Tracy Simmons just wanted some personal freedom. And she couldn't have freedom with these two bodyguards always standing within six feet of her. Sure, her boyfriend was the head of one of the two major drug cartels in all of Jordan, which acted as the intermediary between the traffickers in Iraq and the vast markets in Europe. Of course, he had more than his share of enemies who might wish to get even with him by harming her, his blonde American eye-candy some called her. Others added "big titted" to their description. But, still, he was just too damn protective. Who was going to trouble her unless he wished swift and immediate retribution from The Lord, as he was known? And he knew that she would never cheat on him with any other man -- because she loved him, as well as his power, wealth and generosity, and because it would be as dangerous for her to displease him as it would be for anyone else. So why did he insist that these two goons accompany her everywhere?
Well, this would be one of the few times that she would outsmart him ... and them. She made arrangements while the The Lord was out of town on business to meet Jani Habib, her friend ... and sometimes lover on the rare occasions when she could sneak away ...at a crowded club on the outskirts of Amman. Jani waited in her car at the back entrance to the club's kitchen. After dancing on the crowded floor with many of the men staring at her in her tight white dress, her chest seeming to stretch the fabric, and some whispering to others who she was, Tracy excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Her guards, of course, followed her and waited by the door. But, unknown to them, the ladies' room also had an employees' entrance from the kitchen, and, within seconds, Tracy was out of the ladies' room and into Jani's waiting car. Sure, the guards would get in trouble, but The Lord would know that it was not their fault, but Tracy's cleverness that had allowed her "escape," and they would not be disciplined too harshly. None of The Lord's other bodyguards could have done any better when Tracy really had made up her mind that she wanted an evening of personal freedom.
Jani was waiting. Though she hadn't entered the club, she was dressed so as not to seem out of place to anyone who happened to see her. Tight red dress, well above the knee, though the material did not seem as stretched as Tracy's. Together they were quite a sight. What man wouldn't wish to be heading back to Jani's place with these two. But, while on other nights, they might have satisfied him, tonight he would have been ignored. Tonight they had eyes only for each other.
Jani lived 20 minutes away, about a mile down a dirt road that left the highway five miles from the club. Dark and secluded. Perfect for their rendezvous. The front door had barely closed behind them when Tracy's arms were around Jani's neck. "Let's take things slow, love. I want to enjoy every minute of you."
Their perfect mood, however, had lasted no more than a few seconds when it was broken by the sound of shattered glass on both sides of the house, as four men crashed through the windows, two on each side, guns drawn. Jani reached toward a draw in the table in the entry where they stood. "Don't even think about it," one of the men screamed.
"The blonde, She's the one," another pointed at Tracy, and two of the men grabbed her by her elbows and hustled her out of the house. One of the two shouted over his shoulder, "Remember how to make it look," as the other two pulled Jani into her bedroom. Within seconds, they stripped from a struggling, but completely overpowered, Jani her red dress, matching red bra and panties, and black heels, and tied her spreadeagled, face up, to the corners of the bed, but with her right wrist tied only loosely. It took one of the men just a few seconds more to tie a long thin rope around her neck, pull it tight and watch as she struggled for air, the rope too tight even to allow a scream to escape. Within two minutes of the time that the men had crashed through the windows, Jani's struggle was over. The men pulled the ends of the rope around Jani's neck under the ropes holding her wrists, and placed the ends across her palms. "Kinky way to go," one of them looked back at Jani's naked body as the two headed out of the room. "Choking yourself a little too hard trying to get a stronger orgasm. Damn. I wish we didn't have to be so professional. I would have liked to give that one a good orgasm."
As they ran out of the house, the two men saw that their equally-efficient cohorts had bound Tracy's wrists behind her back, bound her ankles together and then hogtied her wrists to her ankles, her white dress rising nearly to her crotch, before throwing her into the trunk of the large sedan that had just pulled down the driveway. The men all climbed into the car, which sped off down the dirt road toward the main highway.
