Author's Note: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta here and seek some professional help. The author in no way advocates non-consensual activities such as are depicted here (and he strongly recommends against consensual acting out of such scenes unless the participants have reserved parking at the emergency room and a very understanding health plan).
Horror Beneath the Park
by
von Hentzau
"This had better be worth it," Joanna thought as she hurried through the
darkened park. "If that dweeb Gilbert brought me out her for nothing I'll make
him pay. And pay some more."
She'd been working late at the office, as usual, when Gilbert called. He'd
uncovered something, something shocking. Something he was afraid to tell her
over the telephone. Something about work. Joanna thought she knew what it was.
She'd heard little snippets of conversation among the upper managers. Something
about irregularities in the accounting it seemed. If Gilbert had stumbled onto
something she wanted to know. It would look really good if she could present it
to her superiors. And of course she'd give Gilbert full credit.
She laughed to herself. She'd give Gilbert all the credit he deserved. And
that wasn't much. Not so long ago Gilbert had been her supervisor. Now she was
enjoying the corner office that Gilbert had expected and he was reporting to
her. The earnest little smuck was a pushover. She'd played him like a
marionette, taking credit that belonged to him and shifting blame for her
mistakes onto him.
She located the kiosk he had told her to come to, the one near the zoo.
Closed up for the night now, a few overhead lamps casting a circle of light
around it. She looked for him but didn't see him. She circled the kiosk once,
then was about to leave in disgust when she spotted him in the shadows. He
waved her over.
"Just what the..." she started to say when he frantically motioned for her
to be quiet. He waved her deeper into the shadows.
"Just what have you dragged me out here for, Gilbert?" she asked.
"Joanna," he said in a low voice, "I've stumbled on something incredible.
You won't believe what I've got to tell you."
"Is this about that embezzlement rumor that's been going around?"
"It's embezzlement alright. I've uncovered something big, something that's
going to blow the roof off the company. By the way, Joanna, have you ever heard
rumors about strange creatures that roam the park at night?"
"What kind of juvenile nonsense..."
"Well, there's two of them standing behind you."
Suddenly incredibly strong arms pinned her arms to her sides. She started
to scream but a hand, a strange smelling, calloused hand, was clapped over her
mouth. Something was held under her nose. She smelled an odd, spice like
fragrance. Then she passed out.
When Joanna came back to consciousness she found herself hanging. arms
spread out in a wide V. She felt hands under her armpits lifting her back to
her feet, steadying her until she regained her balance. It took several minutes
before her eyes would focus again. And when they did she took in a scene so
strange she thought she must be dreaming.
She found herself in some sort of brick lined vault. Gas lights mounted on
the walls cast an eerie light. She looked to either side. Metal pipes ran from
floor to ceiling on either side. Cuffs had been strapped to either wrist,
connected to chains leading up to pulleys high on the pipes.
Then she noticed, arranged along the walls, in the shadows. Figures in
dark cloaks, like some ancient monastic order. And Gilbert, standing there just
in front of the dark figures. He approached her, a strange look on his face.
"Good, you're awake Joanna," he said. "Like the place? It's amazing what
you can do with an old sewer. I particularly like the brick vaulting. They
don't make'em like that any more, you know.
"Well, I guess we can proceed. First we'll need that delightful pants suit
of yours. We could of course have stripped you while you were out, but our
hosts much more enjoy this when you're awake."
"What the..." she started to yell. A back handed blow across the face
stopped her. She stood, silent, steaming mad at the impertinence.
Gilbert signaled. Another figure came forward. It was a woman. Not just
that, it was a street person who had occasionally harassed Joanna as she strode
purposefully from the subway to the office. She'd had to elbow her out of the
way more than once. Lately the haggard creature had taken to babbling something
about "partying" with Joanna. The implications of that memory made Joanna
queasy.
"I think you know Gertie?" Gilbert said. "Sometimes known as Crazy Gertie.
You're going to get to know her a lot better shortly. Shall we get on with it?"
Gertie began to undo the buttons of Joanna's white blouse. The jacket was
already unbuttoned. When she was finished Gilbert undid the cuff on Joanna's
left wrist. Gertie worked the jacket down Joanna's arm, then the blouse.
Gilbert shifted his grip to the exposed portion of her arm and Gertie slid both
jacket and blouse off the arm. Gilbert then refastened the cuff. They repeated
the process with Joanna's right arm. Gertie took the items off into the
shadows. Joanna realized there was still another person waiting there, a woman.
Meanwhile Gilbert busied himself with removing Joanna's shoes. She thought
briefly of kicking him but decided it would do no good. She would have to wait
until this elaborate practical joke was over. Then she'd make life hell for him
at the office.
Gertie returned. She fumbled briefly getting Joanna's pants undone. Then
she and Gilbert slid them down and off Joanna's legs. Gertie took them, along
with the shoes to the woman in the shadows, who had stripped to her underwear
and was putting on Joanna's clothes. With a start Joanna realized the woman was
very nearly her own height and body type. And she had blonde hair worn the way
Joanna wore hers.
"What are you up to, Gilbert, you prime jerk?" She asked in her most
intimidating voice, the voice she used when she wanted to see underlings scurry.
"What kind of juvenile practical joke are you trying to pull. You..."
He shut her up with a hand over her mouth.
"No practical joke, Joanna," he said quietly. "That embezzlement case I
told you I uncovered? I didn't uncover it. I did it. And I did it in a way
that will place the blame exactly on you. We're about to put the finishing
touches on it. Our associate here, who looks enough like you to be you on the
security cameras, is going down to the office now. It's nearly midnight.
There'll be nobody there. She'll log on to your computer and do some rather
sloppy file deletion, shred some incriminating evidence, go online and order
airline tickets for an early flight to Mexico, then leave carrying some very
valuable papers. Oh, did I mention you've been very sloppy in guarding your
passwords? Tut, tut. Shameful."
"You'll never get away with it," Joanna cried, shaking his hand loose.
Gilbert clamped the hand in place once more.
"So far so good, as they say. We've got you. We've got you purse, with
card key and credit cards. We have a look-a-like. Your double will not make it
to the airport. Instead she'll rent a car on your card. Your company credit
card that is. Early in the morning she'll fill the gas tank, with your gas card,
somewhere between here and Canada. Then she, or rather you, will disappear.
Just about the time I'm presenting evidence of your misdeeds to Mr. Hiram. He
will not be pleased with you. He'll have the cops searching for you. But they
won't find you. And Mr. Hiram will probably be very pleased with me for
uncovering your plot before you did even more damage."
He released her mouth.
"You can't keep me her forever," she cried, despite the nagging doubt that
that was just what he planned, or something worse.
"Actually, Joanna, our hosts plan to keep you here for a very long time.
They like what they've seen so far. In fact, they're anxious to see more of
you."
It suddenly dawned on Joanna that she was standing in her underwear. She
remembered the group of cloaked, hooded figures standing in the shadows around
the chamber. She blushed, suddenly embarrassed.
