The girls were woken by a giggling Grunt hurling a bucketful of cold water through the hatch. As they struggled into wakefulness, he appeared in the cellar, lighting torches aorund the walls, and then kindling a fire in a large furnace at the far end.
As flamelight flickered over their bodies, Una exclaimed “Ugh, you’re filthy, Duo – so am I!”
“Yeah,” said her sister with a mischievous grin, “let’s clean ourselves up. We girls have to look our best for Torturers, don’t we Sis?”
They licked each other – they were both thirsty, and it seemed they were going to get no other breakfast, this cocktail of filthy water, girl-sweat and caked blood would have to do. They scrubbed one another’s intimate places with handfuls of wet hay. They groomed each other’s hair.
When the Boss-Torturer arrived, he was surprised to see his prisoners thus engaged in their toiletries, “Struth,” he said, “I’ve never seen my victims looking so fresh and dainty!” They smiled sweetly at him as he unlocked the door, and got to their feet, legs parted, hands behind bums.
“Okay then, which of you’s going first?” He didn’t wait for an anwer, “It’s the big one’s turn today, you get the little one trussed so she can watch.”
Gruntus took Duo and led her to a wooden frame, where she had to kneel, her legs tied wide apart, har arms pulled back through slots and clamped fast, so she was leaning back, tits lifted, against a rough board, with a clear view of the piece of furniture to which her sister was being tied.
It seemed a complex piece of machinery, yet elegantly crafted and basically simple, like half a great mill-wheel set on a pair of iron tracks. Una had to lie back over this, her legs wide apart, her arms behind her head, she was tightly bound in a position that exposed her conveniently to the cruellest attentions of her tormentors.
But the fiendish feature of the apparatus was a system of gears governed by a single large winch-wheel, as poor Una was soon to learn. Her Torturers were ready now, the senior spoke,
“Now slave-slut, you know why you’re here – no slavegirl ever tells the truth except she’s been tortured, you’re no exception. No, it won’t be over quickly. No, there’s nothing you can say or do to stop us. And yes, it will hurt – a lot!”
He gave a light touch to the control-wheel, at once the girl squeaked and shuddered.
“Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” croaked Una weakly.
“You can scream, scream all you want, it will make no difference. But Mistress does allow you to have a rag stuffed in your mouth so you can bite on it, do you want that?”
“Er – no thankyou, Sir.”
“Right, off we go!”
He moved the handle a little more, Una shrieked, feeling her whole body stretched across the great wheel, her arms and legs ripped by the strain. Each touch on the wheel brought a click that Duo could hear all too clearly. She watched, tensing with every scream, tugging instinctively at her bonds with every jerk of her sister’s body, willing her to cope. She knew the rules, better perhaps than Una, she willed her to obey them - don’t fight, you’ll only make it worse, just let the pain flow through you, conquer you.
The Torturer allowed long pauses between clicks, Una lay sweating, trembling ,waiting for the next increment of agony, the two men obviously took great pleasure in their power over her helpless body.
But there was another refinement. When Una was stretched so tight she was sure her joints would snap with the next click, the Torturer pulled a different handle and she suddenly relaxed. It took her moments to realise what had happened, then she let her whole body writhe and hurl about, tugging at the ropes, gasping air into lungs that had been almost too compressed by the strain even to breathe.
But the respite was brief, another handle jerked her tight once more, a spasm of huge agony tore through her entire body as it recognised the renewed tension.
Thus the torture proceeded, minute by minute, hour by hour, neither girl could tell how long, time ceases in the Torture Chamber. From time to time, the victim seemed to faint, a jugful of cold water from Gruntus revived her.
At one point while her limbs were briefly relaxed, the Torturer declared,
“I think it’s time for a break, get the brewhouse wench to bring us some beer, Grunt, we’ll leave the bitch on standby.”
With that he pressed a brake to lock the apparatus. Una felt little relief, her whole body was filled with continuous throbbing of pain. Gruntus returned with a scruffy youngster carrying a large jug and two copious flagons, she knelt to pour and serve, then departed leaving the jug.
Having refereshed themselves, the men decided to exercise their Torturers’ privilege. Una’s thighs were well-spread, her female parts wet, warm, and quivering with fear and pain, ideal for a monstrous tool. The Torturer threw himself on her and pumped her with vigour, it was an exercise he was obviously well-used to, inseminating girl-victims on his Rack. Una yelped and jerked her body in response to his driving,
Gruntus coldn’t hold himself, he hurried to the opposite end and started rubbing his cock on Una’s sweat-soaked face, she shook her head from side to side, this only increased his ardour. As the one man’s semen erupted into her womb, the other’s burst over her face, cascading into her mouth and eyes, she let out a cry as both her conquerors growled in satisfaction.
As they withdrew, she sighed, “Thankyou, my Masters,” then asked plaintively, “Sir, may I have the rag in my mouth now?”
The chief nodded, Gruntus picked up a filthy scrap from the floor that had once been a slavegirl’s indument, and stuffed it between Una’s jaws, tying it behind her head. The torture resumed. Una felt strangely revived by the exercise, she responded with vigour to the resumed torture, clutching at the wrist-ropes, gripping till her nails bled, biting on the comfort-rag – yes, thought Duo, it is better, I’ll ask for it when it’s my turn…
Whip-Mistress Clementina arrived,
“How are Mistress Isabella’s little jewels doing?”
“We’re still breaking the big one, the piglet’s watching.”
“Are you ready to tell your truth?”
Una turned her head, looked pleadingly at Clementina, mumbling through the chewed-up rag. The Whip-Mistress looked at her sternly, flicked her nipple with the tip of her riding-crop, Una wriggled in feminine reaction.
“H’m, I don’t think so,” she shook her head, “not broken yet.”
Una burst into tears of despair, Duo cried out, “Please Mistress! Let me be tortured now!”
But in vain, Clementina departed.