* * * * *
Tracy Simmons didn't know exactly where she was. Not that it mattered. She didn't know how much time had passed. Not that that mattered, either. What she did know was that, for what must have been the last several hours, ever since she had been pulled out of the car trunk, brought to this room and stripped of all of her clothing except her black heels -- why they left the heels she had no idea --, she had been lying on her back stretched painfully on a rack while several men, at varying intervals and without a word, had raped her. Why had she been so clever to escape her own bodyguards? Why had The Lord been so right? She was obviously a prize to these men. She was their revenge on all the evils that The Lord had committed against them, their rival cartel and its leader. And now she waited. Either for the next man to rape her. Or for worse. [See Pic 1]
But there were to be no more rapes. No. The main reason for her capture was not for the men's own sexual satisfaction. It was not to humiliate her. It was not to interrogate her for information about The Lord and his operations. It was not to ransom her. No. The main reason for Tracy's capture was simply to torture The Lord's girlfriend until they tired of it or until she died. And they did not tire easily.
So when the next two men entered together and approached the rack where Tracy lay, they unchained her, pulled her off and dragged her across the room to a thick wooden board standing perpendicular to the floor and designed like a pillory with its hinged portion still open. But, instead of one semi-circular cut-out for the subject's head, and two smaller ones for her wrists, this board had two equal sized semi-circular cut-outs. Only when Tracy was brought to stand facing the board did she realize what these cut-outs were designed to secure. The men pulled her breasts up and out, and then brought the hinged upper piece of wood down over them and locked the board in place. Tracy could feel the pressure as her breasts were squeezed. This device was not designed for someone with her endowments. Or perhaps it was.
The men then cuffed Tracy's wrists behind her back. Finally, they lifted her ankles off the floor, which added even greater pressure to her breasts, and bent her legs backward until she could feel her ankles being locked into a shorter board behind her, forcing her to arch her back to try to relieve at least some of the pressure on her breasts.
One of the men walked to her side and grabbed her hair, forcing her to look straight ahead, over the board holding her breasts. "That, my dear," he said in perfect English, as he forced her to look in the direction of the other man who was wheeling to the other side of the board a brazier of hot coals, several already-glowing irons poking out of it, "is our first treat for you and your very lovely breasts."
"Why? Why?" Tracy screamed, but she already knew the answer.
"Because we can," the man wheeling the brazier responded. "Just because we can." Apparently the rival drug lord knew that Tracy did not speak Arabic, and had sent men who spoke English to capture and torture her in order to add to her understanding of her helpless situation, to increase her psychological pain. The man picked up one of the irons. This needed no translation. [See Pic 2]
"Let's start like this." The man moved the length of the iron against the underside of Tracy's left breast. Her scream filled the room. "Yes, I like it when you scream. That's why you are not gagged," the man responded coldly to the sound of her pain and horror. When he removed the iron, he could see a line of red blistering across the length of Tracy's very ample breast.
"Would you like the same on the other?" The man asked. Still screaming, Tracy shook her head violently. "No? Very well, then." He pressed the length of the iron across the top of Tracy's left breast, and, when he finally removed it, two parallel lines marked its upper and lower portion. As Tracy pulled to try to free herself from the pain, she only added to the pressure on her trapped breasts. "Careful, careful. You don't want to pull them off, do you?"
Without asking again, the man moved the iron to Tracy's rights breast, starting again with its length across its underside. Tracy's screams somehow grew even louder and remained continuous, as the man moved the iron off, and then up and across the top of Tracy's right breast. "There's something artistic about symmetry, wouldn't you say?" He added.
"It gets better now," her main torturer promised. "So far, we've just been concentrating on one part of your body. Well, two parts," he corrected. "But now we will expand our horizons." He moved the iron around to the other side of the wooden board, and down and across Tracy's stomach, then her hips. Her screams were interrupted only for the brief moments that it took her to gasp for more air that she needed to renew them. The man next moved the length of the iron across Tracy's back, the back of her thighs, the back of her knees and then the soles of her feet before returning to the brazier and putting the iron back into the coals. But he soon replaced it with another iron.
"Now this one, love. This one you can see, " he held it above the board so that Tracy's face, her hair still held by his cohort, was forced in its direction, "ends in a metal K. The K stands for Koos. In your language, the word would be," he thought for a second, "Cunt." He posed the end of the iron, which was about a square inch, directly at Tracy's left breast, in between the two horizontal lines.
"Please. Please don't," Tracy begged. "I can pay you ..."
The man didn't wait for Tracy to finish her offer, jamming the iron directly into her breast just below her nipple. He watched her eyes glaze as he moved the iron to his other hand and held it in front of her right breast. "You can't pay me enough for the pleasure that I'm having." He jammed it into her right breast in the same location.
