Elaine was taken from her cell. She was led upstairs and pushed into a chair. It was made of heavy wood and bolted to the floor. Her ankles and wrists were strapped to the legs and arms.
She was questioned. Every time she refused to answer she was shocked with an electric prod. Usually the prod was touched to her briefly, anywhere, on her arm, on her breast, on her stomach or behind her knee. She would give a sharp cry of pain and her body would stiffen and rise against her fetters for the moment the prod was touching her, then fall back into the chair, limp and panting. But sometimes they would hold the prod in one spot for a few seconds or move it up her leg or touch her over and over in rapid succession on her wrist, neck, thigh, breast, shoulder. Then she would struggle and heave in her bonds, gasping in pain.
They interrogated her like this for six hours, alternating sessions of rest and torture. The torture sessions lasted until she fainted. Then they would rouse her with a dousing of cold water and let her rest to regain some of her strength. The room was warm but she shivered from the cold water. When she was wet the shocks were worse; they seemed to envelope her entire body, not just her knee or nipple or where ever the prod was touching.
They kept her awake between sessions so she could anticipate the next touch of the prod and the terrible pain. Bound in the chair she could only wait. Sometimes they would touch her with the prod when it was not charged. She cried out anyway. Once in the middle of a session they slowly moved the prod up between her thighs. They had not put the prod there in the hours before.
Reflexively Elaine tried to close her thighs, but her ankles were strapped so tightly to the outside of the chair legs, she could not move her knees more than an inch. For the first time she begged, moaning "No no no," and writhing in her bonds against the upcoming horror. But when the prod touched her panties it was off. She sobbed uncontrollably in relief, unable to prevent the tears although she knew it was telling them how to better torment and finally hurt her.
They almost broke Elaine in the last hours. They turned up the charge. They feinted at the wet panties before burning her high up on the inside of her thigh. The pain was excruciating and the message was clear: there was no where they could not reach, they could press the prod to the most delicate of places, they could make it worse, and worse, and worse. And they would.
Now the rest periods brought their own new horror. Her mind was fixed between her widely spread thighs. Would this be the time they pressed the prod against her sex? Or would they first remove her panties so that it actually touched the lips of her vagina? Or push it deep inside her before they turned on the voltage? They could do that. They would do that. But they were waiting, waiting. Taking pleasure in her torture. Enjoying her torment while she fought to keep from breaking.
At the end, when they again turned up the charge, and worked on her belly and breasts over and over, she began screaming. But she did not talk. She did not break.
After six hours they unbuckled Elaine’s wrists from the torture chair. They were crossed and lashed together with thin leather thongs that sliced into her skin, already rubbed raw and bleeding from her desperate struggles against the straps, and fastened to a winch over her head. It straightened her arms and held her body upright, her ankles still strapped fast to the heavy wooden legs. Elaine’s head hung down between her outstretched arms, lolling on her chest, an occasional groan the only hint they she was barely conscious. One of the men walked over to the winch’s crank and reached for the handle. "Not yet. I want her alert for the whole of this, for every minute of torment, even when we strip her."
A syringe was pushed into Elaine’s buttock. Almost immediately her breath began to come faster and her head lifted. Her eyes were open but unfocused, but within a few seconds they showed first puzzlement and then horror in rapid succession.
"That’s better," he said, grasping her chin lightly, "Welcome back."
Elaine moaned, shook her head free of his hand and looked up the length of her arms to her leather-bound wrists, then back at him. "No!" she gasped. He slapped her face. "Tell me!" he shouted. Again she screamed "No!" Shaking her head, "No, no, no," impossible to tell if she were crying out in defiance or in horror of her impending torture.
"Strip her," he ordered, "Cut her clothes off. But do it slowly." As the aide approached Elaine began to writhe and twist her upper body where it hung from the winch. Her buttocks rose from the seat but the strain on her fettered ankles forced her back where she squirmed and twisted and rose once more. Again she was slapped. She spit at him and he stepped back. "Position her first, then we'll strip her."
"Pig!" she shouted at him.
There were two men at her side. One unstrapped her left ankle and pulled it back and up to the rear of the arm of the chair where the second man bent it sole up and tied it off. Then they tied her knee to the front, looping the thick twine around the top of the leg of the torture chair, so it held her leg immobile from knee to ankle. Elaine screamed "You pigs! You fucking pigs!" at them as they repeated the process on her right leg.
Unable to move her lower legs and with her wrists tied to the hoist above her, Elaine still twisted and fought against her bounds with the renewed vigor of the adrenaline shot. He watched her for a moment. She saw his smile and screamed and spit at him. His smile grew and he said "Stretch her tight, so she can't move."