Gertie had moved in to one side of Joanna. Before Joanna knew it the
street woman had strapped a cuff around her ankle. Gilbert did the same for the
other ankle. Between them they spread Joanna's legs until they could hook them
to chains fastened at the base of each upright. The movement placed more
tension on Joanna's arms.
"Such lovely undies you have, Joanna," Gilbert said with a sneer. "Shall
we start with the top or the bottom? Judging from appearances, let's save the
best for last, eh?"
He took out a small pocket knife. Pulling the waistband of her panties out
away from her side, he slit the elastic. Walking around behind her, and giving
her rump a light slap on the way, he did the same to the other side. The flimsy
cloth slipped to the floor.
Her most private regions exposed, more so with her legs so widespread,
Joanna turned an even brighter shade of red. She thought she heard strange
grunting sounds from the hooded audience. Somehow she interpreted them as signs
of approval. What kind of perverts are you, she wanted to scream.
"My that's quite a bush you have there, Joanna," Gilbert said in his
sleaziest voice. "And you're a natural blonde, I see. I wasn't sure about
that, you being the phony you are. Well, onward and upwards."
Gilbert moved behind her. She felt his hand brushing over her rump again.
"My, what a lovely ass. Nice and toned. You must work out on the
Stairmaster a lot. We're going to have fun with this."
He gave her a hard slap on each cheek. Then she felt the cold steel of the
knife slip under and slice one bra strap, then the other.
"Don't worry about your frilly underthings, Joanna. You won't be needing
them again."
She felt his hands fumble with the fastening of the bra. Then it fell
free, releasing her full bosom. Gilbert came around to stand an arms length
before her. He reached out and fondled Joanna's left breast. He hefted it, gave
the nipple a pinch.
"Oh, these are lovely," he said. "D cup at least. I never suspected. You
must have dressed to hide your endowments."
That was true. Early in her business career Joanna had discovered that her
fullness kept men from taking her seriously. She'd purposely dressed to conceal
her attributes. Except of course when she could use them to blind some feeble
minded male executive. But now they were exposed for all to see. Again she
heard the muffled grunts, the strange sensation of approval, anticipation.
"You know what's wonderful about these?" he said to Gertie, who had joined
him. "They're so nicely full. Just enough slack that they'll swing nicely.
And the roundness underneath is delightful. You can do a lot to a boob like
that."
As if to illustrate he slipped a finger into the crease under her left
breast, then traced the curve around to her nipple. Joanna reddened again at the
humiliation of being treated so.
Then Joanna noticed that Gertie was holding a basin filled with a foamy
substance. She dipped a shaving brush into the foam and began dabbing it on
Joanna's pubic hair.
"Damn..stop,,,what.." Joanna sputtered in indignation. Bad enough being
stripped naked in front of strangers. But now this bitch taking liberties with
her privates.
"Oh, relax, Miss Winthrop," Gilbert said. "It's only a depilatory. Our
hosts insist on absolute nudity and that includes removing any concealing hair."
Joanna resigned herself to this latest indignity. They couldn't keep this
stupid joke going forever. Gilbert was going to have hell to pay when he
released her.
Gertie continued dabbing, covering Joanna's entire bush, working the brush
around her anus and in her butt crack. Then she continued down the legs. Arms
and underarms, even though they were shaved. Torso and belly, arms and legs were
included. Then they waited, Gilbert checking his watch periodically.
"Time," he said.
Gertie returned with a bigger basin of clean water and two pumice stones.
Together she and Gilbert began scrapping down Joanna with the pumice stones,
dipping them frequently in the water which quickly became fouled with suds and
floating hair. Gertie had to fetch clean water twice before then finally
concentrated on Joanna's crotch. When they were done Joanna was completely
hairless but for her head and face.
Gilbert and Gertie stood off to one side. They turned to face the dark
shapes.
"Masters," Gilbert said in a loud voice. "I present to you Miss Joanna
Winthrop. We hope you will enjoy her."
"Enough is enough, Gilbert," Joanna shouted. "What kind of sick,
perverted..."
She stopped in mid sentence as one of the figures stepped forward into
better light, reached up with hands that were more like claws and drew back the
hood. Quickly the creature replaced the hood, but not before Joanna had a
horrifying glimpse of a face that resembled a ram, covered in short, tawny fur,
with a bony forehead ridge. There were no horns, except perhaps two nubbins at
either end of the ridge. The eyes were yellow, with elongated sheep's pupils.
Joanna screamed.
"Wh..wh..what is? What are they?" Joanna asked. her heart pounding
furiously.
"I can't really tell you," Gilbert replied. "They've never revealed what
they are to us. An ancient species driven to hiding. Alien creatures. Demons.
You pick. We tend to call them Demons for lack of a better name."
"What do they want with me?" Joanna asked in a hoarse whisper, fearing the
answer.
"It's very simple, Joanna. They want you to suffer. They're a very
psychic species. Like the man said, they feel your pain. And they enjoy it.
Not just enjoy, they need it. They feed on it. Something in their mental
makeup requires period doses of strong emotions. Pain, fear, embarrassment,
humiliation, the dread of what's going to happen, excitement, arousal, they
absorb it all and the stronger the better."
"But why me. Why pick me. Why not just go out in the park and snatch some
drunk or druggee or other useless scum to slice up?"
"I have a personal reason to want to see you suffer, dear Joanna," Gilbert
replied, his face barely a foot away from hers. "In actual fact, when necessary
they have resort to whomever they can capture. That's how they acquired me.
Made the mistake of walking through the park alone one night. Same with poor
homeless Gertie. Sacked out under the wrong bush one night. But your typical
passed out boozer is pretty poor meat for our hosts.
"There are good reasons why you're prime rib to these creatures. You're a
woman. Men, as you're fond of pointing out, are comparatively weak creatures.
You have more erogenous zones. Your arousals are stronger. Your anatomy seems
designed for torment. Just think of all the things you can do to a boobie.
Especially big ones, like yours. You have a higher pain tolerance. That's
important, because they need you to be conscious while we do dastardly things to
your privates. It won't do to have you passing out too easily. You're young
and fit and near your sexual peak. You'll last and your reactions will be strong
and delicious.
"Think about this for a moment, dear Joanna. If we want to inflict pain we
can break your fingers. Maybe even cut one or two of them off. You'll fear it,
feel the pain when it happens. But what if instead of a finger we do something
horrible to a nipple, or to your labia? Or even your clit? We've moved to an
entirely different plane in terms of fear and pain when we work on your sexual
areas.
"Another thing. While feminine beauty means nothing to them per se, they
do know how other humans react to it. Gertie and I both happen to have strong
sadistic natures. That's why we're still alive. We didn't come here
voluntarily. We were snatched. But our demon friends probed us and saw that we
could be useful to them. They need humans to handle chores and run errands on
the surface. More than that we're useful for performing tortures. The demons
can and do torture subjects themselves. But they prefer to have us do it, since
it's not just you're emotions they're feasting on. It's all the humans
involved.
