M/w/ extreme torture/snuff
Original French text "reve de fer, reve de sang". Translation by artist Sophie (you can see her works here: https://www.visionsofdarkness.com/index.php?threads/sophies-retrospective-thread-dark-assortment.525/
August 18, 1936 - Siege of the Alcazar
The Captain - Marquis Francisco Cabeza de Vaca - folds his faded trousers carefully. They are the color of an almost white sand. He places them over the back of the chair of dowager which constitutes the principal furniture of his house. He hangs his belt on the edge and covers it with the jacket of his uniform. Finally, he peels off his shirt and casually lets it fall on his jacket. His boots are already under the chair.
The previous night, some elements of the international brigades had infiltrated into the suburbs. Holed up in the post office they had determinedly machine gunned the impregnable walls of Alcazar. They regular salvos had set the rhythm for the small garrison since the morning.
Shaking his head, he approaches the large, open window. The sun was already starting to roast the Moroccan back-up troops and the echo of the detonations was deadened by the overheated stones. Smiling, he closes the shutters. Temporarily blinded by the hard light, it takes him a few moments to distinguish the figure of Soledad. Initially it is but a shadow in the unreal whiteness of the sheets on the canopied four-poster bed, but gradually he is able to make out the contours with increasing precision, her matt skin and the dark bulge of her pubis.
He lies down beside her and is aware of a shiver which shakes her thighs. He places his hand with its sharp nails in the hollow of her groin and the rough skin of his dry palm grates her silky skin as his fingers start to explore. His index finger strokes her brown fleece and caresses gently. Delicately he grasps the hairs - sticky with perspiration - and toys with them.
Her mons veneris contracts in response as his finger touches the edges of her lips. He plays with them for a few moments, gently awakening the intimate flesh. His nail finds an opening, peels it back and slowly inserts. This caused Soledad to pull back on her restraints. The handcuffs on her wrists clanked. Moving upwards he places his hands on her mid chest - God, how large and firm are her breasts! He takes hold of them in his hands and squeezes them tight, crushing the soft meat. Very slowly he pulls them upwards until her coffee coloured areolas are at the level of her shoulders.
He fixes with intensity the panicked gaze of the young anarchist of POUM. Then he drives his large member deep into her barely lubricated cunt, covering her mouth with his hand to stifle her cry of surprise. I hate you, I hate you, say the black eyes. Then begins a fight between two wills. He pinches the tip of her breast hard and closes his lips on the nipple. His hand crushes her other, rolling the tender flesh between his fingers. His short beard scrapes the skin and his tongue laps at the nipple. He bites it a little. Soledad is unable to stop herself raising her buttocks and with their legs intertwined, he contracts his toes to assist his exercise. He tries to concentrate all his power into the tip of his too narrow, doggish cock. It is rock hard now. No, no, no - I don't want it, she affirms, her brown mane flying in all directions.
Antonio closes the door very slowly. Pulling on his collar he silently descends the narrow, spiral staircase. His glance is fixed and his lips form a strange grimace. The faithful watchdog perches on the first step.
When Soledad's cunt contracted, he almost came. Quickly he bit his lip, drawing blood - NO, shit! not now! Not before her. He manages to prevent his ejaculation and pulls out of her. Soledad wants her victory. Her chest rises to meet the pious medal hanging from his neck, but he avoids penetrating her completely this time. His purple prick is like the head of a ram which drives asunder the lips of her vulva. It hammers her labia as he slips his hand under his flat belly to rub the bud of her clitoris. Soledad does her best to resist, but her breathing becomes heavier. A mist of perspiration forms in her eyelashes and he pelvis lunges to meet his shaft. But she is defeated and Francisco hears her light roaring. At that very instant, they are lovers. Now he penetrates her completely and she hates her body for betraying her as she fights to resist another orgasm. He doesn't move this time, the importance of his act curiously eludes him at this moment. He is cultivated enough to be able to forsee in which direction the balance of history will lean, but for the present, he cares not.
She howls silently. He bites her, but not in play. His teethmarks surround her areola and the taste of blood mingles in his mouth with the salt of her skin. He could clearly perceive the jolt of her body and her mucous membranes tightened deliciously and even more strongly than had she climaxed. His mouth moves lower down and she anticipates another bite. To her surprise, she prays for one! Taking a small piece of flesh at the base of her udder, his teeth bite more deeply this time. A few drops of blood land on the sheet as she raises her chest. Black-blue circles surround reddish holes on her skin. The look of absolute fear in her eyes feeds his desire and he fixes her gaze until his teeth choose another scrap of skin to tear. Briefly he raises his head and narrows his eyes. Like a wild beast, he clamps shut his jaws to crush a huge mouthful that he starts to chew without detaching his claws.
Soledad's back is arched off the bed. A cord of suffering. She raises her body upwards as if it is she who is making love now. He enjoys biting her more or less severely, regulating the tension of her muscles as if playing a violin. There are some deep holes of rent flesh mixed with blood. For these magical moments of absolute pleasure he would gladly sacrifice his soul and his honour. He wonders if he can ever surpass them in the rest of his life or to magnify them at every moment. But he already knows the answer. For the last time, he clutches her martyred nipples and shakes them brutally.
He rises and leaves. Soledad's gaze follows him as much as the fog of her tears allows her. The door creaks momentarily and he returns with something in his hand which he places on the ground. He holds a wire in his hand and connects it to the generator before letting it fall. He waits a few moments before attaching it to a glowing point of iron on the eye of the cherub at the foot of the bed. Soledad closes her eyes. She wants him to sit down heavily by her side, but feels the wire of the soldering iron slip along her thigh like a snake. She bites her lip, but nothing could prepare her for that. Neither the bullet that penetrated her thigh last year, nor the dysentery that failed to carry her child. She hears a "fzzz" as the flash grips her body. He proceeds to cauterise her wounds which form a visible target. He is slightly inconvenienced by the odour of grilled meat and smoke pricks his eyes, but he continues to forage sharply in the wounds sparing only a few moments of rest to her panting body. The blackened and carbonised edges form little by little at the sharp red margins of her scars.
She faints and he waits a few moments before squeezing her nostrils to revive her. Her mouth tries to open in spasms as if she were drowning and her wild eyes return from happy darkness. They blink as the iron stem skims her nipple, but instead of withdrawing it, he holds it in place. "Fzzzzzzzzzzzz" - the noisy crack surprises him. Soledad's right arm is dislocated at the end of the chain and the bud of her breast is half charred. A thick odour now rises between her tetanized thighs. With a disgusted wrinkling of his nostrils, he rises abruptly knocking the chair. His Mauser C.96 escapes from it's holster and he returns to apply the iron to the right side of her left udder, inserting it and twisting it. The flesh offers a slight resistance which surprises him.
Soledad faints a second time and he has to slap her hard before she returns to her hell. The long barrel of the Mauser meets his gaze as she manages to regain consciousness. She suffers so much that she is no longer coherent and it takes him a long time to call a halt. Veiling her glance she feels the cold metal of the gun enter her vagina. She is in too much pain to feel the slightest sexual stimulation as he drives the weapon in and out - a gift from Kurt on the day the Condor legion returned the honours to Caudillo. She opens her eyes, begging him with all her strength beyond the pain.
Antonio started. He rises brutally and picks up his helmet. He awkwardly adjusts it to salute the troops. The clamour of victory flies to the watchtowers.
"VIVA LA MUERTE"