The slack was taken out of Elaine’s body with the first turns of the winch.
"Slower," he barked. Elaine’s arms were pulled straight and her back stretched erect above her hips. She was silent now except for the rush of air that accompanied her rapid breathing. Her face was concentrated on fighting the pain that was starting to build as she was slowly stretched. Each turn of the gears winched the hoist a half inch higher.
They came minutes apart. After six Elaine was gasping for air, tears running uncontrollably down her cheeks. Pain raced down her arms from her tethered wrists and up her thighs from her pinioned knees. With the next turn the air fairly exploded from Elaine’s throat with a loud ahhhhh and each following breath was a short grunt.
"Stop," he said, "Now let’s see her nude."
Slowly they stripped her, cutting away her shift, and exposing her soft firm breasts heaving on her distended ribcage, and flat hard stomach quivering with strain above her panties. Elaine was helpless, unable to stop the outrage and humiliation, unable to even move as she was stripped naked for torture. She stared straight ahead as the shift was cut away in sections, shuddering involuntarily when their hands touched her, not looking at him or them or down at her own lithe body as it was slowly denuded.
She was naked now except for the thin white panties. He could see her struggling to maintain her dignity despite her torment. She was biting her lip, holding her head up, not struggling against her painful bonds. The cold blade of the scissors ran beneath the edge of her panties, cut the elastic band, and moved downward, slicing the fabric, the steel moving through her pubic hair, and then actually between the lips of her pussy.
Elaine was in effect kneeling on the chair, her thighs spread wide , forming an inverted vee, held open by the ropes that bound her ankles and knees. They cut carefully, all the way between her legs to the top of the back of the panties, then up the inside of each thigh till it met the first slit and the panties were gone and she was completely naked and open and helpless before her tormentors. But Elaine knew her nudity was just the start. They had not stripped her, stretched her and spread her open merely to humiliate her. They had bound her like this for torture, and now that she was nude, the torture would begin.
She knew that the torture would be horrible. This time they would not neglect her pussy. That is why her thighs were spread in a wide vee, that is why they had stripped off her panties. They knew how she feared that, how she had begged them not to hurt her there. She also understood they would not start the torture between her legs, that they would move slowly toward that climax, drawing it out, making the anticipation another part of her torment - just as when they had made her wait helplessly for them to resume her torture, strapped immobile in the chair, still gasping from the agony of having her nipples, breasts, belly and armpits seared with the electric prod. She had imagined them parting her labia and inserting the instrument deep inside her before turning on the current - wondering whether it would be now or later.
"You're trembling," he said, "But being so brave. How touching. You'll show us, won't you? How to bear the suffering of endless torture, with dignity and bravery. But how long do you think it will be before you are screaming for mercy, begging me to stop? Even now you're thinking about your exposed pussy, and what we are going to do to you there, how we are going to torture your lips and clit and deep inside you. You will talk, first you will scream, but then you will talk."
They blindfolded Elaine. She felt even more helpless now that she could not see what they were going to do to her. She moaned softly. Still he spoke to her. "But we will not start with your cunt. We will start with your feet, with your toes. Then perhaps your breasts and nipples." His hand went between her legs and she gave a short cry, her hips jerking back the few inches the ropes would allow. "Tighten her two turns," he called out, still touching her, playing with the lips of her vagina, "One, then two." He was rolling her clit between his fingers when the gears turned. Elaine stifled a groan of pain between her clenched teeth. "I can feel your pain here, you cannot hide it from me." He squeezed her clitoris for a moment and she cried out despite her resolve. He laughed and his fingers went inside her, stretching her. She moaned. "Think," he said, "What if this were the prod, or a red hot iron, or a glass tube coated with acid."
Elaine heard movement, felt heat wash over her body. It was going to start, it was going to start. She started to struggle. At that moment the gears turned again and his fist went between her lips and Elaine went wild, writhing in her bonds, screaming at him, cursing him, calling him a pig and shrieking she would never talk.
They pulled off her blindfold. The first thing she saw were the glowing coals in the brassier and then the pincers and instruments being heated red hot. It seemed far away. It was in a mirror. And she saw herself in the mirror: nude, bound to the torture chair ankle and knee, her arms stretched far above her head, her lithe body stretched taut, her thighs spread open revealing her genitals, her breasts rising and falling on her rib cage above her ridged stomach. She screamed "Noooooo." And they began.
"The brands and pincers come later. We will start by tearing out your toenails, one by one. If you thought the prod was torture, you will soon learn it was nothing. This will have you screaming your lungs out. And of course we will do it slowly."
