7
Everything was quiet, just a low hum from machinery, and Nutmeg softly polishing every inch of the steel equipment that furnished the Chamber with her knickers, till it gleamed under the bright neon light. I was shivering, sweating , still imagining I felt pain shooting through me, though it was surely just a trick of my tormented nerves?
Suddenly I heard myself shriek, my whole body leapt above the supports. I jerked violently to left and right, the cables had been set so I could move my limbs a few inches. The pain gripping my genitals was no illusion, it was utter, hellish torment.
After thirty seconds or so it subsided. I lay on the supports panting, sweat streaming. Silence again, Nutmeg carried on with her polishing, undistracted. The needles stuck in so many places on my skin stung like gnat-bites, the aftershocks of the torture continued in my sex-parts. I tugged at the cables holding my wrists and ankles, tense with terror.
I was weary, aching, my mouth and throat dry and parched. Gradually my breathing slowed, my pounding pulse eased, then, aaaaargh! Another shock of extreme agony, this time in both my breasts. My body fought furiously but of course nothing I did could prevent these inward assaults.
What Dr.Sheng had meant by 'Auto-Torture' became all too horribly clear. Somehow, the little needles – at least, the ones he'd inserted just before he left me – were monitoring me, my heart-rate, breathing, metabolism, brain-rhythms, everything. This information was transmitted to some computer programmed with the advanced software devised – in all innocence – by Dagmar's father. And the same software determined what 'treatment' should be administered via the other needles. Whenever I showed the least sign of beginning to relax, a new shot of pain was inflicted in some acutely sensitive part of my already torture-harrowed body. So, while Dr.Sheng and the Torturers slept peacefully, I was held in a constant state of tension, not daring to relax, never mind doze, in terrified anticipation of the next spasm of pain.
When Nutmeg was near, polishing up the SeeSaw itself on which I was stretched, I whispered to her hoarsely, "Nutmeg!" She looked startled at hearing her name, glanced around anxiously. "Cumin told me about you and the others," I croaked. "Ah," she nodded. "No chance I could have some water?" She glanced around again, obviously very frightened, then shook her head. "I mustn't," she hissed, "You could have a seizure, even die." I sighed. She was right of course, with my body under this stress, and what would happen to her would be at least as bad.
My eyes were accustomed to the bright light now. I peered into the shadows, seeing movement, hearing quiet voices. The gallery was open again, even at the dead of night young men – Cadets and Guards – were watching me, being educated by the sight of my torment. The men were mostly quiet, absorbed in fascination, almost awe, at this almost magical spectacle of Auto-Torture. Pretty frequently I obliged them with spells of shrill yelling and violent jerking of my legs and torso, as pain-spasms seized me, then a murmur of excitement ran through the Chamber.
After a long time, Nutmeg was replaced by Chilli, the redhead. Not a word passed between them, Chilli arrived, Nutmeg scuttled out. The new girl didn't even glance at me, just pulled off her knickers and started polishing where the other had left off.
Above the gallery there was a row of high windows, through one of which I could just see the sky. In between my times of torment, I watched it grow gradually lighter. Although the powerful neon lamp was by far the brightest light-source in the Chamber, the dawn through the windows showed more clearly the rows of watching men, my body moved involuntarily as I felt their eyes scanning me, a response of fear and helplessness, but also of pleasure, at least in giving them pleasure.
At last Sheng returned, Iso and Shaga with him. He spent a little while no doubt checking on the readings of the monitoring equipment, satisfying himself that his experimental subject was performing in accordance with his programme – for all that I had suffered, I was still alive, conscious, fit and healthy enough to endure the next phase.
The charade of Interrogation resumed, questions I could not possibly answer. I braced myself for more internal agony, but they had different pains for me now. The cables holding my wrists and ankles began to grow tighter, and tighter, and tighter, tugging at my limbs. I began to groan, to cry out in distress as I felt my muscles strain, my joints – ankles, knees, hips, wrists, elbows, but first and worst my shoulders, starting to tear apart.
