Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)


By Esso

The narrator and his lover have been captured by the Fidelistas, who want the location of a man who is an enemy of the state. He is being brought to a room where his lover is being prepared for torture.

The shriek of unbearable horror crashed against my ears again. It was high pitched and mad. I’d once heard an animal in a trap scream that way. I knew no animal lay inside the room.

“Wait until they really do something to her, gringo,” Manuel hissed into my ear.

“Bastard!” I groaned. “Stinking miserable bastard!”

Jose used the brass knuckles again, laying open my cheek. I blinked back the tears of pain and rage which welled in my eyes. Slowly my vision cleared.

“Mother in Heaven, no!” I thought my lungs would burst with the force of my cry.

My blood ran cold. Three of the bastards stood around the giant table – their drunken lips dripping fouls obscenities. Two watched while the third finished the job of tying Hilda down. She’d already taken a beating. I could tell that from the way her dress was torn to shreds. Her cheek still bore the imprint of a man’s palm.

Furiously she writhed against the ropes that held her legs spread-eagled to the table. Her arms convulsed against the bonds which slithered over her thin wrists.

“Puta!” the fat slob with the rope spat at her.

His flabby fist reached down. I heard the tearing of cloth. The cords on his neck stood out. I looked at Hilda again. She was naked now except for the skimpy net bra which did so little to cover her magnificent breasts and the frilly black nylon briefs which served only to enhance the curve of her hips.

The other two giggled like simpering maniacs. They said something in Spanish and their evil laugh told me they were as bad as the slob.

Hilda thrashed madly against her bonds. The rough hemp chafed the silken smoothness of her skin and little drops of blood began to run down her arms.

One of the bastards took a pair of pliers from his pocket and showed then to her.

“Ten fingers…Ten toes…How long, senorita?” he said in a high pitched whine.

“Is your life not worth that of an old pig who will die of natural causes in a matter of months?” the bastard asked.

“I have nothing to say,” Hilda groaned through clenched teeth. She’s bitten her lip and there was a little claret on her lips.

“The fingernails and toenails are only the beginning. It would be such a waste of such beauty. The brain can only take so much pain and then you will be insane. Where is the old one?” the fat one urged. His fingers trailed up and down her flesh, pausing at the front of her bra and wrenching it from her.

Hilda’s stomach drew in, seeking to escape the lingering, diseased touch of the soldier’s hand. He laughed deep in his throat and cuffed her across the side of the head.

“How about you, gringo?” he asked. “You will not stand by and let every man in this garrison take this woman. You will not want to watch what they do. Some of them are not so, how you say, gentle.”

The two goons who held me leaned forward. I heard the sound of their breath sucking in as the fat greaser hooked his filthy fingers in the waistband of Hilda’s panties. The material gave way with a harsh, tearing sound.

The Mr. Big at the end of the table looked down at the sweating, straining girl. His hand patted her naked stomach.

“Senorita, you can spare yourself much. One word and you will be free to leave.”

“I have nothing to say,” Hilda answered through clenched teeth.

Our captors leaned closer. None of them wanted to miss Hilda’s suffering. Manuel began drooling. His beady eyes were hot and mad looking. He let go of my arm and moved to Hilda. Maliciously he lit a cigarette and puffed on it until the end glowed a brilliant red. Slowly he took the butt from his mouth and held it above Hilda’s breast. She stared at the descending cigarette and whimpered. The muscles in her lithe arms and legs corded as she pulled frantically at her bonds. Manuel touched the glowing coal to her bare flesh just above her nipple. And then again and again around the aureole. She screamed. The table shook with her pitiful writhing.

“End her suffering, gringo,” Jose growled into my ear. “She is much too beautiful to be used this way.”

I knew better than to fall for the freedom pitch. Carlos’ stories of their brutality had been mild compared to the real thing. We were as good as dead.

The fat greaser took the pliers. I heard them click shut. I heard Hilda’s shriek crashing off the walls and ceiling. Blood spurted from her index finger. Sweat stood out all over her naked body. The ropes danced with her straining.

