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Chapter 30 - The Worst Screams
In the unlit torture chamber under the ruins of Zhorun's castle, Kayleen was
sleeping. For the first time in days, she was not screaming in horrendous pain
nor writhing in strenuous bondage. She still wore heavy irons at the chafed
wrists and ankles, and the iron bands at the elbows, knees and thighs still
bruised her skin. Torchlight would reveal more abrasions at her waist,
clinched by a heavy iron band, and around the base of her breasts, caught in
serrated iron rings which made the generous globes bulge slightly.
Loose chains at her wrists and ankles kept her spread-eagled on the cold stone
floor, but she had not been drenched in freezing salt water this time, and
Lyral had been allowed to heal her fully, except for the chafing caused by the
irons which Zhorun had not wanted removed. Even her nails had been restored.
This time, Zhorun did not linger in the darkness to secretly enjoy her
agonies. In cold rage, he poured over his collected tomes from the times
before the Priestesses defeated the lords of the undead. Of many details he
used to skip when seeking for magic of power, he was now reconsidering how
captured Priestesses were first questioned and then gruesomely executed.
While Kayleen was allowed some rest, his mind indulged in the images of the
horrid torments minds twisted by undeath had devised to take out their hatred
on their opponents. He discussed those which struck his fancy with his three
torturers, eager to see them put to the test and oblivious to the lack of
enthusiasm from the Easterner and Grod, who ventured that Kayleen's mind would
collapse again very quickly before such horrors.
The undead wizard caught himself before lashing out at the man, whose long
service no longer meant as much as it used to. This obstacle should have been
addressed by someone else, he conceded before leaving.
Shandra started when her master stormed in the laboratory granted to her use,
feeling the magic crackling around him as his rage permeated the power that
now completely defined the nature of his existence.
"I reckon thy progresses have been slow, apprentice," whispered Zhorun's
voice, thick with contempt and hatred. Shandra swallowed fear.
"I am nearly done, Master. I modified a spell which provides courage in battle
to strengthen a mind enduring pain ..." she stammered.
"No! I don't want a spell which reduces the pain," he hissed.
"It does not, Master. It increases willpower, so a victim which is trying to
resist the pain is emboldened and able to endure ... more," she finished in a
whisper, handing him a scroll with the spell.
"What is holding thee back, then ?" he asked eagerly, perusing the scroll as
red pinpoints of light burned in the empty eye sockets.
"The duration is very short, Master." she said, bowing her head.
A clawed hand rose and slapped Shandra's face, scratching her cheeks while her
head turned in surprise. The slap had been weak, but the gnarled bony hands
were covered with hard ridges. She trembled.
"Improve it! Tap a different source, if need be. I will brook no further
delays." he raged, his whisper lowering in growled menace as he left.
When light shone again on Kayleen's restored body, she did not wake up. Her
chest was rising regularly, and her head turned once, but she did not wake up.
Zhorun grew impatient.
"Wake her up," he ordered with a whisper full of expectation.
Grod shook the sleeping woman, whose restored beauty now almost shone in the
flickering light, but to no avail. Even slapping proved fruitless. Ammonia
salts made Kayleen's eyes open, but the gaze in the clear blue eyes was remote
and soulless. After a nod from Zhorun, Grod caught a nipple in the grip of a
pair of iron pliers, twisting and crushing the tender flesh, but although the
mouth opened in a throaty scream the eyes remained lifeless.
"She's still lost," confirmed Grod.
"Bring forth her friend and proceed," ordered Zhorun to the Southerner.
The young Priestess was dragged forward and her wrists fastened behind her
back to a chain from the ceiling, which was pulled amidst pitiful screams
while her arms shot white hot pain through the twisted shoulder sockets, until
her feet left the ground dangling above Kayleen's face.
Lyral's ankles were then fastened to the ends of a steel bar and a chain ran
from the bar and over her shoulders to a vise constricting her pearly breasts,
which was tightened while her head shook under pitched screams of bitter
agony. Steel wires were twisted around the base of her nipples, and a braided
whip licked the trapped nubs of feminine flesh wrenching horrid howls of
pitched torment from her young voice. She still wore the wizard gag, which
prevented spell casting but not screaming under torture.
"No reaction," observed Grod, studying Kayleen's face.
The Southerner pulled from a brazier a red hot copper strip, safely hanging
from a long handle, and rubbed it on the Lyral's taut belly, making her writhe
and howl while she arched in the frantic attempt to avoid the fiery contact.
The whip lashed at the singed skin just as the strip was pulled away, and the
agony in her pitched voice would have made stones cry.
The red hot strip lingered on her left sole, and moved to the other just as
the whip traced a sore cut in the singed skin. Lyral's jerks rattled the
chains she hung from and her shrieks echoed under the vault of the torture
chamber as the torment was slowly protracted, striping the pearly body with
angry red burns crisscrossed by the bleeding welts of the heavy whip.
Kayleen's head shook left and right, as if the blood and sweat dripping from
her suffering friend above could wake her up. Lyral's shrieks increased when
the red hot strip caught her left nipple and lifted it while the whip lashed
the trapped piece of feminine flesh from above, and Zhorun bent to whisper in
the ear of the supple beauty spread-eagled on the floor.
"Don't you hear your friend's screams, O Queen ? She's being tortured in your
place, as you can hear. You failed her just as you failed your people, and now
she suffers. It will get worse still. My esteemed guest from the South has
been dying to have your young friend all for himself," he hissed.
"Kayleen! Don't listen to him!" cried Lyral.
The red hot strip slid down her belly and reached the curls of hair at her
mound, singing them while searing the soft flesh in spite of her spasmodic
buckling. Her howls of pain came from the burns but also from the jarring of
her poor shoulders, whose muscles were much less developed than Kayleen's and
were already giving. The Southerner did not follow up with the whip, as he did
not want to put Lyral's maidenhood at risk unless Zhorun told him to.
Kayleen's head jerked in a cry and her eyes bulged, focusing on the writhing,
screaming form above her just as the whip lashed Lyral's soles.
"Wait! Stop it! Leave her alone!" shouted the spread-eagled blonde.
"Welcome back among us, O Queen. I hope you indulged your rest, because we're
going to start from where we left," mocked Zhorun's chilling voice.
"Someday you'll pay for this, wretch" said Kayleen, her voice trailing as her
consciousness took in the torture chamber and her predicament, dwindling to a
whisper as the memory of past agonies crept up.
The Southerner lowered Lyral onto her friend's spread-eagled body, eager to
get going with the torture of the blonde woman to the point that his member
rose under his flowing white robes.
"Be brave, Kayleen. For heaven's sake, be brave," whispered Lyral, still
stuttering from pain, and yet speaking with such intensity that Kayleen
remained speechless at how the respective roles had switched.
After a glance to Zhorun, the old man from the South sheathed his member in
spiked leather and knelt between Kayleen's legs, watching her clear blue eyes
widen as the recollection of past agonies foreshadowed what would follow, and
then penetrated her violently, grabbing her breasts while pushing into her
with a cruelty rekindled by her renewed lusciousness.
With rutting abandon, he thrust into her over and over, pulling her off the
floor by her breasts and panting as she screamed from the bloody raking of her
womb by the spiked harness. When his lust waned, he repeatedly chewed her
nipples, keeping his flaccid member inside her to feel her writhing in pain,
protracting this pleasure until Zhorun grew impatient.
