Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)
Stories



A BRIDE FOR SATAN

By Esso

The narrator is searching for his girlfriend, who has been kidnapped by a sadistic villain.


The walls were covered with scenes of the torture of women throughout history. Here was a picture of a Roman crucifixion, the breaking of the bones, the ultimate agony which took two or three days before the victim finally found the release of death. Here was the Chinese death of a thousand cuts, the victim shrieking in mindless pain, a mass of flayed flesh while her torturers stood calmly waiting for the right moment to add still more to what she suffered. Here was the Inquisition, with a young girl babbling half-insanely, broken on the wheel while one of the black-hooded men lashed her endlessly with a great leather whip. And in the background another woman undergoes the torments of fire.

Here was torture, and the pictures screamed aloud in the concentrated hell of agony the showed on those walls. But it wasn't the pictures screaming...

No, instead it was the girl Theo Vallant's men were tormenting, the girl who was somewhere at the end of this single long corridor...

Theo Vallant.

Was he too in the torture chamber, watching the girl writhing and screaming as the men worked over her? Or was he somewhere else? Was he where Rhoda was, talking to her, taunting her, smiling at her helplessness, perhaps preparing her too, at this very moment, for torture.

At the bottom of the steps I found myself in a long corridor. I started to walk along it. And then I heard the scream.

After a while there were no more pictures, and I felt grateful for that – but not very grateful. The screams stopped, and there was an interval of silence, and then, hoarser and harsher, they began again. The girl had fainted, obviously enough: they'd awakened her and they were going on with their fun – their fun.

She hung in the center of the room, naked, her body glistening with sweat and blood. A girl, nineteen or twenty years old, her hands strained high above her head, her black hair tumbled down her back like rainfall. A man stood next to her with a whip loosely uncoiled in his hand.

At the side wall of the room, which was big and white, another man sat, fat, his eyes on the girl.

A second passed. The fat man said, "Again."

The man with the whip brought it back. The girl's voice was a helpless, tense moan:

"Oh God, stop...please stop...the pain..."

The whip cracked and she screamed and jerked in her bonds with the sudden pain. The fat man tittered in his chair. He let her sob her way to silence.


The narrator is discovered and knocked unconscious. He comes to strapped to a table. His vision is blurred.


And in that blur, on the wall, tied there and helpless, was Rhoda. She was naked. Her eyes stared at me but she made no sound.

I said something stupid. I said, "Let me up." Vallant smiled down, fat and shiny with sweat. "You will, of course, die," he said. But first you will watch Miss Trent die. And her death will not be a quick one."

There was no chance. There was no way out. I strained against the straps that held my wrists and ankles. I had to save her. I pulled again. Vallant's smiling face was still looking down at me.

"It will be interesting to watch you," his voice said remotely, and the face went away. I heard him call "Victor!"

The brute who'd knocked me out came into view and then went behind me. There was the vibration and the sound of a crank and the table raised and spun. I was facing the wall where Rhoda was tied.

"It's okay," I said. "I'll get you out, baby. I'll get you out." I didn't believe it myself. The words echoed in the room. She tried to smile, then struggled with her own ropes. No good.

"How touching." Vallant's voice again. I couldn't see him. I could see nothing but Rhoda.

Victor was coming close to her, two small oddly shaped machines strapped to his hands. Her eyes were fixed on them with horror. Victor made motions with his hands and the machines buzzed. As he moved I got a good look at them. They were tiny circles of revolving sandpaper, powered by electric motors.

Rhoda sobbed deep in her throat. It was as though she had just realized she was going to be tortured. There wasn't any other sound for a second and then I heard myself shouting, screaming at Vallant, cursing him, demanding to be let loose, threatening himself with Hell itself if he allowed his man to touch Rhoda...

Vallant ignored me. So did Victor. A second went by like a stretched rubber-band: it seemed to last forever.

Victor reached forward. The buzzing instruments of torment in his hands seemed to glitter and grow. My own throat closed up in terror. I saw Rhoda's body shrink away from the reaching hands. Victor moved slowly, enjoying Rhoda's sobbing in anticipation of the pain. "No," she begged, shaking her head rapidly from side to side, "No, please don't, no, no..."

And then they touched her and she screamed.

Victor, grinning, played his hands of torture over her body with the expert motions of a master, seeking out the most sensitive spots while she shrieked in terrible agony. I fought against the straps that held me, fought desperately to save Rhoda from more pain.

Rhoda twisted and kicked at Victor, trying to escape his hands of torture, but he pressed against her, pinning her to the wall while his hands ran up and down her sides from her armpits to her hips. He worked slowly, touching her for only moments at a time, then pulling his hands away for a few seconds before he let the whirling discs again bite at her flesh. When he stepped away I could see the damage the sanders had done; blood oozed from the abraded flesh on the sides of Rhoda's breasts.

She hung limply from the manacles that encircled her wrists, sobbing softly. She tried to get her bare feet under her to take the weight off her extended arms, but her legs were too unsteady to support her. She looked dazed and confused, then saw me and cried out, "Roger, help me. Please save me."

I started to call back to her but Victor grabbed my jaw and forced a thick rag into it, then tied it in place with a thick rope, silence my calls to Rhonda and my curses at Vallant. "There is no need for you to speak," Vallant said. "Only to watch. We will give your girlfriend a moment to recover and rest for the next part of her ordeal."

