! It's awake!" screamed Kayleen, shaking in her restraints, an
edge of terror in her voice which turned into an anguished yowl when the rat
claws raked her womb. Lyral was paralyzed, unable to speak, at a loss about
what to do next, "I ... my power is useless. I don't know what to do!"
"Chew it open! Lyral, pull the thread with your teeth! Hurry!" cried Kayleen,
buckling as the rat turned inside her, still not completely awake but
irritated at his imprisonment. Lyral just stood, unable to bring herself to
act, until Kayleen screamed in sheer agony at the first bite.
"I'll do it! Angels of heaven, help me. Try to be still, Kayleen ... I am
going to hurt you," whispered Lyral, mostly to herself, and then sought her
friend's stitched cunt lips, tears flowing from her sore eyes. Kayleen's cries
found a new source as her friend's teeth sought to pull the thread, and Lyral
almost retched at the taste of her friend's blood in her mouth.
"Please, Lyral, bite them off!" screamed Kayleen when the rat bit her again,
stifling her cry when Lyral's teeth tore at her cunt lips, weeping bitterly
while pulling with new-found determination at thread and flesh. After what
looked to both as an eternity of torment, the rat noticed the opening being
torn open and tumbled inside Kayleen's womb to take advantage of it, pushing
through with his head and sending Lyral sprawling in horror on the floor.
Kayleen's screams rose again when the rodent, unable to progress, raked her
insides, pushing and tearing at her half sewn cunt lips in a horrid parody of
childbirth, the sight of which was spared to Lyral, but whose noises would
haunt her forever. Only when it managed to tear free did Lyral shake herself,
smelling her friend's profuse bleeding.
Stifling her concerns, she stood and managed to touch her friends with her
cuffed hands, concentrating into channeling her power into Kayleen's ravaged
body. Healing with the hands, even in that awkward position, was much more
effective, and she heard her friend's breath deepen and steady as she moaned
in relief while her wounds healed.
Kayleen's relief, however, proved premature when pain shot through her flesh
and shoulders again, because some needles would not dislodge, preventing the
wounds from closing, and her dislocated shoulders could not heal while still
being twisted and torn from supporting her weight.
"Kayleen, please be patient. I staunched your bleeding, but I'll have to pull
out the needles. All of them, and I'll hurt you. We'll take care of your
shoulders then," said Lyral, suddenly awkward at the touch of her friend's
warm body against hers. Pulling out the needles, some barbed, with her mouth
proved an ordeal not only for Kayleen, who managed to stifle her screams in
spite of the spider gag, but also for Lyral, as her cheeks and lips bled from
the punctures caused by her friend's involuntary buckling while she pulled out
the needles with her teeth.
In saving her friend, Lyral found the courage that had eluded her so far, as
she put aside the pain and concentrated on healing Kayleen. To heal her
shoulders, she pushed her head under her crotch, allowing the athletic Warrior
Queen to raise her hips and bring her body in a position which put much less
strain on her arms, while Lyral supported enough of her weight to allow the
healing of her shoulders to succeed.
"Now you just have to stay there until morning", chuckled Kayleen, refreshed.
"I would, Kayleen," said Lyral, and Kayleen perceived the embarrassment in her
voice. She considered the matter carefully, as she had never been attracted to
women, but did not find her friend's affection repulsive, and maybe some kind
of .. consolation was deserved. But she also deserved respect, she decided.
"Rest, instead. Unless my memory fails me, you'll be unable to heal yourself
unless you replenish your power with sleep," said Kayleen tactfully, unaware
of how important this information was for the silently listening Zhorun.
"My reserves are almost spent, but I could manage another night," said Lyral,
with more assurance than she actually felt, "I will try to get some rest,
Kayleen, since my restraints are less harsh than usual. But let me tell you
that ... should a choice be needed, my choice would be to heal you. I cannot
blame you for slipping under torture, not after seeing what they did and
thinking about what you have withstood far longer, and alone."
Lyral went on, tears streaking her cheeks, "Pray accept my forgiveness,
Kayleen, and my services, because you are my only hope of being delivered from
this hell. Don't leave me ... alone ... in their hands."
"I will, Lyral. Sleep now," whispered Kayleen, moved beyond tears, almost
forgetting the pain as her twisted arms bore her full weight again as Lyral
slid on the floor, exhausted. Kayleen's fresh mind, with at least half of the
night before her, started pondering their predicament, attempting to find an
angle to reverse their fortunes.
The Easterner savagely crushed Kayleen's collar on her windpipe before
lowering her to the floor, cuffing her ankles and dragging her near a sinister
iron bench, narrow but heavily built. He left her on the floor, gasping for
air, until her face turned blue, and only then did he pull her up and lay her
on the bench, cuffing her ankles to rings at its bottom end. Then he freed her
arms, ignoring the chafe marks from a night of strained suspension, and cuffed
her wrists to rings on the opposite end, pulling her slender body taut on the
ominous black device before allowing her to breathe normally again.
Silently, the Easterner fetched a thin needle, dipped it in a jar and then
drove it into Kayleen's left nipple, causing her distended body to arch
voluptuously and wrenching a gnarled scream from her mouth, tired at the
continued tear of the spider gag. Remorselessly, he drove another in her right
nipple and followed up with more, with little pause between each and stopping
only when over a dozen stuck out from the delectable tips of her generous
breasts. But the pause was followed by more howls as he pushed another needle,
dipped in the same substance, into her clitoris, pulling at it for some time
before driving another along its length while Kayleen screamed in agony.
