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jagdesclave -> O on the rack (1/18/2010 8:48:28 PM)
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The click, click, click, of the gears turning then locking echoed through the dungeon. O was on the wooden table of a stretching rack tilted at 45 degrees. She was spread out like a starfish with ropes and leather shackles on her ankles and wrists. She had fresh wet glistening stains on her face and mouth from having serviced her tormenter. It was the ultimate act of submission The rest of her poor body was criss crossed with long welts from her time on the whipping post, and now O was being used on the rack. O was breathing in shudders as her body and chest put tremendous strain on her chest and body making breathing difficult. As her chest slowly rose and fell. but difficulty in breathing was just one of the myriad of things painful about the rack. O had heard horror stories about the rack ever since she was a girl and visited the museum in London never knowing that when she grew up she would be used on one. But the main thing that was pure torture of being on the rack was her body being pulled in different directions. O was certainly one of the most Experienced slaves with the rack, first in Paris and then in different dungeons around the world and now at the lowest dungeons of Zanzibar. Many times O had requested to be whipped, or whipped harder, but she had never requested a session on the rack, it was just to painful, but she had never refused it ether, whenever she was ordered on it for any reason, she merely walked over to it with her haughty look of seemingly indifference even though she was terrified inside, she was always proud of that, and when it was over she was happy she had done it. even if during the actual rack session she hated it. Unlike the whip, that O secretly adored, the rack was pure agony with no redeeming qualities. But that alone inspired respect. O liked that many of the Masters and other slave girls admired her for being able to withstand it. Unlike the whip where the lash marks were obvious to a casual observer the rack didn’t look like it caused much pain. But experienced dungeon Masters knew better, and experienced slave girls knew better too. O remembered at the château in Paris being on a rack when a group of party guests were brought in to see it, some of the women in party dresses laughed at poor O commenting ‘that doesn’t look to bad” O bite her tongue and didn’t say anything, O knew her place. She also knew that in a few months many of the women party guests would be on the rack or whipping post themselves. O had seen it many times at the château. women would come in and feign disgust but a few months later those same women would be back, as slaves in training. Click, click, the sound instantly brought O back to her present reality, “oohhhh non, non, clemency “ she stuttered out through trembling lips as fresh waves of agony swept over her already tortured body. The guard was nude, and stared at the young Frenchwoman unable to understand her language. But he didn’t need to he had seen women from all over the world under torture and he didn’t need to know what they were saying, he could tell just by their tone. He had been working on O for over an hour, he thought she was coming along nicely. Thinking ‘every woman needs a few hours on the rack, especially free women, to put them in line. The men that don’t are missing out on one of the most wonderful things in life, an obedient slave girl.’ But O wasn’t on the rack for obedience training or for mere entertainment of her captors she was here for torture. All he knew about her was his orders for her treatment. He waited 15 more minutes watching O sweat and drift in and out, then he turned the handle click, click, click. The dungeon walls echoed with her scream.
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