"Take Gertie here. She's not just a sadist but she's a lesbian. The sight
of your naked female charms excites her almost as much as the thought of what
she's going to do to those charms. Adding sex to the mix makes a powerful dish.
You, Joanna, are the meat and Gertie's unbridled lust to inflict pain on your
most sensitive regions is the sauce. The demons just love the combination.
Speaking of which, they're getting hungry for an appetizer, so I think it's time
we whipped up something."
Gilbert stepped away, chuckling quietly at his little joke. Gertie paraded
before Joanna, stripped to the waist and carrying a whip, the kind the buggy
drivers in the park used. She heard the sound of a winch being cranked and felt
the cuffs pulling again her wrists. Her arms were stretched tight. This wasn't
happening, she told herself. Things like this don't happen. It's a joke. It's
a bad dream. But it's not, definitely not happening.
Crack. The whip bit into her right buttock. Joanna screeched. The whip
bit into her left cheek. She screamed again. Somewhere in the back of her mind
she experienced a vague sense of delight. Not her delight of course.
Damn them, she thought. I won't give them the satisfaction. She resolved
not to scream. She was tough. She could take it.
The resolve lasted for three or four more strokes. It was too much. Joanna
screamed again. Gertie was pacing herself nicely, allowing a pause between each
stroke to allow Joanna to fully sense each stroke. The blows, initially
centered on her butt, now began to range up her back and down her thighs. One
clever swing brought the tip of the whip up between Joanna's wide spread legs to
land on the sensitive spot between vulva and anus. Joanna nearly jumped out of
her skin at the pain. Then Gertie stopped. Joanna hung on the chains, panting.
Gilbert approached her.
"Very good, Joanna," he said. "Do you sense how pleased they are with your
performance? A very good start we've made. They foresee good things from you.
There's another small matter we have to attend to today but before we move along
there's a personal matter we need to settle."
Gilbert stepped back a little. From behind his back he brought out a stiff
leather belt. Without warning he swung it sharply from the side and flattened
her left breast with it.
"About that corner office, the one I should have had..."
He backhanded her right breast. The pain was worse than anything Joanna
had ever experienced.
"but that you got instead. I know all about your little games, Joanna."
The left breast was battered again.
"I know how you took credit for my work."
Back hand to the right breast again.
"I know how you bad mouthed me to upper management. How you back-stabbed
me at every opportunity."
"And poor Janice who you got fired just because she took too much attention
from you. And George Heppel? Remember him? Had a heart attack after you screwed
him out of his job."
He swung viciously up between Joanna's legs, landing a heavy blow directly
on her pussy.
"You know that old expression, let bygones be bygones?"
Another, even heavier blow to Joanna's pussy.
"Well, not down here!"
A third, still heavier blow landed. Joanna passed out. But just before
the blackness set in she had the strangest sensation, something like soundless
applause.
Joanna awoke, praying that what she'd just been through was nothing but a
bad dream. With horror she realized that she was still in the vaulted brick
chamber. She tried to move her arms and legs. They were securely fastened, arms
at her side, legs apart. She was on a hard flat surface. As her eyes focused
better she realized Gilbert and Gertie were looking down at her from either
side. From the proximity she realized she must be on a table.
"Good," Gilbert said. "You're back with us. We have a few things to do
yet before you're fully ready for your new career as a sadist's plaything."
Gilbert looped a leather strap around Joanna's right knee. He pulled
hard, then fastened the strap to the table. He did the same to her left knee.
Another pair of leather straps fastened her thighs, just below the crotch. Then
a heavy strap was buckled across her pelvis. Joanna tried to wriggle. Her
mid-section was firmly fastened down.
"You'll appreciate our precautions shortly, Joanna," Gilbert said. "We
have some delicate surgery to perform here and we can't have you struggling."
Gilbert flashed a scalpel in front of Joanna's face. With growing panic
she realized they intended to mutilate her, mutilate her in the worst way a
woman could be mutilated.
She saw Gilbert and Gertie leaning over her crotch from either side of the
table. She felt fingers probing her slit, pulling on her labia.
"No!!!" she screamed. "Don't cut me! Don't! Don't! Please! Don't take my
clit! I'll do anything..."
"What?" Gilbert asked, sounding rather surprised. "Oh, you thought we we're
going to nip off your love button? That would be rather self-defeating for us,
wouldn't it? Removing your most sensitive organ? All we're going to do is make
it more vulnerable by removing the clitoral hood. But don't worry. It's going
to hurt almost as much as taking off the clit itself."
Gilbert looked down intently. Joanna felt the blade start to bite into her
flesh. Then pain, excruciating pain. She tried frantically to break free, to
close her legs, to pull her endangered pussy away from the sharp metal slowly
sawing away at her. Then she passed out again.
When Joanna awoke she was in darkness. She was laying on her back, arms at
her side. She could feel leather cuffs holding her wrists in place. She felt
that her legs were raised and spread, suspended. She waited. After what seemed
hours she heard footsteps. A light, small and bobbing like a flashlight,
approached. Holding her breath she prayed it would rescuers, come to release
her from this nightmare. It was Gilbert.
She heard the click of a switch and lights came on. She was in a small
brick chamber, a sort of alcove off the main vaulted chamber. Bars across the
entrance turned it into a cell. Her legs were suspended in a wide V shape by
chains hanging from the ceiling.
Gilbert went immediately to examine Joanna's pussy. He felt tentatively
with a finger. She flinched automatically, though the pain she expected did not
appear,
"Very nice," Gilbert said. "Our hosts have long experience with keeping
humans fit for play. They have a salve which is most effective. Antibiotic
properties of course and it acts with amazing speed. Minor scrapes and bruises,
welts like we inflicted on your lovely ass, disappear within a few hours. Deeper
cuts, burns, even our little surgery here, heal within a day or two. You'll be
ready for some serious torture in no time. But before then we still have one
more thing to do in preparation."
Gilbert removed the lid from a small jar. With a latex gloved finger he
removed a dollop of thick, white gel and smeared it liberally over one nipple.
Joanna flinched, expecting pain, but the gel had a soothing feel to it. After a
few seconds she noticed a not unpleasant, tingly sensation.
Gilbert applied the gel to the other nipple. Then he placed a dollop on
her clit.
"I know you're bored and the gel works better if you're completely relaxed,
so I think I'll bid you goodnight. Sleep well and dream dirty dreams, Joanna."
Gilbert opened a small vial and held it under Joanna's nose. She smelled
that odd, spicy fragrance she'd smelled when they kidnaped her. Almost
immediately she slipped into unconsciousness.
When she awoke again it was as if she was waking from a long, sometimes
fitful sleep. Several times she had neared consciousness, hearing but not
understanding voices, feeling hands moving over her body. But then that spicy
fragrance again and she'd slipped back into darkness.
With a start she realized her arms and legs were free. She looked around.
