MadameDahlia
Posts: 2021
Joined: 8/11/2004
From: SoCal aka Hell
Status: offline
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Alrighty then...
Part 2! Not for those with a weak stomach...
She enjoyed the begging. She enjoyed the screams. Surely she would have done well in the times of the Salem Witch Trials or in the times of The Inquisition. She would have been one of the most feared torturers alive. It was principle that kept her on the straight and narrow. It was principle that stayed her hand. But he lacked that. He lacked decency and kindness. He lacked honor and honesty. And for this he would be made to pay so very dearly.
His tortured cries formed as pockets of compacted air, rattling around in his tired lungs. They’d travel up through his throat and escape through his parched lips as shrieks, screams and gasped whimpers. She cackled, pleased to be the source of his suffering.
When he had been covered from head to toe in wax she delighted in peeling the cooling or hardened wax from his body to reveal bright pink flesh, burned in some places where the hottest of the wax had splattered across him.
As she peeled the wax from his shriveled manhood she watched in disgust as her touch caused him to stiffen, blood quickly rushing to flood the cells of his penis. Slapping it with an open hand, he felt a numbing spiral of pain shoot from his groin and up into his chest. Had he not been bound and hanging from the bar above his head he would have crumbled to the floor in a heap, curled protectively around his abused genitals.
“Your disgusting prick is of no concern to me. How dare you harden in my presence! How dare you think to salute me with such a vile show of your carnal interest. You will suffer all the more for this transgression!” she ground out between gritted teeth.
His body twisted and writhed in an effort to double over with the still resonating pain. She snapped on a glove and reached between his thighs. Curling her fingers around his genitals, she squeezed firmly. He yowled in agony.
“Beg for mercy. Beg me to continue throwing heated wax upon your blistered flesh. Or perhaps I’ll squeeze until they pop like grapes in my hand,” she uttered softly, her threat seeming to be so much louder than his panting.
“P – please, please continue to throw wax on me. Please don’t pop my balls,” he gasped, his breathing punctuated with gasps as she twisted his family jewels in her palm or applied more pressure.
Her smile grew gradually. He knew that meant more pain. “Please!!” he screamed, hoping to avoid having his intimate bits so cruelly mutilated.
She released him from her grasp and stripped off the glove. “Open your mouth you wretched lowlife.”
His lower jaw swiftly fell, sensing that she’d changed tactics. He’d comply with anything to get her to cease squeezing his balls.
She pushed the glove into his mouth and smiled. “Don’t swallow that. No one here cares enough to resuscitate you. Likewise, do not drop it. You cannot imagine what you shall experience if you do.”
A shudder slithered up his spine as he fought a new batch of tears. He’d cried so much, so long that his flesh was dry and the salty tears stung his face as they dripped over his cheeks and beaded at his chin.
As she lit another candle he watched one of her muscled young men enter the room with a small wooden crate. He shivered, contemplating what he might find within.
It was set upon a table near by and she smiled, no – that wasn’t quite right. She grinned. Very much like the Cheshire feline did.
She licked her lips in anticipation as the first few drops of wax splattered across his chest, causing him to flinch. The heat of the wax was irritating his already warmed flesh from the first waxing.
She nearly covered him in head to toe once more. She was kind enough to wait until he woke after having passed out sometime in the middle of the event. She chided him severely and continued on.
Eventually she stood back, viewing her work with appreciation. She invited everyone in to view it as well. They marveled over the colors, touching him – laughing and teasing. Despite the pain racing through his body he felt incredibly shamed, so much so that he nearly forgot about the pain.
That is to say until he felt a searing heat near his left shoulder. She was back – that Tiny Torturess. And rather than waxing him she was using the flame atop a new candle to gradually melt the wax away.
He jerked and screamed, crying out at the pain. But she carried on – intent on melting away as much of the wax as she could. When the candle died in her hands she’d melted over half the wax from his back, legs and arms. She’d avoided his genitals and behind – she had other ideas for them.
Stepping toward the crate, she flipped open the top and picked up a knife from within. He paled at the sight, his heart hammering away so hard in his chest he felt it might explode through his ribs. However confusion ebbed in, carrying away some of the fear as she produced a lemon from within the crate as well.
Placing it on the table she sliced into it and picked up half. Setting the knife aside, she moved toward him, smiling that oh so gleeful grin. He glanced toward the citrus in her hand, wondering why she’d be so pleased.
In a matter of moments he realized why. She squeezed it over his shoulder, letting the acidic fluid from within drip across his seared, cauterized flesh.
His lips fell open in a horrified expression as the stinging pain spread.
_____________________________
Insanity -- a perfectly rational adjustment to an insane world.
--R. D. Laing
"Oh, but if I went 'round sayin' I was Emperor, just because some moistened bint lobbed a scimitar at me, they'd put me away."
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The execution of Daniel Smith - 
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