The revolution had come, and failed, and gone. Afterwards came the repression, exactly as it had been predicted and feared for so many years.
Tens of thousands of rebels and leftists, yippies, hippies, radicals, marxists, and simple liberals were rounded up and incarcerated in camps that were nothing more or less than concentration camps. Special prisons were swiftly set up for hard core incorrigible revolutionary elements. Martial law was declared and held in effect as the far right seized the opportunity to take the real power into their own hands. Fascism reigned.
In the prisons a systematic rule of terror was put into action to break the spirits of the radicals, to smash their self esteem and morale and once and forever deny the possibility of a repeat of the revolution. The object was to destroy them as independent autonomous human beings, to degrade and brainwash and humiliate them to the point that they would remain cringing, subservient slaves for the remainder of their days.
Young boys were turned into drag queens, bound up in petticoats and lace under the command of domineering women in high leather boots wielding whips and full power over them. They were fucked up the ass, forced to suck cock for hours at a time, compelled to eat shit. They lapped up spit and suffered every atrocity to their dignity that the minds of their captors could conceive.
The girls suffered even worse tortures. They were systematically gang raped by both men and women, turned into cocksuckers and cuntlappers, whipped and racked, branded and tattooed. They suffered the public humiliations of group flogging and mass fucking. They were chained up in small structures resembling doghouses and fed the shit of animals. They were raped by dogs and donkeys, stallions and pigs. They were filmed in their deepest and darkest moments of despair and degradation and forced to view the films of their sufferings in auditoriums packed with jeering, leering fascist pigs who pawed and fondled them and jerked off on them and fucked their mouths until the come ran down the cleavage between their breasts and wound into their growths of pubic hair.
If a girl spoke out of turn she was shaved bald, almost broken in two with rubber truncheons, turned on a spit over a low fire. Many continued to defy with all of their fortitude even learning to embrace and partially enjoy the tortures that were committed against them. But even this did not faze their tormenters who used their growing masochism as a form of entertainment to break the self-respect of the other prisoners.
New Devils Island was the worse of the special detention prisons for political radicals and revolutionaries. Girls and boys were chained together for weeks in the head to toe position, raped and mauled, their bodies smeared with their own filth until they could not stomach the sight of one another. Girls were strapped to the bellies of jackasses trained to rape them. Huge dogs where also turned loose in packs upon eagle spread girls chained to the dungeon floors screaming in maddened fear.
Every girl received at least two spankings a day, every young boy at least five. Whippings and brandings were commonplace and hardly a single prisoner could escape one severe punishment at least once a week. The food was adequate, although dog and cat food was frequently added to the menu. The true horror of the menu was the unexpected and unpredictable little additions of spices and herbs which would send the entire mess hall madly scurrying for the johns. But the inmates would be stopped short by the guards armed with sub-machine guns and ordered to stand to attention. They would stand rigidly straight as the oozing diarrhea ran down their thighs, down their legs. After that would come the unpleasant ordeal of cleaning themselves off as well as the filth smeared floors. It was hell without any question.
Of course there was resistance at first. But after a riot which cost the prisoner's fifty dead and the guards suffered but a few minor injuries, all resistance became token. The authorities were on top of the situation. The prisoners were constantly shifted from cell block to cell block, kept in constant terror, drugged and sedated at times to keep them fucked up. Some were put on heroin, and strung out on pure skag, they were coerced and blackmailed with withdrawal into serving as spies, and kapo style underling guards over their fellow inmates. The system was totally barbaric, totally terrifying, and totally effective.
The inmates were turned paranoic upon themselves, radical against anarchist, against liberal. Blacks were treated far, far worse than whites. All black militant girls were shaven bald, branded on breasts, faces and asses, tattooed with obscenities, broken and degraded. All except those who cooperated with the staff; they received first-rate food and were able to put into effect a few token reforms and improvements for the other black prisoners�but only for the black prisoners and only so long as they cooperated with extreme brutality.
The same routine was used on all other divisions and groupings, and with equal effect. A hard core of ten or twenty percent of the population of each political prison was used to cow and dominate the rest of the population as an auxiliary terror force. Each group of turncoats was in the position of aiding themselves personally and aiding their fellows in a small way. Thus division and discord was allowed to manifest and fester in the ranks of the inmates.
New Devil's Island was notorious as Auschwitz under a regime as cruel as the regime that had run the death camps. With the indefinite suspension of elections and the superseding of Congress and The Supreme Court by The Emergency Internal Security Council, kept in power by the assassination of hundreds of political and military figures during the crisis by themselves, but blaming it on the revolution; democracy had ended in the United States.
Cell Block 1 was the worse in New Devil's Island. The population was made up of hard core women radical gunfighters, the Witch's Brigade contributing many of the toughest members. This brigade had slaughtered hundreds of police, FBI, and army personnel before it was vanquished. The dictatorship had sentenced the captives of the Brigade to slow death, death by agonizing torture and humiliation.
With no alternative choices or power to resist left, the members followed the example of Veronica Corda, their leader. They reveled in torture to the utmost of their endurance as the Christian martyrs had centuries before.
Veronica was personally tortured each day by Warden Gale Barragon, a sadistic demon whose entire family had been wiped out by a terrorist's bomb. She herself had been hideously scarred along one side of her face and her mind and flesh had bled and seared into one another. She had paranoid and psychotic tendencies which made her ideal for the job.
Veronica was her choice object of hate-love. It became a contest to see who would triumph. They developed a sex thing between them, a weird combination of the sadomasochistic tendencies they both liberated and developed in combination as inmate and overseer of the horror camp; a mutual grudging respect based on toughness and durability; a knowledge of guilt based on their losses and self-destructive tendencies toward violence; and pity for each other's tragedies.
Gale tortured Veronica mercilessly and loved her as she destroyed her, licking and sucking the flesh she mutilated and degraded. Veronica herself was in a state of wild orgasm constantly during even the most frightful tortures.
"Break, you bitch. Grovel, beg, suck my feet, eat my shit," babbled Gale.
"Fuck off pig," responded Veronica.
It was the third month of her ordeal under the hands of the fiend with whom she had found a rapport of hate stronger than love. Gale was her entire universe, the only person with whom she still had communication and touch, and although her destroyer there was the mad attraction to her.
"I've already destroyed you," crowed Warden Barragon. "Look at the juice streaming from your dirty Marxist cunt. You're all freaked out and fucked up on love of self-annihilation. I've made you a groveling, whimpering masochist who loves her slow death at my hands."
Veronica looked at her with bitter hate and insane passion, longing for the touch of whip and branding iron to her body, to end her agony and make her name a legend, to find life in death.
"Fuck off, scarface."
The word had struck home. With a cry of rage the warden plucked a red-hot iron out of the fire and thrust it into Veronica's belly. There was the horrible smell of burning flesh, smoke spiraled up from the jerking midsection flesh. Veronica's face expressed indescribable ecstasy and unbearable pain.
"Think you'll be remembered as a great revolutionary heroine when you die? Not a chance. You'll be remembered with scorn as a maso-yellow gutless freak whom we broke and turned into a pain slave. The so-called Fascists whom you despise will jack off to movies of your torture. Male chauvinist pigs will ball slave girls watching me finish by roasting you like a pig over a slow fire.
Veronica's head hung forward, rolling from left to right. Saliva dripped from her mouth, smoke curled up from the fresh brand mark, and come oil flowed copiously from her cunt. But she still was unbroken and she fixed her torturer with burning eyes.
"I feel sorry for you scarface. So much hate. You haven't the capacity to groove on your own death any more than you can groove on life. I can adjust to anything, even to my own death. I can enjoy my own agony. It's the strength of our group, the power of our brigade. It's how our girls were able to turn themselves into human bombs to walk into police stations and take dozens with them into eternity. But you have ceased to exist already."
The warden stepped forward and gripped the prisoner by her breasts, digging her claws into the fresh burn mark, black and ugly Surrounded by a raised reddish ridge. "Kiss me."
Veronica kissed her passionately on the mouth, exchanging saliva with her demolisher as pain in great waves of fire and lightning coursed through her breasts.
"I'm going to remove your teeth soon. I'll have the dentist drill each nerve in each tooth slowly. Then he'll pull all of your teeth out one by one in bits and pieces. I only regret that I can't do it myself, but I'd only succeed in smashing your jaws."
Veronica's eyes rolled.
"It sounds dreadful, you Nazi fuck. But also wonderful. The pain would be excruciating. But so fantastic an experience." Gale pinched the burn mark. A spasm of agony shot through her captive's form. The lovely body, still white and wonderful, despite the twenty brand marks on the ass, belly and breast. Despite the little black marks denoting the penetration of red-hot needles. Despite the hundreds of whip scars.
She thrust her fingers into Veronica's cunt and forked her hand, gouging the tender and sensitive cunt lining with her sharp devilish fingernails.
"How will you kill me in the end?" asked Veronica, holding down the means that sought to escape from her bruised lips.
"I'm going to roast you. First I'll hang you up by your thumbs and big toes. I'll turn a blowtorch on your ass, your breasts, your armpits. I'll burn your cunt and asshole black. Then I'll ignite a slow, small fire under you and baste you as if you were a pig, which you are. I'll roast you until the fat gushes out of your flesh."
"Don't destroy my cunt. Let me cream and dream all through the ordeal. My final moments must be wild ones before I ascend the martyrdom trail to Valhalla."
"You're crazy, you pig. This is one circus you won't enjoy. You'll be screaming until your voice cracks."
"Why not eat me. Cut away hunks and steaks from my ass, thighs, and breasts as you roast and burn me and eat me alive." The warden fingered the prisoner's belly burn.
"There are limits to even what I can do."
"There are no limits to anything. I'll be-come the most renowned of heroines of the revolution and you the darkest of the demons. But if you fear the public knowledge, then do it to me here, while we're alone. Just the two of us, Fascist scum."
The warden looked at her quizzically. "Just for the record, commie. If you could still reverse all this and come out on top, would you want to, or are you all spaced out on your own destruction?"
"If I could overcome I'd wipe you and the entire staff out for a start. Very slowly and horribly. And then I'd wipe out every pig in the nation."
"I thought as much. You are incorrigible."
She pressed her mouth to the orgasming pussy and commenced eating and chewing it raw.
"This is a much nicer and more pleasant way to eat you, my dear."
In the main courtyard simultaneously an execution was taking place. A naked black girl, head shaved, was strapped to the death post. The assembled cons under the concentration of a battery of heavy machine guns hissed and jeered, whistled and stamped, but could do nothing.
A guard clad in thigh-high boots, and shoulder-length gloves, but nothing more to emphasize the erotic charge that the staff got out of the deaths of prisoners touched a red hot poker to each of the black girl's nipples, burning the amber buds away. Then she poured boiling oil between the large and ample breasts, down the deep cleavage.
As the doomed prisoner moaned and groaned and writhed in futile struggle the firing squad readied for the volley. Other black captives licked their unwashed, squirming jiggling asses clean as they took aim, vibrators wedged in their gorgeous cunts, male guards standing by to ram their cocks in and fuck the female guard executioners immediately upon completion of the butchery as a climax to the barbaric and bizarre ritual slaughter.
The firing squad blasted away. But all deliberately missed except one markswoman with a small calibre rifle who put a slug into the girl's right thigh. Instead of dispatching her with a pistol according to ancient tradition, the firing squad volley was repeated again. The second volley was once again a farce, one bullet hitting her left kneecap. The third and fourth volleys hit her hands. The fifth and sixth her shoulders. She still lived. The final volley put a shot into her bellybutton. She was allowed to die in pain and convulsions, spitting blood and shot to pieces. She had slain twenty or more troops and Fascists during the revolution and put one into the ass of the Commanding General of Connecticut. Of course the death ordained for her was lingering, disgraceful, and messy. The Fascists had no mercy or sense of decency. They were utter pigs.
The wild fucking of the girl guards allowed the cons to shower them with abuse and rancid hatred. But their rancor and fury were futile.
Later in a cell that she shared with three white blonde girls, the massive and muscular sister of the dead girl, Lucy, head stomper, grieved over her sister's death. But Lucy was a junkie and a physical coward and one of the trusty fink underling kapos. She wanted to take her fury out on the three young girls who were under her charge. The girls were not rebels at all, merely leftist students sent to New Devil's Island due to family links and plain bad luck. They were not unlike thousands of others who wound up at the less horrid prisons or escaped arrest altogether. For their relative innocence, the fallen and traitor turned black militant hated them all the more.
"Down on your knees, you honkey bitches," she snarled.
The three girls dropped to their knees. The girl lit a cigarette and pressed it to one luscious and whip-scarred bottom.
"EEEahhhh."
The unfortunate girl reached back to grasp her burned buttock, but as she did so the powerful black woman almost tore one of her tits off in her strong grip.
"Keep your motherfucking hands where they belong."
Her command was obeyed. The black girl touched the ass again and again slowly searing dozens of reddish marks across the white expanse as her victim shrieked and whimpered and pleaded for pity.
"What mercy did they show poor Blanche, my sister. Shhiiiiitttt."
She burned the second shapely ass, searing the soft tissues in a pattern, burning her initials into it. She took her time, using her free hand to batter the face of her victim and maul her large pink budded tits.
The third girl had a bit more spirit than the others. She leaped to her feet and clawed at the face of the merciless tormentor. But the black beauty laughed and pinioned her effortlessly upon one of the bunks. As the blonde threshed and lunged she used a cigarette to sear her nipples. Again and again she touched the lighted cigarette to the nipples, burning and scorching the coral tips. She thrust the hot cigarette into the cleavage and burned the tender and vulnerable underside of the well-formed jugs.
"I'll teach you to jump me, you honkey motherfucker."
Guards congregated around the front of the cell were more than pleased to see the way the prisoners tore at each other like a berserk wolf pack turning upon itself. Their methods and goals were crowned with success.