She was still in the alcove, laying on what appeared to be sheep skins. The
barred gate to the alcove was closed. A single dim bulb hanging outside the
cell lit the scene. Eyes starting to focus better she sat up and examined her
surroundings more closely.
Glancing down she was startled by the sight of her nipples. They'd grown!
Each was now nearly an inch long and perhaps three-eights of an inch thick. She
reach for them, not believing what she was seeing. But they were real. And
sensitive. Touching them brought about a sensation similar to what she
experienced when playing with her nipples in a growing state of arousal.
Then she noticed it. Between her thighs, peeking out of her slit. A small
pink bullet of flesh. She reached down and spread herself, blinking in
disbelief. Whatever was in the gel had caused her clitoris to grow as well as
her nipples. It stood proud, almost as big as the tip of her little finger.
She touched it tentatively. It was almost unbearably sensitive.
As she sat there bewildered Gilbert came in. He carried a MacDonald's bag
and a cup of coffee. He slid these through the bars.
"What the hell have you done to me?" she screamed. "A freak! You've made
me a freak! You bastards!"
"Oh, be quiet and have some breakfast, or more correctly lunch," Gilbert
said. "Hope you like quarter-pounders with cheese. Don't worry about the fat
and cholesterol. We'll see that you burn it off. As for a freak, well maybe.
But we prefer to think we've made you into a perfect subject for sado-sexual
torture. We'll be starting tonight, so bon appetit."
Gilbert turned to leave, then turned back.
"Sorry about the amenities, They are rather primitive but they're
serviceable."
He pointed to one corner of the cell where there was a small rectangular
opening. A roll of toilet paper sat on the floor next to it. The faint sound
of running water came through the opening. A few feet away a galvanized metal
bucket hung from a bracket on the wall, a metal cup on a chain hanging from it.
Gilbert left. Joanna sat, steaming mad. Then she realized she was
ravenous and dug into the MacDonald's bag.
To Be Continued....much to the distress of the poor
Joanna
Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Since I may wish to publish
it again at a future date permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any
form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial
use.
Author's Note: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults
(and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by
the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if
you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta
here and seel some professional help. The author in no way advocates
non-consensual activities such as are depicted here (and he strongly recommends
against consensual acting out of such scenes unless the participants have
reserved parking at the emergency room and a very understanding health plan).
Horror Beneath the Park
by
von Hentzau
Part II
Joanna lay on her mat staring at the brick ceiling of her dimly lit cell,
contemplating the predicament she was in. Joanna was not a woman to frighten
easily, but this frightened her. She still wasn't entirely certain it wasn't
just a bad dream or a bizarre practical joke. Kidnaped by an irate subordinate?
Held prisoner in an underground vault to be tortured for the enjoyment of
telepathic demons? It was too, too incredible. It had to be a joke or a dream.
Or a nightmare.
But then she had only to feel the ancient brick walls of the small alcove or
touch the cold, rusted bars that turned it into a cell to know that reality was
that she had been abducted and was a prisoner. And she had only to touch her own
body, to feel the obscene changes her captors had wrought on her nipples and
clit to know something way beyond normal was going on here.
Her nose twitched slightly. It seemed as if an odor of something had
slowly crept in barely noticed. Then Joanna realized it was that same odd,
almost familiar spice aroma she had smelled the night she was abducted. Before
she could react Joanna had slipped off into unconsciousness.
When Joanna came to she first thought she was in darkness. Then she
realized that a hood had been placed over her head. She felt like she was on her
back, on a hard surface, narrow like a bench. Her arms had been strapped into
cuffs below the small of her back on the underside of the bench. Her legs were
stretched out side by side and her ankles joined by cuffs or wide straps. She
tried to raise them but they were fastened down. She heard muffled voices.
The hood was removed. Joanna looked around, blinking at the light. She was
back in the big chamber, or at least one like it. From her position she could
only really see the vaulted roof and part of the walls. Gilbert was there beside
her, looking down at her with a demonic smirk on his face. Turning her head as
far away from him as possible she saw that the hooded creatures were in their
places in the shadows along the walls. And there was another man, rather tall,
shaggy haired, a three day growth of beard. Probably early middle aged. He was
dressed in dirty jeans and sweatshirt. Joanna stared at him as he slowly came
closer .
"I think you know Zack here," Gilbert said. "But, since you've not been
formally introduced, allow me. Zack, Joanna. Joanna, this is Zack. Zack is
another street person and a member of our Demon service organization. The
Demons have found that the cast offs of society make great helpers. No one
notices them as they go about their tasks above ground. In fact, peopel go out
of their way to avoid them. And down here they're very enthusiastic about
carrying out their assignments."
Joanna recognized him now. The last several weeks she'd seen him
panhandling at her subway stop. It had seemed as if he'd frequently zeroed in
on her, followed her up the steps to street level trying to mooch change. She'd
had to strong arm him out of the way more than once.
"Well, we're about ready to begin with your first real session," Gilbert
said. "Oh, if you're curious about the way we start, knocking you out in your
cell so that you wake up here, ready to go, that's a little touch the Demons
like. Waking up to a nightmare instead of waking up from one in a way. They love
the irony. They also appreciate a sharp demarcation between torture and rest
periods. Mild discomfort is a waste of emotion as far as they're concerned so
you'll be happy to know we'll try to keep you comfortable between sessions.
"So, where to begin?" Gilbert said as he idly traced the lines of her torso
with a quirt. Zack had begun fondling her crotch. Joanna now became very aware
of the altered state of her clit, erect, exposed and so extremely sensitive.
She began to squirm as Zack centered his attentions on the pink nubbin.
"Yes, that would be a fine place to start but I think we'll save that for
dessert. Zack, let's start at the bottom and work our way up."
Zack went off to the side, out of Joanna's view. Within a minute she saw
a rope with a metal hook on the end descending from the shadows of the ceiling.
Gilbert grabbed it, pulled it all the way down and hooked it to the ankle cuffs.
He undid the snaps that held Joanna's feet to the bench. Zack began pulling the
rope up, first raising Joanna's legs and then lifting her ass off the bench.
When her butt had risen about a foot he stopped and tied off the rope.
She felt Gilbert and Zack stroking the backs of her thighs and curves of
her rump. Then the light stroking turned into a series of increasingly sharper
slaps.
"My, but your butt cheeks jiggle delightfully," Gilbert said in his mocking
voice. "Let's what else we can do with it."
There was a swishing sound followed by a sharp pain in a line across both
butt cheeks.
"That, Joanna, was a cane."
A whoosh and a solid blow fell on one check.
"And that was a leather strap. Each implement has its own peculiar feel and
effect. I suspect that before long you'll recognize each with no difficulty."
A steady stream of blows began, with only brief pauses as her assailants
changed implements. They worked from the curve of her butt up the back of her
thighs and down again.
"My god!" Joanna thought. "How long can they keep this up?"
Then she thought "How long can I endure this?"
She never really knew, for she quickly lost track of time and the number of
blows and finally she slipped off into unconsciousness.