Meanwhile, Lyral wailed as Grod pulled her up from her cuffed ankles, allowing
her to watch as the Easterner furthered the torment of her friend. Impassible
as always, he fetched a narrow strip of white cloth and wound it around
Kayleen's left forearm, followed by another on her other forearm. Lyral was
not close enough to see that the cloth brimmed with thin wooden slivers, each
hardened in fire, but Kayleen felt the pricks on her forearms amidst the pain
from her throbbing nipples and the agony in her love bud.
Out of her sight, thin cords were wound around the slivers and tightened by
repeated twisting, flattening them onto the skin almost to the point of
driving them in. Kayleen screamed in pain when the Southerner moved by her
feet and started turning a screw which elongated the bench, and her body by
pulling at her cuffed feet, driving dozens of hardened slivers under her skin.
Her tormentor let her scream subside, then turned the screw another quarter,
causing the slivers to sink fractionally deeper and wrenching a new scream of
torment from her distended body. Lyral, unable to perceive the exquisite
finesse of the torment, gazed frantically at her friend and at the cloth
strip, but Kayleen felt each sliver slide just under the skin, drawing little
blood as it pushed along the surface instead of entering, but searing new
nerves on each quarter turn of the accursed handle.
Instead of elongating her further, the Easterner paused, then circled to her
hands and started wrapping cloth strips around each finger, apparently
unconcerned with his victim's panting torment which so attracted the gaze of
the old Southerner, who ogled her slender, distended legs, the supple thighs,
and the full breasts rising and falling on her heaving chest as each breath
caused her to yowl from the stabbing pain of the slivers.
Biding his time, the Easterner returned by her feet and turned the screw,
wrenching a new scream of dreadful torment from her mouth as slivers slid
under the skin of her fingers, while those in her forearms dug deeper. When
her screams subsided, he wrapped two more cloth strips around her forearms,
wound the thin cord around them and then elongated the bench another quarter
turn, raising new screams as she arched in pain.
Alternating between adding more strips and turning the screw, he wrapped her
slender arms in searing necklaces of wooden agony well before the pull on her
muscles caused any discomfort, and Kayleen realized that by the time the
strips reached her feet she would also feel the unrelenting pull of the rack.
While the strips added last still allowed the slivers to slid for a fraction
of their length, those nearest her cuffed wrists advanced the least, although
each turn still brought a wave of searing torment from hundreds of pricks.
The strip he wrapped under her armpits brimmed with longish, charred slivers,
and wrought fresh screams from her gaping mouth when he turned the screw,
while the Southerner neared to savor the application of the next strips. Still
biding his time, the Easterner pulled one tightly around her breasts, and when
he turned the screw another quarter Kayleen's howls rose under the vaults as
the hardened sliver slid under the soft skin of her full mounds.
Mercilessly, he waited for her screams to subside and then added another
strip, flattening her breasts on her chest, followed by a third, whose slivers
slid just under her areolas and caused a gut-wrenching scream of desperate
torment as their progress was just at the beginning. With the addition of a
strip just under her proud breasts and one under her ribcage, her torment rose
to a new level as each breath drove the slivers farther along the soft skin.
Lyral watched in horror as her friend's panting chest started twitching
whenever she breathed out, guessing at the stabbing pain coursing through her
rib muscles from the gasps punctuating her wheezing breathing. The Easterner
splashed Kayleen with cold water, but otherwise let her twitch and scream
while droplets of blood formed where the slivers had been twisted back and
forth, forming thin rivulets which slowly flowed along her heaving ribs.
When her cries subsided, he tightened another strip on her abdomen, crushing
her toned muscles and putting more misery into her labored breathing, then
turned the screw another quarter, driving a garbled scream from her parched
throat as she started to feel the pull of the rack on her limbs.
As he resumed alternating new strips and turning the screw, her screams became
harsher and longer, trailing into fits of raucous agony as the pain from the
slivers never receded and intensified at the slightest movement. When he
poured syrup into her sputtering mouth, most went wasted, so he had to start
over a few times. This done, he added more strips, until the writhing Kayleen
found herself effectively wrapped in slivers, a mummified victim of
uninterrupted pricking which turned into stabbing agony at the slightest
movement, including each torturous breath.
Her voice, whose endurance had been tested already over and over, carried her
torment in vibrant tones of feminine agony, her will prevented from exerting
even the little restraint she had clung to before to preserve her dignity and
lessen the burden on her innocent friend.
Lyral watched in horror the uninterrupted twitching of her friend's wrapped
body, gaping in horrified disbelief as the torment continued and no relief was
given, unable to grasp the depths of agony Kayleen was going through, but
cursing the laced beverage which prevented her from passing out. The strong
woman could have endured the torture on her own for a few minutes, and the
repeated splashes with cold water could have revived her a couple of times,
but Lyral realized the duration of Kayleen's uninterrupted torment when new
torches had to be lit in order to replace those brought in the morning.
After replacing the torches, the Easterner pulled the needles still piercing
Kayleen's nipples. He produced two long strips of cloth and crossed them just
under her left nipple, using thin cords to flatten them onto her compressed
breast. After trapping her other nipple between two analogous rows of wooden
torment, he turned the screw again, the pull at her ankles elongating her
wrapped body and dragging her nipples, swollen and sensitized by the venom
carried by the needles, between the rows of wooden slivers.
Kayleen howled in sheer agony as the abject torment of her nipples compounded
the uninterrupted stabbing of the thousands of slivers slid under her skin,
and renewed her howls on each turn of the screw as her limbs and joints
started to shoot blazes of pain through her body.