With Grod's help, Kayleen's legs were clenched together at the ankles, knees
and thighs and then folded behind her back. Her elbows were fastened together
behind her neck and her wrists pulled until they could be fastened under her
ankles, making her arch. The Southerner pushed his spent manhood in her mouth,
still forced open by the spider gag, and caught her head between his legs.
A short, barbed flogger landed on her stretched belly, making her scream and
writhe in bitter pain. The heavy leather was soon wet with blood, but had also
been soaked in brine and the Southerner made sure it remained so during the
subsequent defilement of his restored victim. His drooling leer loomed over
Kayleen's pain-wracked face while the flogger traced welts of agony all over
her splendid body, renewing the gurgling pleasuring of her tormentor's member.
Each lash made her turn left or right in a spasmodic jerk, exposing her to
more pain. The Southerner aimed often for her soles, a difficult target, but
also cruelly striped her thighs and buttocks. He took to grabbing curls of her
pubic hair and pulling on them before each lash, so that her subsequent jerk
ripped some in a flash of blinding pain which wracked her deliciously.
The Southerner stopped flogging his buckling victim only when Grod approached
and yanked her on her knees, dragging her to the instrument of her further
torment. It consisted of a pair of hinged iron rails, each about six feet long
and jutting off twin stone pillars. Only Zhorun's magic had allowed the device
to be constructed over the night.
The rails currently stood vertical, but could obviously pivot around the axle
they hung from, and the relative placement of the hinged sections could be
adjusted by operating a collection of ominous screws. Thick protrusions
jutted menacingly from the iron at regular intervals.
Grod mercilessly tightened the iron collar on Kayleen's windpipe before
undoing her restraints, but it took all his muscle to force the strong woman
onto the device and fasten her elbows to the rails, revealing the purpose of
some of the protrusions as rests for the elbows and knees of a victim. When
her windpipe was freed, Kayleen was about to insult her tormentors but a
glance towards Lyral changed her mind, and she just prayed under her breath.
Grod then twisted her leg around another protrusion and cuffed her ankle well
inside the iron bar, braiding the limb around the rail and making his victim
wince at the strain and cry when the same happened to the other leg. When her
wrists were similarly braided above her head, Kayleen hissed from the pull on
her ligaments and the stress on her bones, harbingers of worse torments ahead.
Grod secured her restraints and then operated a crank which increased the
separation between the rails, sliding them left and right and pulling on her
thigh and shoulder joints. The tension was slowly increased, and liquid fire
bubbled in her knees and elbows as they carried most of the pull, turning her
hisses into gasping screams of desperate agony.
A few cranks had been enough to reawaken the agonies of the rack, and the
blinding pain from the knees and elbows was being slowly overshadowed by the
pull on her hip and shoulder joints and the tearing of her ankles and wrists.
They were not even pretending to question her any more, just making her suffer
for Zhorun's perverted pleasure, and she could not stop them in any way, not
even by giving up. The tortures had become increasingly gruesome, to the point
that only Lyral's healing kept her alive.
The heavy irons cut into Kayleen's ankles and wrists; the angle prevented
damage to major blood vessels, but red rivulets flowed lazily from the bruised
skin. Her arms and supple thighs already trembled from the strain, and the
tendons showed under the stretched muscles while howls of demented torment
wracked her taut, glistening body. Her mouth tried to refuse the jug, but Grod
pinched her nose and forced her to drink among gasps and sputters.
With cruel slowness, the rails were cranked to the point of leaving her hip
and shoulder joints teetering on the brink of dislocation, with such fiendish
accuracy that each breath sent flashes of howling pain through her shoulders
as it pulled them beyond dislocation for an instant. The Southerner neared and
thrust his member into her rectum, distending it violently and pushing with
cruel strength while she screamed from the jarring of her bones.
After a brief inspection, the Southerner slowly pierced her left nipple with a
barbed hook, making her arch and buckle amidst screams of wretched agony,
twisting it back and forth until her spasmodic buckling dislocated her
shoulder joint and keeping up the torment for a while before running a chain
from the ceiling to the hook, stretching the swollen bud mercilessly.
"This is how the Priestesses used to react in times of old, O Queen, when put
through the ministrations of the Bone Dance, as this was named," cackled
Zhorun's voice. Kayleen's mind whirled between waves of unspeakable pain which
had all but erased the brief moments of relief granted in the morning. She was
not herself enough to resist, and there was nothing she could withhold from
her tormentors anyway. They were taking their pleasure from her, and she could
not deny them anything, not even her agonized screams.
As the rails were cranked wider apart, the Southerner used another barbed hook
to scratch her other nipple, teasing it while she howled in demented agony
before sinking the tip through the swollen flesh and raking it, his grip
steady in spite of her jerks and protracting her agony until she dislocated
her other shoulder, the arm pulling from the socket while she arched in pain
and froth bubbled in her mouth between a scream and the next.
The screws on the rails were slowly adjusted to further bend her joints and
bones, making her howls more pitched and desperate as she found no respite
from the pull keeping her bones near cracking point. Grod periodically cranked
the rails one notch wider, making her scream in horrendous pain as her
convulsions wracked her hip joints beyond dislocation and back. His face was a
mask devoid of any expression, but a sheen of perspiration covered it.
When her teary eyes focused on the gnarly old man, it was because he was
rubbing her innards with the white powder which made them parched and dry, and
her recollections left no doubt about what would follow. When a thin barbed
needle pierced her clitoris, she arched in demented pain as her muscles pulled
the hips out of her joints for a moment while she jerked in spasmodic howling,
and her screams grew even louder when his member penetrated her violently and
the spikes on the harness sheathing it cruelly tore her innards.
His vicious thrusts pushed the needle piercing her clitoris deeper, bending it
when it caught against her pubic bone, while the parched walls of her vagina
were being rasped and raked by the sadistic violation which wracked inhuman
agonies through her stretched hip joints. Her head jerked left and right when
his leather sheathed member abraded her insides, and her mouth opened in
ghastly howls of blinding pain when the spikes cut new wounds through the
parched insides. Each push twisted the barbed needle through the sensitive bud
and scraped it against her pubic bone, pushing the heads of her thighs out of
their sockets for interminable instants of blinding agony.
As the old man protracted her violation, her screams became more gut-wrenching
and desperate until her left hip dislocated while she arched in a howl of pure
agony. Unfazed, the Southerner continued thrusting into her, making her twitch
in agony on the barbed needle and lingering inside her even after his lust had
been spent. She was made to drink from the jug again, and repeatedly splashed
with cold, salt water. The only thing she could do was hope they would make a
mistake and hurt her beyond repair, and then death would finally bring an end
to the merciless agonies inflicted on her femininity.
The Southerner started tracing shallow cuts through her pubic mound and
ripping curls of hair and skin, gearing the pulls towards dislocating her
other hip without following through completely until her mound was a bleeding
stretch of raw flesh. He kept pulling on the curls rooted in a purposefully
large patch of skin, increasing her agony as the joint twitched closer to
dislocation on the wave of searing pain and leaving her thus until the head of
the bone bulged under her jerking muscles. With drug-induced lust, the
Southerner violated her vagina with renewed viciousness, fiendishly cutting
her insides with the spikes while froth bubbled between her desperate screams.