Rhoda and I looked at each other across what seemed like miles of space. It must have become obvious to her that there was no way I could help, no less save her. She managed to stand straight, relieving the strain on her shoulders and arms, but also sending a message to me – no matter what they do to me I will be brave. All the other times I had seen Rhoda naked we had made sweet love. This time I would be forced to watch her horribly tortured and listen to her screams before Vallant tired of his sport and killed us both. It was hopeless. Nonetheless, the sight of her chained to the wall, naked and helpless, impelled me to pull in desperation at the straps that held me to the table. There was no give.

Victor was walking toward her now, two lengths of rope with small nooses at one end. Rhoda saw him and the pretense of bravery drained from her body. What he was going to do with the rope as anyone's guess but we both knew it would have to do with further torture.

As he approached Rhoda she started screaming at him, "Get away from me! Get away from me!" and kicking out at him with her bare feet. It was her only defense and it was pitiful, they looked so small compared to Victor's looming bulk. He grabbed her right leg by the ankle and slipped the noose over her foot and drew it tight, then pulled her leg out to the side and tied it off to an iron ring set in the floor two feet to her right. He then captured her thrashing free leg and tied that off as well on the left side. This not only spread Rhoda's thighs wide so her pussy was open for Victor to work on, but stretched her body taut with her arms pulled high above her head.

Victor began fitting the sanders to his hands and Rhoda struggled in her bonds, crying out "No! No! No!" in a voice breaking with fear. She heard Vallant giggle and looked toward him, suddenly remembering that it was he, not Victor, who was in reality her torturer. "Don't do this to me!" she shrieked. "Please! I beg you! Don't!" Vallant said nothing and moments later Rhoda's screams were ones of pain.

Victor's hands moved up the outside of her thighs and worked their horror next on her hips. His method had changed; instead of dragging the sanders across her skin he let them settle on one spot, rotating the abrasive before lifting it and waiting until Rhoda's screams had changed to pleas for mercy before lowering the diabolical machines to torture her again.

When he reached her belly the sanders sent up a spray of pubic hair, flesh and a fine spray of blood. The moved up to do their foul work around her navel, and then beneath her ribs. Through it all Rhoda screamed unceasingly, occasionally managing to screech for them to stop between the wordless shrieking. She struggled to free herself from the shackles and ropes, arching her back and bucking wildly so that her tightly restrained body rose away from and then fell back against the wall.

"Do her tits! Do her tits!" Vallant shouted. "Save her nipples for last!"

I had been shouting into my gag at Vallant and trying to tear loose from the cuffs that held me to the table. At the sound of Vallant's command I redoubled my efforts, to no avail. When the sanders touched the underside of Rhoda's breasts, she gave one last shriek and her head fell forward on her chest.

Vallant told Victor to get some cold water to revive her, and then turning to me said, "In a few minutes those lovely tits that you used to nuzzle will be nothing more than hamburger. And that will not be the end of her torture. No, not at all."

The ice cold water was thrown in her face and Rhoda awoke moaning in pain. It took a moment for her to realize where she was and she immediately started begging. Victor took a towel and dried off her breasts so the sanders would have dry flesh to work on.

I couldn't bear to watch Rhoda writhe and scream in pain as her breasts and nipples were slowly tortured. I centered all my attention on trying to break free of my ties and thought I felt some give in my right wrist, and stared at my hand as I twisted and pulled.

When she passed out again, Victor stepped aside. Rhoda's beautiful soft breasts were a mass of circular wounds weeping blood. One nipple was torn and bleeding and the other's as yet untouched bud stood out from an abraded aureole.

This time Rhoda was revived by Victor rubbing salt into her lacerated breasts. When her screams died down Vallent said, "Bring in the other one. We can entertain these two by letting them watch what the whip can do."

The young raven haired beauty was dragged in kicking and screaming by Victor. He had little trouble attaching her bound wrists to a hook that hung from the ceiling, which left her bare toes curling an inch above the floor and her lithe body stretched taut. The two girls stared at each other in horror, the sight of another prisoner bound naked for torture seeming to drive home the hopelessness of their situation.

Again Victor worked slowly, this time working on the front of her body; her belly, stomach and breasts. He paused for what seemed like an eternity between lashes, letting her screams die down and her begging begin before striking again. This way he drew out the torture, not only for the dark haired girl but also for Rhoda, letting her witness the ordeal and anticipate her own torture soon to come. Three times he turned and lashed Rhoda's tormented breasts, bringing high pitched shrieks of pain from my beloved. When the whipping stopped Victor approached Rhoda, standing to the side so that I could see what he was going to do to her. His hands were positioned to start the sanders moving up the inside of her thighs.

I couldn't watch. She was begging, "Not there. Oh God please not there." I heard the sanders start, heard the change in pitch as they touched the tender skin on the inside of her thighs. Heard her screams rise again. She was in agonizing, mind numbing pain.

"Wait till Victor starts on the lips of her cunt," Vallant said to me. "And then inside her pussy. Then you will hear some screaming."

Unbelievably Rhoda's screams suddenly grew louder and more insistent. Victor had torn away the outer lips of her sex and now was jabbing the edges of the rapidly spinning wheels at her inner labia, ripping them away little by little.

I had to break loose. How much more of this could she take? And as the leather holding my right wrist snapped I got my answer –she could take no more. Rhoda's screams had turned into hysterical laughter. She had snapped. She was beyond pain, beyond Vallant's ability to torture her. She had gone mad.


The narrator breaks free and kill Vallant and Victor, but it is too late for the two girls. The first one dies in the hospital and Rhoda spends the rest of her life in an asylum.




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