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The Interrogation And Punishment Centre For Girls
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
if you want learning some more that is up to you...........they are older also think they will learn you some however it seems that the disciple is much meaner
7
It was well into the night by the time young Marie's short and horror-filled life was ended. Things grew quieter now, in the city below us and even on the Place of Execution, though the Castle remained open to the public, it was surprising how many parties of drunks came to jeer and masturbate, and, even more disgusting, solitary old and middle-aged men, unable to drag themselves away from the addictive spectacle of us naked girls suffering.
Most of the Guard and Cadets stood down, only a small detachment were on night-duty, but my tormentors Sara and Averil volunteered eagerly to stay awake, ensuring that I did too – assiduous use of the flamegun on my taut armpits brought me back time and again from bouts of drowsy semi-oblivion.
To round off the evening, the slavegirls returned and carried out another fatigue of swabbing. It seemed futile, even grotesque, that they were being bullied to scoop up every little dollop of shit and knicker-scrub clean every square inch of Cross-wood, while the broken bodies of Laura and Marie lay there festering, the impaled carcasses of Afra and Gejo were beginning to disintegrate, but no-one was allowed to touch them.
Still, it was for me and my companions another chance to suck a little desperately-needed moisture from slavegirl pants, and from now on, three buckets stood at intervals along the path, into which Guards, Cadets and any passing males pissed. At long intervals, a pair of slavegirl's briefs tied to a stick was plunged into a bucket and held to a victim's lips. We had no choice, of course, but to accept the drink gratefully, relief from our tormenting thirst, though prolonging our death-agonies a little further.
It was a sticky, warm, oppressive night, breathing was hard, flies were enthusiastically active, I could now feel the tiny mouths of their larvae feasting on my nourishing flesh, a fierce burning itch in already sore wounds and cavities. The smell of my own body festering churned my stomach. And with Ioannides' pampered pets gone, the ragged local rats arrived in swarms, crawling over the carcasses of Laura and Marie, devouring what was left of flesh on them down to bare bones. A few of the beasts clambered up onto the rim of my Wheel , sniffing greedily, attracted by my pungent stench, I eyed them anxiously, feeling the Wheel swing to left and right as my muscles tensed. Fortunately the little monsters couldn't scramble up the wood, soaked as it was in my blood and body-fluids, far enough to reach my legs, so they turned their attention to more accessible fare.
Suddenly I was jerked from a daze not by my girl-torturers but by a blinding flash followed by a mighty crash of thunder. Rain began to fall in heavy globules, soon becoming a torrent that washed over my filthy, sweat and blood soaked nakedness like a huge wave of the sea. Through the rush of the storm and the pounding thunder I heard myself, and the other girls too, crying out spontaneously in delight at the refreshing drench, lifting our heads, mouths gagging wide to drink in as much as we could of the welcome wet.
The shower didn't last long, but it left us energised, cooled and hydrated, able to breathe more freely in the sharp, sweet, post-storm air. It was a mercy to see that even Averil and Sara had run for cover. But of course, it was only brief, and it fitted our sadistic masters' plans that we should be revivified to endure even more hours of crucified agony.
As the sky grew light, gulls flocked to the Place of Execution, squabbling noisily over the girl-scraps left by the rats. Crows investigated me, I tossed my wet curls, "Not time yet, boys!" I growled. "Caw!" they just mocked me. Soon they'll start pecking, I thought to myself, they'll go for my eyes first. I shuddered, but I didn't know then that I'd have been wiser to let them enjoy my eyeballs for breakfast.
The sun rose, promising a brighter, even hotter, day. The city of Moro came gradually to life, traffic moving. A few lustful guys found time even on their way to work to stop by at the Castle and enjoy a cock-raising boost, ogling our agonised nakedness. Television coverage of our suffering continued too, the big screens ever flashing from shots of one tortured girl to another. I could see that most of my companions had survived the night. The youngsters, Faith and Julia, still looked quite bright-eyed and able to move their limbs in their endless struggle with pain. I was surprised, but recalled hearing Dr.Sheng say it was a matter of strength-to-weight ratio, girls with lighter, gymnastic young bodies would hold out longer than more fully-developed women, and indeed Erica, my eldest cousin, seemed the most moribund of all us victims, though her torso was still twitching.