The rails were cranked wider apart some more, wrenching further howls of
bitter agony from Kayleen's gaping mouth. The weight of her torso now hung off
her dislocated joints, which would have been enough to keep her under constant
pain even without further intervention. The rails bent the bones of her limbs,
and Grod adjusted protrusion after protrusion to bring them closer to cracking
point and make them wreak pain through her dislocated joints, pausing now and
then to splash her with cold, salt water. Lyral healed her briefly.
While Grod continued to operate the rails, the Southerner neared her left hand
and grabbed her middle finger, slowly ripping the nail off with pliers while
her howls rose to new heights as the agony wracking her arm jarred her bent
bones and the dislocated joint. Finger after finger, and then toe after toe,
her convulsed jerks bent the bones of her limbs from near cracking point into
broken shards deforming the stretched muscles while screams desperate enough
to scrape soot from the stones echoed in the torture chamber.
The slack on the chains leading to the hooks piercing her nipples was slowly
reduced until some of her weight was carried by her stretched, bleeding
nipples. The screams wracking her chest rose again when she felt the rim of
her vagina cut by a serrated blade, rising in pitch cut after cut until
her tormentor penetrated her again, ripping open the bleeding cuts with
thrusts which wracked her like a broken doll.
Her thoughts wandered in a maze of deranged torment, unable to escape the
sight of her tormentor's triumphant visage. The agonies from her violated
femininity fought with the flashes of pain from her taxed joints, and the
tears mixed with froth and semen on her contorted face. Her mind spun in
search of something, anything, that would put off the next thrust, quench
the fire from the cracking bones, stave off what she knew would follow.
The rutting thrusts made the broken bones twitch under the muscles and tear
the flesh, sending waves of trembling agony through her chest to burst in
howls of wretched despair from her mouth. The drool from the Southerner's
mouth dribbled over her bleeding mound while his hands ripped the remaining
curls of pubic hair, and his head jerked back in mad pleasure as she convulsed
in abysmal pain on his rutting member.
When the old man's drug-enhanced endurance finally faded, her long, bitter
screams waned into harsh gasps, but her teary eyes did not miss Grod nearing
with a pair of large, serrated pliers. She vainly tried to twist her hand
away, but the iron jaws closed on her thumb and slowly crushed it to the bone,
twisting and cracking it while she arched and convulsed in wretched torment
from the finger as much as from the some bones breaking and ripping through
the stretched flesh and from the relentless tearing of her swollen nipples.
Her mouth sputtered on the syrupy contents of the jug, trembling with pain in
spite of Lyral's brief touch, and then the iron jaws moved to another finger
and her howls rose again under the vaults of the torture chamber. Grod was
crushing and breaking the phalanxes one by one, pausing in between to let her
arch and jerk in hoarse agony until exhaustion crept over her twitching body.
The nightmarish torture continued finger after finger, punctuated by
occasional splashes of cold, salt water. Lyral healed her repeatedly, still
trembling from her own wounds and sobbing bitterly at the sight of Kayleen's
horrid predicament. The long bones were fracturing, and each jerk twisted the
splinters inside the twitching muscle. After making her drink from the jug
again, the iron jaws were moved to her toes, and more screams of agony echoed
under the vaults of the torture chamber in a protracted descent to hell.
At the bottom of this hell the leer of the gnarly old man awaited her, and she
barely managed to recognize him before he drove into her vagina again, mad
with cruel lust and rocking her with fiendish thrusts which sent bone
splinters jutting through the skin while she dangled from the nipple hooks in
gurgling frenzies of unspeakable agony. The swollen pieces of feminine flesh
still carried whatever amount of her weight her spasmodic efforts kept off the
fractured bones, fiendishly braided on the protrusions jutting from the rails
to make sure she would suffer no matter the position she managed.
His endurance, fueled by cruelty as much as from drugs, lasted through
multiple pauses, which brought no respite because he stopped only to let Grod
push iron hooks under rib after rib and fasten them to the rails, tautly
enough to cause abysmal torments when her chest rose in a scream. Under the
thrusts of her defilement, the hooks pulled the ribs near cracking and her
spasmodic jerks and inhuman screams ended up breaking them one after the
other. Her eyes darted left and right, wide open from pain and terror, looking
for an angle where no bloody splinters would jut from her twitching flesh.
She lost count of her ribs as her violator's thrusts and her spasmodic jerks
cracked and fractured one after the other, in a protracted nightmare of agony
and defilement which her frenzied screams recounted in a hoarse tale of
wretched torment. The spiked harness had scraped bleeding gashes deep in the
walls of her vagina, and she bled so profusely that Lyral had to be brought
forth repeatedly to heal her. Her tormentor stopped using the white astringent
powder he favored to make rape more painful and rubbed the bloody leather
sheathing his manhood in rough sand instead, bringing her howls to new pitches
as her last two or three ribs cracked under his thrusts.
The jug made her eyes regain focus just in time to widen in horror as she
caught Grod pushing the arms of an iron vise through the cuts in her vagina,
until they caught her pubic bone in their grip. He then scraped the needle
piercing her swollen clitoris on the bone, feeling for the exact position of
the needle tip before bringing the pliers to bear, cracking the bone while she
arched with a scream of unspeakable agony, at the top of which he hammered the
needle into the crack, a feat of consummate ability which he performed with
meticulous cruelty in spite of her jerks of spasmodic agony.
Just as she thought that she could not know more pain, the old man tore into
her bleeding vagina again, and she realized in a flash of inhuman agony that
the needle lodged in the bone was bending and widening the crack under his
rutting thrusts. The bone splintered and added his own agony to the searing
pain of the fractured bones raking her stretched muscles and jutting through
the flesh while she arched in twitches in unspeakable torment, writhing on
his aroused member while he fiendishly protracted her agonies, savoring every
scream, every gasp and every howl until his lust finally subsided.
Kayleen felt Lyral being brought forth to heal her briefly, and then a large
meat hook was thrust in her lacerated vagina and pulled up using a chain from
the ceiling, relieving some of the traction on her stretched nipples but
causing her to scream at the agony in her fractured pubic bone.
Although nearly delirious, she realized she was about to be left alone for a
while. Her mind was suddenly clear somehow, and what she could not notice was
that Zhorun had cast Shandra's spell, to see how effective it was. The first
splash of cold, salt water confirmed Kayleen's guess, and after a while they
left her drenched and shivering in the unlit chamber.
Even without the freezing water, her position would have allowed her no real
respite as some of her weight rested on bones which had been fractured and
splintered mercilessly, and each breath wracked her cracked ribs with white
hot torment. But the shivers were an hell of rolling agony which shook her
with bitter gasps and broken screams, and in her torment she realized that the
pull on her nipples and especially on her splintered pubic bone was steadily
increasing. Zhorun savored the despair in her voice, well aware that water was
filling buckets at the other ends of the attached chains.
When they returned, she was writhing pitifully on the hook, her brief screams
cut by flashes of breathtaking agony from her ribs, her head jerking left and
right while her crushed, bloody fingers and toes curled and twitched. Lyral
turned her head at the sight, sobbing silently and curling in a corner as the
Southerner strode up to the victim he so enjoyed tormenting.