The racking – for that's it was – was carefully controlled by Sheng's devices, without any of the men needing to exercise judgement, it allowed me to be stretched as close as possible to disjointing, then suddenly it released me. This was repeated three times, then there was a new development, the frames supporting my neck, shoulder and bum were removed, they just telescoped down and sank into the floor, leaving me hanging by my wrists and ankles.
A little more questioning, and I was suddenly stretched again, then, while I was screaming in agony, the cables released and I dropped, this time right down to the floor, hitting my spine and the back of my head with sharp blows. For a few moments I was free to writhe and squirm violently, rolling back and forth under the SeeSaw, before the cables pulled quickly taut again and hauled me up, stretching me cruelly once more.
This torture, repeated stretching, dropping, stretching, drove me to a new depth of despair, I felt my body could endure no more, yet it was clear that Sheng's fiendish equipment knew better, it was commanding the SeeSaw to force me to my furthest limits.
Iso and Shaga supplemented the pain of the rack with the 'duster-whip' and the 'invisible flame' that I'd experienced yesterday, aiming both at the stretched, tearing muscles of my upper arms, flanks and loins, I howled in vain for mercy.
After I'd been dropped onto the floor a few times, then jerked up and stretched again, a further refinement was added: at a touch of the remote by Sheng, row upon row of tiny sharp points emerged from the floor, a forest of little upward-pointing tin-tacks. Now when I was dropped, I was pierced by these vicious little spikes, and my instinctive twisting caused them to tear the skin of my shoulders and buttocks.
Still the questioning went on, still the torture. There was worse still to come. As I hung gasping, whining that I'd told them everything I could, I felt warmth, then heat, rising under me, and when I was next stretched and dropped, I felt the spikes had become red-hot, searing into my flesh with a sizzling hiss and pungent scent of grilling.
Three times I suffered this degree of torture, my shoulders and buttocks were covered in oozing blood and festering burns. Now the SeeSaw was raised, and then swung through 90°. I was hanging by my wrists, legs held wide apart, X-spread, the ideal position for an old-fashioned whipping, and this was what Iso now gave me, using a fine leather horsewhip to exacerbate the pain in my mangled back.
After this, the frame swung another 90°, and I was hanging face-down, looking down at the floor where, to my horror, the rows of spiked that had been withdrawn while Iso flogged me, now reappeared. The questioning resumed, my torture continued, with stretching alternating with dropping, now the front of my body, my face, breasts, abdomen and fronts of my thighs being thrown against the harrowing nails. Meanwhile Iso and Shaga merrily added to my suffering with continued attention to my strained muscles, now using vicious pangas, weapons with five sharp, claw-like hooks with which they raked my taut limbs and flanks.
Finally the frame was turned again, and now I hung by my ankles, my legs stretched wide, I felt horribly aware of my vulnerability in this of all positions. I howled "No!, No!" as Shaga approached with a large funnel, Iso began flicking my clitoris, forcing my vulva to relax against my will. I sighed in resignation as Shaga pressed the tube of the funnel into me.
Now Sheng came with a jar. He knelt down and held it close to my upside-down face, so I could see what was inside it – a tangled mass of greeny-brown slimy creatures slithering over each other in a foul, cloudy liquid. Now he stood up, opened the jar, and slowly emptied its contents into the funnel. I felt the cool, viscous substance filling my vagina, seeping into my sexual system. Then I sensed pressure from the living bodies sliding into me, twisting around inside me, beginning to explore.
Sheng stood back, Shaga withdrew the funnel, Iso fitted a metal clamp onto my labia that made me cry out in pain. The SeeSaw swung round once more, I was horizontal, face-up. The supports were raised again behind my neck, shoulders and buttocks; their pressure against my tortured flesh was now cruelly painful. The cables were quite loose, I was able to move about, trying to ease the pain in my aching limbs and torso.
But I soon became aware of a new agony, inside my genitals, the slimy creatures were beginning to feed, grazing on the inner wall of my vaginal cavity, sucking my blood and female juices. I cried out in pain and protest against this ultimate cruelty, so utterly degrading, so destructive of my womanhood, both physically and psychologically.
Sheng smiled. "That's good," he said, "It will be three or four hours before they've gorged themselves on her. Then she can be opened up and the molluscs removed. She'll stay in the cage till I'm ready for her next session."