Now Brigadier Zeta and Executioner Buron arrived, with a third man didn't at first recognise. My heart sank as they strolled along the line of Crosses, starting withDagmar, inspecting each girl, commenting to each other with satisfaction. When they reached me, I shivered at Zeta's cold blue-eyed gaze, just as he'd eyed me up and down that fateful first morning in the Interrogation Centre. And I shivered the more when I realised who the third man was – the Cruel Dentist, who'd operated so barbarously on Laura and me, and last night on poor Marie. Zeta groped at my pussy and observed, "Good, Mérida's turd is in fine shape too – we'll give her the full treatment!"
Ticket-holding visitors were now filing into the VIP seats, slaves were restoring flames in the braziers, Guards and Cadets were all standing smartly at their posts. Zeta walked over to the VIP platform, where a Cadet handed him a microphone. After a pompous greeting and a short speech about the high standards of Military Justice and Discipline now being promoted in Elclud, he came to the point of this morning's exercise. "Several of these condemned vermin showed unwillingness to accept the justice of their sentences, and have shown defiance even on their way to Execution. They knew very well the consequences of indiscipline, and now they are going to pay the price."
Damaged25
Guard
Yes, I think Eulalia should start to say her prayers...
8
The operation was conducted by the Cruel Dentist, a.k.a. The Mutilator. Even Buron, arch-sadist, Chief Executioner, stood back and watched like an awe-struck tyro. The Mutilator's only assistant was a tall, lanky P-Section slavegirl, Her long, thin legs descending from her ragged, faded red knickers bore livid scars, her thin, hardened face confirmed that she'd experienced herself the kinds of horror she now had to help with.
A cherry-picker drove up and parked in front of Gaby, hanging limp on her Cross, staring vacantly at the preparations for her mutilation. The slavegirl loaded a case of equipment onto the platform, then she and the Mutilator were raised up level with Gaby, who began to twitch and jerk anxiously.
First the slavegirl passed to her Master (who was wearing strong leather gauntlets) a wreath of barbed wire with two strands hanging loose on either side. He lifted it above Gaby's head in a mocking gesture of coronation, then pressed it down onto her temples. Blood spurted, she moaned weakly. The girl passed him a staple-gun, he pulled the two loose ends of wire back and stapled them to the sides of the upright, so that Gaby's head was held back against the wood.
Next he took a horse-gag and thrust it into his victim's mouth, twisting it to force her jaw down. The slave passed a heavy-looking rugby-ball shaped weight, probably lead, about 4" long, with a big, sharp hook linked to one end. He held this in one hand, and received a pair of pincers, the kind with sprung handles he could operate with one hand. He held these up while the slavegirl took a flamegun and heated both the jaws of the pincers and the hook on the weight till they glowed. Gaby watched, her eyes huge with horror.
Suddenly he turned, stuck the smoking pincers in her gaping mouth, tugged out her tongue, and jabbed the hot, sharp hook of the weight right through it. He removed the gag, paused to admire his handiwork for a moment, then, task completed, the cherry-picker drew back and lowered its occupants to the ground. Gaby was now like one of those grotesques carved on a cathedral wall, a wildly staring face, her brows wreathed with the barbed wire and ribboned with blood, her mouth gaping open, tongue hauled down below her chin by the dangling weight, and that was how she was going to stay until she died.
Next the machine proceeded along the path in front of Lucia to park in front of the next victim, my love Barbara. Lucia, between my other two friends, was expecting punishment, and watched it pass her with a wide-eyed gaze, but she surely didn't imagine she would be spared. When the Mutilator and his assistant were raised up to her eye-level, Babs sighed softly and hung her head. She was no doubt expecting a coronet of barbed wire like Gaby's, but her defacement was to be different. It involved barbed wire, but a plaited strand was wound around the top of her chest, across her collarbone, under her armpits, round behind the upright, and twisted the two ends tight on her throat till her face revealed intense pain, though she did not shriek.