Once again Joanna came to and found herself in standing position. Again a
hood covered her head. She seemed to standing against a pillar or column. She
could feel the cool, rough curving surface against her back. Her arms had been
pulled back and around the pillar and tied. Her legs, though were still free.
But not for long. She heard muffled voices and then her ankles were grasped and
pulled to the sides of the pillar. Straps were tied and she could feel the cold
of metal rings on the inside of her ankles.
Then the hood was removed. She tried to look around but before her eyes had
adjusted a pair of blinders had been slipped over her head. Her vision was
severely restricted. She could see the Demons standing like grimy statues in the
shadows in front of her and to the side as far as she could turn her head. But
even turning her head as far as she could her view was restricted to something
less than 180 degrees.
She heard music playing, softly at first, then gradually growing louder. A
familiar tune. What was it? That's it, she thought. "Anticipation", by Carol
King. Or was it Carly Simon? Should could never remember who did what.
Out of nowhere the multiple strand of a cat o'nine tails whistled in to
wallop against her torso, beneath her breasts. She yelped, more from surprise
than pain. Her eye had caught the movement but the stinging impact came before
it registered what was happening. She braced herself for another stroke.
She waited. Nothing happened. "Anticipation" had started over. It must have
been a multiple recording. Suddenly the cat came in from the left, low, to rap
against her thigh. She braced for the next blow.
Nothing. She waited. She waited some more. Still nothing.
"Damn!" she thought. "They're messing with my mind."
A wooden paddle came up suddenly from below and to the right. It sent her
right breast flopping upwards. Then, while it was still jiggling, the paddle
came down sharply, bashing the poor organ out of it's way.
She waited again for the next stroke. Whoever was doing it was in no hurry.
She grew anxious, tense, as the minutes passed and the expected blow did not
come. She began to notice in the far corners of her mind that strange sense of
amusement and delight. But it wasn't hers
A pair of blows came, one to each side of her rib cage just below her
breasts. Some time later they were followed by blow with a leather strap to her
thighs. More time passed and some light strokes were delivered to her belly. It
dawned on Joanna that her tormentor was purposely avoiding her most sensitive
areas. He knew that she knew that her pussy and breasts would receive attention
in due course. And the waiting would driving her wild.
It went on for what seemed like hours. Every so often a blow landed on
thigh or belly, below her breasts, on hip. A few were aimed at one breast or the
other. She was almost hanging in her bonds from exhaustion, her head hanging
forward, eyes half closed.
Suddenly she smelled cigarette smoke. She opened her eyes wide, in time to
see a hand holding a lit cigarette reach around from her right side. It was
going towards her crotch.
"No, no, no, no!" she cried.
The burning tip lightly touched her clit. She screamed and jerked against
her bonds trying to escape the pain. The cigarette went flying across the floor.
It was followed by a thick leather slap, wielded with full strength against her
breasts. A dozen strokes against each. Then the strap was wrapping itself
against the curve of her belly, the tip slamming against her pussy lips and her
poor, singed clit. Over and over it landed until Joanna slipped from
consciousness, the smell of spice in her nostrils and that strange sense of joy
in the back of her mind.
Joanna realized she was once again in the standing spread eagle position.
She didn't have to wait for them to remove the hood to know she was back in the
main chamber, that the Demons would again be arrayed in the shadows along the
wall. But she also noticed that her position was slightly different. Her arms
were almost straight up. Her legs were closer together than usual. Either one of
the uprights had been moved or she was between a different, closer set pair.
She felt straps being placed just above her knees. The her knees were being
spread apart and tied to the uprights, opening up her most sensitive area and
leaving it totally vulnerable. That sent a frison of fear through her. Though
why should it, she thought. By now she should be used to the idea that whatever
position these perverts put her in her pussy was going to be exposed. And
tormented.
The winches were turned. Joanna's arms and legs were stretched, though not
as tight as they had been before and she was not lifted off her feet this time.
Their preparations ready, one of her tormentors removed the hood. It was
Gertie, in her dirty blue jeans and ragged t-shirt. She had a crooked smile on
her face. Joanna was beginning to fear that smile, for it meant Gertie had
something very unpleasant for Joanna on her mind.
"I told you, dearie," Gertie said with heavy sarcasm, "that we were going
to party. Well, it's time to party."
Gertie reached out and seized Joanna's nipples. She pinched them, then
began pulling and twisting. Slowly she increased the pressure. She release one
and began stroking Joanna's cunt.
"Such a lovely body you have, dearie. Just made for partyin'. Especially
the sorta party we have in mind."
Joanna jerked against her bonds as a whip sliced across her but cheeks.
She'd forgotten for a moment that there were two tormentors who'd tied her legs.
Either Gilbert or Zack was behind her with a whip. Whoever it was he gave her
another stroke just below the first. Gertie kept her hand in place, letting
Joanna's reaction to the whip force her mons against Gertie's hand.
"That's it, dearie. Work with me," Gertie said. "Just keep humping like
that. We want you good and hot!"
A dozen more strokes fell. Gertie pulled her hand away and tugged her dirty
sweatshirt off over her head. She was braless underneath. Not a big surprise.
Joanna had noticed in the summer when Gertie roamed the streets in a filthy
t-shirt that she was almost always braless. Not that there was much point in a
bra. She sported two sad looking saggy fried egg breasts.
Gertie saw Joanna staring at her breasts.
"What? You don't like what you see?," she said in mock distress. "You don't
want to touch them? You don't want to play with them? But I want to play with
yours! Such nice, big, full boobies. And such lovely, large nipples! I bet
they're really, really sensitive."
She reached out and grasped a nipple. She squeezed and stretched it until
tears came to Joanna's eyes. She released the tortured nip, but followed it with
a series of left-right slaps, each one harder than the previous, against the
boobie, sending the bulbous flesh flopping back and forth.
Zack had come out from behind Joanna. He now stood, shirtless, watching
Gertie torment Joanna's bust. She'd extended her range to both breasts now,
alternating from one side to the other. She'd slap from side to side. Then give
a sharp upward slap, lifting the boobie into the air. Then shed pull and twist
the nipple. She'd dig her fingernails into the soft flesh.
Then Gertie took several steps back.
"Getting hot yet, Joanna?" she asked. "I certainly am."
She kicked off her shoes and started to wriggle out of her pants. She wore
no underwear. Her pubic hair was scraggly and untidy. She stepped closer to
Joanna and slipped two fingers into Joanna's slit. She slowly slid them back and
fort, gently caressing Joanna's inner lips and clit.
"Oooh. You're wet, aren't you? You're hot for me, aren't you? I bet you
want to go down on me, don't you? Well, you will, dear, you will. But not
tonight. We have something else planned for tonight."
Gertie gave Joanna's clit a nasty pinch. Joanna was still surprised at just
how sensitive it was, and how vulnerable to such attention. Then gertie stepped
off to the side. Zack was facing her now. He'd already removed his shoes. Now he
was undoing his jeans. Zack also was apparently not a believer in underwear. As
he slid the pants down his fully erect, purple headed cock sprang into view.
