Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)
Stories



CASTRO'S TORTURE MASTER

By Esso

Four young Cuban women are arrested by a free lance vigilante group called Death on Wheels. They claim one of the women murdered a compatriot but do not know which one. They all are tortured to obtain a confession.

We were marched to a side of the clearing where a thick bamboo pole had been suspended between the crotches of two very stout trees. We were ordered to sit on the ground with our hands behind our backs. Then one by one the men fell on us. Rosalita was first. They hoisted her to her feet. The man called Rodriguez held her arms pinioned tightly behind her while the other two ripped and tore at her clothes. When she was finally stripped naked, they dragged her to the pole and bound her to it by her suspended arms. Her bare feet stretched downward barely touching the scraggly grass below. Each of the others was treated the same way.

I bit my lip. I waited my turn feeling in my body everything that was happening to the others. Then Rodriguez's grip fastened on the back of my neck. He lifted me as if I were a doll. His body pressed into me from behind. His knee was wedged against the small of my back. The cigar was poised a fraction of an inch from my naked shoulder.

I fought him like a mad woman, my arms flailing and my feet kicking back at his shins. One of the others came up to help him rope me to the pole. He slapped me across face, stunning me for the moment. They gripped my wrists and forced them behind me. Swiftly they bound them together. Now all I could do was squirm desperately in their grasp while they began to strip me. The dress I was wearing was shredded down the front.

I sucked in my stomach, vainly attempting to avoid their touch. I started to bring my knee up at my new attacker's groin, but Rodriguez anticipated my move. His knee slammed against my spine. The force of the blow paralyzed me. I looked down helplessly as they plucked my bra and panties from me.

My wrists were freed but only for a second. A moment later I was hauled to the pole and secured to it. The sun had begun to burn its way through the overhead foliage. Its growing heat beat down on my nudity. Already I felt an overpowering thirst. But that was to be only a minor part of my ordeal.

The two lesser judges sat splay legged on the ground, drinking in the helpless beauty of the four nude young women hitched to the diabolical contrivance. Tied as we were with our arms high above our heads, our naked breasts were stretched to their utmost. The rough grass tore at the soles of our bare feet. We began shifting our weight to ease the burden. The result was a slow, licentious, undulating dance. Our movements were not lost on the viewers.

Rodriguez marched before us. "Now the problem is which puta killed him. We must have a detailed confession. Otherwise we will be accused of being unfair. Should I ask you now which muchacha caused the death of my amigo, I would not get the truth. So I will wait to ask."

As we stared after him, Rodriguez turned on his heel and disappeared into the van. Seconds later, he returned. He carried a coiled whip in his right hand.

I closed my eyes to the horror I knew was coming but of course I heard the shrieks of the others as they were whipped. I tried to steel myself for the lash. But there is no preparation for the all consuming agony it brings. Three times it exploded across my back; once across the shoulders, the second time swirling around my waist, and the third blasting into the full softness of my hips.

The agony was so great I could not see. I heard him move away, and then heard the crack of the whip and the scream of one of the other girls.

When it was my turn again I opened my eyes and saw him standing to my right. For a moment I was confused. Was he going to lash me backhanded? But then I saw his arm go up and I screamed, "No! You can't!"

He whipped me three times, once across the tops of my breasts and then across the nipples. The third lash tore into my belly, the tip snapping into my pubic mound with a force that took my breath away so that I couldn't even scream.

For long moments I knew that I must suffocate from the pain. I waited for more. It did not come. I felt the warm blood running down my spine, between my breasts and between my legs. "He does not mean to stop now," I told myself. But Rodriguez had dropped the whip. He joined the others, sitting on his haunches and waiting.

Slowly the diabolical plan came to me. It came on the buzzing wings of a huge fly. Attracted by my bleeding the insect had landed on me. I tried to shake off this annoyance but with my arms bound over my head pulling me up on the balls of my feet, my efforts were futile.

More insects landed on me. They bit and stung me. Annoyance became pain and pain became torture. Soon my body was covered with a thousand black specks. Their pincers tore at me with maddening insistence. No matter how I struggled and writhed I couldn't throw them off. I had never known that a torture could be so cunningly contrived. The whip wounds had been thin and not deep. In time they would heal without leaving scars. There would be no evidence of how we had been tortured. Not that anybody would care.