The Mutilator pressed another similar rope of wire under her scarred but still delectable breasts, pushing it upwards so the barbs bit into the soft flesh drawing blood, and then pulled this around the back of the upright and tied it in front with a vigorous twist. Her breasts were squeezed now between the two biting cords, this time she did yell out, a long, high moan.
Her Torturer amused himself pinching her protruding nipples, watching with a man's eternal delight the way a girl's teats harden and swell out involuntarily when stimulated, no matter how cruelly she's being tormented. The slavegirl was busily heating an iron bar some 40cm long, with a pointed tip, and holes through it at intervals. She had not just the tip but much of its length glowing hot, and was clearly finding it extremely painful to continue holding, when the Mutilator put on his gauntlet and took hold of it himself. He flourished it in front of Barbara's face, she murmured some soft pathetic plea that even the sensitive microphones could not pick up, then, holding her left breast between the fingers of his left hand so it bulged still more, he thrust the lance into it and worked it through, quite slowly, twisting it as it burnt through the flesh. Barbara shrieked continuously, her head flung wildly, her legs and hips laboured, heaving and twisting, restrained only by the nails through her feet.
When the tip emerged, hissing with greasy gore cooking on it, he grabbed the right breast, and made the iron continue its journey across her cleavage and into the other soft organ of delight. Eventually, after minutes of slow thrusting and twisting, it emerged, still dully glowing, and projected until he was satisfied that the two ends were jutting equally.
Then he stood back and watched as Barbara came to terms with the hideous fact of this monstrosity lodged in her flesh, still cooking her female glands from within, weighing them down grotesquely over the vicious barbed-wire bondage. Her head was bowed, her bright eyes wide open, as she stared, groaning loudly, at the dreadful sight.
But that was not the end. The slave now handed her Master a weight, like the one hanging now from Gaby's tortured tongue. This one was hooked on one of the perforations through the bar, right in the centre between Barbara's breasts. Two more were added, one at each end, so as to tug the victim's breasts down, cruelly distorting them. Blood oozed, the girl jerked helplessly at her stretched arms, but now she was prevented from moving her shoulders by the wire bondage, the extra weight added to the racking strain on her already ripped muscles.
The cherry-picker now moved back to Lucia, the girl who'd dare open her mouth in defiance as the was led off to be crucified. She sighed, instinctively turning her body away from her threatening tormentor. He roughly pushed her back against the upright, and began fitting plaited wires around Lucia's breasts like had done with Barbara's – Lucia's were more ample, more luscious than Barbara's (or mine), lifted up by the lower strand of wire and squeezed between both, they formed delectable large, squashy fruits.
Lucia gazed anxiously at the Mutilator's slave, expecting the ordeal of the hot poker, but instead saw her hand her Master a barbed-wire wreath for the victim's head, like Gaby was now wearing. This was fitted on Lucia's head, pressing through her rich layers of dark curls to draw blood down her frightened face. It was fixed back to the upright with staples, and the poor girl was now bound firmly and painfully to her Cross, her face taut with horror in the realisation that she was going to suffer both the tortures – the weight on her tongue and the bar through her breasts.
She was a powerful girl, her grand long legs, the only parts of her able to move, fought furiously while she roared out her agony as the Mutilator repeated on her receptive flesh the cruelties he'd inflicted on her two companions. Then the cherry-picker withdrew, he stepped down and returned to join Ioannides, Sheng and Zeta, who were leading the applause of the VIP audience. They stood watching the three tortured bodies dripping with sweat and blood in the rising sunlight, jerking in spasms of agony. Then they departed. I knew it was only an interlude, my turn was still to come.
Tree would like to hit the 'like' button but cannot. He is too nice a guy to do what Eul does...
Tree
...have my attorney call her attorney before Nailus Martyrs gets rights to this stuff....
Tree
...have my attorney call her attorney before Nailus Martyrs gets rights to this stuff....