Another two strips of cloth were nudged under her swollen clitoris, while
dread tinged her rasped screams as her fate of torment unfolded to its by now
customary end, and a few turns of the screw added her pricked femininity to
the sources of her torment, causing her to jerk spasmodically on each turn of
the screw as her sensitized love bud was unrelentingly stabbed by dozens of
hardened wood slivers.
Biding his time, the Easterner interspersed long pauses between a quarter turn
and the next, frequently dousing her in cold water and pouring syrup in her
mouth now and them. She oscillated between gut-wrenching howls of sheer agony
when the screw was turned another quarter and frenzies of twitching screaming
thereafter, which subsided only when her exhausted body stopped convulsing
from the increasingly abject pain and unrelenting tearing of her limbs.
Lyral's horror whirled deeper and deeper as her friend's torment was
protracted mercilessly, and her mind shriveled between tears at the
increasingly pitiful howls from the writhing form wrapped in bloodied cloth.
To her disbelief, the wry Easterner started busying himself with more, dipping
the loose ends of some cloth strips in salt water.
As the torment continued, after the torches had to be changed again, the water
diffused in the cloth and started soaking the slivers, bringing a new pitch in
Kayleen's desperate screams as the pain between each turn of the screw took on
a new quality and slowly intensified, turning her twitches in spasmodic jerks
which induced further woe from the shroud of livers sliding under her skin.
Lyral could not believe that any human being could endure such lengths of
uninterrupted torment, but her friend's convulsing body and fitful frenzies of
howling agony spoke by themselves. How could Kayleen, brave as she was, endure
such horrors without breaking, where did she find the resolve to defy her
tormentors ... questions she could not answer hammered her weeping soul as the
torture of her friend was protracted for yet another round of torches.
Her sobs turned bitter when Kayleen's screams drove home the notion that her
friend was being tortured to force her to talk, that if she had not proved a
weakling by fainting all over her friend would be on equal footing with her,
and that ... being subjected to what Kayleen was suffering was her worst fear,
and she would do anything to avert it. If heaven still had mercy of its fallen
daughter, she prayed silently, her tormentors would never know that.
Silent as ever, the corpse that once was a wizard neared the convulsing body
and gestured to Grod, exchanging a few words with the two tormentors, as if to
overcome their objections. Grod left without a word, and the Easterner turned
the screw twice, a quarter only, inspecting his victim for signs of
dislocation of the spine.
"You defy me in vain, woman. I'll wrench what I need from your mouth or your
friend's, sooner or later. But I welcome the occasion to start repaying you
for your gift," hissed Zhorun, bending over her, almost brushing her quivering
nipples as they slid two or three slivers down the crossed strips.
Grod returned with the strong bands of leather he had already used to prevent
his rack from snapping Kayleen's spine, and wrapped them around her writhing
body, shaking his head but tightening them with all his strength. When he was
done, Zhorun gestured and the Easterner started turning the screw, one quarter
a time, pausing between each turn as Kayleen's screams increased to inhuman
howls of searing agony as her joints neared the point of dislocation.
An arcane whisper rose from inside the shriveled skull of the former wizard,
and misty tendrils of magic brushed the distended body. With a heart-wrenching
howl, Kayleen stiffened and then jerked in unparalleled agony as all the
slivers started elongating and thickening, spilling blood over the white cloth
as her muscles jerked spasmodically.
One after the other, her joints dislocated in quick succession under the pull
of her own convulsed jerks, first the left shoulder and then the right hip,
while the full measure of her unbelievable agony escaped from her mouth as she
howled her anguish straight unto the gaping emptiness of Zhorun's eye sockets.
Visibly thrilled, the former wizard gestured to the Easterner, who shook his
head before turning the screw again, each quarter wrenching a new frenzy of
gasping howls from the foaming mouth of the convulsing Kayleen, whose
suffering found an end only when the screw reached the end of its course.
Grod loosened the screw slowly, with little consideration for Kayleen's hoarse
screams, poured the syrupy contents of the jug in her sputtering mouth, then
started removing the sliver strips with great care, one at a time. When done,
he carefully reduced her dislocated limbs, but still tightened her collar
before unfastening her legs and cuffing the ankles together, then cuffed her
arms to the iron band at her waist, one at a time.
Lyral screamed in fear when the Southerner pulled her up by her ankles and
dunked her unceremoniously in a tub of cold water, whipping her soft ass
cheeks mercilessly while she gurgled and gasped for air. When he pulled her
up, the whip wrenched new screams from her by slashing her soft breasts, in a
frenzy of quick strikes before she was dropped again in the water.
Kayleen rolled down from the iron bench with a wail containing an equal
measure of pain, relief and dread, but in her mind she bore no illusions about
her immediate future. Grod dragged her by the collar to a pair of chains
hanging from the ceiling, and twisted her arms up behind her before fastening
each wrist to the middle of its chain and pulling her off the floor. He then
cuffed each ankle to the end of the chain where the corresponding wrist was
fastened, leaving her spread in mid air, about four feet off the floor.
In spite of her own agonies, she sobbed silently when she made out the
whimpering cries of her innocent friend as she was dunked and whipped, intent
on hiding from their tormentors how much this affected her. Meanwhile, upon a
gesture from the former wizard, Grod neared a brazier, picked up a iron poker
and neared Lyral, whose eyes widened in fear.
"Your friend will soon make the intimate knowledge of hot iron because of your
refusal to talk, my dear, so it is only fitting that you taste it first,"
whispered the robed corpse before Grod dragged the poker under Lyral's left
breast. Her mouth flared open in a scream of demented agony while her body
jerked in her restraints, although Grod did not press the iron for too long.