After burning the third blonde girl hideously and without mercy the vengeful renegade shoved her face down on a cot and commenced groping and pulling at handfuls of the sumptuous, seared ass meat. She squeezed up two handfuls full of the victim's derriere and crushed them in her hands with all of her power. She clawed and scratched the burn marks until the blonde was a babbling, shrieking mass of suffering, maddened animal meat. The black tormentor ruthlessly rolled her over and worked on her breasts, elongating them in her hands until it seemed that the spheres strained at the flesh that bound them to her body. She swung the globes wide apart and then jammed the white rolls of meat together, grinding the sweaty crinkled masses of greasy whiteness into one another until they were almost molded into a continuous mass of whip-scarred burned ivory. But her anguish had barely commenced and the grinning devilish guards huddled close to the bars, fingering and frigging each other in their pussy pelts as they watched the fun.
CHAPTER TWO
Matron Carter tapped her quirt against her high black leather stomping boots. The prisoners shifted uneasily. The lineup knew what was coming and the only question in their minds was the extent of the punishment. Conceivably they all could experience the taste of the quirt on their bare bottoms.
"One of you has been guilty of constructing an illegal radio in the workshop."
She held up the offensive instrument, a crude receiver constructed of smuggled in parts and materials improvised from the workshop supplied.
"I want to know the identity of that person. I want an immediate reply."
A dead silence reigned. The guilty prisoner was not ready to admit guilt and the closed ranks of the group would not betray the builder of the radio even to save the group from pain.
"Alright, assholes. If you want it that way, you'll get it that way. Fifty on each soft bare ass with this quirt. And after that I'm going to rub salt into those tender tails. And I can promise you dirty red traitors that this is only the start."
"Fuck off, pig."
It was diminutive but unvanquishable little Susan who voiced their defiance to her.
The matron smiled. She couldn't help admiring the little commie vixen. And the little blonde gave one of the best head jobs in the place. It would be interesting to see how she fared in The Room. On her last trip they had branded a big T into her ass. This time they would teach her a lesson in courtesy and subservience to the authorities.
"I'm glad to see that one of you has a voice." She snapped her fingers at Susan and the two brawny Amazonian guards backing her up sprang forward to grab the plucky blonde. "Take her down to The Room. Start her off with fifty lashes on her body, front and back. Then twenty blows to the face with the rubber hose. A douche with the fire hose and an enema with nearly boiling water laced with vinegar. Then two hours in the thumbscrews nipple screws, and ear screws. After that, a spanking of a thousand ass breaking slaps on each side. For a finisher, stuff her up, front and back. And put some pepper on those plugs."
The little blonde paled and reeled at the list of tortures they were going to inflict upon her. But she summoned the courage to smile and yawn as if she were bored by the whole thing. And then she blew their minds with her bravado.
"Sounds like a real blast, only you pigs are getting a bit soft. Losing your imaginations. Real sloppy, have to tighten it up. You forgot my feet. You might throw in a whipping on the soles of my feet to keep it interesting. And maybe the castor oil treatment to keep my regularity in top shape.
The matron grinned. The little bitch really wanted to play big tough girl. Well, it was fine with her. She could defy them all she wanted with her big mouth, but her dumb ass would pay for it."
"Alright you little hippie pinko freak. Have it your way. Take her down to The Room and let her have the full treatment including the additions she just made for us. Tough ass idiot."
The girl was led off by the two giant guards. They towered head, shoulder, and tit above her. Even as they marched her off to her ordeal they began to work her over, lashing her ass, hips, thighs and legs with their quirts. Red streaks covered her bottom as they turned her off at the end of the corridor for the room.
"Don't any of you other freaks get any funny ideas. I know you think she's got stones, but she's flipped out of her gourd. Doing her thing just put her ass in the basket. She thinks she's groovy, but she'll be screaming inside of two minutes. And after we finish with her, we're gonna stuff shit down her throat."
The beating then began. The prisoners bent their bodies forward jutting out their big asses for the bite of the quirt. Starting at the right end of the line the brutal matron made her way along butt by butt, whipping the soft masses of white bottom bloody, covering them with blood dripping red streaks, ripping them up. It thrilled her to see the damage that had already been wrought on most of the bottoms, the numerous weals and welts. Faint white scars, soon to be supplemented with still more scars. The matron intended to scar and mutilate every body of every bitch in the place before she had finished with them.
They cried and shrieked and the tears rolled down despite their attempts to control it. They were pitiful cases, trying not to show reaction to the ass breaking she was doling out to them. But all too soon for her liking she had reached the last bottom. To this one she meted out the most severe beating that her fatigued arm was capable of doling out. She ripped the ass up, lacerated it until the blood oozed down the thighs all the way to the knees. This girl tottered and buckled and slowly sagged to the ground under the fury of Carter's assault. When she had counted out the last of the fifty plus a dozen extra for the hell of it she was whipping an unconscious body.
"Okay you traitor sluts. Any of you hippie bitches feel like calling me a pig? Maybe a fascist? No answer, no guts."
She swaggered off leaving the battered lineup to sort itself out. She was not done with them yet. Let them get their heads straight, then she would see how they took to humiliation. Three quart enemas with hot soapy water and only one toilet for the eleven of them to disgorge their slop into. She would make them swim and waddle in their own filth. She would teach them their place.
The Room was filled with the maddened babble of the tortured. Cries, groans, screams, roars of triumphant laughter, the maddened hysterical prayers and curses of the damned, the taunts of those who broke and annihilated their souls.
Susan had been strapped to a table. Her body had been thoroughly whipped, blood coursed from reddish streaks etched into her breasts, her midriff, her thighs. Streaks disappeared into the thick blonde foliage that covered her sex, her little blonde thatched beaver pelt, which one of the guards plucked golden tufts out of while another guard administered the treatment that had made a screaming, twitching animal out of the plucky little blonde.
Susan's ears were trapped within the tiny little ear screw, the iron bolt tightened into her lobes and crushing those lobes as it slowly tightened up. The thumbscrews as well had been tightened to maximum intensity and the flesh on her thumbs beyond the clamps was purplish and swollen. Blood seeped from under her thumbnails.
Matron Carton strutted up to her victim, who fixed her hate filled eyes upon the horrid authoress of her agony.
"Now the nipple screws, put the nipple screws on her. I want those coral tips to be mangled and crushed, I want those pellets flattened out so that she never forgets what we've done to her."
The nipple screws were emplaced upon the tender tips. The nipple buds were plucked up in strong fingers which twisted and turned them, exerting a bit of the discomfort that the screw would soon inflict. The eyes of the little blond became furtive and fear stricken, and she looked close to cracking. Her voice made begging, pleading sounds to avoid the horror of the nipple screws. But her entreaties merely spiced up their heated cunt shafts and they went ahead with their preparations. First one nipple and then the other, wedged into the screws. And then the small handles were turned and the clamp began to tighten. The harsh metal distorted and crushed the nippies, sinking into the coral buds as the jaws closed toward one another. Turn after turn. Blood began to ooze through the tiny little center holes in the tips of the nipples.
Horrible shrieks of pain blending, merging into a cacophony of sounds straight out of hell, a diabolical symphony of horror.
All about The Room, atrocities were being committed with wild uncaring abandon. A black girl with huge, bobbing breasts that hung down almost to her waist was suffering once more the stretching treatment that had already distorted and ruined the shape of her once upturned spheres. The breasts had been wrapped at the bases within tight barbed cords which almost ripped the boobs loose as they were tightened by the pull on the ropes. The wheel was turned and the tits were elongated a hellish fraction of an inch further. Another little increment of pain, another set of nerves set on searing fire.
One girl was fastened to a wheel which turned round and round. Sometimes her dizzy face looked up at the ceiling, then a few seconds later the wheel had revolved and she looked down at the slimy floor. But that was not the worst of her torture, for the guard who was reaming out her wet and wild cunt as she tortured this prisoner was thrusting needles into her. The body had been turned into a sieve and over one hundred needles had been jammed and plunged into the flesh. Blood spouted up as the long slivers of steel were thrust into the ivory flesh. The girl continually screamed adding to the hell's discord all around the terrible chamber.
One girl with a bleeding, toothless mouth crawled up to Matron Carter half senseless and delirious with pain, commenced an unbidden licking of the matron's boots. The matron looked down at her boots being splattered and smeared with blood from the ruined mouth and she booted the terrified girl away from her. The convict crawled off, a snail leaving a bloody slime behind her.
One young girl who was barely fifteen had been strapped into an electric chair. The electrodes had been clamped to her breasts and into her pussy chamber. Shocks were jolted through her body again and again. As she screamed one of the guards inflicting the terrible punishment flipped lighted matches onto her torso. The girl writhed and strained against the unyielding metal clamps that trapped her in the chair.
Matron Carter laughed as she joggled the bloody red pellets of nipple flesh sticking out of the awful screws. She squeezed blood out of the tips of diminutive Susan's breasts.
"Bleed, bitch, bleed."
Perverted government officials watched the horrifying scenes through thick plate glass two way mirror screens. Their tools bulged at the fronts of their evil fascist uniforms and they wetted their pants with come watching the tortures.
A young boy had been strapped down over a bench. One male guard fucked his ass while another fucked his mouth. They worked him over as a team. The boy gagged and choked as the cock grew and swelled in his mouth. The guard thrust his erecting cannon hard into the boy's gaping mouth, and clawed the ass halves wide apart that his partner was in the process of penetrating. They shafted and reamed him, soul-fucked him and laughed at the bloody pus they formed on the skin of his soul. It was the most evil of tortures, the torture of the spirit.
A girl who had loved him was brought close by another male guard to witness his humiliation. Her wide, big blue eyes were the eyes of an innocent child wrongfully thrown into purgatory. Her breasts were large and shapely with triple sized nipples. The guard stood behind her shoving his cock up her tight, resistant asshole, plugging and plunging away at her. He gripped the spiked iron rings that had been thrust through the holes drilled into her nipples and moved the rings back and forth, sawing the insides of the raw nipple holes with the spikes on the rings, making the nipples ooze and spit blood. The girl screamed and spasmed her body up to meet the claws that raked her belly from tit to crotch and back again. She slumped and allowed the pain to smash at her. Thumb screws and nipple screws and ear screws. It was hell and worse than hell.
"Suffer, you radical commie pig. Suffer, you dirty decadent little commie bitch."
The insane hate gibberish spilled from the mouth of her torturer.
The body, once so white and soft and unblemished was filled with needles. Matron Carter thrust needles into the belly, shoving them through the soft midriff until they smashed through the stubborn resistant gut layers. The girl exploded with this new and totally unbearable siege of pain. The whites of her eyes showed and foam bubbled out of her mouth.
One girl who was due soon to be transferred to a less severe prison was receiving a punishment known as the Farewell. She was strapped to a rotating spit and two naked guards with come streaming from their steaming snatch holes were whipping her to a bleeding shambles with wire whips. The whips slashed through the air and sank into the white gory flesh. Blood shot from the shredded flesh. In a brazier a red-hot iron was heating to white hot intensity. It would brand the letters NHI for the name of the dread concentration camp prison into the girl's body. They had not yet decided on where to put it. Perhaps on her breasts. Or perhaps on her bottom.
Behind his mirror General Bardall was watching the scene with a joy that he had displayed only at the execution of captured prisoners. He was a bastard, a perverted soulless bastard who lived only to function as a butcher of the state. He had razed the Harlem area and slaughtered two hundred thousand people with heavy caliber cannon. Two dozen Kamikaze assassins had pledged their lives to bring him down. He had been wounded four times, eighteen officers had died around him, and fifty-six security shock troops had died protecting his rotten hide.
The assassins had left their marks on him. One sleeve of his uniform was empty and a black patch covered and empty eye socket. His body was a mass of shrapnel scars. But he still lived and the prisoners suffered the fury unleashed by his maiming.
"Fuck them all up. Torture, maim, kill." He moaned out the words of his hatred and desire for blood as a young male guard knelt before him sucking his cock. At his right hand stood Warden Gale Barrigan caressing and fondling his ass through his uniform trousers, extending the courtesy due to an exalted bastard of his rank, a member of the dreaded Secret Caucus of The Emergency Internal Security Committee of The Political Police. He was also a member of The Emergency Internal Security Council. One of the ten most important shitheads in the nation. A man entitled to flaunt, distort, and bend every legal and natural law ever conceived.
"Do you approve of my little prison," the warden asked him. "My administration of it has wrought some marvelous changes. We've readopted some of the wonderful techniques of execution of the past. From the so-called ages of barbarism when the inferior races and classes knew their place. We've resurrected the chopping block, the guillotine, the sawing block. We're going to boil a pair of cousins in oil next week. Two luscious and adorable little creatures."
"I'll make it a point to be here. Are they kissing cousins?"
Barrigan giggled. "Under our tutelage they've become piss drinking and shit eating cousins."
"Good going. Right on. Don't let up for a second. Not a shred of pride, not an untouched indignity. Destroy them all."
He groaned as his feeble cannon shot its paltry load into the guard's mouth.
"Right on," the warden complimented him.
"Not what I used to be. Its these fucking wounds, all this damn shrapnel."
Bullshit, Barrigan thought. He never was very good, according to the rumors. But of course she would not dare say such a thing to his face. She gave him a sympathetic smile and then looked back to the wonders taking place in the Room.
The pathetic girl who was being released to a new prison was now ready to receive the mark of New Devil's Island. The white hot iron was held close to her face so that she could have a nice long look at it. A hair was touched to the iron, it immediately incinerated. The girl was too worn out to scream any more. Her blood dripped off and formed pools under the spit. One of the guards tugged at the spiked wooden dildo wedged up into her, to make her more aware of the pain that was to come. Then her breasts were wiped clean of blood with a rag. As the blood flowed once again slowly from the many welts, the iron was plunged into her tit. The white flesh burned and blackened and smoke shot up in a thick, stinking cloud. The smell of her searing flesh clawed out across the room. The girl did a dance of fire and blood upon the spit. She ground the dildo until it was smeared with her own pussy chamber blood, and it dropped out of her as she made the spit do a half turn with the frenzied contortions her body went through.