9
The VIPs retired for a hearty breakfast in the Officers' Mess in the Castle Barracks, and the café in the visitors' centre did good business. It was surprising how the crowds on this second morning seemed even greater than the first day, although we girls on our Crosses were much more passive, much less mobile in struggling with our pain. The television coverage had evidently aroused excitement, the citizens of defeated Elclud – especially the male portion – seemed to be coming round to the view that a régime that lays on circuses of female crucifixion has something to be said in its favour.
The sun was blazing in a clear sky, last night's storm had cleared the clammy air, our naked, ravaged skins were burning. Now frequent opportunities to suck at the urine-soaked rag kept us hydrated, conscious, cynically extending our tortured lives, stretching out our agony. My arms were numb now, continuous pain located in my shoulders and painfully labouring chest. My lower body, with the Spike now firmly lodged in my birth-passage, my buttocks impaled on the nails from the hub of the Wheel, I held as motionless as I could manage, the least movement of my hips, the smallest tilt of he Wheel, brought pangs of intense torment to my entrails. And my wide-stretched legs ached cruelly with the continuous effort of pressing on my nailed feet to steady the Wheel.
By the time the dignitaries returned, there was a packed crowd eagerly awaiting. There was a brief round of flag raising and national anthems – I noticed the President of Elclud and the Security Secretary from the UCS had joined the MSC heavyweights again. Then the Mutilator and his slave approached me.
His first move was to have the Wheel turned so I hung upside-down once more, an operation that was itself now excruciatingly painful, so strained and weakened were my muscles. I watched resigned, as he took ropes of plaited barbed wire and wrapped them around my chest as he'd done on Barbara and Lucia. The jabbing of the barbs and cutting of the wire into my sore flesh drew yelps.
Now he ordered the Wheel to swing back upright, the jolt of the Spike in my genitals drew a spurt of blood and a howl of pain. The cherry-picker came into operation, the Mutilator rose to stand with his fierce eyes inches from mine. Nothing passed between us, no words, no meaningful facial gestures – he was totally impassive, I was utterly resigned. Silently, he took a wire wreath and pressed it onto my brows – strange, I thought, in all my long sojourn in the hell of the IPCG, all my visits to the several Torture Chambers and Places of Punishment, the one and only part of my body that has never suffered torture up to now has been the top of my head. The tightening of the strands and bite of the barbs made up for that omission, I heard myself scream, more loud and clear than a thought my burning lungs could manage.
As there was no wooden upright behind my upper body and head on my X-cross, the wire bonds were pulled back and tightened around the spoke of the Wheel. My torso had already been bent back by the wires around my chest, now my head was tugged back sharply and fixed with a cruel tight twist so I was gazing up into the brilliant blue sky. Blood meandered down my cheeks and soaked into my long dark locks.
I braced myself for the red-hot spear through my breasts that my friends had suffered before me, but it was not a rod that the slavegirl was heating. It was a claw knife that the Mutilator took and fitted over his fingers, equipping himself with five razor-sharp talons. These he applied to my right breast, prompting another echoing scream. Slowly he drew it down, slicing fiery incisions from the top, round the nipple, to the swelling base forced up by the wire bondage, and back round the aureole to the top.
He handed back the weapon, and was offered an open case of surgeon's scalpels. He selected one, the slavegirl heated the blade with the flamegun, the Mutilator began to flay me alive – yes, like he was peeling an apple, strip by strip, my breast was cleared of its skin.
With my head held back by the wire crown, I could barely see, and could not bear to look, I just howled piteously. When the breast was wholly stripped of its skin, he put away the scalpel and watched for a minute or two. He'd done the job so skilfully there was no rush of blood or juices, just a general gory ooze across the throbbing crimson mound. The slave handed him the flamegun, he played it over the raw flesh, I shrieked as the wound was cauterised.
Now he repeated the procedure on my left breast, I was moaning deliriously, God knows what anguished nonsense poured from my lips. The audience was quiet, awe-struck at this tour de force of cruelty. When it was complete, there was a general murmur of admiration that gave way to a burst of spontaneous applause. No regimented cheering this, the crowd were on his side – woe to the victim!