“No, no,” Mr. Big said, reaching for the pliers. “Much too fast. You must pull slowly, make the pain grow and grow.” He walked to the bottom of the table and fastened the pliers to the nail on the second toe of Hilda’s right foot. “Like this,” he said, and began to pull.

Hilda’s back arched off the table and her screams reached a new pitch. She fell back and then immediately arched against the ropes again. True to his word, her torturer drew out Hilda’s agony to the maximum. Sweat flew off her nude body as she thrashed about wildly under her torture.

For a long moment time seemed to stand still. Mr. Big stopped pulling, maintaining a constant, terrible pressure on the nail. Hilda stopped struggling, as though waiting for some kind of climax, her body still thrust upward in a tight bow. Her screaming had become a series of desperate grunts. Then the nail was torn loose, Hilda uttered one long shriek of pain, her body pulled again at the ropes and then collapsed in a dead faint.

A bucket of water was splashed over her and she awoke moaning in pain. Manuel stood over her, a lit cigarette in his hand. Hilda shook her head groaning “No…no…”

Manuel blew on the tip turning it bright red. “You are naked for a reason,” he said.

He reached down between Hilda’s widely spread thighs and pinched one of her lips between two fingers. “No!” she screamed. “Oh God no!” Manuel distended the lip ignoring her pleading and thrashing as she tried desperately pull her ankles free of her bonds and close her legs. “You can’t. Oh God no you can’t. Please. Not there. Oh God no, not there.”

Mr. Big leaned over her. “Give us what we want or I will have Jose start.”

She was sobbing and begging him, “Not my pussy. Oh God not my pussy,” but not giving him the information he wanted. I saw Mr. Big nod to Manuel and I fought the two goons that held me with all my strength. In my wildest nightmares I could not imagine anyone doing what they were about to do to Hilda. But they were too strong and I was still groggy from my beating. I screamed along with Hilda when the cigarette hissed into the tender lip of her vagina.

Manuel pressed the cigarette against the inside of Hilda’s pussy lips five more times. Each time her body writhed and arched and she shrieked in unendurable agony. In the pauses between the applications of the fire to her sex, while Jose sucked on the cigarette to bring the tip to a red hot glow, she screamed for mercy and begged for them to stop.

My two guards moved closer to better see Hilda’s torture. She saw me for the first time since we had been captured. “Help me,” she cried out, “Make them stop. I can’t take any more. Help meeeee…” Her last plea dissolved into a high pitched scream as once again the cigarette was pushed into her pussy.

“Gag her,” Mister Big ordered, “Her screaming is giving me a headache.”

Before Hilda had a chance to react a dirty cloth was shoved deep in her mouth. The meaning was obvious: the greasy bastards didn’t really care very much about her information, they just wanted to watch her suffer.

What they did next was barbarous beyond what I thought even this scum was capable of - four large fishhooks were produced, each with a few feet of line attached. While Hilda screamed hysterically into her gag, the hooks were sunk deep into her labia, at the top and bottom of each lip, and held by a soldier on each side of her hips, The lines were then pulled taut, opening her pussy wide. While one of the goons rolled Hilda’s clit between his thumb and forefinger, as second heated a long needle with a cigarette lighted, making sure it was in Hilda’s view, until it glowed cherry red.

It was clear where the needle was to be thrust, and Hilda’s screams were as loud as if she were not gagged. She shook her head frantically from side to side; bound as she was, and with the hooks and lines pulling on her pussy, it was the only movement she was capable of that wasn’t horribly painful.

I had only one thought – to make sure we died cleanly. The sight of Hilda’s torture was the only thing working for us. One of the guards had moved to the table to watch Hilda’s ordeal more closely and Jose too wanted to take part in it. He grew restless at guarding me. I felt his attention wander to the naked woman screaming and struggling on the torture table. It was my chance.

Of course the hero frees himself, overpowers the bad guys, and he and Hilda escape. Oh well.

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