The minutes dragged into an hour. I moved from foot to foot. I twisted and turned, trying to dislodge the growing swarm of insects that feasted on my nakedness. I screamed and pleaded. The entreaties of the other girls rang in my ears. Everything blended into one giant world of torment. My mind began playing tricks on me. I could see myself standing over Moreno's bleeding carcass. It would be so easy to admit to it. The confession would offer relief from this. But would my confession stop the torture?

I looked down on the "Death on Wheels" contingent. The passed around a rum bottle amongst themselves. Their eyes drank in every one of our wild gyrations. I knew they would not stop even if I confessed to a murder I had not committed.

The hours drifted by. The sun scorched me. My tongue was a thick glob which seemed to cover my entire throat. My eyeballs stuck straight ahead. My head pounded with the fierce heat. Every motion brought new pain to the whip wounds. The incessant buzzing of the flies was beyond endurance. I knew I must go mad.

I heard one of the other girls shriek out a confession. Whether she had or she could simply not stand the torture any longer I would never know. Then I heard Rodriguez say "Who helped you? Which one of these bitches, or all of them?"

They untied her and threw her on the ground in front of us. One of the Death on Wheels thugs pinned her arms to the ground while two others pulled her legs wide over her head and held her there by the ankles, with her buttocks in the air and her sex open. Rodriguez was the first to rape her, but first he threw a pail of water on her open crotch to wash away the bugs. After he had ravished her, he traded places with one of the others. While she fought and screamed all four of them gang raped her while we watched in horror.

But he they had just begun. They dragged her to tree with a low hanging limb and hung her by her wrists, facing us with her feet inches off the ground. "Who helped you?" Rodriguez shouted at her and when she didn't answer, he brought the whip against the small of her back with a crack that sounded like a rifle shot. The poor girl shrieked in pain. "Who helped you?" Before she could answer, the whip tore into her again, this time swirling around her hips with the tip digging into her belly.

By the time she fainted from the pain she had taken to screaming out the names of anyone she knew. None of us were included because she didn't know any of us, having been arrested separately. But it didn't matter; I – we all knew – we would be raped and tortured solely for the entertainment of the Death on Wheels contingent. Being forced to watch the whipping, knowing it would soon be me hanging naked by my wrists with the bull whip carving my sensitive flesh, was a new part of my torment.

She was revived with a pail of cold water from the nearby stream and Rodriguez continued whipping her, but now with his broad leather belt. He worked on the front of her body, concentrating on her breasts and nipples, but not neglecting her belly and thighs. She fainted two more times, only to be revived with cold water. Finally Rodriguez ordered two of his men to grab her ankles and her legs. "You won't be needing this anymore," he said, and brought the belt up full force on her pussy, again and again.

The tortured girl was screaming her lungs out, and I was screaming along with her. Whether it was because of her mind-numbing ordeal or from the fear of my own torture soon to come, I do not know. In any case it did not last very long as after four or five strikes between her thighs she passed out once again.

We were left hanging by our wrists, moaning and begging for water. After their evening meal, during which they consumed a large quantity of rum, they came for us again. We were given a few ounces of water and cleaned off with pails of cold water. It was a relief to be free of the hundreds of insects that still clung to my body but I knew it foretold that we were to be raped, and then probably tortured to death.

They took Rosalita first. She was held down and stakes driven into the ground on either side of her head. They bound her wrists to them and then pulled her legs back and tied her ankles to the stakes as well, leaving her sex as open and exposed as the first girl's had been, but without the need to hold her down.

Then they came for me. I watched helplessly as they drove two stakes into the ground in front of me about four feet apart. I started to fight them the minute they cut me down; if I could get free just for a minute maybe I could escape into the jungle that surrounded us. For a moment I thought I had a chance. Rodriguez's hands slipped off my naked skin made slick by sweat and water. As he slid to the ground I bolted, but he reached out and grabbed my ankle, tripping me to the earth next to him. In a flash one of the others was on me and the two of them dragged me kicking and screaming to the stakes, stretched out my arms and bound my wrists.

Still I didn't stop struggling, my desperate efforts driven by fear; the fear of gang rape, torture and a slow agonizing death. Even with my arms and shoulders pinned, I flailed my legs and twisted my body. I sensed Rosalita next to me, heard her sobbing and groaning, and was vaguely aware of more stakes being pounded into the earth near my feet. My thrashing legs were captured and my ankles tightly roped to the new stakes, leaving my naked body tightly spread-eagled and totally powerless to resist.