She went into a coma. Guards jacked off from the magnitude of her suffering and her screams. They were hot to rip more ass, and their victims quailed with rekindled terror from their hideous aggressiveness.
Poor Susan suffered the probe of the needles into her body washing out all previous suffering in the excess of the anguish they caused. Her nipple tips were pierced and the needles turned around rotating her nipple tip protruding from the nipple screws. One guard plunged her fingers into the pussy chamber through the thick growth of hair, frigging the girl mercilessly trying to get an orgasm out of her. It was too much to expect the girl to cream off over her own total misery but the guards were far from normal and they had learned to extract deceptive pleasure from the midst of the most intolerable orgies of agony.
Susan felt the skilled hands ripping into her pleasure centers through the throbbing tearing stabs of pain that ripped her apart. The malicious triumphant laughter of the matron told her that her reactions were quite evident. Susan felt the wetness between her legs signifying her orgasm. It was awful, but there was nothing she could do about it.
And then they began on her again. This time they bit into her slowly, progressing up her body from her toes to her neck. Savage teeth sank into her flesh, blood spewed out of deep bite marks and out of gnawed whip welts.
"Do you still want to be defiant, Susan. You dirty little fool. Still think that you have the equipment to hold out against us?" The matron knew the answer before she posed the question. This girl would break as had many hundreds of others. She would be one of those reduced to the total servitude of those who held them in bondage. She would learn to love the state, she would pledge her allegiance and mean it, and the remainder of her pathetic existence would thence be spent in redeeming labor for the service and benefit of the state, until her broken and worn out body was cast aside on the rubbish heap.
CHAPTER THREE
Warden Barrigan held some confessions before Veronica Corda's scarred face.
"More confessions from two more of your lieutenants. Tuesday Wickershold-Holmes and Margaret Loiset. You boasted that they would never break. Well, they broke wide open. Now we put the pieces back together for an amusing televised trial, sentence and execution."
"Fuck off."
"Your turn soon, my precious."
"Fuck off."
"Communist."
"Pig."
"Anarchist traitor. Killer."
"Scar-faced ugly freak."
The warden let out a beserk cry of rage. She threw herself on the spread-eagle body of her love-hate object and bit into her throat. She almost brought her teeth together in the flesh, and enjoyed the evil delight of drinking her victim's blood. Then she licked and sucked the sweat and blood off of Veronica's torso and chewed the foliage between her legs.
"Our only mistake," Veronica ruled, "was losing. But next time we're going to wipe all you creeps off the face of the earth."
"You're talking jive. When are you going to understand that your shit is all over. You've lost and there never, ever is going to be a return match. This repression is going to go on and on until the last spark of resistance is snuffed out."
"No way."
"Bullshit, we're already there. Any of your people still alive are on the inside."
"The new generation will rise up and throw you down. There will always be new troops."
"Crap. The kids are scared here shitless. Any kids for you are inside here with you. We've got a few as young as thirteen in here. Crap. Do you expect ten year olds to rise up and fight us."
"You may think you have us all. I know that there are tens of thousands still on the outside, lying low. Biding their time."
"A few thousand maybe. I'll grant that. Which is one of the reasons we're still interested in interrogations and confessions. But every week we round up a few hundred more. Its all going our way."
"Fuck you."
The warden laughed.
"You're becoming redundant. Well, time for this day's fun to commence. Lets see just what strength you still have left."
She seized a nipple with a pair of pliers and wrenched at it. As it elongated in the grip of the pliers Barrigan picked up a red-hot quarter with a pair of tweezers and touched it to the nipple. Veronica gritted her teeth but remained silent.
"I see that you're still strong. Well, let's see how much it will take to bring some sound out of you."
She drove iron thongs and clamps into the breasts, twisting the metal into the big tits. She kept off driving it in, reshaping the breast flesh into bizarre forms as she trapped sections of the boobs between various shapes of iron. She plunged knitting needles through the breasts. Blood dripped from the sharp pointed ends but the valiant girl still refused stubbornly to give voice to her pain. The torturer became obsessed with squeezing a sound out of Veronica.
"Let's see you remain silent through the next little trick."
She gathered up a large section of the cunt foliage so rich and thick. She bunched it up within a comb-clamp, the hairs trapped within the crushed together teeth. And then she yanked, with one massive heave ripping loose nearly two hundred of the sleek pussy hairs.
The leader of the Witch's Brigade maintained a stony silence although a little stream of saliva dribbled out of the corner of her mouth.
Barrigan angrily tossed the tufts of hair into Veronica's face. She clawed one of the welts she had recently slashed into an exquisite aristocratic cheek.
You'll howl before long."
"Not a chance, Scarface."
"Scream damn you."
"Fuck off, pig."
The warden touched a red hot iron to Veronica's armpit. She drew a black smoking line over the top of Veronica's breasts from one armpit to the other. A smoldering black track had been scarred on her body. A line of blood ran through the bubbling saliva leaking out of Veronica's mouth. She had bitten her own tongue but she had not broken her silence.
Barrigan kissed the blood from her chin.
"My tough and stubborn little rebel. See if you can remain so tough as when I'm roasting you alive over a spit."
"I would sure love to be around when the revolution rises up again and your ass is in the shit."
"Speaking of shit, prisoner, reminds me of something. I have to feed you your breakfast."
Barrigan brought out a box and opened it up. A strong stench rose up from the shit piled in the box.
"Eat it, you traitor."
Barrigan shoved the crap into Veronica's face. She smeared handfuls of the reeking slime over the girl's mouth and nose until she had to gulp and choke it down to avoid suffocation.
"Eaahh. Aaarrgggggg."
The silence had been broken. Exultant at her victory the warden set to her torture with a will. She began to hammer nails into the soft thighs of the stubborn girl. She held a nail to the white, cringing flesh, positioning it in the center of a whitish whip scar. Then she hammered it through the flesh with one clean stroke. Blood spurted from the penetration wound. Another blow slammed the hammer into the soft thigh meat. A reddish welt was left, small fine broken vessels under the skin, spreading bruise and blood coloring. The nail had been driven home into the flesh that had not been created for that purpose. THE FLESH WAS INSECURE AND clumsy home for the nail, a soft bed for an object designed to hold hard objects together.
But nails were an admirable implement for inducing pain. The warden hammered more nails into the suffering flesh. She thought of the early Romans nailing their victims to crosses. They had the right damn idea. Six thousand slaves nailed up along the Apian way after the revolt of Spartacus had been crushed. Teach the dirty scum their place. Damn them all.
The other prisoners had their own problems on that day as on all other days. For those on death row it was awful. For those in Cell Block 1 it was awful. For those down in the Room, it was hell in preview. For every prisoner, wherever they were, it was nightmare unending.
Several naked boys were scrubbing and mopping the floors in Cell Block 2 under the watchful eye of a sadistic butch guard welding a cattle prod. Occasionally he touched the electric stick to the upturned butt of one of his workers. It never failed to elicit a cock-rousing scream from the unfortunate victim.
The guard kicked their asses around. He rubbed his fingers in the welts and wounds of their rumps. They worked steadily and fearfully under his direction. Some of them had killed in the revolution, but they had been docile and broken by their ordeal and they offered no resistance to the inhumanity they suffered. The guard lit a cigarette, flipping the match upon a rounded, fleshy bottom. The boy yelped as the match bounced off his rump leaving the mark of its hit behind.
"Burn you, punk? Damn sorry about that. How about me doing something for you to make up for it."
He dragged the boy upright by his hair and slammed him against the wall. He drove a fist into the pit of the boy's gut.
"Against the wall, motherfucker. Make an ass for me."
The boy had endured this treatment before and obeyed the identical order many times. He pressed his face to the concrete wall and shoved back his ass, already for the lunge of the guard's hard, erect tool. The boy wiggled his bottom in an imitation of desire, tears of impotent rage and unendurable humiliation dripping down his cheeks.
The guard spread wide the cheeks of his prey's ass, slapping the ass cakes lustily. One boy contemplated how easy it would be to kill the son of a bitch right then. But would serve no purpose. Not only would it mean his own death, which was perhaps inevitable anyway in that place, but the death of many captive members of his group in New Devil's Island as well as in other prisons. As long as the fascists had the upper hand they could call the shots their way and resistance was pointless.
Down in The Room, the guards were testing out some new methods on several of the prisoners who had been almost destroyed by the ordeals they had already undergone in the hellhole.
The Ripper, a huge ugly bull dyke with a permanent hatred of the non-ugly was the head guard of the permanent torture section down in the Room. The Room, as it was called, actually consisted of a series of interconnected chambers and small private cell-dungeons the size of a cell block. In the thirty small cell-dungeons inset into the walls were a number of small barred recesses in which a human being could be imprisoned � if the comforts of lying down or standing upright were discarded. These hideous little cells were always occupied. The inmates struggled with sweat soaked, muscle burned rubbery limbs to remain in the least uncomfortable position, shifting about within the confines of the ghastly little alcove as much as possible. After a few days without the luxury of either standing upright, or lying down, cramped and weary, the prisoners were ready to obey any command in order to be released from the nightmare. Only a few could withstand the treatment. Only a very few.
The Ripper entered a cell-room and examined the three cringing wrecks in the alcoves. They were covered with filth and greasy sweat, their bodies marred by raw, untreated injuries.
The Ripper seized Susan by her boobs, pinching the blackened, torn nipples. The small blond screamed and cried to dislodge the massive crushing hands without any noticeable effect.
"You make me laugh, asshole. I could rip up a dozen like you with one hand."
She pulled the girl's head against the bars and rubbed her massive set of knockers into the girl's face. Even with the stench present in the dungeon including her own filth, Susan gagged at the strong, unwashed animal stink of The Ripper.
Hatred flared in the small, beady black pig eyes.
"You saying I have B.O., you little scum." The huge bull woman hurled Susan back, almost cracking her skull open on the stone wall.
"Connie. Red Dog. Give this bitch a bath." The two henchwomen she had snapped out the orders to ran to the far wall of the cell-chamber where a firehose had been installed, but not for the purpose of fighting a possible conflagration. The same as every other piece of equipment in The Room, it was an instrument of torture. The two dykes turned the water on and blasted Susan with high pressure salt water, half drowning and crushing her, pounding her back against the wall of her little alcove unable to stand upright or to fall down. The pounding water smashed into her tits, into her belly, slammed her with the power of a giant fist. Her wounds and injuries throbbed with raw pain. She bled from the nose and mouth, and hoped at last for the release of death. But before that point was reached the water torture ended.
Susan collapsed, sinking in a waterlogged sloggy pile of battered flesh. The cramped tightness of her cell kept her from falling all the way to the floor.
The other two captives in the room had also received some of the fury of the water. One wept and pleaded for mercy. The Ripper smashed her across the skull with her riding crop.
"Silence, you rotten pig."
The water ran out through a round hole in the center of the floor. Much blood as well as water and filth had washed down that hole over the many, many months that inmates had endured damnation in the chamber.
"Get her out of there. I have a few plans for the little creep."
Susan was dragged out of the cell. They took her into the main chamber, the nerve center of The Room. All about boys and girls screamed madly in the extremities of severe pain. One boy hung by his cock from the roof of the chamber while his ass was ripped apart with a spike tipped cat of nine tails. Each blow of the whip tore chunks of his tail asunder, shot blood yards through the air. He twisted and writhed upon the vulnerable support of his overstrained penis.
One girl with large breasts had been tied down upon a spiked iron sofa. The spikes dug into her back, sank deep into the blood oozing flesh. Her breasts had been riddled with wooden matches sharpened at the end and forced into holes channeled into her tits with knitting needles. The wooden matches had been shoved in a good two or three inches. One by one they were lit. The eyes of the trapped girl followed the slow, unwavering approach of the dancing flame down the line of the slow burning match. She thought of the torture she had already suffered and the agonies to come. She desperately tired to brace her arms and legs, steeling herself to hold her body steady when the flame plunged into her flesh so as to avoid ripping herself upon the spikes. She shifted slightly sending cascading waves of fire and lightning through the many holes the spikes had dug into her.
Then the fire hit her. The match burned down to the skin, the tender white skin that flickered up and burned black as the heat rammed down into her, plunging deep before it burned itself out. The agony was unrealizable, unbearable, deep pain of the worst sort. She jerked and thrashed, tearing herself to pieces upon the spikes. As she lay there half comatose and shocked, blood running down the sides of the iron sofa in numerous red lines to pool on the floor, another match was lit and the torturer hovered over her watching the expression on her face.
Susan was hung by her wrists from the ceiling. Her feet were stretched wide, bound to ring bolts in the floor. The Ripper gnawed the smooth flesh along the insoles of Susan's thighs.
"Wh-what are you going to do to me."
"Something very interesting, you dirty radical scum. You fucking trash, let's see how groovy you find my next little game."
A brazier full of hot coals was placed between the little blond's wide stretched thighs. The brazier funneled its heat up into her crotch, up her pussy sheath, into the delicate flesh between her buttock halves.
Small sparks and cinders ascended to rest upon her bottom. A spark singed a few of her pussy hairs for a brief second. Minute by minute the heat in her flesh increased, built up to a smoldering, roasting agony.
"No, no stop it. Let me down."
Susan could feel her flesh beginning to roast. The skin was turning colors, she could feel it although she could not see it. The Ripper touched her hand to a hot cheek. It was almost warm enough to eat.
"After we finish cooking you maybe we'll stick an apple in your mouth and serve you up to the warden."
"Let me down. Aaaarrrhh. Hellp. Hee-elllppp." Through the two-way glass a high ranking admiral and an important political who had once been a Senator when there had been a senate whacked off each other's dicks watching the torture in The Room. The barbaric ordeals that the inmates underwent in the chamber had almost made of the place a major tourist attraction to those in the know, and the viewing chamber behind the mirrors was almost knee deep in dried come from the many guests that had worked their joints while watching the sport.
