‘In those parts where you will feel most pain’
When ‘they torture you in those parts where you will feel most pain’, what exactly do they do to you? Here, if you can bear to read it, is as full and accurate an account as I can give of the experience of a girl ‘in some dictator’s gaol’, based on reports from female victims who’ve experienced (and survived) Electrical Torture in the Torture Chambers of military and police states throughout the world - be in no doubt, even as you read this, somewhere, some young woman is being led into the Torture Chamber...
So this is the place...
No windows.
Bright light, bare walls,
tiles on the floor, a water-tap, a drain,
a desk and some chairs,
a bench with a whip on it,
some machinery,
and that bare, metal bed,
‘The Grill’ they call it -
“Strip!”
I glance at that whip.
Obey.
Not much to take off –
already strip-searched,
all they’ve left on me,
shirt, bra and thong –
put them on the bench.
Feel my nakedness,
I haven't been bare
in front of a man.
even my dad,
since I was a little kid...
I turn to let them look at me –
best to co-operate –
stand as I know I must:
legs open,
trembling fingers gripping my bare buttocks,
eyes lowered submissively,
lips slightly parted...
Wondering,
‘Will they rape me now?’
The sergeant reads my thoughts,
“Not yet, you little whore,
we know what you're wanting!
After we’ve tortured you –
soaked in sweat and quivering with pain,
that's when we'll fuck you.
Girls’ cunts are more excited when they’ve had
electric current through them,
and us men
more horny when we’ve watched your sexy body
dancing in agony!”
Now to the Grill –
“Lie down!”
Hard steel, cold
to my naked shoulders, back and thighs.
But keep still -
struggle
and I’ll feel that whip.
“Hold out your wrists!”
Steel manacles –
they screw them tight, they hurt,
then pull my arms above my head
and clip the chains to a steel ring.
“Open your legs”
I spread them wide
with a little sigh,
feeling my vulnerability.
Irons on my ankles.
Force my legs still wider
as they clip
chains to rings on the corners of the Grill.
Shackled now,
stretched,
I can move a bit,
struggle and twist,
but my thighs held wide,
can't close them.
Quivering in fear,
and yet I feel
a strange sense of security
now I'm in bondage,
even some thrill
in my defenceless nakedness.
They switch on a bright lamp above me,
makes me blink.
Now they start shaving me –
“Ouch!”
Don’t wriggle, they’ll cut me -
feel my armpits, groin,
my tender love-parts,
scraped.
I watch with horror
what’s coming next.
One of them takes a flame-gun off the table,
brings it over,
points it between my legs...
I'm shrieking, begging him not to....
Oooooooow!
This first taste of pain –
I’ll never forget
though much worse will happen to me,
this is the one that sticks in my body’s memory.
It doesn’t last long,
he turns it off
when he’s happy
no trace of hair left,
skin’s red and raw,
my tenderest parts
throbbing with pain...
Now my body’s swabbed
with greasy water,
that will make the current
surge across my skin..
They finger me
like lovers’ foreplay -
flicking my nipples,
Then, in between my thighs,
one opens
the still hot, burning flesh-folds
- I scream -
he touches the trembling seed,
feels right inside me...
I tug
the tight-screwed manacles –
there's no escape!
My blood pumps hard,
I'm panting, sweating,
although my conscience tells me that I'm hating it,
I sigh with pleasure as my tits and clitoris swell hard.
In spite of terror,
breasts are throbbing, firm,
sex soft, warm, tumid.
But now they’ve got me ready for the Instruments:
clips on my pulsing nipples,
armpits, thighs,
quivering labia -
“Ow!”
The clips bite my burnt flesh so sharp!
And now to make my sexual Torture worse:
a wet steel scouring pad,
a wire tampon’s
forced into my cunt...
I hear the machine start,
making a constant hum...
Then the message on the intercom:
“She’s ready sir!”
Wait,
minutes like hours.
At last
He comes.
Checks me:
electrodes where they’ll cause most pain:
my breasts,
my vulva,
close to my clitoris ...
I tremble,
taut, tense,
yet excited – even eager!
Questions begin.
At first, I think
my answers and confessions are okay –
perhaps I'm satisfying him,
I might be spared the horror?
But bit by bit
his tone becomes impatient, harder, angrier...
and then,
“Begin!”
“Ahhhh!”
Power screams
right through my body to the metal bed.
I feel on fire!
I hear my own shrieks
high, piercing:
I’ve heard through the nights
they’ve kept me waiting in that pitch-black hell-hole of a cell,
and now
all through the gaol the girls will know
what’s happening to me.
I jerk, leap about,
kick wildly,
shoulders and buttocks spring up off the Grill,
My hair’s wild,
head shaking side to side,
teeth snapping –
they thrust my little thong into my mouth
so I don’t bite my tongue off!
Shocks,
ten, twenty, thirty seconds each,
with brief gaps in between,
some more, some less,
some to my genitals,
some to my breasts,
sometimes to both...
Between the torturingsthey go on questioning,
threatening, shouting...
As soon as they see me relax a tiny bit,
my heart-beat slows,
again they torture me.
I'm held in constant terror...
Still they keep on and on.
I swear I’ve told them all I know:
“Liar!
