Brainwashed
At the sound of her groan he looked up and ran his eyes up and down the helpless nudity of her suspended body. He grinned at her in anticipation of the joy he would take in using that body for his sadistic pleasure, then returned to his work, whistling softly. He pulled a leather strap through two loops at the ends of a cable that hung from the bar above her, then loosened the fetter that bound her right ankle. She was ready now. He grabbed her roughly by the waist and pulled her to the right until her hip touched the torture seat. Despite the sweltering heat in the torture chamber, she shivered at his touch as her gaze dropped to the dark metallic, teeth that awaited her. Instinctively she crossed her legs, but weakened by her ordeal she could not resist as he pulled her right leg over to the other side of the seat and fastened her ankle there with a leather strap.
Now the saw teeth were between her thighs, a few centimeters below her open pussy and Shiva could feel their threat as an icy coldness pouring from the metal tips.
“What …. what do you want from me?” She blurted out feverishly in a desperate attempt to gain some time.
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At the sound of her groan he looked up and ran his eyes up
Her Master wants me to make her more
Chinese torments
Master Lo was an expert in his art. In Wandeng province, there was no more skilled torturer than him. He was proud of the fact that he had tortured over 1,000 people and none had ever died under his care. Many people did not understand, but the purpose of torture is to make a victim suffer – either for punishment, or to convince them to talk.
He did not really care which they were sent to him for. It was all the same to him. The most recent girl sent to him was Wei-Ling, apparently she was to be made to suffer for two days. He didn’t know why, although he overheard his assistants talking about a refused marriage proposal. In Wandeng province, it was considered shameful to be refused an offer of marriage. For all he knew, it could be the girl’s own family who sent her here.
Lo knew that the largest part of torture is fear. Although Lo was proud of the fact he had never killed anyone, he never wanted his subjects to know that. The entire time they were with him, they should feel as if their life was in his hands. To help with the sense of fear, Lo liked to work on several subjects at the same time. When a new victim appeared, the first thing he did was explain – in great detail – what was happening to the others.
“See Mei over here, behind you?” he said to the girl, as she was being strapped to an X-shaped cross. “We got twenty seven hot needles into her, before she passed out. I thought she deserved a bit of a break, so I’ll let her hang there for a bit. If she doesn’t wake up in a couple of hours, we’ll find a way to revive her. Perhaps the two of you would like to play together?”
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She strained to look the monk in the eyes
Witch hunt
The ropes that bound the Corinne to the rough, splintered wood of the rack sang out as the cruel torturer gave the crank another half-turn. The helpless girl screamed in agony, her taut body straining as she was horribly stretched.
“So you see the folly of resisting the will of Mother Church, and her blessed Witch Hunters, slut,” said the so-called monk standing beside the rack. Brother Jamison was a new recruit to the Witch Hunters, but he had taken to his work with genuine enthusiasm. The women of Corinne’s village had never expected the Witch Hunters to come so far north, and so had been taken by surprise when the town crier announced a delegation from the Cathedral was making an appearance at harvest time.
Corrine, like so many of her friends, never had a chance. A single woman living in a remote village, she was easy prey for the Witch Hunters, who declared her and most of the other attractive young women to be “suspected witches” within a day of arrival.
“Please, let me go!” gasped Corinne. She strained to look the monk in the eyes, her dark hair hanging limply behind her as she squirmed. “I’m innocent!”
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Humble slaves are waiting for punishment. Artwork by Zerosen
Stories from a chamber. Guynard