Kayleen twitched with a broken scream, born as what had started as a shudder
of fear turned into a jerk of agony. The gnarly old man's unnatural arousal
hid nothing of his intent. In the haze of pain, something within her asked why
it was always him, why he would not tire, questions which had cut her prayers
short before. Pain swept them away when he started rubbing the rim of her
sphincter with sharkskin and then thrust his leather sheathed manhood into the
bleeding orifice while she still screamed from the pain.
Anguished howls echoed under the vaults of the torture chamber, caused by a
lust fueled by drugs and, unbeknownst to Kayleen, from sorcerous magic
coalesced as drinkable potions. The old man had deemed unwise to meet Shandra
not in Zhorun's presence, but he had made his wishes repeatedly known and the
undead wizard had seen that they would be fulfilled. Now Zhorun was enjoying
the pain distorting Kayleen's visage into a nightmare of wretched screaming.
The old man protracted Kayleen's violation with pauses where he used his white
astringent powder to absorb blood and deny his victim even its lubrication,
until the tissue was dry and parched for a new bout of rutting penetration,
hoarse screams and pitched howls of utter despair, brought about as much by
the shredding of her bowels as from the jarring of her splintered bones.
When he finally stopped, he immediately had the rails moved so that he could
circle her and invade her mouth with his flaccid manhood, and then set about
making her screams revive his arousal. He picked a longish strip of sharkskin
a palm wide and wrapped it around her leg, slowly dragging it back and forth
around the limb by the handles at both end. The sharkskin started abrading the
skin, making her twitch and scream in a paroxysm of wretched agony which
gurgled around his manhood as her muffled howls betrayed the inhuman depths of
depraved torment she was undergoing. The tiny barbs of sharkskin ripped the
skin off bit by bit, lodging in it and ripping it in tiny pieces.
The subsequent drenching with cold, salt water made her jerk and twitch like a
pitiful rag doll, and the sharkskin was moved to her other leg while blood
oozed from the abraded flesh. Pitched howls of demented agony came out as
bouts of helpless gurgling while the old man made sure her torment lasted
enough to help the drugs return his manhood to arousal. She realized he had
pulled out when she felt the taste of the syrup in her torn mouth.
He brought forth Lyral to heal Kayleen's twitching and screaming body, then
changed her inclination again and rubbed sharkskin on her labia and clitoris,
keeping her howling and jerking madly until his member hardened and he could
grab her by the folds of ripped skin on her mound and slam onto her shattered
pubic bone, making her arch in the first howl of a frenzy of hoarse screaming.
The needle, now bent out of shape, still pierced her swollen clitoris and
wracked unspeakable torment through her cracked pubic bone, but her love
channel had been scraped raw and cut to shreds, and when he rubbed the leather
harness sheathing his manhood in sand her pitiful howls reached pitches hell
itself would have been proud of. Lyral was repeatedly brought forth to heal
her madly twitching friend just enough for the torture to continue until the
old man's artificial lust was temporarily sated again.
But his taste for his victim's agonies knew no respite, as he proved by
cranking the rails to lower her head until he could straddle her mouth,
filling it with his blood-stained manhood while he wrapped the sharkskin strip
around her bent arms and started rubbing, tearing off bits of skin while her
agonies gurgled around his spent member and jarred her splintered bones.
The Southerner worked the strip back and forth with ecstatic abandon, basking
in his victim's frenzies of gurgling agony as the coarse surface abraded the
skin in countless tiny cuts, ripping it bloody bit by bloody bit while the
muscle underneath twitched and each jerk jarred the splintered bones and
wracked the body into fits of spasmodic buckling which twisted the limbs as if
in a grotesque dance of wretched torment. Lyral had asked Kayleen to be brave,
as if bravery had any chance against the horrors being heaped on her now.
"This interpretation of the Bone Dance by our esteemed guest appears to be of
your liking, judging by how you put your mouth to use," whispered Zhorun, in a
stinted attempt at horrid humor. Kayleen was desperately trying to stay
abreast of this nightmare of depraved defilement, and was barely herself
enough to burn with rage in some recess of her pain-wracked mind.
No echo of Lyral's words of courage could be heard in Kayleen's hopeless
screams when the old man pulled out of her mouth, his manhood readied for a
new violation by her pitiful gurgles as her arms had been slowly abraded to
twitching raw flesh and the broken ends of some ribs jutted out, pulled by her
spasmodic jerks. If her trapped mind could come up with anything of interest
to her tormentors, she would have screamed it to the top of her lungs.
When the sharkskin strip was wrapped behind her back, she would have betrayed
anybody and anything to stop the savage back and forth motions which ripped
the skin from her shoulder blades and made her broken ribs bend in and out of
her flesh in blinding flashes of abysmal pain. Even if Lyral had stopped
healing her, they would use potions as they had already done. If only he
stopped, just for a moment ... the sharkskin was ripping raw flesh now.
As if her tormentor wanted to answer the pitiful pleas interspersed between
her screams, he slowly moved the area abraded the strip along her back until
her reached her buttocks, but there was no mercy in the act as the rails had
been reclined to make her crotch rest on her tormentor's erect manhood and the
abrading strip made her twitch left and right on his spiked member, further
grinding her shredded insides while her screams took the rhythm from the
alternating motions impressed on the ends of the bloodied sharkskin strip.
When he finally pulled off, her buttocks had been scraped raw amidst a frenzy
of increasingly gut-wrenching howls as the tiny teeth had been dragged across
bleeding raw fresh after ripping off the tender skin while she jerked and
twisted madly on his spiked manhood. A sudden influx of renewed awareness
shot through her mind, making it snap back from depths of all-consuming woe
just as her splintered bones snapped out of her stretched limbs. Shandra's
spell had temporarily restored her will, but it would not last.
Lyral was brought forth again, and was allowed to heal her for quite some time
as the old man watched his victim's bloody, twitching body return from the
brink of death just as his arousal returned under the impulse of the drugs. As
he was not ready yet, he cranked the rails and invaded her mouth again, his
gaze wandering on her face wishing to feel her terror.
He discarded the blood soaked strip and picked a fresh one, which he wrapped
twice around her left thigh before pulling it back and forth. Her bleeding
body arched in a gurgling scream as the flesh was scraped by the myriad of
tiny teeth embedded in the sharkskin, and his pleasure rose alongside her
pitiful screams while he pulled on the strip with cruel, deliberate slowness.
The motion added to the abysmal torment of the sharkskin proper the rhythmic
jarring of her broken thigh bone, whose head rattled at her hip joint and
whose splintered ends could be seen bulging under the twitching muscles each
time his pull dislodged them a bit further. Lyral, sobbing from her own recent
torture and all but forgotten in her chains, was watching with her mouth agape
as the depths of depravity poured on her friend pounded on her sanity.
The cold, salt water made Kayleen jerk again, screaming in bitter agony, and
in the process reviving her somewhat, just as intended. She drank avidly from
the jug, consuming the concoction devised to keep her nourished, enhance her
sensitivity to pain and prevent her from sliding into unconsciousness. Zhorun
had took the opportunity to improve the formula.