It was more obvious than ever now to Kayleen that she would be tortured to
pressure Lyral into talking, and she cursed her friend's weakness at first. On
second thought, however, she considered that maybe she preferred to be the
target of torture rather than witnessing the agony of her innocent friend, as
if by suffering in her friend's wake she could redeem her failure.
Grod neared with the red hot poker, and Kayleen steeled herself just before he
pressed it into her muscular abdomen, causing her to buckle and scream from
the searing pain. Unlike her previous torments with fire, no attempt was made
to stem the brutal application of heat, causing a wide, deep burn, charred
beyond recovery. Then Grod smeared some grease on the other side of her
abdomen and brushed it with the poker, causing her to jerk again from the
pain, but also to keep buckling as the heated grease kept bubbling over the
skin, her fitful, hissing gasps protracting until the pain subsided.
Having made his point, Grod brought the brazier nearer, allowing her to see
the wicked implements being heated inside, and sought her eyes for an answer
to a question which needed nod be spoken. When he saw resolve in her eyes, he
smeared grease on her legs and dragged the poker on her left calf, letting her
buckle and scream while he repeatedly scorched the skin.
Lyral shut her eyes and shook her head, muttering to herself between harsh
sobs and bitter tears. Hating herself for being the cause of her friend's
torments, she nonetheless dreaded the results of giving in, as her knowledge
of Zhorun's nature had led her to form dire suspicions on his ultimate
motives, suspicions she had kept to herself. This left her without any
recourse before her friend's screams, however, although when she was dunked in
the cold water or felt the dreadful bite of the whip on her buttocks, pain and
fear overcame guilt.
After scorching Kayleen's legs, Grod greased and burned the palm of her hands,
twisting the poker as her fingers closed reflexively on it, leaving tatters of
burnt skin on the red hot iron while she screamed her lungs out. Her cries
subsided when he started smearing grease on her breasts, dread creeping in her
eyes at the impending torment she could only hope to withstand.
Using cold pliers in his left hand and a hot poker in the right hand, Grod
started pinching folds of greased breast flesh and scorching them slowly, each
time wrenching from the convulsing Kayleen a tattered scream of desperate
torment, which waned into fitful cries when he paused to let the bubbling
grease protract her suffering or when he splashed her with cold water.
Grod then returned to her calves, searing the reddened skin to blistering
agony while her buckles rattled her chains and she sputtered in sheer pain,
then greased the soles of her feet as tears filled her eyes. Lyral could not
stand the sight of her friend's contorted face when her tormentor started
dragging the red hot iron on the soft flesh, leaving angry red traces
punctuated by Kayleen's hoarse screams, which rose to howls each time he
pressed the iron between her toes.
Lyral kept sobbing to herself, her eyes clenched since she could not close her
ears, desperate at the thought of the protracted torture her friend had
withstood so far, but overwhelmed with dread at the thought that she was only
halfway from the relief which usually nightfall brought, if switching from the
searing agony of unbridled torture to the unrelenting torment of whatever
cruel restraints they would be put in could be regarded as relief.
Kayleen drank from the jug in sputtering gulps, and trembled when her arms
were greased, but howled in surprised torment when the poker returned on her
breasts and seared blisters into the firm flesh, lingering on the scorched
nipples while her gasping howls crowded one after another in an uninterrupted
litany of sheer agony. When a fresh hot poker started burning her arms, she
was crying, her body wracked by convulsing sobs as she jerked in her chains.
After a splash of cold water, her muscular back was greased next, the start of
a protracted nightmare of scorching agony as it became the canvas of dozens of
angry red burns crossing each other following the line of her shoulder blades
and ribs, each marked by a scream or a hissing gasp where the less pronounced
pain of the single burn was amply compensated by the mounting agony of the
accumulated torment. When he started greasing her buttocks, the act offered
her no relief as she was still shaking and screaming from the grease bubbling
over the last few burns.
He used the pliers on her ass cheeks, pinching swaths of flesh for the kiss
of the red hot iron, preventing her frantic buckles from removing the scorched
skin from under the searing heat, wrenching harsh gasps and pitched screams
from her hurting mouth. Again, the repeated crisscrossed burns kept her
torment fanned while he greased her thighs, but not to the point of preventing
her from shuddering at what would follow.
Lyral started praying in whispers, to keep her mind off her friend's screams
of agony, "Angels of heaven, make her strong. Uphold her bravery before the
agonies she endures, make me worthy of her bravery. Angels of heaven, make her
strong." Somehow, her voice could still be heard against the backdrop of
Kayleen's anguished screams as her friend's soles were slowly turned into a
blistered canvas of pain.
When her tormentor dragged a fresh iron behind her thigh, Kayleen jerked in
unbridled agony, rattling her restraints and screaming her anguish to the
vaults of the torture chamber. Undaunted, Grod continued pinching folds of
flesh with his pliers and scorching them with the iron, bringing about new
howls of raw agony as her soft flesh turned crimson under the bubbling grease.
He interrupted the searing of her inner thighs twice to douse her with cold
water, but her head was shaking aimlessly as the torture was taking its toll,
so he lowered her to the floor, cuffed each wrist to the ankle and then to her
horror closed a vise around her breasts, tightening it while she screamed at
its grip on her burnt flesh. Her screams rose to twitching anguish when he
pulled her off the floor by the vise, leaving her to hang in mid air while he
applied grease to her crotch and belly.