And what special mutilation was reserved for my face? Not the tongue-torture that Gaby and Lucia were now experiencing, but something much, much worse. Again he drew a scalpel from its case, did no heat this one, but lifted it towards my face. "Oh no!" I shrieked, guessing its destination, "Oh no, not that, please! Not my ...."
Grasping my already helpless head by my blood-wet hair in his left hand, he slipped the scalpel blade under my top right eyelid, and neatly sliced it away. Blood flooded across my eyeball, the sky turned hazy crimson, as he slit off the lower lid too. He paused, I felt the horror my sister had endured once, and Marie twice, already the unprotected eye was beginning to be burnt by the relentless brightness of the sky.
I was to lose both eyes. The left eyelids likewise cut off, the pain redoubled. But that was not sufficient to satisfy these monsters' sadism. I suddenly felt some irritating powder, like fine sand or seeds, sprinkled on the blood-dimmed surfaces, and my pain was multiplied, I was shrieking, crazed by the horror and the hurt.
My shrieks were lost among the cheering of the excited rabble, loud military music was blasting through the loudspeakers, I was no longer conscious of where I was, who I was, why I was there – I was just thrashing in a maelstrom of pain, living a waking nightmare.
By the time I became sufficiently lucid in my mind to recall my situation, all light had been burnt from my eyes, a dense blackness took its place, though my brain was still tormented with crazing after-images of blinding flashes, a dance of lightning mocking my blindness.
And my body was burning, especially my skin-stripped breasts. When a piss-wet rag was pressed to my lips, I sucked at it, my gullet burnt as the liquid sought my stomach. With my eyes destroyed, I heard more acutely, sounds of the city, ceaseless buzzingof flies, excited chatter among the crowds commenting eagerly on my bruise-streaked body, but especially on my glowing breasts and blank staring eyes.
But loudest of all were the bird, gulls and crows, wheeling above my upturned face, settling with scratching claws on the Wheel-rim, fluttering their wings close. Then the first one dared, a knife-like jab at my blinded left eye. I yelled as he flapped off triumphantly, his companions' cries mocked in polyphony. Emboldened, they all soon took their pick – spiced eyeball's a rare delicacy, barbecued breast's a tasty bite .
...tree is at a loss for words...
10
Drifting in and out of consciousness,
still twitching, gasping,
whimpering
feeling nothing
but pain ...
Hear voices.
"Well gentlemen, the Killhope Girls and their little friends are giving their final performance for us – a very good one, I think you'll agree?"
"Yes, General, especially Mérida's brats. I was determined we'd crush them like shit-flies from the moment I first saw this one, Eulalia, had fallen into my hands in the IPCG. Mérida – yugh! – source of all the foulest Libertarian infection, the very name makes me puke!"
"You did right, Brigadier. Destroying the Mérida girls and their network has put the final stamp on that contagion. And this little pantomime will serve as a warning to the people of Elclud – especially that twerp of a President, one step out of line by him, and he'll see his pretty daughters decorating the walls of Moro Castle!"
"Yes General, you can be assured the UCS Administration is right behind you. We may have to be diplomatic about what we say in international forums, always whinging about so-called human rights. But you know we're very grateful to you and your Elmedan forces for cleaning the terrorists out of Elclud. We'll go on providing security advisors, of course, as long as you require – but I must say I'm well impressed by your own methods!"
Laughter
"And I'd like to pass on to you, Dr. Sheng, my President's congratulations on your award of the Nobel Prize for Medicine!"
"Thankyou, Mr. Secretary. It's a reward not just for me but for all who worked with me at the Interrogation and Punishment Centre for Girls. That's been an ideal base for my research on the female experience of pain – and I can say these girls entertaining us today have provided extremely useful data!"
"Yes, it's excellent news, Doctor, and we're delighted to learn that you're going to use the prize money to establish the Sheng Institute for the Study of Female Pain – at the IPCG, of course! And speaking of congratulations, hey, you two, Girl Cadets!"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Your names?"
"Cadet Sara Ortiz, Sir!"
"Cadet Averil Preta, Sir!"
"I've been watching you, very pleased with your dedication to duty, even forgoing your rest time and staying up all night to ensure this slut didn't get any relief from the suffering it deserves. Well done, young ladies!"