The old man removed the hooks from her nipples and cranked the rails, turning
them over until she hung facing the floor. As the slightest movement wrought
unspeakable agony through her broken bones, he made sure that the operation
was slowly staggered, allowing her to scream herself near exhaustion while her
own weight was being shifted from fracture to fracture and cranking the rails
only when her pain appeared to subside, gleefully rekindling her agonies.
He rubbed her sphincter with the white powder, did the same on the spiked
harness he still wore on his now erect manhood, and lingered against the
rosette of her anus while terror wracked her with tremors which turned into
screaming jerks of bitter woe. She knew what he would do next, she knew what
agonies would follow, and terror shook her in spite of her feeble attempts to
find some anchor for her sanity. With a raucous laugh, he started penetrating
her, pushing slowly while she arched and screamed in horrid pain.
Instead of thrusting with abandon, he had opted to force her into pleasuring
him with her frenzied twitching, and he set about engendering it by wrapping
the sharkskin strip against her dangling breasts. Once he started pulling it
back and forth, her screams and jerks came at the rhythm he most enjoyed, and
he set about making this exquisite pleasure last.
He repeatedly changed the angle and wrapping of the strip on her breasts,
ripping her skin off bit by bit without grinding her nipples flat and searing
swaths of bleeding raw fresh across the firm globes, always forcing her to
twitch and buckle on his erect manhood, causing her to arch spasmodically and
wreak unimaginable torment through her fractured and splintered bones.
When his lust was sated, he circled her pitifully screaming form to make her
drink from the jug again before invading her mouth with his flaccid member,
freed of its harness as he wanted to feel each scream to the fullest. Kayleen
was mostly beyond herself from pain, but in a corner of her mind managed to
despair at the accursed endurance the drugs allowed the old man.
When her tormentor fetched a new strip, and its twin halves pressed against
her crotch, separating her labia as he expertly pulled them like a crotch rope
but with the rasping side resting against the insides of the soft folds of
feminine flesh, Kayleen realized that hell truly had bottomless pits.
A the first pull, her spasmodic scream gurgled around his member while she
arched in abysmal pain. The strips were abrading the inside of her labia, but
also cutting a bleeding gash at the top and bottom clefts of her vagina,
deeply raking the wounded and stretched flesh and catching on existing cuts
and wounds, reopening them mercilessly. The waves of unspeakable agony rising
from her crotch coursed through her dangling body bringing white hot torment
to the splintered bones and bitter woe from her broken ribs.
The bloody abrasion of her raw flesh was protracted until her tormentor's
arousal returned, and splashes of cold, salt water washed over her, announcing
that the pain was not over yet. He wore a different harness, brimming with
stiff bristles, but first slowly cranked the rails back to their original
position, dragging her through another slow carousel of frenzied agonies.
He drove the hooks through her nipples again, and pulled them savagely,
stretching the flesh mercilessly before wrapping a thin strip of sharkskin
around them, so that pulling back and forth would scrape both stretched pieces
of feminine flesh. With a leer on his gnarly visage, he thrust into her vagina
while pulling on the strip with both hands.
Kayleen's body arched in a scream too desperate for the stone walls to
contain, a scream whose despair visibly shook her trembling friend nearby. The
thin strip was causing unimaginable agonies as it ripped bits of stretched
fresh from Kayleen's nipples, while the bristles were proving even more
hellish than iron spikes as they scraped into existing cuts and wounds, and
both of them made her convulse in wretched agony which was multiplied manifold
by the jarring thus inflicted on her fractured and splintered bones.
Although the angle was not completely favorable, the old man's consummate
ability meant that the strip slipped only a few times, allowing him to keep up
her defilement. When the raw flesh had been ripped off her nipples to such an
extent that further scraping would have torn them off, he moved to her
clitoris. He used a pair of pliers to pull the bleeding piece of feminine
flesh, stretching it along the bent needle still piercing it, and wrapping it
in a thin strip of sharkskin he could pull. Her mind cleared suddenly just in
time to see the strip close on her bleeding piece of feminine flesh.
He cranked the rails to bring her hips up and make the operation somewhat less
cumbersome, although he was in no hurry and wished to protract the penetration
of her bleeding vagina, thrusting mightily with the obvious intent to tear the
abraded wounds apart some more. Slowly and awkwardly, he rubbed the sharkskin
strip on the shredded tatters of her femininity while she howled like a
demented animal, arching spasmodically as far as his manhood allowed and
buckling madly around its bristled caress while splinters of white bone, red
with blood, jutted from her twitching limbs and heaving ribcage.
The old man was now exhausted, and it was a tribute to the heightened
effectiveness of the drugs and potions he used that he could still manage to
prepare her for the customary change of pace from raging torture to protracted
torment. The rails were reclined until about half way and a thick wooden wedge
soaked with gleaming liquid was brought against her sphincter. The base was
set firmly, and then the rails were further reclined until most of her weight
concentrated on the wedge, which started stretching the rosette of her anus
while she shook gasping and arching a in a desperate howl.
When cold, salt water splashed her she writhed in a jerk of spasmodic torment,
and more followed as they repeatedly drenched her with the liquid which
usually left her shuddering from cold, but now burned the countless abrasions
of her skin like raging fire. She could not help but slide a few inches along
the hacked, splintered surface of the wooden pole. Lyral healed her briefly.
Just as the torches were carried away, plunging her in the darkness she had
experienced countless times, she realized that the wood had been soaked with
some caustic whose concentration increased along its length, because the rim
of her sphincter twitched in atrocious pain as it slid down the pole.
With a bitter scream, she pushed spasmodically on her broken limbs, trashing
in the effort to pull away from the caustic fire. Somehow her spectacular
muscles managed to gain one or two inches, while her head arched in a howl of
desperate agony which echoed in the darkness, reaching a motionless standing
corpse whose hands rose in the dark, as if to welcome the scream and the
others which followed, sparse at first and then increasingly desperate.
Even under ordinary circumstances, Kayleen would have had to exert herself to
keep from sliding down the pole and spare the atrocious burning touch of the
caustic soaking the wood. With her bones broken, after protracted tortures,
she nonetheless managed to pull away repeatedly, at the price of atrocious
frenzies of screaming agony which could not hide the fact that each time she
slid a bit further down. The pole burned her bowels mercilessly, and the
sphincter rubbed on its girth each time her muscles faltered.
Slowly losing the battle with the pole she slid further down inch by inch, her
hoarse screaming a veritable music to the ears of the motionless corpse. The
darkness at least spared her the sight of the splinters of the broken bones
jutting out from her twitching muscles, a sight which somehow had made her
torture more revolting and was now haunting her sanity.
Because of her own screams, she failed to hear the return of her tormentors,
but managed to pull herself up along the pole when torchlight shone on her
twitching, bleeding body. Lyral gasped at the horrid wounds cut by the broken
bones through Kayleen's flesh, and was allowed to heal her for a while.
The Easterner brought a brazier closer, inspecting the tools heating therein.
His face was even more impenetrable than usual, but his hand closed on the
handle of a thin rod brimming with tiny curved hooks. Kayleen's bitter sob
turned into a low scream from the agony in her broken ribs, but she had seen
the brazier, and her mind shriveled at the recollection. Fire, again. Rape and
fire, fire and rape, how could the gods deny her the slightest respite
stammered her lips trembling in terror.
