Rich medieval clients pay well to observe and direct the cruel torture of slaves
From the outside, the building looks innocent enough. The wealthy merchant Armando wonders if he has found the right place to fulfill the dark desires he is ready to pay well for. He had half expected to hear screams of agony emanating from within, or at least for the place to look more sinister. But appearances can be deceiving.
Armando speaks the password he was assigned into the crack in the door. The small wooden door opens, leading to two large stone doors, which also open after the click of what sounds like a huge lock. He is greeted by a gorgeous female, fair skin and jet-black hair, with a leather corset. She is a dominatrix in every respect. “I’m called Mercy,” she says in an airy yet domineering voice, “I suppose I gained this name by what my victims shout and plead for during my sessions, but it’s ironic because I’ve never shown mercy in my life. Just be thankful you’re an observer, not a participant.” Mercy leads him down a short hall which opens into an immense chamber of stone. Now he understands. The chamber is three stories high, with a few dozen seats at the second story level, currently occupied by only a few onlookers. The floor of the chamber is the kind of place that instantly puts the most horrible images in one’s head. Armando only had a few seconds to survey the numerous and diverse instruments of torture, before Mercy leads him down an adjoining hallway. He managed to glimpse many chains hanging from the ceiling, a rack, a set of whips attached to the wall, and a large brazier glowing with hot coals.
“Today’s first ordeal will begin in half an hour, so please follow me for a short tour of our more exclusive facilities. If you wish, you may briefly observe one of our clients’ private sessions,” Mercy says, leading Armando down the hallway. He nods yes and can already hear a few distinct sets of voices, muffled but clearly in agony. One sounds male and the rest distinctly female, but all are definitely experiencing the most horrible pain. The wide stone hallway has many doors, and the gorgeous dominatrix opens the third one on the left. Inside, they stand along the nearest wall; a royally dressed man is standing near the far wall, instructing a torturer between the cries of the young female victim.
The young blonde woman is hanging in the middle of the room, her back to the door and the guests. Her hands are chained above her head, and her ankles are attached to iron rings in the floor, leaving her stretched and spread wide open. Her back, ass, and the backs of her legs are covered in fresh, red lash marks. The torturer and the client are standing in front of the poor girl, the former savagely whipping her breasts with a cat-o-nine-tails. “Come,” Mercy says between the alternating sounds of the whip and the girl’s screams, “observe how our clients have total control over what happens to the slaves during their sessions.”
As they walk slowly around to stand behind the two other men, Armando notes the multitude of terrible instruments filling the tables along the wall. There are too many to recount, but he notices many clamps, needles and pincers, as well as whips and various incredibly awful looking devices obviously meant to be inserted into the most sensitive orifices of the body. In the corner he sees another brazier with various red-hot iron instruments glowing in the coals. With a new audience, the client halts the session and gives instructions to the torturer that can’t quite be heard over the sobs of the victim.
The quivering girl tries meekly to struggle as she is unchained and dragged roughly across the room and placed behind an iron restraint device with ankle cuffs at the feet, a long horizontal bar at shoulder height, and two adjustable iron rods at chest level. The slave is secured, arms spread to either side and legs spread wide by the ankle cuffs. Now Armando understood the purpose of the device; the girl is squirming and begging for mercy as the adjustable horizontal bands are slowly brought closer together by a crank on the side. Soon, the girl’s large, meaty breasts are being squeezed at the base from above and below, compressed so that her tender tit flesh protruding through the device is engorged and immovable. The poor wretch is frantically looking up and down from her already red and swollen breasts, now clearly being presented for further torment, to the torturer, who is retrieving items from a table. “Let’s stretch those out and start with some needles, then go from there,” the rich customer orders. “Nooo please…not my tits again,” the very young but well-endowed slave begs. But to no avail. The torturer silently obeys his instructions, showing her four long, sharp items that will soon penetrate her tender flesh. He sets them aside as she whimpers, still begging for mercy that will never come, and produces two nasty-looking metal clamps. The girl’s nipples are roughly forced through the middle of the clamps, and the torturer tightens the metal until she flinches. Then he turns each crank twice more and she squeals, trying in vain to retract her sensitive globes from the cruel crusher device. Once the clamps are in place, the man ties strings to each and pulls them hard forward. As he pulls and ties them fast to a nearby attachment, the clamps’ sharp teeth dig into the girl’s nipples as she struggles. Her large breasts are now pulled taut, tightly stretched, and quite immobile.
The cruel torturer picks up the first needle and just touches it to the top of her left breast. She shakes her head and begs once more for mercy, “Please just whip me more…I can’t take those things!” The man responds by plunging the needle straight down through the middle of her tit. She screams louder than ever as it quickly punctures the stretched flesh and emerges from the bottom. She barely catches her breath before the same is done to her right breast. The girl writhes in agony as the remaining two needles are shoved through horizontally, so that both of her breasts are fully penetrated by long needles in the shape of a cross. The torturer then removes the needles, only to plunge them in again at different locations. The girl is crying and thrashing against her iron bonds as each needle horribly invades some of her most tender flesh.
The noble client is now visibly aroused, but the torturer is calm and professional as ever. “Carry on,” is the only instruction given then. So the torturer smiles and removes the needles slowly. The girl’s respite is brief, however, and her terror returns to a new level as he slides the glowing brazier in front of her and looks her in the eyes. Now she’s violently shaking her head and screaming, “Plllleaaassee noooooo….noooooo,” at the top of her lungs. The torturer unhooks the clamps extending her breasts and they snap back into place, now swollen and painted with red welts and puncture wounds. The man plays with her abused tits for a minute, twisting her nipples hard right where the clamps had dug their metal teeth in. She cries and shouts in pain, but the onlookers know this is only the beginning.