The Ripper stuffed a rag into Susan's mouth to stifle her protests. Then she basted the tender lacerated bottom and sat back in her chair, watching the bottom slowly roast. The brown color of the simmering meat spread from the thighs to the tops of the buttock halves. The Ripper lashed out with her whip, cutting a new track into the bottom cheeks. Susan lunged forward in her bonds. The ripper criss-crossed a few dozen bloody welts into Susan's ass. Then she took the brazier out from under the girl's bottom. Susan rolled her eyes in her sockets, half gone with the agony. The Ripper pinched the bottom cheeks, digging her fingers into the bleeding welts.
"You won't pass out on me, punk. I want you awake so that I can tell you what's in store for you. You're gonna have a bad ass burn for some time. Just like you were out in the Florida sun too long and your little bum cheeks were all sunburned. Well, you're gonna peel and blister and shed the rotten skin right off your dirty ass. And while that's happening we're gonna be giving you daily massages on your poor bottom with our whips. Isn't that one hell of a groovy treatment?"
CHAPTER FOUR
Warden Barrigan showed the inspector the closed circuit TV with which she watched the antics of the inmates. She switched the receiver through the various cell blocks, The Room, the facility areas.
"Of course, in addition to the five receivers you see here there are many others with permanent staff in attendance monitoring every inch of this place. There isn't an inmate anywhere that we can't locate and watch at the flip of a button. The TV cameras are everywhere. In addition, there are two way mirrors with passages used only by the staff honeycombing this entire installation. A network of mazes, that can take us anywhere. Even the cons don't realize the extent to which we keep them under constant surveillance. Our eyes are everywhere, and they never close.
The inspector watched two girls in a cell spanking a third whose head was jammed into the toilet bowl. The warden noticed his hot and horny interest.
"Those two girls belong to a group of anarchists which was almost annihilated by the treachery of the group of radical Marxists that the third girl belonged to. There is no love lost between those three, which is why I put them into a cell together. Part of the old system of divide and conquer."
The two anarchists were now clawing furrows into the back of the radical.
"Right on, sister. Very clever of you. Your system is becoming the accepted doctrine of many of our other institutions. The control reforms you've inaugurated are the finest in our entire penology system."
The warden beamed. "I'm always coming up with little improvements, new wrinkles to wrinkle out these vermin. For example, at the end of the week, one of the anarchists goes out and a soul sister from the same cell as our intimidated miss goes in. After that, the odds are reversed and the remaining anarchist gets her ass broken."
Gale walked over to the inspector and open his fly. She took out his cock and rested it on her palm, the tips of her fingers gently rustling against it, stirring life and fire into it.
"Why not relax. I'll have four of my private stock sent in here. We can have a little party, just the two of us."
She buzzed her secretary.
"Send in four girls. I want Ida, Jeanette, Sandy, and Michele. Put golden chains on them and nothing else. Have their bottoms spanked as they walk the corridor."
The inspector tore off his clothes. Barrigan was practically naked already in the leather outfit she wore consisting of a strap arrangement running from a high leather collar around her neck down to a v-belt that left half of her pubic foliage hanging out. Long, white boots with fur trimmings completed her bizarre garb.
A side door to the office creaked open, with the ominous sound effect of a dungeon door. Four sprightly girls came dancing through, young beautiful tall blonds with magnificent bodies. Girls selected and broken to the whims and demands of Barrigan, girls utterly reduced to slavery, totally subservient to every demand. Their chains clanked as the entered, the tinkling of light golden chains rather than the harsh ringing of heavy iron fetters.
The chains connected the ankles together loosely with a great length of small link chain. From this chain another connected to a series of chains binding the wrists to one another and to the collar about the throat. The great lengths of chain dragged upon the floor as they walked.
"How do you like my personal menagerie?"
"You know how to pick them all right. I sure as hell sometimes wish that I had a prison job like this one. You have all the goodies."
Barrigan laughed, an easy loose laugh proclaiming her satisfaction in all things and her control of her total environment.
"Come on, you bitches. Show the gentleman the little tricks that mama taught you." The four slave girls threw themselves at the inspector's feet and commenced eating his toes. They licked and sucked every inch of his feet, chewing and nibbling, thrusting their wet tongues between his toes, along the undersides of his feet. One girl brought her face up to his crotch and sucked his balls, taking the entire hang of his sack into her wide gaping mouth churning out saliva, taking it in and letting it slurp out. As his tool shot out as hard as an iron bar another girl closed her mouth over the head, slurping it around inside her luscious mouth as she tongue whipped it and tickled it with her nibbling, grinding teeth.
Gale picked up one of her whips, a long one with a silver and iron handle inlaid with elaborate carvings, the lash a long thin leather wire for ripping narrow, long trenches into the flesh. She lashed out with the whip, encircling a waist and snapping a girl back away from her guest. The girl fell on her ass, but recovering her equilibrium offered her torturer a smile of loving gratitude and rolled across the floor, her chains rattling, to wind up at her cruel warden's feet, rubbing her gaping ass with both hands and offering her wet, moist mouth to the warden. Barrigan spit into the girl's open mouth and into her gaping cunt. The slave meekly accepted this treatment, opening both her mouth and her gash wider to receive her mistress' spit.
Barrigan yanked the blond to her feet, reshaping and molding her tits into new forms, grinding the big nipples until they were purple with congested blood. She worked on the soft belly fat, pounding it black and blue with the butt of her whip, lashing out at the three asses of the girls sucking on the feet, cock, and balls of her visitor. She cut her welts into all three bouncing and shaking bottoms, making them experience the pain of the whip as they went about their tasks with an artificial, put-on fervor so well acted it was indistinguishable from reality. They were indeed well trained.
The inspector was no super sex machine, no all night up and down in and out stud. He shot his rocks off in fast order despite the attempts of the three girls to keep him in ecstasy as long as possible. He lacked the finesse for slow motion.
He lay there, a limp drained out greasy mess, not very imposing out of his uniform. The girls sucked his nipples, tufting up his chest hair, toying at the curly matted hair in his armpits. Barrigan motioned to one of them to come over and set to work on her cunt. This girl scampered over so fast she almost broke her neck on her chains. She had no intention of angering her ruthless mistress.
This girl had once killed, and it was amazing to Barrigan how quickly she had broken. Like many natural killers, she had little stamina to bear prolonged suffering. The warden slapped her face and raked lines of blood into the globular breasts. She turned the nipples in toward one another, manipulating and crushing until she had forced the coral pellets to fuse together. She ground one into the other, watching the expression of pain flickering behind the impassive mask the girl obediently presented to her. Barrigan pressed the slave's face to her already gushing cunt. One after the other the four girls took their turns at the cunt, eating and licking and reaming and sucking. They drank down the thick gobs and flows of her female come, eating the sticky, acrid, pungent come which continued to ooze in unbelievable quantities and gave no evidence of ceasing. A man would have been shocked at such a flow from the balls of the most fantastic of studs, let alone from a pussy chamber. But Barrigan when she was high on power and domination could shoot forth the cunt cream until her hole was ready to drop off.
The girls licked and mouth washed every inch of her body, especially her armpits and tits. They cleaned and reamed her until she shone. They took all of the flesh into their mouths that they could cram in, being careful of their teeth, for should they inadvertently bear down with their sharp enamels they risked the loss of their teeth to the fiendish prison dentist.
One of the girls at a time continued to work on the inspector, working on his body until his matted, thick body hair gleamed with moisture. His thing began to take shape and grow hard again. To stimulate it he took up a whip with small spiked balls on the end and put the slave girl across his lap. The spikes tore into her butt, splashing her blood as if her bottom was a tomato over ripe and squeezed apart in a strong grip. The way her bottom ripped and tore under the whip, the red streaks ending in blood shooting holes and punctures set his blood on fire, and he could feel his thing writhing under her belly.
The slave girl also felt the growth and life of his dirty tool, despite her torture and anguish her duty to her mistress was to give the creep pleasure. She was nothing but a slave. So she dropped to her knees the second he relented in his whipping and with the blood running down her legs she sucked at his cock, over and over, drinking his fluid, ramming it in and out of her mouth, fluting and tooth teasing it, tongue washing all the way to the base with her tongue flopping out of her mouth as she moved her head back and forth, not an easy technique to master. She had the gift of the experienced fellatrice. The inspector spurred her on with the whip across her messy butt, which was heavily marked by now with the lashing that continually belabored her. The inspector concentrated upon the welt lines, whipping at them, slashing webs of welts into her tender tissues.
The warden spread out one of the blond magnificences on the couch, jamming lengths of chains into her creaming pussy hole, gaping wide the cunt lips and shoving the golden chain into the golden girl's pussy channel. The girl moaned and went into a sexual delirium. Her fellows put their mouths to her, chewing her tits and armpits, biting and tugging at the nipples.
Barrigan whipped their asses raw. She raked her nails into the streaks, ripping the blood lines deeper and wider. The flesh moved under her hands, the nerves shooting wild abandoned flailing thrashing panic into the muscles of the pain wracked bodies. Blood oozed and spurted, the girls shrieked and screamed, dribbled foam from their mouths as the torture grew in intensity and terror. Their erotic mood drifted away under the rampant assault of brutality, and the pain broke them and smashed them down. Their bondage and terror also held them, and they had no choice except to endure the desires of the mad warden.
In another part of the huge prison complex several of the male guards were persecuting a group of newly arrived girls. They ripped the scanty garments that half covered the tender bodies, garments already rent and torn by the vicious hands of the police who had brought them to the den of horror.
A tall girl with long, long hair was the focus of attention of most of the guards. She was a rare beauty, with large eyes and a long, straight, delicate nose. One guard ripped every stitch off of her and rammed his fingers into her front and back simultaneously.
"Eiiaaaaa. Help, help, I'm being raped."
The entire wolf pack went hysterical at this instinctive out burst from the green idiot who had the notion that rape of the prisoners was taboo rather than standard policy.
The guard who had stripped her took out his gun and rammed it into her tender midsection. She buckled at the knees. Another guard seized her by the bottom globes and gouged his fingers deep into the tender ivory stuff.
"Nooo�stop it. Help, help, somebody help me."
"You stupid shithead hippie. We're the help around here. And we can do anything we damn well please with you."
A blackjack smashed into her tits. The big guard who had stripped her pistol whipped her face. He gashed open her cheekbone and broke her nose. It was a rare treat, a girl who had been processed through so fast that she had not undergone the full system of torture, interrogation, and rape that accompanied the trip through the pipeline to prison. She had missed out on the mockery of a trial, probably winding up in the hands of some local law that was too soft to break her tender white tail. Then she had just shot through to hell without catching purgatory. Well, now she would find out what it was all about.
She was almost in shock. She made choking sounds, staring down in transfixed unbelieving horror at the blood gushing down her tits from her chopped up face.
The big pistol whipping guard pulled her body close to his, cock out and prying at the closed ringhole that concealed her anal chamber. He held her tits in his hands, fondling and crushing them as one of his buddies parted her little petal delicate cunt lips and rammed his short but thick tool into her cunt. He bit down on her broken nose, sucking in and drinking down a thick mouthful of her blood. He kissed and gnawed the bruises, swelling, and cuts on her face. He spit into her screaming mad woman mouth. The other new arrivals were held in the strong mauling arms of the brutal guards, forced to watch as their bodies were punched, mauled, beaten and mangled.
"Look at them you hippie bitches. That's what's gonna happen to all of you."
The crowing guard was a red faced fat goon with a backwoods Southern accent. A real stereotype peckerwood, thought the girl whose cunt he had four fingers wedged into. He then took her halfway across his knee and whacked her ass bloody with his strap. Other straps, blackjacks, clubs, and chains were soon in play ripping and mangling the white helpless bodies.
One girl went down, her tits criss crossed by the messy ripping wounds of a chain. She tried to crawl away as the guard concentrated the focus of his assault on her ass, busting up the tender flesh. He whipped her until she left a red trail behind her as she moved with all of the futile trapped slow crawling pace of a snail.
The newcomers were defenseless, handcuffed and hobbled. Their screams echoed through the processing block and a few laughing trusties who aided in the control and punishment of their fellows crowded round to laugh at their plight. It was customary among the male staff members to give the new arrivals a busting in party. Sometimes they busted in their heads, sometimes their asses.
The girl caught in the sex sandwich felt her insides being dislodged and moved about inside her by the barbaric double rape. The bastards had no soul at all, they were grinding her apart, ripping and breaking at her, trying to rape her with as little pleasure and as much suffering to her as they could manage. They lunged together, combining their efforts. She would have collapsed except for their hard muscular bodies trapping her.
One girl fell down and was trampled underfoot. A guard stood her up, dabbing clumsily at her bleeding injuries. He looked at the trusties who had opened up their shifts and were finger fucking each other.
"YOU SLUTS WANT A PIECE OF THIS NEW MEAT."
"Right on, master."
"Then take her."
The guard heaved her over to the trusties. They clustered around her, a swarm of locusts feasting on her remains. One sat on her mouth half suffocating her while another sat on her cunt. They rode her body, feverish and clutching at one another as their fellows made it a wild free hand grab ass orgy.
The trusties draped the unfortunate girl over a bench. One girl began to shove a wedge of wood up her ass. The others aided her in keeping the buttocks spread wide while she performed this abominable task.
"This is what is known as squaring a hole," one of them joked.
"Quit talking and help me shove it up her."
The wood disappeared into the resistant reluctant asshole. The unfortunate 'new fish' foamed at the mouth and shook in spasms of anguish. But perhaps she was more fortunate than the others who were being fucked and beaten by the guards.
One pretty little brunette had been turned upside down and two of the sadists held her suspended in the air, legs spread wide exposing her hairy gash and ass cleavage. They had prodded a billy club up her ass and poked a blackjack deep into her cunt.
"Get it out, aaah�you're killing me, get them out of me," she pleaded.
The guards made no attempt to remove the objects from her, on the contrary, they moved the beating implements around inside her, setting ablaze the inner lining of her asshole and scraping red and raw her dry, tortured cunt hole.
"Dry as a bone," mumbled one of them, twisting the blackjack round and round in the tender young pussy tunnel.
"I can soon fix that," his comrade said. "Get this shit out of her Harry baby. I'll show this little hippie bitch how a real man fucks."