Tracy's mind was raging, even as the power of her screams was dwindling as her throat grew hoarse. Her once beautiful ... indeed, once magnificent ... breasts that had brought here so much admiration and attention were now just a source of intolerable pain to her, as they were being slowly and methodically destroyed by the man's irons.
The man returned to the brazier, and this time chose a glowing iron that tapered at its end. He moved behind her, as the man holding her by the hair whispered in her ear. "You probably didn't notice, but, between your ankles there is a third small hole in the wood. Just big enough to allow him to poke the iron through. And just long enough ...."
He didn't have to tell her what long enough meant. Tracy felt the iron push just inside her ... koos. Her screams now sounded more like raspy grunts as her throat weakened. The man began to move the iron to the side and then up and around, burning the areas that Tracy had thought that night would feel the pleasurable caress of Jani's tongue, but instead were now feeling the searing heat of this insidious torture. She feared that he would soon push the iron deeper into her ... but he did not. Instead, after making sure that he had covered all of her tender flesh with its tapered end, he withdrew it from her. "I sure hope that you are not raped again. That would be very painful, now, wouldn't it?"
"But we also wouldn't want you to think of satisfying yourself in any unnatural way, either, would we?" Suddenly she felt the iron resting lengthwise across her anus, pressing her buttocks on both sides. "And I'm hoping that you haven't eaten much today, either." He held it there for five seconds, then moved away and walked back to the other side of the wood. He put this third iron back in the brazier.
With the other man still holding her by her hair, Tracy stared ahead, eyes and mouth wide open, her screams reduced from even hoarsened groans to a sound more like a cat trying to expel a hairball.
"Now here's the question of the day," the man put his hands on Tracy's cheek, his face close to hers. He could not tell how much of her mind still remained, how much she heard, how much less she understood. "If we were to cut off your breasts, and return them to your boyfriend, he'd recognize them, wouldn't he? But if, instead, we returned to your boyfriend the rest of your body without your breasts, would he recognize you?" The man laughed. "I mean, what does he look at when he looks at you?"
"Well, here's what we're going to do," the man continued. "As you might have guessed, inside the board holding your breasts is a very sharp blade that runs across its top. It's held in place by two screws. We are now going to remove the screws and attach them to these heated metal clamps." Very carefully, each of the men removed one of the screws. Tracy's eyes darted back and forth from one side to the other, her throat now reduced to whimpering gurgles.
"Now, after we place these clamps on your nipples," Tracy could feel the pull and the burn, "nothing will happen as long as your nipples can hold them. Of course, should the heat from the clamps burn off your nipples, the screws will no longer hold the blade in place, and ... well ... I think you understand." Tracy was blinking hard, her mind clouded in pain. "Oh, forgive me. Did I say 'should'? I meant to say 'when'."
The other man brought a small basket that he placed under Tracy's breasts. "Just so they don't escape too far." Then he wheeled the brazier away. The other man kissed Tracy on the cheek, and both moved a few yards away to watch.
"Ten more seconds, I say," one offered to the other. "No, twenty," the other responded. "She's quite large." "Her nipples aren't," the other countered. Tracy's eyes widen even further in pain and horror at what she understood was about to happen to her.
Twelve seconds later the clamps fully closed on Tracy's charred nipples, pulling them off her body and releasing the clamps and the screws. The sharp blade dropped inside the board, easily and cleanly slicing through even Tracy's large breasts, which were deposited into the basket below. As her breasts were severed from her body, and blood spattered everywhere, Tracy's face hit the top of the board, and then her breastless body crashed to the floor below, her ankles still held up by the smaller board behind her.
The two men approached to examine their handiwork. They released Tracy's ankles from the smaller board, looked at the burn marks across her back, anus, thighs, knees and feet, before one pushed his foot under her to roll her over onto her back. Her chest was a mass of blood, covering most of the burn marks across her stomach and hips. One of the men reached between her legs to check the damage from the tapered iron he had used there. "I don't know why women think that men can't find the G-spot." he looked back at the other man. "I certainly can."
* * * * *
The Lord's rival decided not to send back either Tracy's breasts or the rest of her body to him. Instead, he sent him three photos: a "before" photo of Tracy stretched naked on the rack before her body had been raped or marked; a "during" photo showing her just a few minutes before the screws had been removed; and an "after" photo showing her lying burned and breastless on her back on the floor.
Tracy had wished for a night away from her bodyguards. She had received her wish, though it had proven not to be quite the night for which she had wished.