The aide moved to her left foot. He had needle-nosed pliers in his hand. He stroked the sole of her foot making her toes curl. Reflexively she tried to pull her foot away but it was bound so tightly to the chair - thick cord wrapped over and over around her ankle and thinner cord crisscrossing her instep and sole tied off to the chair as well - she could not move it a fraction of an inch. The pliers had the nail of her small toe. The aide started working it up and down. The pain started immediately, shooting up her leg and making her back arch. She gritted her teeth, determined not to give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream.
The aide did not hold her toe so there was no resistance and it moved with the nail in the grip of the pliers. For long minutes he forced the toenail up and down and from side to side, sometimes twisting it and sometimes pulling on it. He was not trying to pull the nail free, not yet, but simply prolonging Elaine’s agony.
The pain was constant and terrible, and when the toe reached the limit of its movement and the nail pulled a little away from the flesh, it was all Elaine could do to keep from screaming. Finally he began to slowly pull the nail straight out from Elaine’s toe with slowly increasing pressure. With her poor bare foot locked in place the force was so great that she could feel it up the length of her calf to where her knee was also locked by thick crossed ropes, and she thought her toe would be pulled from its socket. The pain reached a crescendo with Elaine pulling desperately at the chain that stretched her arms above her, ignoring the pain of the thongs tearing at her wrists, mindlessly trying to lift herself away from the agony tearing at her foot. Then the nail was ripped free and her entire body lurched forward in a paroxysm of pain.
Elaine hung there, suspended by her wrists, head hanging, gasping for air. Under other conditions the pain from her little toe would have been excruciating, but it was almost bearable after the constant torture and final explosion of agony.
"Tell me - who is your contact?" Elaine shook her head. "You have nine more toes my dear."
"Fuck you," she whispered. He smiled, "Right foot please, Andre."
Elaine strained with all her might against the ropes that held her foot, knowing it was hopeless, but unable to bear the thought of simply waiting for them to start the torture again. If only she could move it a fraction, but her entire calf was pinned by ankle, foot and knee. The finger stroked her sole, her toes curled, the pliers gripped her nail, and Elaine started to sob.
By the time the third nail was torn free, the beautiful young girl was biting her arm to keep from screaming. In response he strapped her elbows together, putting even greater pressure on her tormented shoulders. "You were cheating," he said, and added to Elaine’s agony by tying her long black hair to the leather strap so her head was pulled up and back and held fast to her tightly stretched arms. When he had the winch cranked one more turn Elaine knew she could not resist screaming our her pain much longer, but the thought of betraying Annie never entered her mind.
With her head bound so tightly to the leather strap that lashed her elbows together she could not move it down at all and only side to side a matter of a few degrees; she was forced to stare straight ahead. He was just to the side of her, telling her to give up her contact, telling her to betray Annie.
Naked, bound and stretched so tightly she could not move a muscle, she could not even avoid the sight of her torture in the mirror before her. "If you close your eyes I will cut off your eyelids,” he promised. She believed him. She was completely helpless. There was nothing she could do. As though reading her thoughts he whispered in her ear, "Not quite, pretty one, you can still scream. And you can still talk."
Andre was at her right foot again. "Number four," he said, and the pliers started their work.
Elaine saw her face contort and her mouth open wide, but before the air rushed from her throat she managed to close it. She was breathing entirely through her nose, her lips clamped tightly together. Never, she thought, never never never, through a red haze of pain that grew and grew and grew. Through that haze she saw her body in the mirror, nude and helpless, so utterly helpless, waiting for them to tear out her toenails, all of them, and then her nipples, and she could not move, just wait for the hot brand on her breasts, and she could not move her beautiful body naked and helpless legs spread hot needles through her lips acid in her vagina and she can't move must watch in the mirror her torture...
Elaine was screaming. A mindless shriek of pain and fear. She screamed until the nail was torn out of her toe. Then she begged him. She begged him to stop. She begged him to let her die. She begged him to just loosen the ropes and straps.
"Tell me who your contact is," he answered. "I can't," she screamed, "I can't I can't I can't."
"Have it your way," he said. She opened her mouth to plead with him and something was forced between her jaws, a wedge shaped piece of wood that was being fastened in her mouth by a rope that circled her head.
"Tear the rest of them out, and make it last at least an hour, preferably two. And you, my dear," he patted her cheek, "Can shriek into your gag and tell it who your contact is."
"It’s my sister," she shrieked as he walked away, but all that anyone could hear was a muffled scream behind her gag. Andre was already holding the nail of the middle toe of her left foot with his pliers, while she stared at the beautiful young nude being tortured in the mirror.