Joanna was afraid to look too closely. God knew what kind of diseases the brute
was spreading with that filthy organ. She just hoped they weren't planning to do
what it looked like the were planning to do.
Zack contented himself for the moment with playing with Joanna's boobies.
Then Gertie came back. She was carrying some sort of strap device. She dropped
it to the floor as she approached Zack. She reached out and grabbed him by his
cock, pulling him towards her. They embraced and kissed, though keeping an open
angle so that Joanna could see what they were doing. Gertie kept her grip on
Zack's cock, stroking it vigorously. Zack let his free hand work its way down
Gertie's belly, to bury his finger deep in her cleft.
"Good God!" Joanna thought. "Are the animals going to do it here in front
of me?"
They spent several minutes in increasingly heavy foreplay.
"Hey, Joanna," Zack called out, pulling his lips away from Gertie's. "Wanna
join us? How silly of me. Of course you do!"
He released Gertie and approached Joanna. He was slowly massaging himself
now. He reached out his other hand and began stroking Joanna's pussy.
"Little menage a trois action, maybe? I hear you big executive types are
really into that kind of thing."
He pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger, squeezing harder and
harder, until Joanna had to suck in a deep breath and hold it to keep from
crying out.
"Getting excited, Joanna?" Zack asked. He gave one last, very hard squeeze.
Then he released her clit. He slapped her, hard, half a dozen times directly on
her vulva. Then he gave each breast a quick left-right slap.
Meanwhile Gertie had retrieved the white leather device she'd dropped. She
was now buckling it around herself. It was a harness device, a waist belt with
straps running between her legs. There was a ring shaped section at mons level.
Gertie slipped a large, knobby dildo through the ring. She came over to stand in
front of Joanna.
"Hey, Jo?" she called out. "Who's better hung, me or Zack?" She wiggled her
hips and made the plastic pecker gyrate obscenely in front of Joanna. "Ready to
party, dear? I am!"
She stepped to side, giving Joanna's boobs a light slap apiece. Zack
stepped up close. Joanna was a tall woman, but Zack was slightly taller. He had
to bend at the knees to make the proper alignments. Joanna closed her eyes and
let her head loll back. Perhaps if she could pretend this wasn't happening. But
she could feel the fingers, poking, probing, spreading her. Then, without other
warning, he entered her. One hard, long thrust and she was impaled, fully. His
strokes lifted her again her bonds.
But worse was to come. She felt fingers massaging her butt cheeks, then
spreading them. She felt to blunt plastic tip against her anus.
"No!" she screamed.
But her protest was to no avail. Gertie rammed the device home, reveling
in Joanna's screams. She and Zack began pumping away in unison, lifting her off
her feet with each stroke. Zack's breath was becoming ragged.
"Think this is fun, Joanna?" Zack said, gasping. "Well just wait and see
what else we've got planned for you."
To be continued...........What horrors do Gilbert and the Demons have in store
for the helpless Joanna? You'll have to wait and see!
Copyright is claimed on this work by the author. Since I may wish to publish
it again at a future date permission to copy, republish or distribute it in any
form is expressly prohibited with the sole exception of personal, non-commercial
use.
The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta here. The author in no way advocates non-consensual activities such as are depicted here (and he strongly recommends against consensual acting out of such scenes unless the participants have reserved parking at the emergency room and a very understanding health plan).
Horror Beneath the Park
by
von Hentzau
Part III
Joanna lay in the semi-darkness of her cell. The only light was what little filtered back from a single bulb far down the vaulted brick passageway. It had been several days since her last "session" in the torture chamber. At least she thought it had been several days. Her only way of marking the passage of time in her underground prison was the delivery of her meals by Gilbert or one of his scruffy helpers. No light from the outside world penetrated to her small cell. The electric lights in the cell and the passageway that gave access to it were often turned off or dimmed for long periods.
And those meals. If Gilbert only knew it! They were possibly the worst torture he could have inflicted. Joanna hadn't been to a MacDonald's since college. She hated fast food! And that was what they were giving her for three meals a day. At least she assumed it was three meals a day. With only the artificial light of the single bulb outside her cell, and no way of knowing at what intervals they turned it on and off, there was no way for her to tell day from night.
She couldn't even really guess from the erratic schedule of tortures they inflicted on her. She assumed at first that they were torturing her at nights. Sometimes they came for her when the light was off. But sometimes they came when it was on. Sometimes they merely took her into the main chamber, gave her a few strokes on rump or breasts, then put her back into the cell. Other times they subjected her to seemingly endless, agonizing sessions that left her barely conscious. And that was another form of torture, not knowing what to expect when she woke to find herself trussed up in the torture chamber.
She rolled over on her sleeping mat and stared at the dim patterns in the brick wall opposite her cell. And something caught her eye. Motion, a brief flash of light. Her eyes scanned the darkness, trying to discern if someone, or something, was there.
Flashlights appeared in the passageway, four of them, their beams sweeping back and forth. Odd, Joanna thought. Usually Gilbert and her other tormentors turned on he lights when they brought her food. And usually they knocked her out before taking her to the torture chamber. What was going on?
The flashlights approached. Joanna could see four black clad figures. As they came closer to the cell one of the flashlights turned back towards the bearer to illuminate large yellow letters across his chest. "Police" the letters spelled out. Joanna's spirits soared. A SWAT team had found her. She almost jumped into the air from her mat. It was as if she flew to the bars of her cell.
She started to speak to them but one of the officers motioned her for silence. Two of the others, weapons ready, positioned themselves on opposite sides, watching the passage way. One held a flashlight on the lock while another took out a lock picking device and began trying to open it. With surprising speed the lock clicked open. They swung the door of Joanna's cell open and helped her out. Without a word they led her down the passageway, in the direction they'd come from.
They ran down the passageway, two of the police officers in the lead, then Joanna and then the other two officers close behind her. They ran down one passageway, turned, ran down another. Several more turns and Joanna could see a faint light well down the tunnel. As they approached closer Joanna suddenly realized they were heading straight for the torture chamber.
"No no!" she screamed out. "Not this way! Not this way!"
She tried to turn but hands grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. Again the cloaked and hooded creatures were ranged in the shadows along the wall. In the center of the torture chamber a wooden structure had been set up. It had the shape of a Y but with a cross bar running at a right angle to the stem. It was horizontal, standing on short, heavy legs. The two police officers, or imposters, behind Joanna pushed her towards the device which she was certain was some form of torture frame.
As they drew closer to the device the four phoney SWAT team members grabbed Joanna by the arms and legs. She was quickly lifted off her feet and deposited on the torture frame, legs spread along the branches of the Y, arms stretched out on the crossbar. Just as quickly, and in spite of her efforts to break free, they had her wrists and ankles strapped into cuffs. Each cuff was in turn fastened to a small winch. It took only a few turns of each before Joanna was tightly stretched along the various arms of the device. The short extension of the stem of the Y, past the cross bar, provided a rest for her head. It was curved down, so that her head was tilted back..