He hesitated a bit before picking up a copper roller with a double row of
curved hooks and dragging it along Kayleen's bleeding thigh. The hooks sizzled
against the raw flesh, torn violently by her spasmodic jerk of howling pain.
The roller did not stop, following the twitching limb howl after howl as it
snapped against the protrusions it lay on, deformed by the broken bones
bulging under the taut muscles. Kayleen's head jerked left and right as the
frenzy of screams merged into a protracted howl of bitter despair.
Another roller traced a sizzling path through the abraded flesh of her leg and
her jerks increased when the hooks descended along the foot and ripped bits of
flesh from the crushed, deformed toes. Protracted, desperate howls wracked her
body, making it flail between the protrusions holding it against the twin
rails which had become the only support for her twitching limbs.
The roller was dragged up and down between her broken fingers, wrenching
horrid screams from her gaping mouth whenever the hooks caught against
splinters jutting through the twitching flesh. Her eyes glazed over when pain
became so overwhelming that her vision drowned in a wave of white hot agony.
The roller slowly traced a path of mad screaming through her other thigh,
making her buckle and twitch her pelvis as it wrought sizzling agonies across
the raw flesh exposed under the abraded skin. Hoarse screams punctuated its
course as spasmodic jerks rattled her dislocated hips and tore the splintered
bones inside the twitching muscles. Something within her turned at the sight.
The hooked rod was placed against her sphincter, so that each time the roller
ran down her other leg her jerks caused repeated contact with the red hot
hooks, ripping bits of flesh from the torn muscle, the sizzling noise lost
amidst her harrowing screams. The rod was seated in a stout coal brazier, and
repeatedly cranked deeper in, half an inch deeper each time, and the path of
the roller wrought wretched jerks of abysmal torment through her broken body,
ripping more twitching bits of flesh from her raked, seared bowels.
The cold water she was splashed with barely managed to bring her mind back
from the hell of uninterrupted torment she was being dragged through, although
in a place deep within her soul she was still herself enough to thank the
powers of good because it was not salt water this time. The syrupy taste in
her mouth was expected, just as the jolt of stark pain it brought, but she was
surprised by the realization that her tormentor was troubled.
White lances of searing pain surged from her toes when the red hot hooked
roller was dragged through the mangled flesh, causing her to rake her bowels
on the hooked rod in frenzies of howling agony, but her mind was still clear
enough from the syrup to feel his hand tremble. Days and days of unimaginable
torture had left her deeply aware of the slightest nuances in her tormentors
attitude, she realized in a flash before pain wracked her into another scream.
The roller climbed across her belly, making her howl in wretched torment as
the soft flesh was caught and ripped in tiny sizzling bits while the rod was
so deep inside her rectum that she bent it with her jerks. Lyral was brought
forth to heal her before it was extracted, cruelly twisting it around while
she howled and jerked in abysmal torment, made worse by the sudden wave of
awareness resulting from another casting of the willpower spell.
The accursed roller sizzled across her ribs, ripping through the undersides of
her generous globes while she arched in demented pain and screams pitiful
enough to scrape soot from the stones echoed under the vaults of the chamber.
Her trembling muscles still jarred the splintered bones of her limbs back and
forth, and the rails had been reclined slightly so that her own weight spread
her thighs and pulled on her dislocated hip joints and broken pubic bone.
Another hooked rod, with much longer hooks, was fetched from the brazier, and
her eyes bulged when it sought the torn rim of her vagina. The roller was
raked up her ribcage and across her mauled breasts, making her arch
spasmodically in a screaming effort to pull from the fiery rolling points,
only to fall back with her full weight on her broken pubic bone scraped by the
sizzling hooks with a harrowing scream of wretched agony.
Her tormentor caught her amidst an insane scream, raking the roller upwards
through her other breast to induce her into arching again, and she trembled in
the spasmodic effort before falling down screaming on the red hot hooks again.
As the torture was continued, the roller caught on her broken ribs repeatedly,
but as the rod was brought deeper up inside her the frenzies during which
abraded flesh was ripped from inside her lengthened, as exhaustion made her
trembling efforts to escape the sizzling raking of the rod harder and harder.
When the roller started raking her arms, her efforts were further curtailed as
her tormentor ran it counter her twitching muscles, making her arch in long
howls of demented agony which cut short her efforts to lift herself off the
sizzling hooks. Deviously, he waited until she had managed to pull herself up
somewhat before tracing its searing path of burning agony, so she repeatedly
screamed harrowingly as her jerks raked the spiked rod up and down her
innards. Lyral had to heal her often, but this just made her pain worse.
"I reckon it is time to use the Hand of Agony," hissed Zhorun, pointing at a
copper tool which had been left in the brazier. Somewhat reluctantly, the
Easterner picked up the copper device, which had been fashioned after a
six-fingered skeletal hand, clawed and brimming with curved red hot hooks.
When the device was dragged along her left arm, the articulated fingers caught
the smallest cuts and abrasions of the skin and ripped them in sizzling bits,
alternating between tearing and cutting mercilessly while the pain made her
twitching muscles jerk spasmodically in frenzies of demented howling.
Somewhat hampered by his heavy gloves, her tormentor closed the claws of the
device around her left breast, deforming it in a cone as they tightened on the
abraded flesh and raked it while she howled in unbridled agony from the
sizzling hooks. She had been brought from almost full health to the brink of
death, and Lyral's power had been perverted into another instrument of her
torment, but the utter anguish which burst from her mouth when her tormentor
pulled the claws and started twisting them was beyond comparison.
Droplets of blood squirted from her scraped globe as bits of ripped flesh
sizzled on the wicked red hot hooks, while the claws dug horrid lacerated
gashes through her once voluptuous mammary. Her mouth was open wide, almost
near dislocation, in a teetering howl of demented woe which rose and dropped
along all notes on the scale of agony. Her head shook left and right in rhythm
with the shredding of her breast, and blood frothed at the corners of her
mouth when her voice cracked from pain too inhuman to withstand.
During this frenzy of shredding pain she had not been spared the agony of the
splintered bones piercing twitching muscles, nor the raking of her innards by
the fiendish rod, and once the jug was emptied in her mouth these returned
foremost in her mind as white hot lances of pain wracked her mercilessly, just
as she connected the sudden bursts of awareness with Zhorun's gestures. The
memory of how to recognize wizardly casting returned to her for a moment
before a wave of pain surged from her cracked ribs.
Unthinkable agonies wracked her when the device was heated again and used on
her other arm, wrenching horrid screams from her frothing mouth, caused like
before as much from the scraping itself as from the agony her jerks wrought
through the broken bones and the relentless torment of the fiendish rod. She
shuddered pitifully when Lyral was brought forth for some healing, screaming
hoarsely her despair at the agonies that would follow.
The device was moved to her buttocks, and she arched in a frenzy of spasmodic
torment while the hooks sizzled across her wounds, digging into the abraded
flesh, and bloody splinters of bone widened the gashes in her disfigured
thighs and forearms. Her screams never stopped, except when the device needed
to be heated again, and the shredding of her flesh continued mercilessly.
The taste of syrup in her mouth broke the sequel of howls crowding her throat
into sputtering and coughing, and her teary eyes bulged when they recognized
the sizzling claws about to close onto her other breast. Her scream of terror
turned into a demented howl of wretched agony as the hooks ripped across her
abraded flesh, left and right, searing and tearing while she jerked like a
mad doll in the throes of unspeakable woe.