He closed the pliers around a swath of curly pubic hair and lifted her crotch
while her screams intensified, dragging slowly the red hot iron at the base of
the hairs, searing them off while the grease bubbled and her hips shook in
convulsed jerks of screaming agony. The Southerner gazed approvingly at
Kayleen's twitching thighs and bulging breasts, while the iron alternated
between scorching the inside of her thighs and searing her mons.
She sputtered as the jug was emptied in her mouth before the scorching of her
mons was resumed, her new-found sensitivity screaming to high heaven as the
poker burned her soft flesh and the last blonde hairs were torn off. He let
her hang, screaming from the bubbling grease, then fetched a smaller pair of
pliers and pulled open her left cunt lip, revealing the pink slit inside.
Lyral's prayer waned into a "No, no ..." as she could not prevent herself from
gazing at the angry marks striping the soft flesh above her friend's sex, a
patch of pulsating crimson burns where her modest blonde bush should have
been. The worst tortures always targeted Kayleen's femininity, and had
worsened once their tormentors noticed how deeply they also scared Lyral's
innocent soul.
Kayleen howled in deranged anguish when a fresh poker was dragged along the
greased fold of feminine flesh, her jerks tearing at her constricted breasts
for added pain, and kept screaming as the torment of her vulva was slowly
carried on, scorching the lips and then the folds of the clitoris before the
poker was pushed up inside her ass. She arched in demented pain at this
horror, twitching on the searing hot poker as her tormentor pushed it deeper
in, raising her up as she rode the wave of her agony before falling back down
in convulsing jerks of crying helplessness.
Her screams rose again in desperate pain when Grod dragged the poker over her
inner lips, pulling them over the red hot iron with the pliers, alternating
between left and right with ample pauses in between. She shuddered when more
cold water was splashed on her just before bringing the poker up against her
love bud, causing her to arch in helpless agony while the pliers closed on her
femininity and elongated it for the fiery caress of the hot iron as her howls
of absolute torment rose in vain under the vaults of the torture chamber.
After the scorching of her love bud was repeated over and over, she was
splashed with more cold water, and Grod greased her breasts again before
fetching a pair of red hot pliers. He closed their jaws on her left breast,
causing Kayleen's head to jerk back as a bellow of inhuman agony escaped her
sore throat. The jaws closed on her other breast next, compressing the
constricted flesh while she howled from the unbearable torment, and squeezing
the heated grease into the blisters left on the scorched skin from the recent
ministrations of the hot poker.
Unable to escape the screams of her friend, Lyral started wailing, venting her
anguish and frustration as her mind found no escape from her predicament. She
sought in vain a way to convince their tormentors that she would not give in,
but she could not even convince herself because she dreaded the opposite
whenever the Southerner lashed the back of her thighs, wrenching from her a
sputtering gurgle of raw anguish.
Pausing after each scream, and splashing Kayleen often with cold water, Grod
protracted the searing of her constricted breasts beyond all boundaries of
cruelty, tearing repeatedly at her nipples until the blisters on the scorched
pieces of feminine flesh started bursting under the heat, wrenching insane
howls of unspeakable agony from his convulsing victim.
Grod lowered her to the floor and cuffed her arms behind her back, in the
reversed prayer position, then cuffed her ankles to chains wound around two
pillars and cranked a winch, raising her off the floor and spreading her legs
horizontally almost to the point of tearing the thighs from the sockets.
Red hot pliers descended on the soft crease between Kayleen's thighs and
buttocks, wrenching screams of tormented agony from her as she attempted to
jerk her blistered flesh away from the scorching jaws. After emptying the jug
in her mouth, he closed the pliers on her cunt lips, causing her body to
stiffen in utter torment as she screamed from the deepest pit of hell, sinking
deeper and deeper into pain as he pulled repeatedly at the scorched flesh.
Lyral was allowed to watch, finally aware that her torture was often paused to
let her witness the agonies inflicted on her friend, but could not bring
herself to avert her gaze. She started praying in whispers again, but her
tormentor cut her words short by suddenly dunking her.
Unmoved by Kayleen's pitiful screams, Grod splashed her with cold water and
fetched a pair of smaller pliers, whose jaws at the end of a goose neck he
closed on the rim of her sphincter, bringing another scream of unbridled agony
out of her sore throat as he started her descent into new depths of howling
torment by tearing repeatedly at the blistered flesh all around her sphincter.
Lyral trashed madly in her restraints, thinking of a way to let them turn on
her and grant her friend a moment of respite, forgetting her deep fears in the
wake of her friend's horrendous agonies. But the best she could come up with,
had already proved of no interest to their torturers.
Kayleen sputtered when the jug was emptied in her mouth again, after her
repeated screams of insane agony subsided, but soon her head snapped into a
new howl when the entrance of her vagina was twisted between the searing
irons, blistering the muscular rim and wrenching a protracted howl of hopeless
agony each time its twitching flesh was torn in their red hot grip again.
When the jug was brought to her mouth she cried in dismay at the furthering of
her torment, which promptly followed as the hot tips of a pair of pincers
closed on her clitoris. Her convulsing jerks rattled the chains, pulling her
thighs open in spasmodic torment, but the noise was lost in the litany of
howling screams which wracked her body as her tormentor pulled on her scorched
femininity, raking the hot points mercilessly across the scorched bud.
After repeatedly wrenching howls of tormented agony from the repeated
blistering of her clitoris, her tormentor fetched another pair of pincers with
his left hand and closed the points on her raw left nipple, pulling on nipple
and clitoris in opposite directions, as if to tear her between them, while she
convulsed in unspeakable pain and screamed her lungs out in a fitful howl of
hopeless agony.