Once Joanna was firmly fastened the four "SWAT" officers took their hoods off. They were Gilbert, Gertie, Zack and another man Joanna hadn't seen before. By the three days growth of beard and shaggy hair she guessed he was another street person like Zack and Gertie.
"Surprise!" Gertie yelled, leaning over to look Joanna in the face. Her breath stank. God knew what she'd been eating. Or more likely drinking. "I bet you thought you were about to be rescued, didn't you? Wrong-o!"
"Things were getting kinda dull, you know," Gilbert said, coming up on Joanna's other side. "Same old thing, everyday. Another day, another butt whipping for Joanna. Booooring! We thought we would spice things a little."
"What shall we do, what shall we do?" Gertie asked no one in particular. "Here's Joanna all nicely spread out and ready for us. You got any suggestions, Jo? I know! We can play with our stun guns!"
Gertie whipped a small black device out of her SWAT gear and held it in front of Joanna's face. Joanna recognized it from the presentation that the company's security service had given. She'd seen a videotape of one in use on a volunteer. It didn't look pleasant. The volunteer, a young man who could've been a lineman on a professional football team, had been literally knocked on his ass.
"Don't worry, Joanna," Gilbert said softly. "We've modified our stun guns slightly. A regular stun gun would literally knock you on your ass, if you weren't on it already. Tied down like you are, on the first or second jolt and you'd most likely dislocate a shoulder or two trying to get loose. So we toned ours down from the 'whupass' setting to a mild, 'hurts like Hell' setting. You'll also notice the metal contacts are a little closer together than the standard model. Can you guess why?"
Joanna saw Gilbert move the hand holding his stun gun move downwards, out of sight. She felt the cold metal of the contacts on either side of her left nipple. A moment later she felt a blinding pain, as if her nipple had been physically ripped off her breast.
“Yup,” Gilbert said. “We adjusted them for just a nice fit on either side of a nipple. Your nipples, actually.”
“Well, isn't that just special?” Gertie asked in a mocking voice. “And guess what other knobby little thing they fit?”
Joanna's eyes grew wide as she realized what Gertie meant. She saw Gertie reach down. She braced herself, but still nearly felt like she would rip her arms off trying to get loose when Gertie shocked her other nipple. Anything to get away from the source of the pain.
“Betcha thought I was going for your clit, didn't ya?” Gertie said. She was reaching out again. Joanna closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain. Instead she felt fingers gently massaging her clit.
“Yeah, I'm gonna fry this cute little thing for ya, but not just yet,” Gertie said quietly.
When her breathing had almost returned to normal and she opened her eyes Joanna saw Gertie looking down at her.
“Well, guess I gotcher attention, didn't I?” Gertie asked. “What? You're not talking to me now?”
“Yes, no, yes!” Joanna shouted out. She couldn't think clearly. What did the bitch want her to say?
“Well, you seem a little confused there,” Gertie said. “Let's try the other side again.”
“Nooo.....aiiiiiieeeee!” Joanna screamed. If anything it was even worse the second time. She wondered if the demonic little device was leaving burn marks on her.
“Hey don't be a pig, Gert,” Zack said. “Let the rest of us have some fun.”
Gert responded by grabbing one of Joanna's breasts and squeezing hard.
“Don't worry, guys,” she said. “There's plenty of Joanna to go around.”
In response Joanna felt pressure against the side of her right hip, then pain streaking through her right side. That was followed by a similar shock to her left side. Then the insides of her thighs were repeatedly subjected to shocks. The stranger founded his own peculiar way to torment her. Joanna's large breasts rolled off to either side of her chest. The stranger grabbed one of Joanna's nipples and pulled the meaty mass back towards the center.
“Watch this,” he said. “This is kinda trippy.”
He released the nipple. Joanna's breast, propelled by gravity, rolled back down and onto the points of the stranger's stungun. Joanna screamed again.
Then they stopped for several minutes. Joanna waited for the next assault, wondering how long she could keep her sanity if they kept up if they continued the shocks. Then Gertie was hovering over her again. She seemed to have removed her top. Her exposed nipples were standing out, hard. The light brown areoles were even puffed up, which oddly seemed to emphasize how small her breasts were.
“I'm going to give you a choice, Joanna,” she said mockingly. “I was going to fry your clit. But, if you can get me off by licking my cunt I'll spare your poor little love button. Deal?”
Joanna nodded meekly. How could anything be worse than having those horrible stunguns torture her pussy?
She heard scraping, like something, a wooden box maybe, being dragged across the floor. Then Gertie was swinging a leg over Joanna's face. She had a brief glimpse of Gertie's gaping pussy, flushed red and surrounded by scraggle, kinky black hair, before Gertie lowered herself onto Joanna's mouth.
“I figured you'd be giving me a tongue bath today, Jo,” Gertie said as she rocked her hips gently back and forth. “So I didn't bother washing up. Y'know, hygiene is really a difficult problem for us street people. Guess you never thought much about, up there in the executive suite, did you?”
Joanna didn't have to told about Gertie's hygiene problems. The woman's pussy stank. It was all Joanna could do to keep her gorge from rising. Joanna had never gone down on a woman before. She stuck her tongue out and worked it around, trying to remember the times men had gone down on her and guessing what they's done.
Whatever she was doing, it seemed to work. Gertie quickly shut up. Her rocking motion speeded up, her breathing came quicker and became quite audible. She began moaning. Then her body stiffened spasmodically, once, twice, a third time and then she slowly settled down. Joanna was grateful Gertie had come so quickly, tried not to think about the fluids she could feel dripping over her face and into her mouth, and wished Gertie would get off her before she smothered.
Finally Gertie raised herself up and lazily swung her leg back over Joanna's face.
“Wow! You're good, bitch. We're gonna have to do this again sometime soon.”
Then Gilbert was looking down on her.
“So, Joanna,” he said snidely, “think we can work a similar deal? Suck me off or I shock your clit?”
Joanna weakly nodded yes. God, was she going to have to do all four of them?
“I don't think so,” Gilbert said, a vicious tone to his voice. “I've still got a bone to pick with you. As pleasant as it would be to come in your mouth, I still remember what a fucking bitch you were when you had the power. I really think I'd rather torture your pussy. Hey, maybe I'll jerk off while I do it. How's that for kinky?”
He disappeared from her sights. Then she felt fingers working up and down her lower lips. They moved to her clit, gently grasping it and massaging it.
“Feels good, doesn't it?” Gilbert asked. “So tender, so sensitive.” He paused. “So vulnerable.” He paused again, still massaging her. “This first one is just a warm up. I'm going to stick the contacts on either side of you asshole. Just for fun.”
She felt the metal points pressing against the flesh of her inner butt cheeks. Then her mid section came up off the torture frame as pain surged through her groin, her belly, her upper thighs. When she settled down Gilbert began massaging her clit again. It seemed like several minutes before he spoke again.