"Thankyou, Sir!"
"I'm going to put you on fast-track promotion. As from now, you have officer status,
rank of Lieutenant."
"Thankyou very much Sir!"
"I suggest your first posting should be to the IPCG. Would that be acceptable, Brigadier?"
"Oh yes, General, very much so. I'm sure these two will make excellent Torture Officers. Welcome to the IPCG team, Lieutenants!"
"Well now, Doctor, this slag's been up for thirty-six hours, what shall we do with it now?"
"She's not in too bad shape for one at this stage in the process. She'll probably last the night. After that, it's hard to say, could hang on for hours, even days."
"But will she go on suffering?"
"That's the question, General. She's already phasing in and out of consciousness, in spite of the best efforts of Executioner Buron, ably helped by these young ladies – any time now she could slip into a coma."
"So you'd recommend breaking?"
"Yes."
"Buron!"
Voices. A pause.
Tug weakly at my arms,
groan hoarsely.
Footsteps.
"You right, you left. Turn the Wheel!"
Wriggle my body on the Spike, thighs labour as the Wheel moves.
Hanging by my ankles. My legs shuddering.
Aaaaargh! crash, crack, crunch, huge weight of metal on my wrist bones.
Aaaaaaaargh! again, left arm.
Again and again. Wrists shattered. Upper arms. Howling.
Wheel turns again, hanging now by smashed arms, pain shooting.
Aaaaaaaaaaw! Shins. Five or six blows to break them.
Body slumps, muscles useless.
Pelvis. Cracked.
Ribs. Crunched.
Gasping, choking.
Pain exploding in my guts.
Bloodburst, rush of warmth from my cunt.
"They say a girl dying on the Cross experiences all the worst pangs of a woman in labour."
I hear them laugh.
And that's it. 10 months nearly - with a few breaks along the way -
13 chapters, God knows how many pages.
GrandDaddyO spoke of Shakespeare, Gibbon and Tolstoy.
I don't imagine myself on the same planet as any of them (except for length!).
In my more conceited moments I reckon I can match De Sade, that's good enough for this girl.
Thanks to all you guys (and the odd gal) who've encouraged me along the way.
writing IPCG has been pretty demanding, it's been a kind of therapy,
hard to say yet how I feel now it's finished, except knackered, but
I'm sure I'll never be quite the same again!
An epic story, Eul, that I will admit was often more cruel than my tastes. But the writing is excellent and I am certain you are exhausted my this work of art.
Thank you,
Tree
Thank you,
Tree
...By the way almost 29,000 looks on a single subject thread is quite amazing....
Tree
Tree
as I ever said it is an real Eulalia-tale and ever would people said..............it looks like an Eulalia tale
thx eul
now I'll starting with your E-book and is it possible that you knows what God knows
thanks for mentioning that Tree, I don't often check on 'views'
I suspect that quite a lot (not only in the case of IPCG) are attracted by a titivating title,
but they may not find it's what they'd hoped for -
still, it's encouraging, I hope quite a lot did enjoy it, even the silent lurkers -
I notice at least two of your story threads have topped 20K
(Bethany, and my ordeal with IMF)
as I ever said it is an real Eulalia-tale and ever would people said..............it looks like an Eulalia tale
thx eul
now I'll starting with your E-book and is it possible that you knows what God knows
bless you Hansi - no hurry -
I really ought to re-read it myself,
if only to spot any glaring inconsistencies,
but will be honoured if you can turn it into an e-book
of course we wait for you
nardnob
Magistrate
Eulalia's Tolstoyan Epic deserves not less than a complementary catalog of stunningly graphic eye-candy detailing each spine-tingling scene -- but the jaws of mere mortals drop helplessly as our nards throb nobbingly to the grand sweep and scale of her lucidly lurid imaginings!
In other words, it's hard to do art with only one hand free...
Forgive me this humble effort, entitled "Crucified on the Walls of Moro"...
In other words, it's hard to do art with only one hand free...
Forgive me this humble effort, entitled "Crucified on the Walls of Moro"...