Lyral's head reeled as if physically impacted, and each subsequent howl from
her tormented friend rocked her head as if she was being slapped, while her
own cries waned into desperate sobs as the only prayer she was allowed, a mute
one, rose to her lips. But no one seemed to listen when her friend's tormentor
pushed the red hot poker down the scorched love channel, reaming it back and
forth amidst gut-wrenching howls of inhuman agony, while tearing repeatedly at
the clitoris with the hot pincers.
When Kayleen's voice waned after repeatedly reaching unparalleled depths of
deranged agony, Grod splashed her with cold water and then rekindled it by
pulling her up by her nipples, torn raw in the grip of the red hot pincers,
and keeping her there as she jerked her head spasmodically. He kept
protracting Kayleen's screaming agonies, in a show of calculated cruelty,
until Lyral's shattered expression made it pointless.
The Southerner dunked Lyral again until her body started shaking, and pulled
her up as she gurgled and sputtered, no longer unaware of her surroundings.
After a confirmation gesture from Zhorun, he kneeled by the young Priestess,
who shrieked in terror at the sight of the hacksaw in his hands. Actually, the
instrument consisted of fish teeth stuck in a wooden handle, but the
Southerner used it on the soft flesh of her breast with a sawing motion while
she howled in the throes of a pain unlike any she had previously experienced.
"Was it you who asked to be tortured in place of Her Haughtiness there ? If
so, I am afraid you just don't cut it," mocked the swarthy Southerner,
ignoring her cries as blood flowed down her chest. The wound was very shallow,
since the teeth were quite short, but horribly lacerated because of the
pressure needed to cause the teeth to actually cut into the skin.
"If you make such a fuss for a nick on hale skin, there is no way you can
stand it on a burn, like she's going to" he added, dragging the blade on the
burn under her other breast while Lyral jerked spasmodically, her mouth agape
in a howl of absolute agony as her young face contorted in a mask of anguish.
Kayleen recovered, after being splashed with cold water and sipping from the
jug, just in time to shudder at her friend's howls and at her impending fate,
about which she bore no illusions. There was no limit to the cruelty of their
captors, but her own and Lyral's resolve had their limits, and Lyral had
reached them. Looking at the Southerner's expression while he pored over his
latest implement of torture, she shivered at the thought that this time the
agony could be such that even her own will would collapse.
The Southerner reached her and tightened her collar, although she was in no
shape for stunts, then dragged her between two pillars and cuffed each wrist
to a ring up in a pillar, with the short chains painfully twisting her arms
but allowing unobstructed access to her scorched back. Her ankles were
similarly cuffed to rings set at knee height, leaving her dangling in mid air
with her loins thrust forward and her thighs spread, showing how much the
crimson burns marking her supple body extended to her feminine parts.
Meanwhile, the Easterner lowered the whimpering Lyral on the floor and
clenched iron bands under her knees, fastening them together, then pulled her
up by her ankles again. He freed her wrists and cuffed each to a separate
chain hanging from the ceiling, pulling her up so that her breast was at the
same height as her feet while she slumped, hanging from her feet and wrists.
Lyral screamed suddenly in anguished torment as the Easterner dragged the
three red hot points of a copper cat's paw across her creamy ass cheeks,
slowly ripping the skin which sizzled under the heat while she jerked after
stiffening in surprise and pain.
The old Southerner grabbed Kayleen's middle finger and started dragging the
toothed blade under her nail, until he managed to rip it away while she
shrieked in helpless pain. Panting, he grabbed another finger and repeated the
operation, bringing about new screams of torment from his victim. After a
brief pause, he did the same to her ring finger, and savored every shriek and
gasp he extracted from her while sawing under her fingernails.
He splashed her with cold water and slowly dragged the jagged teeth down her
left shoulder blade while she howled from the pain of her blistered skin being
torn open, inch by inch. He let her scream and jerk for a while, then wrapped
her bleeding fingers in cured cloth to reduce blood loss and dragged the
toothed blade across her burnt mons, savoring the expression of unspeakable
torment her face contorted into as she howled her helpless agony into his
smiling face, coughing and gasping in anguish.
His left hand pinched a fold of scorched flesh behind her left thigh and with
the other hand he pressed the toothed blade down, his grip unflinching while
she arched in deranged pain, shaking as a fitful howl of despairing agony
escaped her tired lips. He let her convulse for a while before pinching her
other thigh and cutting it also, leaving a lacerated wound, bleeding slowly as
she trembled from wracking pangs of blazing torment, because he always took
care to stay clear of major blood vessels.
Smiling, he cupped her left breast and started dragging the toothed blade on
its upper side, his gaze looking for hers as she screamed in hellish agony,
her mouth foaming while her body jerked spasmodically in the vain attempt to
pull herself from his grip and the protracted sawing of her blistered flesh,
which splashed droplets of blood all over tormentor and tormented alike.
He brought the jug to her lips, and she drank in fitful gulps interspersed
with gasping wails, but then her voice spoke bravely, "Pray for me, Lyral.
Give me strength."
Lyral shook her head, sobbing at her own torment and amazed at her friend's
endurance and resolve, comparing the parallel gouges left by the cats paw on
her buttocks, legs and back to the patchwork of burns, blisters and cuts which
hardly left any of her friend's skin unscathed. She started praying softly.