The yanking out of the two instruments was more brutal and deliberately painful than the implanting of them in her.
The semi-conscious girl was thrown down on her back and the raping began. Harry held her legs pinned wide apart while his buddy took first crack at her.
"How come I always get the sloppy seconds?" complained Harry.
"Cause you're a slob," answered his buddy.
"Shit."
"Right on," replied the buddy in the parlance that had scornfully been adapted from the enemy in mockery of them and their defeat.
The girl trapped in the sex sandwich had been screwed from both ends and mammoth heavy loads of come had exploded in her cunt and ass. Her bleeding face slumped upon the hairy chest of the pig who had raped her cunt. The guard had noticed as he poked her that the girl had not been used and abused as often as had most of the dirty hippie bitches that came to New Devil's Island. She was almost a virgin, an almost extinct species of bird. Too bad her face had been messed around a bit before he knew it, she would have made an excellent pet. So much to teach the little cunt.
The head guard looked at his watch. A duty was coming up for his shift. They would have to speed it up, time was flying.
"Come on guys, we've got another ten minutes with these green fish. Then we have to process them through and move out to cell Block 4. So hit it."
Cocks ploughed into tender front and rear holes, fists rose and fell. In another ten minutes the guards were escorting a group of bloody girls so badly battered that they resembled prisoners freed from The Room, rather than fresh arrivals who had barely cleared examination.
CHAPTER FIVE
The executioner was making his rounds of the condemned block. He was stark naked except for his executioner's grim black hood, with the insignia of the new dictatorship proudly adorning the deathly hood. The convicts surged back in their cells, pressing fearful bodies against their clammy hellhole walls, visibly shrunken and horrified by his presence, all save one. One young blond boy with soulful azure blue eyes and hair dropping past his muscular shoulders looked at him evenly and confidently. The boy sat naked in his cell, his cock resting in the palms of his delicate hands-hands which had played the electric guitar and handled submachine guns with such accuracy and courage that he had over one hundred kills to his credit. The boy was marked by the authorities for the crudest of deaths, not by the firing squad or the noose or on the roasting spit; but something inventive, elaborate, and horrible at the hands of the executioner. The boy sat on his cot playing with himself, shaking his semi-erect thing at the executioner. The boy had been bisexual before his incarceration and the daily gang bangs of his ass and mouth that had gone on for a straight month had further pushed him until he had been driven over the thin line he balanced on to transvestite faggotry. Moreover, they had starved him until he was ready to eat turds and then they had fed him delicious banquets of food only when he willingly accepted spanking and asswhipping and cocksucking along with it. They had broken him quite completely. But he had channeled his new submissive personality along lines that kept alive a spark of his pride. If he was to be a sex object he could be a wild ass fucking and sucking queen on his own terms. And so, as many queens in prison had done so he developed a total fuck-suck whip it and spank it personality that put the control and the acceleration into his own hands. He went all of the way faster than they drove him and so retained a bit of his independence.
The executioner waved his own big meaty cock at the boy. The executioner was muscular with the bulging, rippling exaggerated muscles of the body builder who spent endless years in the sun lifting and dropping his ponderous weights. The executioner was covered by thick clumps of black hair and his body was a thing of macho beauty. He was an exquisitely blessed fucking machine and he crawled daily into the sack with at least three prisoners, sometimes boys and sometimes girls. He was impartial, he jumped on the bones of whoever caught his fancy. He was also a torturer of the first order. But his executions and tortures although horrible were not performed in the manner of contempt and hatred for his victims that characterized the efforts of the other members of the staff. He respected the victims he demolished and even admired some of them. There were actually traces of love between him and some of his subjects. It was in a certain way, preferable to die at his hands, for it cheated the state to the final pleasure of the humiliation that accompanied many of the other executions.
"You're a beautiful hunk of ass, Jerry," he said at last to the boy who leaned back on his cot pumping his cock and waving his ass at the sinister figure whose cannon was rigid with desire for Jerry's soft butt.
The executioner gave a curt sigh to the guard outside the cell block. With a knowing grin the guard opened the cell, allowing the executioner to enter the cage in which his eager victim awaited him.
The other two imamates fearfully cowered on their bunks. They were young Puerto Rican girls, for it was a custom of the prison authorities to force the condemned to engage in sex circuses under the recording eye of the TV camera, and the films of orgies of the condemned at New Devil's Island was one of the chief items of entertainment to the elite which ran the country under their iron fist.
The executioner rubbed his hands over the whip scarred bottoms of the trembling girls. He fingered every groove sliced into their tender tail flesh and thrust his heavy strong fingers up their bottom tunnels. He rattled their chains and kissed each girl tenderly on her ass. Then he gave each a terrific smack on their quailing tails, laughing at their groundless terror.
"They are scared, aren't they Jerry?" Jerry cocked his leg at the hulking brute and ran his fingertips along his ass channel, inviting the big man to come in and make himself welcome.
"You can't really blame them, can you man? But you will learn what fear is as well someday. Comes the revolution once again and you'll all get zapped, nice and slow like we're getting it. How much do you get for each of our poor pelts anyway, killer man?"
"I get two thousand per execution, Jerry. When I off you next week I'll have forty thousand already this year. And the year still has a long way to go."
That struck home. The boy let some of his mask of calmness slip away. Then his face once more relaxed into disconcern.
"Not bad, but not good either. You should join the revolution dad. You're slaughtering for coolies wages. Come over with us and we'll give you five per hit and let you eat the carcasses as well."
The man in the black death mask laughed.
The beautiful little bastard had spunk. He reached out and gripped the boy's arm, sinking his fingertips into the soft flesh. The boy was still tender, not yet eighteen. Too bad he didn't have some real time with him. A pity to waste all of that good ass. He rolled the boy over onto his belly. Time to get down to it. He jellied up and cupped and wiggled around the rolls of flesh. He pinched and prodded, fingers and traced the letter R for Rebel burned in red into the boys bottom. He bit and chewed on the brand scar and then spanked the blond killer rebel. He spanked and spanked, reddening the cheeks, making them shine with crimson hue. He spanked on, his heavy palms creasing the bottom flesh as his hand cracked down on each half one by one. He felt the body fidget and jerk, and saw the hard erect cock peaking out from under the boy's belly. He took it in his hand, engulfed it in his grip and began to jerk it. He played with the lively prick as he walloped the boy's seat. Then he jumped on the boy's back, spread his bottom cheeks wide and sank his big and heavy shaft into the tight, resistant bottom channel. He dug and tunneled into the hole, feeling it expand and open up as he enlarged it with his intrusion. The boy writhed and groaned in the throes of passion, letting his body carry his mind along on its far-out trip with his own ordained executioner.
In another part of the prison the warden was inspecting a group of the girls who made up Cell Block 2 in their shower. The girls douched and enemaed one another according to their orders, according to the rules, knowing that rapacious eyes feasted on their flesh and lusted for them. Many of them had sat strapped into the hot seat with electric jolts shooting through their bottoms watching close up color movies of themselves douching and being douched, going down on others and being sucked. It was part of the system that broke them down into fragmented, freaked out remnants of what they once were. It was a diabolically effective system and it usually worked.
The warden sloshed a vibrator around inside her pussy as she watched them putting on their spectacle for her amusement, thrilling to the tears that occasionally rolled down a feminine cheek.
Some of them were antagonists, bitter enemies with grudges stretching back to their wild days with guns in their hands. Sophia, a wild machine gun wielding assassin who had a long string of innocent bystanders among her victims and Judy, a half-assed radical writer who did her fighting with her pencil were natural enemies and so had been placed together in the same cell and designated as shower buddies. Under the system they soaped and washed each other and administered as well to each other's tender holes the douches and the enemas.
Judy smouldered under the rough callous touch of Sophia, who rammed the enema bag tube up into her and jerked it back and forth. The other girl was more than her match and the scum watching them through the two-way mirrors wanted them to fight among themselves, but Judy could stand no more.
Sophia looked up at her with taunting, arrogant eyes. She was offed and being erased by the authorities but at least she still had one piece of crap she could take it out on, this uptight mouth happy bitch who lacked the guts to pick up a gun when she had the chance to do so.
"What's the matter. Don't you like the way I move this thing around inside you. You should enjoy it, let me dildo your asshole with it. May be later they'll let you see the movie. I've heard that the film they shot of you blowing those twenty guards is one hell of a nation wide box office attraction."
That was too much. Judy locked her hands into Sophia's black hair and the fight was on. Other inmates crowded around to watch the diversion. No guards would try to stop it, although there would be penalties for the fighting later. The girl suffering the greatest damage and injury would pay the severest penalty in suffering, a part of the deliberate reign of unfairness and cruelty.
The girls spilled across the floor, pulling hair and sinking their teeth into each other, drawing blood. Water and crap shot out of Judy's ass and the two of them rolled to avoid the mess. Then as they scrambled to their feet Judy lashed out with a kick that sent her down on her ass once more when it failed to connect. Judy had stunned herself and her opponent was on her in a second to take advantage. Her teeth clamped into the smaller girl's breasts, ripping and tearing. Blood spurted from the torn boob flesh. The belly was raked bloody, the thighs grooved and welted with fingernail tears from the knees to the pelvis. Sophia tore handfuls of hair out of Judy's scalp and beaver pelt, ramming the fur into the girl's mouth, half choking her. She rained violent punches into the girl's tits, the strong fists disappearing into the soft whiteness. The girl kicked out in all directions, trying to lunge out from under her conqueror or to buck her off without any success.
Sophia spread the girl's legs wide, positioning her cunt for the final smashing pussy crunching barrage of murderous blows. Crashing into her cunt, the fist almost broke her in two. It felt as if she were being torn in half. She jack-knifed screaming in pain. But first blow was followed by a crunching series as the brutal Sophia kept after her, taking out her slavery and frustration upon a victim she could strike down.
A signal from the onlooker finally brought a pack of club swinging guards to break up the slaughter. But it was not relief they brought to Judy or rescue they provided as they pounded her to a pulp. They knocked a few teeth loose and broke her nose, cracked a few rigs and then dragged her off by the heels. Judy had lost and by the mad rules of New Devils Island that made her guilty and deserving of punishment. Nursing her few bruises Sophia felt only gloating triumph at the downfall of the little witch. The onlooker zooming in the close-up lens on her hate-distorted face felt also a triumph. The girl was ready to become one of the elite who helped keep their fellows hammered and nailed down. The big girl was ready to fink all the way. She was more interested now in shoving it out to others than in holding a unity with them. She was ready to become one of the others, one of the oppressors, one of the winners.
Then the onlooker turned her attention to another screen. There was an interrogation going on in the Room of Answers, the chamber where those prisoners who still had some information that was of interest to the authorities went through the painful process of having it extracted from them.
A young black militant girl was sitting in an electric chair. Electrodes had been inserted into her front and back, attached to her nipples and navel, and taped to her armpits.
An old man with a long white beard known as The Interrogator asked her questions from a typewritten list. His face was benign and friendly, his manner was mild and pleasant. He was despite this deceptive manner the most ruthless and feared information extractor in the states.
How many member were in your group. What was your base of operations?"
"I ain't telling you shit."
Zazzzz. The electricity turned the black girl into a spastic epileptic puppet dancing under the pull of electric strings jerking her flesh and nerves into a mangled mass of red-hot pain.
"How many members in your group? How many raids did you carry out. Who was your leader?"
"Fuck off whitey."
The old man touched a red-hot poker to the cleavage between her tits.
"Aaahhhh."
"How many raids did you carry out? Who was your warlord? To the best of your knowledge, name the surviving members still on the loose."
"Fuck you, honkie."
The old man calmly shoved a half a dozen needles into the lips of her cunt, one by one, extremely slow.
"Name five of your fellow members."
"Never."
"Name five that are dead."
The black girl fell into his ruse and named five dead members with a quivering voice.
"You're a liar. None of those names are on the list of known deceased members of your cell. You made those names up."
The electricity shot through her. The pins stuck into her bleeding pussy lips glowed with the jolts of electric fire.
"I can keep this up forever. You can't. I'll never quit until you speak words of truth to me."
A moaning boy lay on a table nearby. His body had been pounded with fists for three days. Every inch of his form from his neck to his ankles had been battered black. His eyes were swollen shut, his teeth battered loose. A young girl, the Interrogator's daughter, a bitch with a gentle and poetic face, thrust hot stones into his armpits and probed his bruised black body with a fork. The harsh stabbing of the fork into flesh which had been pounded thousands of times with brutal fists until it was one enormous discolored bruise was worse than pouring molten lead over them.
The boy did not cry out. His mouth was too badly damaged for him to cry out. He lay there trying to concentrate himself to death. He had read once that such a thing was possible for a badly injured person of strong will. But he could not manage it. All bullshit. The fork ripped into him once more. She dug it into the blackened midriff, probing along the separation lines of his abdominal muscles. She gouged it into the center of his stomach and twisted it around, sinking the prongs in deeper, deeper. Pain as intense as flaying tore through his nerve network.
"Look at that young man," spoke the interrogator in a gentle voice to his ebony victim. "Soon if you don't begin to speak truth to me you'll end up in a similar dilemma. We can beat every square inch of your flesh to bloody pulp. We can beat you for hours on end, day after day. You would go mad long before you died of it. We're experts at prolonging life. We could then work on your battered flesh, pinching or stabbing it as we choose. You could not hold out against such treatment. Do you honestly think you could?"
He gave her the electric jolt when she refused to answer him.
"No, no I couldn't."
"Excellent. Sweet reason at last. Now, will you speak truth to me?"
"Fuck off."
He sighed, unbelieving in such thick stupidity. She really would have to learn the hard way. With a shake of his head and regret in his kindly benevolent eyes he began to insert her nipples into the nipple crushers. He had all the time he wanted. Sooner or later her remanence would confess.