You little whore,
You're going to remember every dirty little secret
that you’ve tried to hide!”
Sometimes they move the clips,
twiddle the wire pad inside me,
slightly,
just so I don’t get numb –
I feel a fresh bit of my flesh
made ready for the pain.
That wire pad spreads the shocks
right through my genitals,
arousing my clitoris,
stimulating ovaries,
making the muscles of my womb
seize and contract –
it’s exquisite, burning agony
deep in my womanhood!
And, worst of all,
is when they touch my quivering female parts
with the electric probe![ii]
This sends a current like a streak of fire
right through me to the nearest terminal.
My youthful body’s not my own,
they’ve make it an electric toy
that moves at each touch of the switch,
jump, jerk,
sharp squeals come out of it -
In between the inflictions,
then I scream, beg them for mercy!
Plead again
“Let me confess!”
They laugh -
“We’re in no hurry, slut,
we’ve hardly started on you,
you're going to suffer much, much more!”
At last,
a smart young woman in a miniskirt
brings in a sheet of paper –
my confession,
typed up in readiness.
They pause from torturing me,
release my hands,
make me sit up,
so I can read it –
“Read it out loud,
so we can hear you!”
Then they make me scrawl,
shaking, my name and number.
Makes me cry,
just seeing my poor name
scarcely legible,
all I’ve got left that’s mine,
even that’s breaking apart!
“You must remember your confession –
every word –
so you’ll repeat it while we torture you,
over and over.”
Just a little space,
they let me lie there,
sweating, gasping, sobbing
begging for water...
They refuse.
I'm shuddering still,
breasts, womb and genitals,
still gripped with cruel orgasms.
The Medical Inspector fingers me:
My eyes plead helpless as he feels inside:
“Still nice and wet and throbbing –
fine, healthy cunt,
ready for more!”
“Right, but I think it’s time to fuck her first.
Lie back, slag,
get ready for rape!”
They fix my arms
above my head again.
I'm lying, panting,
bracing myself
as the Fat Boy,
takes off his pants,
I press my feet down,
raise my open thighs,
my buttocks off the Grill,
face up, blinking under the lamp,
lips parted, signalling my readiness.
It’s my instinct...
“That’s the way girl!”
one of the Torturers says,
“You know how to receive a man”
“Of course she does”,
The Fat Boy snarls,
“this little cow’s
been selling herself around
since she was twelve!”
He hurls himself on me.
It hurts as my virgin cunt
still quivering and burning from the electric pain
is forced wide open by his massive prick.
I work with my thighs
as he thrusts and pumps in me,
I turn my head and sigh as he gnaws my neck.
As his semen bursts, I feel the warmth insider my flesh.
He kneels up, spits in my face,
and slaps my cheek.
I whisper –
as I know I must –
“Thankyou Sir –
I hope I pleased you Sir.”
And now the others have their turns-
all of them, one by one,
even the Medical Inspector.
My body’s tired, sore,
feeling stuffed full
of boiling semen.
Soon as they’ve done,
they fit the Instruments again.
After the gang-rape, I'm more sensitive,
blood’s returning to the tortured spots,
my nerves responding
soreness inflamed –
it’s all part of the process,
increments of added pain...
The Torture starts again.
My muscles seize
gripping my womb and thighs,
like giving birth
over and over...
Roused,
orgasmic,
raped,
a cruel parody
of sexual ecstasy!
Even my mind
they’re gouging out from me,
the thoughts I’ve always had
about myself –
perhaps they’re wrong?
Perhaps the hideous things they make me say
are true?
“Oh let me talk!”
I beg,
“Oh, please, let me tell you...”
“Repeat your confession, whore!”
I gasp, and try to splutter out the words
fighting my crumbling memory to recall...
He has to prompt me several times.
I’ll pay the price –
he shouts to the men,
“Punish her!”.
The whip,
vicious,
across my breasts, ribs, fanny, thighs –
different kind of pain,
more raw, more elemental
than electric shocks,
variety of agony...
Three dozen strokes,
my bare skin stinging,
criss-cossed with weals,
great purple bruises,
red patches of internal bleeding...
Yet again they fit the electrodes.
Hour after hour,
surely it’s been all night?
The squads take turns,
though some can’t drag themselves away,
they tell their wives
they’ve ‘urgent business’!
I hardly hear their questions now,
I cannot understand,
I'm gabbling nonsense,
sobbing and howling,
even laugh hysterically...
I’ve lost all sense of time.
The Torture only stops
when they think I might die.
“Shall we let her dress,
or keep her naked?”
“Just let her have her bra and thong.
Keep those parts warm for next time,
little slut –
we’ll soon be having fun with you again!”
I climb down off the Grill,
pull on my undies –
the parts they touch
tremble,
I sob at the soreness.
As I try to walk
I stagger, legs shaking still,
I fall and crawl on my hands and knees.
Guards kick and beat me,
drag me by my hair,
my trembling flesh
along the corridor,
back to the cell...
Lie there for hours,
shaking, in spasms,
too sick to drink
the lukewarm soup they’ve left,
Aching and shivering,
whimpering, retching,
stinking with sweat –
Knowing I’ll soon hear footsteps,
key turn in the door...
“Up, turd!
Back to the Torture Bed!”
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