All I could do was scream, "No! No! Oh God no! Don't do this to me! Don't do this to me!" Then even this was taken from me as a thick rag was stuffed into my mouth and held in place by a rope tied around my head. I started to sob. I turned my head to the left and saw Rosalita's lovely face a few feet from mine, her beautiful features distorted by the gag that bulged out her cheeks and the thick rope that ran between her lips. We stared into each other's eyes and wept together. Soon we knew we would be screaming together.

I felt my hips being lifted and a blanket roll shoved under my ass to raise my sex and make it easier to fuck me. I didn't take my eyes from Rosalita's and we silently said goodbye. Then her face was blocked from my view by her thigh as her attacker mounted her and pushed her legs down. Seconds later I saw Rodriguez looming above me unbuckling his belt.

After fucking us our rapists lit cigars, not for post-coital enjoyment, but to use to torture us. I was lying there after being ravished, moaning into my gag, when I heard Rosalita scream in pain. They had removed her gag – I had never heard anyone scream like that. Then Rodriguez took out my gag and whispered in my ear, "I want you to scream for me and I want to hear it good."

I screamed for him, screamed again and again. I tried to hold them back; I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of hearing my shrieks and knowing how much he was hurting me. And then I begged; pleaded with him to stop torturing me. I didn't want to, knowing it was useless and gave him the pleasure of laughing at my pleas for mercy, and answer them by pressing the lit end of his cigar on the sole of my foot, or in my armpit, or against the inside of my thigh an inch from my pussy.

I don't know how many times he burned me. Between applications of the flame he puffed on the cigar to bring the tip to a cherry red glow. When I wasn't screaming I could hear Rosalita shrieking and begging as she was tortured next to me. I heard her scream, "Not my breasts! Please not my breasts!" and I'm sure she heard me shriek, "Not there! Not there!" when I felt the heat between my thighs.

He did not burn my pussy but pressed the cigar against my perineum and held it there while I howled in agony. When he took it away he pushed the gag back in my mouth and while he retied the rope around my head he said, "I'm too tired. Tomorrow after I fuck you I am going to make you wish you were dead."

I rolled my head to the left and saw Rosalita's face drawn and haggard with pain. I wondered if I looked the same. "I… can't… take any… more." she gasped, before she too was gagged. I wanted to say something, or even simply smile, to help give her the strength to endure our torture. My gag made both impossible. I turned away, no longer able to look at the burns on the side of her breast and deep in her armpit.

Ten minutes later the only sounds were the night sounds of the jungle, my gagged moans and the snores of the men exhausted by their "entertainment" and the copious amounts of rum consumed. Getting air into my lungs was difficult, what with my body stretched out so cruelly by the stakes and my breathing partially blocked by my gag. I thought it must be worse for Rosalita, her doubled up body putting agonizing pressure on her lungs and back. But my own agony soon put thoughts of her out of my mind.

Just being spread-eagled between the stakes was a horrible torture. The pain from the terrible burns on my breasts and belly, between my thighs and in my armpits, did not lessen. It was as though the red hot tip had been thrust there only a minute ago. And worse was the thought of the tortures that were to come in the morning.

It was that thought that made me renew my struggles against the ropes that bound me. I had to be free before our torturers awoke. I fought with all my strength, pulling and twisting at the unyielding ropes. And then as if in a dream I felt the rope that held my left wrist begin to move. Suddenly I had hope and I redoubled my efforts, concentrating on my left wrist. It took five minutes but all at once my left arm was free. It was not the rope that gave but the stake. Ten minutes of clawing at the other ropes and stakes and I was free.

I untied Rosalita, leaving her gag in until she was aware of what was happening, afraid she would give us away in her confusion. The girl that had confessed looked to be beyond help and the fourth one was nowhere to be seen. Rosalita and I struck out in different directions, thinking that would be our best chance of escaping. I stumbled through the forest using the stars to orient myself and keep me moving in a straight line. I never thought I would make it, but I did.

Months later, safe in Miami, I found out that Rosalita had not. She had been caught the very morning we fled. They tortured her for hours trying to make her tell which way I had gone. My informants would not tell me exactly what they did to her. I eventually found out that they had tied her between two trees and that her torture involved knives and stones heated in red hot coals. They did not have to tell me she died screaming to the end.




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