CHAPTER SIX
Half broken bodies littered the corridors of Cell Block 2. A forbidden weapon had been found. Despite the metal detectors, the precautions and safeguards, someone had smuggled a shiv into the Cell Block. It had been used to cut the throat of Ramona Carson, a particularly despised Block Lieutenant of the Auxiliary Security, a member of the loathed turncoat until that helped the staff maintain order and terror among the inmates. The inmates were universally joyous at her death despite the penalty they were forced to pay for it.
The staff hated Ramona's guts as well. Always groveling before them, begging to lick boots and asses, volunteering to clean ass in the johns. A real creep, willing to go to any lengths to curry favor. A first class pig fink. And ugly as well. But she was part of the setup of the prison's control, and her death could not be allowed to go unpunished. Ten for one retribution had to be exacted, the cornerstone of terror, the counterstrike that exceeds the assault by a multiplication of the effect of the assault. Ten pints of blood had to flow for every pint of Ramona's. They had to learn to accede, to knuckle down, to grovel and surrender. No resistance, not even the passive thoughts of resistance could remain.
Matron Carter led the force that tortured and interrogated the prisoners of Cell Block 2. None of those who were set above their fellows for finking and stooling and cooperating had seen anything. They took the penalty along with the others for being inobservant at the wrong time.
Carter kicked a crawling girl in the crotch. She flipped the girl over on her back and ground her spike heel into the pelvic pelt.
"Who the fuck is responsible for that shiv?"
"Owww�I don't know matron." The spike pressed into the pussy hole, squishing into lip and sheath, grinding and sawing in the moist, tender meat.
"You better remember."
One of the guards whipped the girl across her tits. Blood spurted from the slit nipples. The whip had a wicked spiked tip. It snaked out again, slashing a jagged tear into the midriff.
"Work on her properly. One of these scum will speak the truth."
One girl had been chained to the bars of her cell. A tall burly guard with his head shaven to increase the terror of his image burned a line of small dark spots from her neck to her pelt. He touched the cigarette to her flesh, let it sizzle as the skin browned and blackened, then touched it again an inch lower, slowly descending down the quaking body. He paused at her breasts to encircle the nipple rings with burns, then to touch the cigarette to the nipple coronas, and finally to the tips.
"WHO used that shiv, Marilyn?"
Marilyn spit into his leering, Neanderthal face.
His face flushed purple. He puffed the cigarette hot and then touched it to her forehead, twisting in a deep dark burn. "Arriiieeeeeee. You fucking bastard."
"Who used the shiv?"
He burned her on the chin, the cheeks, the nape of the neck. He touched her navel, her armpits, the palms of her hands. He ceased to question her, carried away by the blood-lust that gripped his fellows.
A boy had been hung up by his ankles and one of the female feline guards sucked and gnawed at his cock. She twisted and rotated it around in her mouth using her hands as well, chewing it pulling it to the limits of its elastic stretch as she squeezed and milked his balls. She bent it back, almost breaking it, and thrust her fingers violently up his ass, hurting his prostate.
"Tell it to me, you dirty little scum."
He remained adamant, or his ignorance was real. The guard didn't give a fuck.
"Drink my come, you damn bitch." That was not the reply she wished to hear. She rammed the end of a billy stick up his asshole, forcing it through the tight puckered door. She twisted it around and around, corkscrewing it slowly down the anal tunnel. His anguish shot his tool out as hard as a rock. The guard sucked him off as she reamed out his tortured tender asshole.
Two girls were tied together in a mouth to cunt position. Under the prod of lighted cigarettes and matches shoved against their assholes they performed sixty nine for the applauding inquisitioners.
The entire mass spectacle, the grand assault of clubs and fists, of bondage and whipping strained the crews of the tv monitors to catch and record all of the screaming riot and discord.
Two monitor matrons, Jeanne and Cathie, stripped off their leather hot pants, creaming over in their hotholes watching the debauchery. They exchanged hands to rub and finger fuck one another in mutual masturbation as they performed their pleasant duty. Jeanne switched on Camera No. 5 to catch a girl being stuffed into the Devil's Harness.
The harness consisted of a t-belt tightly strapped around the waist. The waist cinching strap as well as the crotch crushing strap had been studded all along the interior side with small iron spikes that bit into the flesh and slowly broke the skin sinking ever deeper into the bleeding flesh. Two large wooden plugs studded with wooden diamond head spikes had been embedded in the cunt and ass holes. The plugs were rigid, hard, the spikes ripping the skin along the inner sheaths of the cunt and ass slowly, inexorably, with every small unavoidable twitch and movement.
This was only part of the bondage. The breasts were contorted and trapped between two parallel wooden bars set into a shoulder harness running across the torso. The faces of the bars had been set with saw toothed iron spikes that sank into the plastic tit flesh and poured forth a gush of blood from the lacerated meat. Moreover, a connecting bar rested between the tits in the deep cleavage, thrusting sharp short needles into the sides of the tits, the soft and particularly sensitive inner contours of the big boobs.
This bondage was only the beginning of the girl's ordeal�a tall brunette with a bullet scar on her right cheek, an evidence of conflict and a badge of courage which often drove her oppressors to commit the most vile and extreme acts against her.
The big butch dyke female guard who tortured her was a grotesque creature in contrast to the beauty of her young prey. The dyke was tall and massive, with the shoulders of a football fullback. She was naked except for high heeled hob nailed leather boots and shoulder length gloves. She was fat, obscenely fat with great rolls of belly fat hanging down concealing her ugly hairy beaver pelt. She had tattoos on her arms and on the oversize misshapen tits with nipples the size of saucers that hung down to her navel. She had a chunk of tit missing where some victim driven mad by her cruelty had torn off a piece of the rancid white meat with her teeth.
The dyke had the blood drenched girl pinned with ropes to the bars of a cell. The dyke smiled down into her face as she bore down on the girl's feet with her boots, slowly crushing them under the massive press of weight.
"Tell me what we want to know. Who used the shiv?"
She elbowed the soft belly, pinched up the nipples and pulled the tits sideways, then back and forth, sawing the flesh upon the numerous spikes and needles gouging and burrowing into it.
"Fuck off, pig."
It was the typical reply of the hardcases, the few who still had the capacity for at least verbal defiance of the friends.
"Tough talk won't get you anything punk. You shitass hippies are gonna learn the meaning of fear and respect for law and order before we finish with you."
The girl laughed. Law and order. What a fucking mother loving joke out of the mouth of such a creep.
"You still can laugh, huh."
The dyke pinched up one of the amber nipples. A perfect specimen, despite the whiteish burn marks left in it from earlier ordeals. A small shapely pimple tip, a perfectly proportioned corona, of a good size. She took out her cigarette lighter and ignited it.
"Ronson. Lights first time, every time." Then she held the dancing, impish flame under the tit tip, the trapped bud on the end of the trapped mound that could not shake about without being torn and maimed by the sharp points ripping into it.
The flame ascended slowly until it touched the underside of the nipple with its cavorting tongue. The flesh discolored, then browned, then blackened, then gave forth smoke and stench.
The face of the sufferer contorted with the unnatural lining, creasing, and crevacing of the face of a person in deep pain, showing the ravages of time that awaited her in the future pre-revealed by the stress twisting her features. Greasy sweat ran down her countenance. She shook and trembled and saliva dribbled between her lips, followed by a heavy froth.
The guard could see that the girl was in no condition to talk to her. She kicked her once in the belly and once on each kneecap, leaving the bloody tears of her hobnailed boots in the tender skin. Then she fell upon a young black boy, gripping him by the Afro and ramming his ass into the stone wall. She swung him about with ever increasing velocity, from wall to bars and to wall again, hammering his ass into the heavy, hard stone and steel.
"Confess, nigger. Confess, confess, nigger," she shrieked.
The boy tore loose from her grip leaving her hands full of his rich hair. He punched her in the heavy paunch, his arm disappearing into her up to the elbow.
"You jive, homely bull dyke motherfucker. I ain't telling you shit."
He kicked her in the thigh and shot a right hand to the jaw which she blocked. She then simply lunged forward, her massive freakish body slamming him into the wall half squashed. She kneed him in the balls stomped on his foot breaking three toes, punched him in the belly and groin and then spun him around and pounded his face into the wall flattening his nose. He went down and she stomped on him, ripping him up with her spike heels, making him a gory mess.
The monitors went wild following her antics. They pulled out their vibrators and rammed them up snatches and assholes, going wild with the rising ferocity of the mass torture in Cell Block 2. They could no longer sit in their chairs and watch the action calmly, they writhed upon the floor, biting and scratching each other.
A young boy was licking the ass of a young girl who licked the sperm smeared balls of a guard. A tall girl guard with a spiked dong raped the ass of the boy, blood oozing from his asshole.
"Confess, speak, talk."
The male guard screamed out his demands as his whip tore their hides bloody. One swing of the whip went wild and slashed a gash into the tits of the female guard. She grabbed at her bouncing jugs howling with pain, blood dripping from between her fingers.
"You crazy stupid bastard. Why don't you watch what the fuck you're doing with that thing."
"Don't call me out you freaked up shit lapping les bitch."
He lashed out again. The whip cut into the boobs inflicting a long cut on the left one and a deep bleeding cut on the right one.
The girl picked up the boy she was corn-holing and threw him at the whip swinging bastard. He went down under the crashing body and then she was on top of him, stomping away. The first swing of her foot caved in his nose. She followed up with a kick to the mouth that broke a half dozen of his teeth loose.
Matron Carter rushed at the fracas, delivering a sharp blow to the girl's ribs with her club. She kicked the tall girl between the legs, catching her square in the clit lips with the point of her boot.
The male guard staggered to his feet, his broken face streaming blood. He looked down at the fallen girl and then with a curse drew back his foot to smash his boot into her face. Matron Carter cracked his skull open with her club. As he fell she split his head open once again. A kick to the crack in his skull finished him off.
The turmoil and pandemonium gradually subsided except for the moans of the victims. Every guard was staring in horror at the dead inmate. They had often many prisoners but rarely did a member of the staff face such a fate. But he had committed the one unpardonable offense. He had struck the first deliberate blow in a battle between staff people. The penalty was summary execution, on the spot with the means at hand. As the presiding matron in the disciplinary measures against Cell Block 2 Matron Carter had the right to off him. She had exercised that right.
"Finnegan was asking for it, so I gave it to him. He always was a dumb ass mother. Now get back to work on these fucks. I want some answers.
The torture went on. There was no break for food or drink. The strain began to tell upon the staff as well, and they became more and more violent. They wanted an end to the session, a chance to rest. They whipped and pounded. They salted wounds and poured vinegar into tits whipped and striped until the flesh was almost ready to fall off.
One guard pulled half a dozen teeth from half a dozen mouths with pliers. He squeezed nipples and pricks, twisting them in the iron grip, questioning and shrieking.
Confess, talk, confess, who did it.
Questions repeated endlessly accompanied by pointing fists and stomping boots. At last the confession came from a stubborn, bitter, little black boy of sixteen who could not take the slow removal of his toenails one by one and the rubbing of salt and pepper into the vacated raw wounds on his toes.
"Take him away, take him away. We're gonna execute the fuck."
The other prisoners were herded back into their cells, to roll and writhe in their anguish, with nothing to treat their wounds and injuries.
The killer was dragged off, blows rained upon him, barely conscious of what was happening and trying to find a small measure of serenity before he was snuffed out.
They wanted to waste him fast. No such shit as calling out the prison to see his execution, might make him a bit of a hero if his death was witnessed. They wanted him under fast, unceremoniously. And that was how they did it. They threw him into a hole and covered him up, alive. He found the strength to scream loud and clear as they dropped the dirt on him, and he clawed at the dirt covering him as he was buried. But it was soon over. And he was dead, buried alive, a horrible example to others who might contemplate rash acts.
Warden Barrigan watched the death of the young black boy from her window in her office with great satisfaction. It made her gash hot to see the boy buried alive.
"One nigger less to worry about.
There was a ceremonious execution set up for the following day. A grand festival of death. It would be glorious, with leaders and big shots in attendance, powerful men with long records and great honors. She would see that it was something that they would long remember.
She rang the buzzer on her desk. Her secretary entered, knelt before her and kissed the thick growth of hair sprouting out from Gale's cunt.
"I want my magnificent four sent in here. No chains on them this time. But I want them with plugs up their asses and cunts. I want them lined up one behind the other, kissing ass as they come into my presence. Tell them that I'm going to whip them and fry their cans with cigars. I'm going to stick pins into their butts and piss down their throats. And inform them that I want to see happy, happy smiles at all times as I do these things to them."
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was to be a public execution, a gruesome carnage before the assembled inmate body. The T V cameras were in place, the gruesome goon squad stood around, barbaric naked seven foot brutes in black masks, wielding huge whips. They flayed the tender hides of tall blondes and redheads, beautiful girls with big tits, chosen as the appetizer to the bloody main course.
Warden Barrigan stood arrogantly upon the podium, naked and defiant of them, making sport of their helplessness. A girl knelt behind her sucking her ass. Two others lay at her feet licking her boots.
"This is an execution. We're ripping off a piece of filth once again, a vile traitor to the country and to the magnificent leadership to which all good patriots owe their loyalty. Something you worthless renegades would never understand."
It gave her a great feeling of power to stand up there and bullshit them, letting them know from the tone of her voice that she knew it was all crap and didn't care.
She spun around and lunged her bare, saliva dripping ass out at them. Then she shook it, did the vibration, laughed at them helpless to retaliate against her, fucking them over good and proper.
The executioner strode up to the raised podium, a massive brute in a golden mask. The victim followed him, led by a leash around his neck. It was Jerry, the young golden boy chosen for an ugly death at the hands of the animal who had raped him so lustily. "This animal is Jerry Skodanata. He's guilty of murder, terror, assault, and treason. Look well upon him. This is the fate that awaits all such traitors to our glorious nation."
There was no one to shout her down, nobody to call her out. No cries of fuck off. Absolute and total power. The power to fuck and shit people. Power to destroy and degrade.
She turned to the executioner and took his long, limpid cock in her hand. It instantly became hard and firm. She played with it, making it come alive, hard and straight.