“Brace yourself,” he said.
She felt the metal tips pressing in on either side of her clit. He held it there for the longest time, making her suffer from the anticipation of what was to about to happen. Then the worst pain she had experienced yet racked her body. She flopped around violently, pulling frantically at the bonds that held her. She screamed and screamed and then everything faded to blackness.
Joanna came to slowly. It was all too familiar now. First the brief whiff of what smell like a spice, then waking up in some horrendous situation. There was a hood over her head, as usual. She began to check her body position. She was laid out on her back, arms over her head. She moved her arms slightly. There were cuffs on her wrists. She moved her legs. Her ankles were similarly fastened.
She heard muffled voices, then the sound of gears clacking. Chains rattling. She felt the tugging on her wrists as the slack was taken out of the chains. Then her arms were being raised up. Quickly her shoulders were coming up off the floor. She'd learned by now there was no point fighting it. She went limp and let them pull her up. She would find out what they had in mind all too soon.
The winch continued turning. Soon Joanna was almost upright. She shuffled her feet clumsily trying to stand up and take the strain off her arms. For few brief moments she was able to stand. But then the slack in the chain was taken up again and she was lifted, first onto the balls of her feet, her toes and then she was fully suspended.
The sounds of the winch turning slowed. Joanna felt the tension building in her legs, her back and her shoulders, as the short lengths of chain that fastened each of her ankle cuffs to the floor were stretched taut. They were stretching her tighter than they had before. Her head was pushed into a chin down position as her arms were stretched.
She felt fingers tracing the muscles in her back, her buttocks, her legs.
"Ok," a voice she recognized as Gilbert's said. "That should do it."
The hood was whisked off. Joanna blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. As usual she was in what she had come to think of as the torture chamber. The Demons were in their places in the shadows along the walls. Gilbert and Gertie were standing in front of her. Gertie, as she often did, had stripped off her top, revealing her sad little fried egg tits. Her torso was beginning to glisten with a film of sweat. The flaring gaslights made the chamber quite warm.
Gilbert stepped up before her. He fondled her breasts lightly, leering into her face as he did so.
"We have a treat for you, today," Gilbert said. “We've brought in a guest torturer. Joanna, meet Indiana Jones."
Joanna looked up as best she could and did an immediate double take. The leather jacket, fedora, the whip hanging on the belt. It actually did look like Indiana Jones.
"Ok, so he's a bit delusional," Gilbert said. "We don't like to argue with him when he says he's Indiana Jones and he's got a whip in his hand. Besides, wait until you see him with that whip."
Gertie had been busy setting up a small table. She set a cantaloupe on top the table. Then she set another piece of fruit, Joanna thought it was a plum, on top the cantaloupe. Then Gertie stepped back a good, long ways. The faux Indiana Jones took up a position on the far side of the table.
“It's a little restricted down here for a bullwhip,” Gilbert explained. ‘To get the real impact of his skill you should see him from the side. But I think you'll get the idea even watching it head on.”
Joanna watched the man lay the whip out. Then with what seemed like an almost effortless motion he had the whip in the air, curling it back and forth. Suddenly the tip lashed out and the plum exploded in a shower of purplish-red pulp.
“That was the accuracy demonstration,” Gertie said. “Next he's going to do the power demonstration.”
The whip resumed its rhythmic back and forth motion. Joanna was almost mesmerized by smooth, sinuous pattern the tapered leather made. Suddenly the tip was lashing out again and pieces of cantaloupe went flying. The man worked the whip back and forth a few more times, then let it slowly settle to the floor. Then he coiled it.
“My God!” Joanna screamed out. “You can't let him use that thing on me! It's...it's inhuman!”
“You're forgetting one thing, Joanna,” Gilbert said quietly. “Our hosts aren't human. Can't you feel it? Can't you feel their joy in anticipating what's about to happen? The best you can do in this situation, Joanna, is to go with the flow. Accept the fact you're going to hurt like hell and scream your head off. Like the man said, it's showtime!”
Gilbert stepped back, way back. Joanna heard the evil whooshing of the bullwhip being worked back and forth. She braced herself in anticipation and suddenly thought, is that sound like the sound a field mouse hears as the hawk dives on it?
She felt the strike, like a knife being drawn quickly across her body. She was surprised to realize that the blow had come across her shoulders. She heard the fatal whistle again and felt the whip bite at the back of one thigh. The next stroke fell on the opposite thigh. Then he struck at her shoulders again below the first stroke. Another stroke fell on the back of her thigh, above the first. Then another stroke to the opposite thigh. Was he demonstrating his control? Circling in on the main target?
He made another circuit, slashing her high and low. Then the first strokes started landing on her buttocks. He alternated, left and right, high and low. Each stroke felt as if she were being slashed with a knife. She was certain she felt blood dripping down the backs of her legs.
“Guess she's going to be sleeping on her belly for a while'” Joanna heard someone say.
“Maybe, Maybe not.” She heard someone else say ominously.
The strokes kept landing. Joanna lost count of how many there has been. She was soon reduced to hanging limply in her bonds, moaning softly and barely conscious.
Then Joanna felt water being splashed on her back. The slight sting and a vague smell doctor's office smell told her was probably water laced with an antiseptic.
“Ooooh!” she heard Gertie say, “those are some nasty, nasty cuts. Totally, like, vicious.”
She felt hands moving over her back, her thighs and her buttocks, spreading a greasy ointment. The pain began to subside quickly. She must be sliced up really badly, she thought, if they were doctoring her while she was still in the torture chamber. They usually waited until she was back in her cell to patch her up.
Someone was slapping her face, trying to rouse her. She smelled something, ammonia she thought. Someone had broken a capsule under her nose. She looked around, still dazed. With fear she realized that her torment had taken up a position in front of her.
“We're not finished with you yet, bitch,” Gertie was saying. “Try to hang in there for the last act, at least.”
She saw the whip man start working the leather monster, back and forth, sinuously.
“Try not to take her nipples off, Indy,” someone called. “It's a real nuisance to try and fix them.”
The Indiana Jones imposter nodded towards the speaker. Then the whip was streaking towards her. It slashed viciously at her left breast, then flew away, only to come streaking back to punish her right breast. Twice more the whip struck at each breast. Joanna closed her eyes, unable to watch. Then a stroke landed square on her mons. She jerked back violently, and heard distant laughter. A second blow landed on her mons. She instinctively started twisting and jerking to protecting her sensitive crotch.
“Hey, a moving target,” someone called out. “Indy, see if you can get that little pink thing sticking out between her lower lips!”
Joanna twisted and swung her mid-section around even more frantically when she heard that. Several more blows landed, on upper thigh and on her mons. Then once connected, dead on target. Joanna shrieked and lapsed into unconsciousness. As she faded out she felt the strangest sensation of great pleasure, erotic, orgasmic pleasure emanating through the torture chamber.
To be Continued......
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