Annoyed, Kayleen's tormentor grasped her other breast and started dragging the
blade back and forth, wrenching new howls of raw pain from her shuddering body
as he lacerated the blistered skin, taking care to inflict only shallow dents
on the quivering flesh which he planned to torment again later. While she
convulsed from the agony in her bleeding breasts, he used pliers to tighten
small clips over the wounds in her back, always careful to minimize blood loss
once a wound lost its pain potential.
He reached for her toes, and started dragging the toothed blade across her
toenails, holding her foot in his grip while Kayleen screamed her lungs out at
the pain. After the third toe, however, he started sawing through the soft
flesh between the toes, ripping at the flesh blistered from the hot poker
while her body stiffened in unbearable agony before entering fits of spasmodic
jerking and unbridled howling which he watched in delight, splashing her
occasionally with cold water before continuing.
Still smiling, he pressed the blade into her strong biceps and started sawing
through the burnt flesh, enjoying the sight of her head shaking in unspeakable
torment as he pushed back and forth, ignoring the droplets of blood splashing
his white desert robe. He let her whimper and scream from the jagged wounds as
he clipped the cuts on her breasts, but then returned at the torment of her
arms, digging over a dozen of excruciating cuts in her muscular limbs before
her litanies of howling agony waned into gasping whimpers.
He was never short of flesh to torment, of course, so he brushed some drool
from the corner of his mouth and started drawing a jagged cut on her taut
abdomen, ripping open the blistered skin with some difficulty as her body was
wracked by never-ending screams of unbearable agony.
Her voice rose to new peaks of anguish when he dragged the toothed blade under
her soles, scorched raw by the pliers, digging rough cuts of bleeding pain in
the soft flesh of her once exquisite feet. No longer able to see her face, his
gaze lingered on the delightful buckling of her shapely body as he pulled the
blade back and forth, drooling when he pressed harder and her thighs twitched
open in response to the excruciating pain.
He unfastened her, let her sip from the jug, then cuffed each wrist to the
corresponding ankle and fetched the iron vise which had already been used to
suspend her from her breasts, at whose sight she produced a guttural moan of
despair which caused his member to bulge under his robes. He proceeded to
tighten it on her breasts gleefully, it in spite of her buckles and cries,
reopening some wounds which he clipped shut again when done.
Lyral's screams rose again as the Easterner scratched the soles of her feet
with the red hot cats-paw, slowly tearing through the soft flesh while she
convulsed in her restraints shrieking in fits of maddened torment. Lyral found
herself wishing that her friend's torture was resumed soon, as she had
understood this would mean the pausing of her own, only to gasp at the horror
of the thought immediately thereafter.
The Southerner pulled up Kayleen with a series of short, vicious pulls of the
chain she hung from, each wrenching a scream of demented agony from her as her
wounded breasts were jerked viciously, and then brought the toothed blade into
her vagina and proceeded to saw through its rim, savoring the expression of
unspeakable agony contorting her face as she screamed her lungs out, her mouth
spread to the point of bursting in a howl of harrowing pain.
"There are many other places I can cut, Whore Queen. You'll beg me to stop
much sooner than I would need to, and I won't. I'll let you beg all the way to
hell until you'll beg to suck my manhood, and you'll have to suck really hard
because the pain won't stop until I come, and I'll be rather spent by then,"
he whispered, adding "Unless you tell us about the Sorceress, of course."
He disrobed his member and thrust it into her bleeding vagina, pushing against
her dangling body as she swung in convulsing agony, twisting in the vain
attempt to escape his hands grabbing her hips in a rut of frenzied violation
which wrenched pitiful howls of outrage and torment from her parched throat.
He protracted her violation by pausing occasionally, letting her convulsions
massage his arousal and tightening the iron collar on her windpipe to cause
her muscles to clutch his member deliciously as he resumed his thrusts, until
he finally came while she shook in a frenzy of howling screams.
The Easterner wrenched Lyral from her gasping fascination with her friend's
violation by dragging the red hot points of the cats-paw on her ribs, causing
her to twist in mid air as she jerked and screamed her lungs out, her eyes
shut as his hand followed her movement to rip through her flesh to the bone.
Spent, the Southerner splashed Kayleen with cold water, then started dragging
the toothed blade on the soft flesh of her thighs, tracing shallow, lacerated
wounds which rekindled her screams, pausing to catch his breath and obviously
preparing for a new phase in her torture. The pain was on par with the worst
Kayleen had faced so far, and white blazes of searing agony flashed in her
mind when the teeth lacerated the blistered skin.
She convulsed in maddened pain as her tormentor started pinching folds of
flesh in her legs and dragging the toothed blade across them, cutting shallow,
lacerated gouges in the stiff muscles as the teeth were too short for deep
cuts but long enough to rip the burned skin. He bid his time, pausing after
each cut and dragging the blade slowly, but soon rivulets of blood started
trickling down her legs and he had to clip her wounds shut with the pliers.
Undaunted, he moved to her muscular back and repeated the procedure, pinching
the flesh with his hand in order to raise a fold which he could saw through
with the toothed blade, slowly and forcefully, while she screamed and buckled
in harrowing pain at each pass of the teeth trough burnt skin and cut flesh.
He kept her screaming almost uninterruptedly until the torches had to be
changed, allowing no respite except for occasional splashes with cold water,
patiently tracing a crisscrossed pattern of excruciating torment on her
twitching back which he often paused to admire, as if he were striving for a
specific effect which eluded him.
He let her sip from the jug again, pouring the refreshing liquid down her
gagged mouth in short gulps interspersed with brief screams. She was aware
that the beverage was another devious instrument of torment, because beyond
keeping her refreshed and nourished it prevented her from passing out and
possibly even amplified the perception of pain, but in spite of herself her
body craved the liquid and the energy it brought to the point of being
dependent on it, and in any case they would pour it down her gagged mouth if
she refused it.