"Time for the execution now," he reminded her.
The door to the box creaked open, a massive iron cubicle twenty feet square on all sides. The Executioner led the boy into the sinister box, and it closed behind them. What went on in there would be known only to them. And one of them would not carry the knowledge past another hour. A silent, secret death more terrifying then a public butchery. All stood in line, clustered in the yard under the machine guns on the towers, shuddering and imagining the horrors taking place in the cubicle. It served its purpose well.
Inside the square iron death box Jerry looked around at the horrid array of death instruments.
"You pigs are well prepared, I'll say that. You have every fucking thing here."
"We use all sorts of methods. I've used everything in this room from time to time. But there are always new implements and new techniques."
"I suppose I get something original man."
"Indeed you do, my beemish lad."
Jerry tried to recall where the quote had been taken from as the Executioner ran greedy hands over his body, groping and fondling the firm buttocks. He jabbed his fingers into indentations in the ass that had been slashed into it with whips and chains.
Jerry was strapped down to an iron table, his four limbs outstretched.
"Well, let's begin."
The Executioner crammed a spiked iron ball into Jerry's mouth. The spikes of the barbaric gag pierced his tongue and gums. His mouth filled with blood which he could only swallow down.
The hooded killer chose a large pair of tweezers. One by one he plucked out the boy's toenails, slowly and lingeringly, keeping the agony at its peak. As each nail was stripped away the raw bleeding wound was rubbed with salt and ice. Jerry felt his flesh blazing and exploding. Lightning and fire ripped along the tracks of his nerves.
Red hot stones were placed in his armpits. The hairy skin smouldered and sizzled. Greasy moistness sheened upon his rippling, twitching skin. The Executioner pressed the stones into the armpits, turning them over and over, moving them around in the furry cavities.
The Executioner flipped hot coins onto the boy's torso. He placed white-hot silver dollars over his nipples and poured hot sand over his crotch and navel.
Red hot needles were plunged into the boy's flesh. Into his arms, legs, belly, chest, thighs, shoulders, back, and rump. First dozens, and then hundreds. Needles under the fingernails, needles into the scorched armpits, needles into the groin.
The boy was bathed in boiling hot tar. Inch by inch it was smeared over his body. Tar was forced up his anus, three quarts of boiling tar was pumped into him.
As he suffered his face took on a permanent expression of pain, a contortion of suffering lines and creases that testified to the extent of his agony despite the silence of his voice. It was not the gag alone which kept him silent, the spiked iron ball which tore his mouth apart, it was fortitude and guts which held him relatively silent throughout the long and terrible ordeal. Blood gushed from his mouth in a steady flow, saliva blended with it as he foamed at the corners of the lips.
When the tar had been smeared over every inch of his body except his head, the Executioner dabbed his forehead with a wet cloth and extracted the spiked ball from the gory mouth. He kissed the brave boy tenderly on the cheek.
"You're very brave, you have more guts than any other victim I've ever worked on. But now it is time to end this. I think you want it ended as well as I do."
The Executioner poured the remainder of the boiling hot black tar over the boy's head. It filled his gaping mouth and plugged up his nostrils. The heat drove him into shock mercifully dulling his senses before he suffocated under the black mass.
Outside throughout the unknown atrocities that occurred within The Cubicle, the staff celebrated the festival of horror. They gloated over every tear of frustration, pity, sorrow, and rage that cascaded down the cheeks of many inmates.
The Ripper swaggered around the yard, temporarily leaving her victims down in The Room, to enjoy the mass defeat of the inmate population.
She stopped before a line of naked black girls.
"Do you niggers enjoy this little show we're putting on for you?"
"Fuck off you whitey motherfucker."
The Ripper blew her whistle. Two tall guards with submachine guns at the ready ran up to her.
"Take this loudmouth down to The Room. I'll be down to play with her later. Start off by piercing her nipples and running iron rings through them. Then pull five of her back molars, very slowly. After that stick one hundred pins into her tits. Let her rest when you finish all of that until I come down to attend to her black ass myself."
The Ripper looked into each and every black face as the rebellious girl was dragged off. They looked down at the ground with downcast eyes, afraid to meet her gaze lest they fall victim to her ire as well as their vocal and defiant comrade.
"Anybody else have anything to say, niggers?"
There was a stone silence. They did the walking and staring dead number as if she had not used the terrible epitaph. They were all cowered and broken.
The Ripper held the right breast of each girl in the palm of her left hand, one by one, and smashed it with her left fist. They screamed loudly and trembled with the anguish the blow dealt out to them, but they made no attempt to avoid, retreat, or retaliate.
"Yellow, gutless niggers."
She whipped their tits bloody, gashed their cunts with her whip. They tottered, reeled, half fell but remained upright and in position, in rank, enduring her brutality. On the podium the warden took a shit into the mouth of one of her four magnificent blonde girls. The slave passed the reeking crap along by mouth to another girl who passed it in identical manner to the third, who gave it likewise to the fourth. From her it was transferred into the mouth of a great fat, sloppy hippie boy, a wild pistol packing yip-pie militant who had been trained as a shit eater by the perverse staff members. They had broken him until he ate shit without a word of command overjoyed in this way to avoid punishment. He ate the shit from the blonde girl's mouth, gobbled it down his gaping craw and rubbed his big gut in appreciation of the delicacy. He crawled up to the feet of the warden and licked the domineering woman's boots clean in appreciation of the favor she granted him. She kicked his ass across the stage leaving bloody tracks in his big rump with her toenails and recognition of his servility.
A girl with black hair used her rich, lush strands to clean Gale's ass. Gale thanked her by stomping on her tits and kicking her ass off the podium.
"I'm the boss, I'm the Warden, I'm your God," she bellowed in the grip of megalomania. "I can do anything I fucking well please. All of you swine are my slaves, to rip off or rip up any way I damn fell feel like choosing. Am I right, you hopeless swine?"
Whips cracked into flesh and the barrels of sub-machine guns were rammed into soft tender bellies.
"Right on." A weak chorus of assent from a few of the cowered prisoners, but the warden accepted the acclamation, it was sufficient demonstration of her complete power and domination over them. Power had to be handled, it had to be taken out and held in the hand and used. Yes, power existed in the act and the application, not in the passive possession of it.
She racked her brains thinking of what else she could do to assert her power and domination over them. Her guards swaggered among their ranks, whipping and abusing. They waited fearfully, standing at attention with mauled, abused flesh, unable to do a thing about it. Several of the male guards were working over a group of young white girls in front now, thrusting fingers into their tender slits. One guard walked back and forth along the front row, his hands fondling and palming the hairy pussy pelts, his fingers shoving in and out, his nails raking the clitorises. To Barrigan he held promise, he had the makings of an officer. She would promote him to sergeant.
The guard stopped before a girl bleeding from under bandages on her tits. The gauze was stained with the red seeping through. He grasped the bandages and ripped them off with one yank. Blood shot out from her tits, splashing on his hairy chest. The tits were a mass of unhealed bullwhip wounds. The girl had been badly sliced up by a real bastard, she needed stitches in those cuts. But the guard laughed as she began to totter and then to keel over from the shock of having the bandages torn from her bloody tit cuts. He pulled the gaping raw welts open, grasping and pinching the flesh up along both sides of the wounds and parting the ripped meat of her tits with a steady, continuous motion, actually tearing her tits apart. Blood splashed all over him and the girl went hysterical with the agony. She tore loose from his grip and started to run. The sadist hit her along the side of the head, and she fell over bleeding from a cut at the hairline.
The guard motioned to one of his fellows.
"Take her to the dispensary and then to The Room for a little discipline in maintaining a proper formation during execution fall-in" Barrigan snapped out an order to the guard. "Up here on the double, lard ass."
The man came scurrying up to the podium as if his ass had been rubbed with acid cream.
He snapped to attention wondering what miscarriage he might have committed.
"I'm promoting you to sergeant, since you're such an evil, corrupt motherfucker. Keep up the good work and break them down."
The guard snapped to rigid attention, rare pleasure stamped on his ugly face.
"Thank you, Warden. How may I express my gratitude?"
Gale pumped his cock in her hand and thrust fingers up his ass, touching the small button of his prostate.
"Down on your knees and suck my cunt dry. That's the way to show your gratitude, mother. Also, you should get a real charge out of it, and you're only the third one today to eat my pussy."
He dropped to his knees and pressed his face to the beaver pelt. It turned her on to show off that way before the massed prison population, inmates and guards as well. She spread her legs wide and lunged her sex box forward, mashing it into his face, the warm juices beginning to flow as his tongue went properly to work on her. As he was probing with the tip of his tongue along the deep inner recesses of her cunt shaft, the door of The Cubicle opened up and the Executioner stepped out. His body was sheened with sweat and there were traces of dried blood on his torso, quite obviously, not his own. A few of those close to The Cubicle had a glimpse of a still, dark form before the door closed hiding the dead, tortured body. The Executioner stepped up to the warden and saluted her.
"Execution carried out. The condemned prisoner is now deceased."
"Right on." She handed out to him in the view of all his executioner's fee.
"Another enemy has been wiped out. Let all of you remember this and learn to cooperate, lest your own turns come soon."
The inmates were herded back to their cells, cowered and broken even more. Once again they had been forced to stand cravenly by as one of their numbers was wantonly butchered by the evil lunatics running the prison.
Barrigan spent the rest of the day in a wild orgy with her special guests, the high-ranking officers and officials who had come to enjoy the spectacle of the execution.
"Too bad we didn't see the actual death," complained one fat middle-aged general. "Anyway, they don't kill in the old ways anymore, whatever you say. Remember, how Mandle died when he tried to assassinate the chief. They burned him, boiled him, roasted him over a fire. Every bone in his body was broken and his flesh flayed off an inch at a time. In the end he was cut to pieces. He survived for a long time. No, killing isn't what it used to be."
Finishing his diatribe he dug his spurs into the flanks of the slave girl he rode, and pulled on the bit wedged into her mouth, shedding her blood as she strained under the burden of his weight. He laid the cat across her ass to get her to gallop.
"Nonsense," Barragan interjected. "Our executions are as colorful and grisly as any in the past. We have absolute power over our inmates and we never shirk from the most severe exercise of that power. There is nothing we would not do, and nothing that we have not done."
Saying this she shifted her weight upon the face of the whipped boy pinned under her tail and let her stream of piss loose down his throat. He allowed some of it to spill out of his mouth calling down her wrath upon his head. She motioned to two burly male guards, with brawny muscles and great pouches of fat hanging over their belts. The guards unceremoniously dragged the boy away by the heels, raining blows and kicks to him. One of them stomped upon his hands, mangling them.
"Be careful with the little punk," Barrigan said with a tone that belied her words, "he used to play the piano. Don't break his delicate hands, break his feet instead, boys." One of the generals looked up from the whip gashed girl who sucked his cock. "Aren't you afraid of a mass uprising here? These pigs have nothing to lose."
"They have their lives."
"You couldn't call this living. They have nothing to lose, as I just said. Some of them were real kamikazes when they were part of the movement. They gave us a rough time with their revolution. I find it hard to believe that dedicated, tough fighters such as these could be turned into docile lambs awaiting their slaughter with resignation and pacifism."
"You can believe it. I do head numbers on them. I fuck their heads, and the rest takes care of itself. Some are strung out behind skag, and they're not the problem they used to be. Others are turned upon their brothers and sisters. We feed them well, even grant them a few courtesies. We allow these traitors to their cause to achieve a few improvements for their own particular faction. And we use them against other factions. We play up divisions and disunities. It's not very hard. It works every time. We keep them in a constant state of confusion and uncertainty, and the one constant in this place is our total power and total ruthlessness. Even the strongest has to break down a time and acknowledge our supremacy."
"Veronica Corda hasn't broken," added one official in a sarcastic sneer.
She cast him a disparaging glance.
"Only a matter of time. She's almost ready to break now. Only the remembrance of her reputation as the toughest of the tough keeps the bitch going. But I'm going to personally off her very soon. I'm going to rip the pig but good, with my own hands. I don't need any damn executioner for her ass."
The generals and officials looked at her with respect. She was the right one for her post, an absolutely loyal and unflinching party member and the most ruthless warden in the penal system.
Barrigan pressed the button on the underside of her desk. Her secretary entered and bowed before her. Barrigan ran her hand through the hair of one of her four blonde personal slaves, jabbing at the red streaks on her back with the other hand.
"I want some fresh people brought in. I want a fight between three boys and seven girls. Choose them carefully. The winning team gets a weeks rest and recuperation and good food. The losing team goes down to The Room. Now put some rush into it."
A cheek splitting lash across the rump as she scurried out snapped up her pace.
One of the generals leaned back, enjoying the cock sucking he was getting.
"I'd like to see the Room before I leave. I've never had a look at it."
"You'll have the grand tour, General O'Connor. You'll see what hell itself will look like to these scum when they reach it. Nothing else in this place can compare with The Room. You'll enjoy the tour, and maybe if you re a good boy I'll give you a souvenir to take home with you."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Matron Carter stood shoulder to shoulder with the Ripper, spurring on the fight with cracks of her whip. They had bet a bundle on the fight, and they were planning dire consequences for the loser who would cost one of them a week's salary.
The fighters were two tall, statuesque girls, one black and one white. They were well matched, spirited furies who fought with long, heavy bullwhips that could rip flesh as easily as they could tear up tissue paper.
"Your black bitch is weakening," taunted the Ripper.
Carter lashed out with her whip, cracking the tip a few inches from the toe of her combatant. She wished fervently that she could use it on the opponent, but that was against the rules.
"Come on, Yolanda, get your damn dumb ass in gear and rip her with that whip."
The two girls bled profusely from numerous deep gashes. They circled warily, low on energy, waiting for a decisive opening, a flaw in the other's guard.
Yolanda lashed out at her enemy's face. The white girl jumped back, but the tip slashed a cut into her ivory cheek. She shook out her long blonde tresses, the golden mane a barbaric battle flag flapping in the heavy wind blowing through the exercise yard. The blonde feinted toward her opponent's legs and then slashed at her tits. The bull-whip tore her over the bobbing span of both boobs, ripping yet another slash into the mangled ebony mounds.