The torturer then smiles wickedly and retrieves a red-hot poker from the coals. He moves it close to her face so she can feel the heat emanating from the scalding iron. He slowly places it under her outstretched right arm, right in the center of her armpit. The skin hisses and the girl wildly thrashes. He takes another and burns her stomach; the vibrations of her body cause her swollen tits to jiggle, highlighting how engorged and sensitive they must be. Suddenly, the client speaks to the girl, “Did that hurt?” She nods between sobs, looking into his eyes for any hint of empathy. It is not there. Instead, he asks, “Well, then you may be able to understand how the sensitive flesh of your tits is going to feel as it is burned over and over again.” With this, he nods to the torturer, who withdraws another poker from the hot coals.
He hesitates for just a few seconds and the poker descends toward her breast, and she is screaming before it even touches her. SSSSSSSS…”Aaahhhhhh!!!” She screams as her tit flesh is cruelly burned. Next, instead of a poker, the torturer retrieves a wicked-looking set of red-hot pincers from deep in the brazier. The poor young girl’s face is the picture of terror as he approaches and roughly grabs her left breast in his large hands. In one motion, he pinches her swollen nipple hard and twists it 360 degrees as it is burned black. The girl’s scream completely drowns out the sizzling of her skin, and the metal that ensnares her shakes with how violently she is writhing. The agony must be unbelievable. He locks the pincers in place, and the heavy metal device now hangs from her nipple, still sizzling as the girl howls in pain.
Suddenly, Mercy takes Armando by the arm, “Ok I think you’ve had a good preview of one private session. I’ll open a couple more doors down the hall so you can peek in and see that we have unlimited options. Regretfully, Armando allows himself to be led out of the room. As the door closes behind them, he hears another cruel hiss of skin melting, punctuated by the girl’s continuous inhuman scream. Her ordeal is far from over.
They peek into two more doors total, but Armando was convinced after the first observation that he would indeed pay good money to be here. He wondered what sort of horrific spectacle would fill the chairs out in the larger auditorium. He promised himself that he would find out before he left this place.
The next door Mercy opens lead into a much smaller room. This time, the roles are reversed. A female torturer with bright red hair and a matching red leather corset is kneeling in front of a man, torturing him for the pleasure of an attractive but hateful looking female client. This session is obviously much further along than the last, which was just beginning, for the man’s body shows the brutal results of a few hours with this mistress. He is attached to the wall, hands chained together high above him and legs spread eagle, attached to the wall in the most uncomfortable way. His chest, stomach, and legs are lined with many dozen red lash marks. In places, the marks run together to form large areas of flesh that has been minced. The cruel leather bullwhip on the adjacent wall is the likely culprit. The poor man also has numerous burn marks, blackened and ugly. His tongue is pierced straight through with a long needle, so that it is sticking out of his mouth and he is slobbering as he screams. His left nipple has been torn off, and his penis is pierced with five parallel needles, the last poking directly through his head. Armando can’t even imagine what this man has been through in the last few hours. Now, as Mercy leads him onward, he catches a final glimpse of the mistress tightening what looks like a clamp with small metal claws over one of his testicles. He is thrashing and screaming, almost high-pitched enough to be mistaken for a female, as the door closes.
The final room they enter is, thankfully for Armando who wasn’t quite able to stomach the crushing of another man’s balls in front of his eyes, another young girl being tormented. This one is a little thicker, with powerful thighs and large round breasts. She is bent over a long wooden triangle-shaped table in such a fashion that her huge tits are resting on slanted surfaces on either side of her. Her ankles are fastened tightly to the bottom of the structure, but her arms are free. After a moment of confusion, Armando realizes the horrific reason her arms are not restrained. Her breast have been nailed to the wooden table below, three nails in each, including one through each nipple. The torturer is just setting down a wicked cane, with which he has almost destroyed all the flesh on her ass and upper legs. All of her skin is bleeding and black and blue. Her caning must have been twice as agonizing with her breasts secured to the wood; every time she flinched, she must have torn some tender tit meat. Upon closer look, her right nipple is indeed dripping blood.
She is out of breath, barely able to breathe and cry at the same time as the torturer approaches with one of the most horrible devices ever invented, the pear. He shows her how it can be cranked to spread even wider (it is already thicker than a fist). This slave is gagged, so all she can do is offer a muffled “mmm mmm” and shake her head desperately. He places it carefully against her fully displayed pussy while she begs through her ball gag. Suddenly, a voice from the corner, hidden in shadow, says, “No. Not there.” So the torturer moves the hideous pear up to the edge of her asshole. Her fear is palpable as spreads her cheeks wide and aligns it perfectly against her tight rectum. Then, with one quick motion, he penetrates. Over and over the unlucky victim screams through her gag, and the wild thrashing of her body causes her nailed breasts to visibly pull, metal ripping ever so slowly through thick, fleshy breasts. Then he turns the crank; her muffled scream becomes a high-pitched squeal that does not end.
Mercy closes the door, then, and says, “Are you convinced?” “I believe so,” Armando said, “but I must see tonight’s public torment first.” “Fair enough,” Mercy responds. “Tonight will be a special one. We have two new slaves, one male and one female. These are from distant lands and are said to have some of the highest pain tolerances in the known world. We pay well for such skill, and even more for the fact that they are husband and wife. Never underestimate this fact; being forced to watch a loved one howl in unimaginable pain while you are helpless sometimes seems to be harder to take than the actual torture itself. Please have a seat, and enjoy.”
With that, she leaves Armando in the audience chamber to wait with the other newly arrived rich clientele, while she prepares to show her skill.
End of Chapter I.