The Hand was heated several times, and her breast repeatedly shredded into a
twitching globe of atrocious pain, dragging her through agonies whose equal
she had seldom experienced even since being brought here. At the bottom of
this descent into deeper hells, the six-fingered hand awaited her, and she saw
it through teary eyes just before its caress clawed gashes of flashing pain
across her chest, with the red hot hooks catching onto the splinters of her
broken ribs and tearing through flesh abraded by the sharkskin.
The rod was removed from her vagina, twisting it back and forth while the
rails were cranked to a reclined position, and then the claws descended
across her belly while she arched in abysmal pain, and raked her mons leaving
sizzling lacerations before shredding her labia. Lyral had been brought forth
to heal her, but the torment was continued while the healing took place and
the red hot claws tore bits of sizzling flesh from her labia and clitoris,
still impaled on the needle wedged in her pubic bone.
Her mind cleared suddenly just as the device was folded and pushed inside her
rectum, making her arch in a howl of demented pain and twitch in screaming
agony while it was turned left and right mercilessly. She shuddered when it
was slowly pulled out to be heated again, wishing she could die before it was
used again, and more screams followed when the torture was repeated. Lyral had
to be brought forth soon to stop the bleeding of her shredded bowels.
Her mouth burst in another horrid scream when the sizzling claws distended the
rim of her vagina, and she howled pitifully when the device was twisted left
and right, raking her shredded innards while her blood bubbled on the hot
metal. Her eyes almost popped from her head when the device was extracted,
ripping shreds of her love channel in a twitching frenzy of howling jerks.
"An adequate performance, Chang. Do it again," hissed Zhorun, the image of the
torments of ages past revived before his empty eye sockets. Kayleen's screams
rose quickly as the device entered her torn orifice amidst sizzling hisses and
spasmodic jerks of hideous agony, and continued while the torture was repeated
until even the repeated casting of Shandra's spell could only return awareness
to her eyes for moments too short to satisfy Zhorun's malevolence.
Lyral was brought forth, shaking in bitter sobs, to heal her dying friend, and
the thought of letting her die rather than protracting her agonies must have
crossed her mind, and probably not for the first time. Kayleen's lips tried to
form a prayer, but only wheezing screams burst through. She realized that they
were preparing her to suffer alone again, and when a wooden wedge distended
the torn rim of her vagina she tried hard to find the words for a prayer.
Exhausted as she was, she immediately slid down and felt the caustic burning
the stretched flesh, and when the first bucket of cold salt water made her
writhe in screaming agony her mind lost the words she was cobbling together to
pray. More buckets following, making her howl as the salt burned the abraded
skin while the cold would leave her shivering, unable to stand still enough to
reduce the agonies whatever predicament she was left in would exact from her.
Still unaware of Zhorun's presence, she squirmed on the wedge distending her
vagina, screaming when a splinter lodged in the bleeding raw flesh. Even the
splinters had been thoroughly soaked in caustic and burned like hot needles,
but she found herself forced to push on them with her aching muscles to spare
the stretched rim of her vagina the relentless burning touch of the girth of
the wedge her weight rested on.
Unlike the pole she had suffered upon before, this one was impossibly thick,
roughly triangular in section and literally brimming with splinters, and the
thought of sliding down was horrid enough to spur her into frantic efforts in
spite of her dwindling strength. Her screams echoed repeatedly in the darkness
of the unlit torture chamber, and a deeper horror tinged them as she realized
that she could not hope to reach a point where the girth of the wedge would
halt her descent, because the caustic was strong enough to eat away flesh and
expose new raw tissue to the hellish torment.
This realization, however, only made the occurrence more harrowing, as her
waning endurance could not prevent her from slowly and agonizingly sliding
down, the rim of her vagina being slowly burned away on the hellish wedge and
continuously distended to face more hellish agonies. Zhorun almost purred at
the inventiveness of his predecessors while Kayleen's screams of desperate
agony filled the eerie void of his undead soul.
In spite of the light brought by the torches, Kayleen's eyes remained closed,
as if she didn't want to contemplate the bloody swath of pulsating raw flesh
and splintered bones hanging between the twin rails which had been her fine
warrior's body. When a voice echoed in the chamber, however, her chest rose in
a sob of despair which her broken ribs turned into a desperate scream.
"I'm back, Whore Queen. You missed me, I bet," laughed the old Southerner.
He cranked the rails, reclining them until she was halfway vertical, and then
dribbled her gouged breasts with the contents of a jug. She jerked and howled
in wretched pain as the thick brine burned her abrasions and cuts, seeping
mercilessly in her wounds while his leather sheathed member nudged her
sphincter. The leather had been smeared with irritant and rubbed in sand, but
he lingered while she buckled like a rag doll, her limbs snapping as the
splintered bones reopened the wounds in her twitching muscles.
When he saw her cracked lips form a coughing "No", he grabbed her ribs and
drove into her with rabid lust, holding fast against the subsequent frenzy of
demented buckling while the sand raked her abraded bowels, allowing the paste
to sting the raw flesh like the kiss of hell's flames. Her jerks and twitches
wrought horrid torments through her jarred bones, and her violator thrust into
her with vicious abandon while her mind was rattled by yet another horrid
defilement, unable to react, unable to escape.
The violation was protracted with lewd persistence, shattering her meager
hopes that his endurance could have a limit which drugs and magic could not
overcome. His congested complexion and bulging eyes suggested an impending
stroke, but he pulled from her only to crank the rails until her head was low
enough to invade it with his manhood, almost dislocating her jaw while she
sputtered on the mix of paste, semen and her own blood.
His hands reached for another jug, and the smell of bleach reached her
nostrils just before pain engulfed her arms, washing blood from the splinters
piercing her muscles and fully exposing the gleaming white streaks which
fanned untold agonies into the slightest jerk of her nightmare. She gurgled
and gasped in a frenzy of muffled pain, but this only made her tormentor
continue the aspersion of her twitching flesh with the strong bleach. When he
splashed her with cold, salt water, it almost proved a relief.
When his member hardened again, he smeared it with the irritant paste and
cranked the rails so that he could slid it between her breasts, which he
proceeded to wrap with knotted twine soaked in a caustic which burned like
liquid fire. Her mouth trembled in howls of bitter agony as the twine was
tightened with devious cruelty while he thrust his manhood back and forth,
scraping her globes with the bristled leather and making her arch in demented
agony from the twine cutting across the abraded, gouged flesh.
She sputtered as her mouth was filled with syrup, but the bleach she could
smell was forthcoming and did not spare her belly and ribcage, and after a
while he took a liking to her desperate buckling and pushed his flaccid member
in her vagina, using the bleach to make her turn left and right on the
bristled intruder in a frenzy of demented screams. He continued this torment
until his arousal returned, at which point he smeared her insides with a
strong astringent before thrusting into her with vicious abandon.
Unable to stop screaming, unable to escape the whirling waves of agony and
defilement heaped upon her, Kayleen jerked spasmodically in the throes of
unspeakable pain while her mind sought some place to curl up and hide from all
these horrors. Her defiler produced a pair of needles and used them to weave
knotted twine through the flesh of her labia, lingering inside her while she
shook in abysmal pain as the knots ripped through the raw flesh.
