Occupational Hazzards
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I awoke at some unknown time after I heard Dana order
Phil's death. I was on the cold, cement floor of a
dark, small room. Amid the excruciating pain I felt, I
struggled to my feet. Still naked, but thankfully
numb, with blisters covering me caused by the steam, I
stumbled to the door and peered through a thin opening
between the slats and looked into a somewhat lighter
room. I pray out loud that I'm dreaming. I should be
in the infirmary, not some dark, cement cage. I ask
God to give me the strength to get out of this
wretched hell hole without dying if indeed I'm not
asleep.
I can barely hear two men's voices to my right. In the
dark, I can barely discern the men; they are bent over
an figure in the hall--I'm not dreaming--they have a
new victim. A woman is being simultaneously raped
orally and anally. The woman's hands are held behind
her and the anal rapist is pushing the bound arms up
towards her head. When the face fucker has had his
orgasm, he quickly withdrawals and returns his puny
penis to his pants. I want to help the victim somehow
but I'm powerless in the pitiful condition following
my torture on the Cross. I hear the victim moan,
"Mother of God....". The voice behind the cry sounds
familiar. I squint my eyes and am horrified to
discover the latest victim of the unholy torment is to
be Dana.
Rage rushes through me giving strength to shout at
Dana's captures. Shaking the cloudiness from my eyes
and the intense ache in my limbs, I lift myself
slightly to look through the barred window in the
cell's door. My gaze focuses across the room where
Dana is now beginning the Torture of Fives. Dana was
being lowered onto the upright post that would rip her
anus. I scream for the men to stop the abuse but my
pleading was eclipsed by Dana's as her breasts were
being minced by hot pliers.
Dana is suddenly hoisted off the post and dragged to
an upright, rectangular piece of wood that appeared to
be a normal sheet of plywood. Three circles were cut
in the wood at various locations. Dana was pressed,
face first, into the wood and clamps affixed around
her neck. waist and knees. Through the cutouts, Dana's
breasts and belly protruded through the openings. The
upright wood sheet was pushed so it fell, flinging
Dana on her back with the weight of the contraption
bearing on her face, hips and knees. One of the men
stepped on the box and viciously trampled the surface
as well as Dana beneath it. He then began smearing a
thick substance on Dana's breasts prominent through
the wood's openings. The can holding the material is
labeled "Gel Paint Stripper". Dana wails as the
chemical eats at her sliced chest flesh. The tormentor
stood on Dana's exposed belly and began hopping. The
wooden enclosure rattled against the floor from the
abuser's bouncing and Dana's writhing in agony.
I can do no more than rant and pray for Dana to have
the strength to survive her ordeal. The tormentors
stop working on Dana and shuffle out of the torture
chamber. The area is completely silent and I strain to
listen. Muffled moans come from the inverted box and
I'm relieved to know Dana is alive. I call out to her
but receive no response other than muffled moans. Soon
the two re-enter and, using a hose, spray the
corrosive chemical off Dana's exposed flesh. The
smaller interrogator walks towards my cell as the
large tormentor raises Dana's enclosure and removes
her from the clamping devices.
I'm taken to the middle of the room and tied to a tall
post. Dana, barely conscious, is dragged to the same
post where our wrists are bound together; she doesn't
even open her eyes to look at me in spite of my
barking her name. Dana's left wrist is tied to my
right and vice versa for the other pair of wrists. We
are opposite each other, face to face, with the pole
between us. Both tormentors take positions behind us
and begin lashing our backs. We're free to move around
the post but doing so only brings our backs under the
pelting of the other tormentor. In Dana's hazy mental
condition, she doesn't realize she cannot escape the
blows and begins a pitiful, harried half-crawl
encircling the pole. The blows rain down continually
with the tormentors brandishing limber fiberglass
switches that slice our backs and scalps. When the
maltreatment finally ceases, we are belted with our
wrists secured to the belt, and we are hoisted by the
waist to hooks mounted higher up the pole. Our
bindings are draped over the hooks and we dangle by
our waists off the ground. Dana is now unconscious.
The tall man flips me around securing my ankles to the
pole.
"You should have died on the Cross when you were
able," he tells me with fowl breath. The large
interrogator attaches clamps to my nipples. The clamps
re-ignite my earlier breast agony and is multiplied
when a string of lead weights connected by thin
filament is attached to the clamps. I bellow feeling
my nipples will be pulled off.
"When she wakes up", motioning towards Dana, "tell her
what she's in for," the small interrogator says as
they both leave the room.
In my pain, I hope that Dana never wakes up. My breast
pain will not ebb. The weights and the clamps'
minuscule teeth seem to find every nerve and wring out
every bit of possible anguish. My wailing becomes a
continual sob of agony that doesn't stop. The clamps
suddenly come free with their teeth taking tissue from
the nipples. A wave of relief washes over me and I
sags into my belt bindings grateful the acute
suffering is over. Shaking the tears from my eyes, I
works up the courage to glance down and notes the
bleeding from where my nipples used to be is not too
severe.
Behind me, Dana moans and begins to awaken. She feels
the lack of footing and strain at her waist due to her
suspension from the pole. Dana begins to
uncontrollably babble. The noise alerts our tormentors
that their subjects are alert and ready for another
session. We both flail wildly at our bindings as the
tormentors enter the chamber. Dana is released from
her belt and dragged to an tall, upright "T" bar. Dana
is lifted up by one tormentor while the other pulls
her arms over the bar behind her. He then ties her
ankles to her wrists and lets her sag on the bar.
Dana's breasts are scourged and burnt from earlier
abuse and she vomits at the prospect of further
treatment. I protest loudly in Dana's defense but am
quickly gagged and the weighted, fallen clamps are
reapplied to the bloody remnants of my nipples.
Both tormentors lash Dana's body with straps. Her
sobbing protests only spur the beatings to a frenzy.
Dana's agony wrenches my heart, eclipsing my own pain.
"Bring in the third one," a voice orders over the
room's intercom.
Dana's beating stops and she sobs uncontrollably.
After several minutes, the small tormentor reappears
wheeling Buddy who is stretched on a vertical metal
frame. His torso is a bloody pulp and his penis is
strapped to a metal rod running from his crotch to the
base of the frame. Buddy is positioned on the side of
the room and our tormentors assume a parade rest
position near the "T" bar that holds Dana's slumping
frame.
"Bring in the others," the voice commands.
Jason, Carl, the twin's and the rest of our staff
enters dressed in normal street clothing.
"Jason to Travis, Carl to Ms. Simpson and Jana and
Sadie to Buddy," the voice directs. Once the staff is
in position, the voice orders them to begin. The twins
jumped on Buddy with Jana whipping his entrapped penis
and Sadie beating his already bloody trunk with a
truncheon. Buddy's anguish is appropriately vocalized.
Carl begins punching Dana in her soft abdomen while
Jason performs the same on me. The punches rain down
on our mid sections with full force. Dana screamed and
cried as did I. I wretched clear bile as the beating
continued then mercifully, I lost consciousness with
Dana's and Buddy's screams fading in my head.
On to Chapter 17