Lyral could have helped her friend in understanding the nature of the liquid,
but as always, once her friend's torture was paused hers would resume, and the
Easterner pinched her nipple, pulled her breast up in a distended cone and
dragged the red hot points of the cats-paw on the soft underside, while she
howled and jerked spasmodically, lost in torments unlike any she had
experienced so far. As if to make up for the long pause, her tormentor moved
immediately to her other breast, renewing her agony and turning her gasping
breath into a wheezing scream of sheer anguish.
Kayleen was let down and freed from the breast vise, but he cuffed her wrists
behind her neck and pulled her up by her ankles, drawing them open in a
painful scissor spread in mid air which lewdly exposed her suffering nether
regions. She cringed in sobbing despair, bracing to face the bloody wounding
of her feminine parts in view of which her tormentors usually chose to
restrain her in upside down positions. He removed the clips from some wounds
in her back, smiling cruelly and watching Lyral's expression.
Confirming Kayleen's fears, the old Southerner dragged the toothed blade
through the soft crease between thigh and buttock, pushing it forcefully while
she shrieked in mind numbing pain and rattled her chains in the spasmodic
attempt to escape the jagged blade. After a pause, he started tracing shallow
gashes in the soft flesh behind her thighs, pausing to let her convulsions die
off with each scream before starting each.
He inserted the blade in her ass hole and dragged it back and forth, sawing
through the sphincter as she screamed in utter agony. When her screams waned,
he smiled, twisted the blade somewhat and pulled it again, sawing another gash
in the rim of her anus. After ripping through the muscle repeatedly, pausing
to enjoy her pain-wracked screams, he pulled out his member and thrust it
forcefully in her ass, tearing at the ripped muscle with sadistic glee,
renewing her violation in a rut which consumed him quickly as his thrusts tore
through her wounded bowels while she screamed in harrowing pain.
Drenched in perspiration, Lyral watched between tears the bloody rape of her
friend, quivering in her loins at the thought of the horrid violation yet
unable to avert her gaze, shrinking from the thought of the same happening to
her and almost forgetting the pain from the gashes left from the cats-paw.
The Southerner splashed Kayleen with cold water, then returned to pinching
folds of flesh and sawing through each, drawing the blade back and forth with
slow, deliberate viciousness as her screams echoed under the vaults of the
torture chamber in long, protracted frenzies as he cut gash after gash in her
thighs, belly and buttocks.
He let her sip from the jug, then picked her up by the collar, lifting her
head before his member with one hand, and resting the blade on the rim of her
vagina with the other, then said, "Now use your tongue, or you'll taste mine."
Somewhere in the depths of her agony, Kayleen found the resolve to shake her
head, causing him to let go of her collar and cut her in rage. While she
howled from pain, he pinched her left cunt lip and started dragging the teeth
of the blade on the fold, sawing back and forth through the soft flesh while
her screams rose to a frenzy of howls, which resumed after a brief pause when
he did the same to the other, sawing along its edge as if to spine it.
While she still convulsed in pain, he reached for her breasts and pinched her
left nipple, distending it and dragging the toothed blade along its scorched
surface, rather than sawing through, his technique of cutting into feminine
flesh reaching new peaks of agonizing torment when employed using a jagged
blade on blistered flesh. She convulsed in his grip, howling pitifully as
blood marked her breast and his hand, and kept howling as he methodically
traced new jagged gashes in her nipples, distending each one in turn and
slowly drawing the blade along its length.
He let her sip from the jug again, then pinched her clitoris, rubbing it
between his fingers and pulling it out, slowly at first and then with vicious
strength, until his other hand dragged the blade up in a sawing motion along
the distended piece of feminine flesh, wrenching the first harrowing scream of
sheer agony from her spasmodically jerking body. The small piece of blistered
flesh became the eye of a maelstrom of pain which engulfed Kayleen's mind and
dragged her through hells she had not faced yet.
Lyral realized in horror that each time the Southerner dragged the toothed
blade across her friend's femininity, the howling convulsions caused the
wounds he had unclipped on her back to bleed again, forming the words "Help me
Lyral" in trembling crimson letters which slowly dripped along her friend's
back as her spasmodic jerks subsided fitfully.
The Southerner pulled at Kayleen's clitoris, rubbing the raw flesh and
ignoring her cries as his fingers raked its scorched surface to distend it,
then dragged the teeth across its short length, not quite bursting it open but
sawing through the blistered flesh in flares of blazing pain which sent her
jerking spasmodically while she howled at the top of her lungs in harrowing
agony. He repeated this torment until the small piece of feminine flesh had
been raked completely raw, a throbbing piece of bleeding flesh sending waves
of pain through his victim's convulsing body.
After splashing her with cold water, he reversed his grip on the toothed
blade, slid it down her vagina and pulled up, slowly ripping through the
sensitive portion of the love channel near the upper rim while she convulsed
in demented agony. Her screams rose to pitiful shrieks when he twisted the
blade and pulled again, starting an unprecedented hell of abysmal pain tearing
the rim of her love channel into bleeding folds of flapping flesh.
To Lyral's horror, he put the blade aside, but only to pull out his member and
push it into her friend's ripped vagina again, an enraptured expression on his
face while his thrusts tore the gashes in its rim wider, each causing Lyral to
quiver in her restraints, sobbing in the realization of having heard a sickly
ripping noise in spite of her friend's ear-piercing howls of desperate agony.
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