After wrapping the ends of the twines around her abraded clitoris, still
impaled on the needle lodged in her pubic bone, he started pulling their ends
left and right, making her twist and arch in demented torment with little or
no respite given, buckling and screaming as the twine tightened the abraded
flesh against the bristled intruder and the caustic it was soaked with seeped
in the scraped feminine flesh with each jerk and thrust, burning and stinging
mercilessly yet again what had become the seat of her worst nightmares.
He took some drug in the meantime, something which rekindled his arousal
as he reveled inside her, pressing her innards against the pulled twines while
the shearing of her femininity continued among her tormentor's mad laughs of
perverted triumph. She hoped that it would stop, and it would not, it got
worse as he kept pulling on the twines. She prayed that he would tire, but he
increased his thrusting as if possessed by a lust from the pits of hell
itself. She prayed that she would die, but he continued jarring her pain
wracked body for an unbelievable length of time while she was consumed by
frenzies of hapless screaming and arched in spasmodic agony.
After making her drink from the jug again, he invaded her sphincter. He had
used the astringent liberally, but replacing the bristles with spikes meant
that her own blood soon provided the lubrication her desperate howls
desperately begged for. He did not protract this violation for long, and had
Lyral brought forth to heal the worst wounds. He then brought forth a large
container of liquid, whose funnel he inserted in her rectum which he then
proceeded to fill with astringent and sew shut while she howled in mad pain.
He started cranking the liquid inside her and her eyes bulged while she arched
in sudden fear. The torment mounted with each crank as the liquid seeped into
every available nook and cranny, finding more abrasions and wounds to sting as
pressure increased. She could not believe that such pain could last for so
long and still get worse over time, but as her jerks snapped new splinters in
her broken bones even such remnants of coherent thought were washed away.
She shook herself as the syrup mixed with froth in her poor mouth, dimly aware
that Lyral had healed her a bit and sputtering as the liquid made, as always,
the pain worse. She had been allowed to empty her bowels, which still burned
enough to keep her screaming for a week, and no sooner did she take a breath
than her tormentor thrust into her rectum, this time after coating the leather
with irritant paste mixed with gross sand. Awareness flashed through her mind
again, and she was now aware that magic was being used.
She howled in demented pain when his hands caught her ribs and pulled down her
pain wracked body against his invading member, thrust with vicious abandon up
her bowels in drug-induced lust. The gruesome violation dragged her down
depths of frenzied torment made worse by the invasion of liquid agony she had
just endured, and the protracted rasping from the hellish sand slowly brought
her near the edge of pain-induced insanity.
She continued screaming even after the violation stopped, trembling from the
agony seared deep in her bowels by the brutal scraping with the sand and
sputtering as the contents of the jug were poured in her mouth. Of the many
torments heaped on her orifices, scraping wounded raw flesh with sand was
possibly the worst, even worse than the spikes, because blood made it worse as
the grains stuck and continued to inflict pain.
His flaccid member entered her mouth, and somehow in a deep recess of her mind
she still managed to rage against the violation, as if it had not been part of
what he liked to perpetrate on her for days, as if she could prevent him from
doing as he pleased. She vaguely remembered the agony wracking her bones as
the rails were cranked into position, and she saw as if through murky water
her own body shivering and arching as some caustic liquid was dribbled over
her abraded limbs to pleasure his member with her gurgling screams.
The clear liquid seeped in the innumerable abrasions before starting to hiss
and sizzle faintly, causing exquisite frenzies of spasmodic howling which his
expert hand could mold by varying the amount of liquid poured and the speed at
which it left the vial. He fully intended to make it last, drop by drop, but
he could not help but indulge in the sight of how her pierced clitoris
twitched on the impaling needle when the liquid caught hold, and so he often
returned to the raw nub of feminine flesh, savoring how her gurgling screams
bubbled in mounting despair around his throbbing manhood.
To continue the torment he would have had to call upon Lyral's healing, so he
shifted his ministrations to her stretched nipples instead, which twitched
almost as deliciously and brought similar pleasure from her harrowing screams
of wretched woe. Besides, even ordinary abraded flesh provided enough pleasure
when it curled and sizzled under the caustic, so he managed to protract the
torture until he could feel his member harden again in drug-induced lust.
Kayleen burst in a scream when he popped out, and continued as the liquid kept
burning her mercilessly, pausing only when awareness returned to her just
before he started cranking the rails up, enough to lower her crotch to drive
into it with vicious strength. His hands clawed her poor breasts, grabbing the
mauled flesh to pull her brutally onto his member, making her howl in demented
pain as the gross sand inflicted gruesome torments on the raw walls of her
love channel. The nightmarish violation was protracted through a row of cruel
pauses, which he introduced whenever he saw hope in her eyes just to savor her
despair when he suddenly thrust into her again, ripping the cuts around the
rim of her vagina open some more while she arched in screaming despair.
When the excruciating defilement finally stopped, she thought for a moment
that her prayers had been heard, but then she caught her tormentor preparing
another container of foul liquid. How could she be brave before the horror
about to be perpetrated on her she did not know, but somehow the words of a
prayer formed in her mind as the Southerner pushed a funnel into her bleeding
vagina and brutally stitched her torn labia around the funnel in spite of her
mindless attempts to oppose him.
When the liquid was allowed to flow, a burst of searing agony coursed through
her reclined body as the caustic liquid inflamed her insides mercilessly,
engulfing the shredded strands of torn flesh in a wave of relentless torment.
Her mouth opened in a howl so anguished that the voice broke as her ribs
cracked and only wheezing screams followed in its wake, harrowing phantoms of
agonies too atrocious to contain and which continued their assault as more
liquid was poured inside her. Lost in horrors beyond the boundaries of sanity,
she looked at the clanking rails, wondering how they could withstand her
protracted frenzies of mindless buckling or the rabid jerks which pushed
splinters of bleeding bone through the knotted muscles.
The liquid continued to flow while her agonies mounted, even after Lyral was
briefly brought forth to heal her, and her screams continued to echo under the
vaults of the torture chamber while her innards were slowly filled with the
agonizing concoction. She lost count of how many screams wracked her until the
liquid started gushing out from the cuts of her stitched labia, too mauled to
be sealed tight even if he had attempted it. As awareness flashed through her
mind again, she realized while the pain increased that this had never been the
intent anyway, because the caustic bursting through the cuts in her labia was
one of the few means of pain that could possibly increase her agonies beyond
the point they already stood, as her desperate howls testified.
The funnel was removed from inside her and the opening stitched with knotted
twine, then the rails were slowly cranked, her twitching body suspended
between them, quivering in screaming pain as her weight shifted from one
fracture to another. Over the journey, she realized that the liquid inside her
was increasingly pressing down against her stitched flesh, seeping through the
cuts and bursting them painfully as it burned its way out while at the same
time soaking the twine which held the tatters of her flesh in place.
Before Zhorun's eyes, Kayleen's body started buckling spasmodically as the
horrid torment of the caustic pouring through her stitched vagina made her
arch and scream in harrowing pain, repeatedly making bloody splinters of her
broken bones snap through her twitching flesh at the rhyme of screams and
howls from the Bone Dance resurfaced from times of ancient malevolence.
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