"That's it," Ripper whooped. "Rip her tits off. Knock those boobs off her you white ass bitch. Get her good."
Both combatants hated the way they were forced to lash and flay one another for the amusement of the two arch fiends. But they dared not whip out at the two feline furies, for it was not worth a slow and agonizing death to get in a few strokes with the whips before they went down. So they continued to circle and feint, waiting for the shot that would finish the match.
At last the blonde girl snaked out her whip with a fast movement coiling it around the ankle of her opponent and throwing her heavily down to the concrete, failing however to crack the bone as she had intended. She brought the whip back and then slashed it full at her opponent's torso. But her black antagonist rolled away, the whip scarring the concrete where her body had been a second ago. The white girl slashed out again, ripping a long deep tear into the mobile ass, but not doing any decisive damage. As she drew her arm back for yet another effort the black girl snaked her whip out at her and coiled the bullwhip around her waist. She reeled her in, the blonde stunned and confused by pain. Then before the white beauty could recover her balance her whip was slashed from her hand, and she hopped about howling, her wrist deeply slashed by the bullwhip of her opponent. She desperately lunged for her whip, but a few cracks of her opponent's lash sent it skidding away from her grasp.
Then the black girl was all over her, lashing and flogging. Yolanda crisscrossed welts into her ass, tearing up the firm white cheeks, covering the white sweep of succulent hind meat with a webwork of bleeding stripes. She hammered stripes into the belly, the thighs, the tender tits.
"Rip her, crush her," howled the Ripper.
"Wipe her out," added Carter, disgusted and angered over the defeat of the slave she had bet on.
Under the command of the two of them the black girl had no choice save to continue the flagellation of her friend. She whipped her to ribbons, trying however to avoid any fatal damage to the magnificent body. The two fiendish guards stopped the slaughter before the blonde became a terminal case.
"You sure know how to pick the losers," mocked The Ripper.
Carter nodded dejectedly. It was true, damn it, her pigs almost always lost to the fighters that The Ripper chose. Much to her chagrin, Carter had to admit that the Ripper had a surer eye for this sort of contest.
She looked down angrily at the bleeding scourged body at her feet and dug the spike heel of her boot into the deepest welt on the ass that she could locate. Then she gouged and ground her spike heel deep into the throbbing blood splashing meat until she could feel her foot sinking deep into the groaning girl's meat as if she were slicing into it with a knife.
The Ripper played with the welts on the black girl's body, spanking her ass even as she mopped away the sweat and blood from the rounded mounds. She thrust the butt of her whip into Yolanda's cunt and treated her to a whip handle fuck that was not unbearably painful.
"Care for another round?"
Carter looked at her. It was getting to the point where her pockets were permanently empty.
"Do I have the choice of first fish."
"All right, we'll work it that way. I don't care."
Half a dozen boys and girls were trooped out and made to stand for inspection like a herd of cattle. The two women prodded and explored them, choosing carefully, eager for the finest quality.
Carter chose a young boy with a scarred face and surly eyes. She knew him by reputation as being something of a legend with a knife. He should take to the whip readily, although he would be clumsy with it, not a skilled combatant as the two trained ones they had just used were.
"Good choice," commented the Ripper. She ran her hands up the crotch of a tall, heavy redheaded girl with the words 'FUCK OFF' tattooed on her belly.
"I like this one though. It looks to me as if she has grit. She looks like she can last the course. So I'll just pick this little one."
Carter wondered at the choice the Ripper had made. The girl looked too slow to keep up with the light-footed boy. The shiv ace would run her butt off and whip her raw. At least, Carter hoped that it would turn out that way.
"Let's get it on."
The two opponents were given their weapons and instructed in the rules, which were simply the absence of any restraint whatsoever in the combat which would not end until one or both fighters were incapacitated.
The fight began. As Carter expected the boy lashed out almost at will, dancing around his stocky, fleshy enemy, cutting patterns into her flesh. He displayed a cruel streak, taking delight in cutting up his opponent. He whipped the girl's heavy ivory white thighs to shreds until blood dripped down her calves and a red trail marked her movements.
But the girl never ceased trying, continually cracking out with her own whip at the boy. And as sweat poured down his body his fast footwork began to slow down and he displayed a real fear of the whip that his opponent wielded. He tried to finish it, lashing out at the face. But the big redhead was faster than she appeared to be and although the whip striped and marred her flesh everywhere, she was a big massive hunk of muscle and fat and could withstand more punishment than the lightweight knife artist. She could even take more than the two tall Amazons who had preceded her in combat, and Carter began to realize that she had fucked herself again, as the boy turned cautious and showed his fear of the whip.
"I thought that if his face is all slashed up, he couldn't be as good with a blade as the word had him being. I know he has the technical equipment and the technique, so it has to be that he chicken shits when he gets hurt. Look at him."
Carter cursed. The punk was turning shit-ass on her, retreating from the constant, inexorable thrust of the heavy girl's whip.
"Fight back, you sniveling coward. I'll hang you up by your fucking balls if you lose this one for me."
"Tough shit, Carter. Kiss your rubles good-bye, he's about to get his ass chopped off."
The boy reeled under the lash of the whip. It coiled around his chest and snapped him around. Then the girl looped it between his legs, threading the needle with it. The whip snapped against his belly and covered his cock with its harsh embrace.
"EEEaaahhhhh." He screamed in horror and clutched at his raw whipped member. The girl gave him one across the rump, and then another driving him forward. She slashed a bloody X into his back and then changed the design to a star, spewing forth blood. She knocked him down and flogged him across the pavement.
"Rip him up, cut him to pieces."
Carter buried her face in her hands. She had been fucked once again. She never learned. Another damn defeat. "Get out your money, Matron Carter. I win this round too."
The girl planted her bleeding ass on the boy's face. She ground the massive hind cheeks down on his head, and from under her tail came the squishing, choking sounds of something being forced out of her tight asshole into his gaping mouth. The stench told the two evil women that the big redhead was feeding her shit to the boy.
"Right on, bitch. Make the faggot punk eat every scrap of it."
The ordeal of the boy was awful but throughout the prison complex there were many suffering far worse. A great many, being whipped, scourged, branded, electrocuted, boiled, beaten, clubbed, raped.
Veronica Corda was suffering the worst at the hands of her nemesis, Warden Gale Barrigan. Barrigan had her hanging in bondage by her thumbs. Cords cut deep into the tender thumbs, blood seeping from under the nails. From her big toes heavy weights had been suspended, and other weights dangled from her nipples.
"Are you ready to acknowledge my superiority over you, to call me your master."
"F-fuck off, you witch."
Gale shoved a red-hot needle into Veronica's right armpit. The tortured rebel hardly showed any reaction to the new increment of pain.
"Maybe I should change this bondage. You've been in it so long, you're becoming insensible to further pain."
"Fuck off, scarface."
The name still aroused the fury of Barragan.
"I warned you never to call me that, but you seem to be hard of hearing. Or else you enjoy the things I do to you. But of course you love these things, almost as much as you hate them. Pain is the brother of sister. YOU TAKE TO IT without the usual complaints."
"I won't scream for your pleasure, if that's what you mean."
Gale twisted a long splinter into the lip of Veronica's cunt. Then she filled the inner and outer cunt lips with more of the long sharp splinters, rubbing and caressing the lips gently as she did so.
"I believe you'll make some music for me now. In fact, I'm absolutely certain of it."
Saying this she calmly lit the splinters and seated herself on the face of one of her golden slaves to watch the splinters burn down to the flesh.
In a cell a girl was just returning from a session in The Room. It was Judy, condemned unjustly (as typical) through losing her fight with the brutal Sophia. Her cellmates tenderly helped her to her bunk. They eased her down onto the cot. The girl's rump was a mass of wounds and lacerations, but even worse was the raw peeling series of burns. It looked as if she had been ass roasted on a spit, which is what they had actually done to her.
"Oh, you poor thing," sobbed Hilda, one of her cellmates. "What did those monsters do to you."
"Don't cry so much," Judy said in a bitter tone, "if they think we're too close they'll change one of us to another cell."
"What's the use anyway. If they don't have you coming, they have you going."
The philosophical words of Nancy, her third cellmate, failed to rouse Judy out of her depression.
"What the fuck help is that kind of talk anyway, bitch."
Nancy laughed. "Nothing is any damn good in this place. There is no help, there is just no help. One second to pray, one second to die."
There was a rattle of a club on the bars of their cell. In alarm they jumped to their feet and stood at attention. A guard was standing there bearing them malice in every line of her face.
"I have a surprise for you. A fourth member of your happy little menagerie. A new fish to your little tank, and she's the head of the little harem you've got in there, so be nice to her. Can you dig it. Do you read it loud and clear?"
The stupid sounds coming from her guttural throat informed them that they were being given a cell queen, probably one of the sell-out finks to lord it over them. Just what they needed to make it all perfect.
Sophia strutted up to the bars and leaned her naked body forward, heavy with sweat and perfume and sex juice. She had obviously been in the midst of a wild orgy, and she shared the good graces of the guards. She had sold out all the way and was now a trusty, a stoolie, a kapo, a fink. The bitch was ready to take on the responsibility of holding the asses of several of her betrayed fellow inmates in line and with the bizarre humor of the fiends, it seemed the right thing to do to put her in with Judy. Judy whimpered with dread. Sophia fixed predatory eyes on her wounded body, measuring and calculating the damage she could do to the frightened girl.
The guard ran caressing hands up and down Sophia's thighs.
"Take it easy baby, don't rush things. Give these three bitches about two minutes to adjust their heads before you start messing them around."
Sophia kissed the guard on the mouth. Their flesh mashed together and they locked in a long embrace before Sophia was let loose in the cell with her new charges.
"Fun, fun, fun, ain't we gonna have fun." The three sickened girls had their doubts on that score, especially Judy. The brutal kapo rolled Judy over onto her belly and raked the blistered peeling skin on her tail.
"Aaaaiiiiiieee." She clawed the sheet to shreds in her desperation. The other two girls hurtled forward to interpose themselves against Sophia, but she stopped them by pointing her finger at the camera focused on the cell.
"One word from me, one shout, and you're all due for a visit to The Room."
She slapped Judy on the ass, and then dug her claws into the welts.
"What do you say, simp. Do you want your two friends to try and help you? It means they go to the room and so do you. Tell them."
"Aiiaaaa. Oh�no. Oh. Forget it. Let her do what she wants."
Sophia chuckled, triumph uglying her laughter. At last things were going to be just a little bit different. She had joined the revolution for the thrill of killing, and she was not too particular who she killed. She had chosen the wrong side but it was not too late to rectify that error. She was certain that someday after she had proven herself she would be permitted to go over to the victorious side. SHE would be useful and loyal and they would appreciate her services.
Judy clenched her teeth and dug her nails into the cot. It was going to be horrible. Sophia twisted her claws into the tender blistered meat and ripped the skin up. She pried a section of peeling hide off loose and bit into it, trapping it between her teeth. Then she ate it off of the girl's twitching rump. She pulled loose a long flap of relatively undamaged hide as well, bloody and raw. She spat the skin into the toilet, sneering at the horrified expressions of the other two.
"This is a soft cell. You two creeps still have a bit of squeamishness after all that you've seen and suffered. I'm going to rip her hide up, and I want you to watch it. Better yet, I want you to participate."
She ripped and chewed away more skin from the scourged and roasted rump. Half flogged away sections of the skin hanging down from the welts, cracked and rolled up burned sections of raw hide. She chewed them away, peeled the skin with her claws, extending the damage from the knees to the neck with her nails spanking and clawing. She made Judy foam at the mouth and bite her tongue bloody. Judy bit away hunks of the bedding and drummed her feet until she fractured her own ankles.
"Come over here, you two creeps. I want you to do some eating on this broad's dirty ass. Get over here and chew her up. And I mean chew.
The ass was half skinned, a red raw mass bleeding profusely. They couldn't stomach the horror. But Sophia was unrelenting and the camera eye loomed behind her. Sophia clawed their tits and faces. She spit into their mouths and forced them to eat down the slime, knowing that the camera was following the action and eager to prove herself to her new friends.
"Eat it, she demanded. Eat it, eat it."
She kicked them, pounded them. She shoved their heads into the toilet and flushed. She had to exert her control, establish her domination. She mashed their bodies together, chewing and gnawing their tits until their blood spilled down her throat. She stomped on their feet, banged their heads together, shoved things up their cunts and asses.
"Eat her damn you, eat her."
"Please," moaned Judy, "do as she says. She's crazy. Don't make it worse, she'll send us all down to The Room."
"But I can't do it," sobbed Nancy, "it's horrible. I'd rather be dead. I can't bear to even think about doing it."
"Don't think about it, that's the secret. Just go ahead and do it."
The two girls chewed and chomped the ass, biting and licking the slimy blood-covered bottom globes, drinking off the gore.
Her victory confirmed, Sophia was almost gentle as she finger-fucked both of their cunts simultaneously while they ate Judy's ass.
Watching them on the telly, the monitors snickered at the ferocity of the new convert.
"The turncoat probably thinks that she's in tight with us. The fool. We never allow a renegade to rise above a fixed point. AFTER ALL THEY ARE UNTRUSTWORTHY. She's proof of that. A few weeks ago they were her sisters. Now she rips them apart." Her friend was not interested in a long discussion. They finger-fucked each other watching the wild display and taping it for instant replay.
CHAPTER NINE
Barrigan led another inevitable gaggle of officials on a tour of the facilities. They were drag queens in military uniform for the most part, their hands ever strayed to one another's flesh.
One was the governor general of what had once been the state of Hawaii. He wore trousers with the rump cut out and the dildo up his ass was plain for everyone to see. It was not this perfectly acceptable behavior that caused his comrades to consider him a trifle degenerate, but the fact that the dong was black By his side walked the governor general of Arizona. They played with each other's tender tails, occasionally striking out with their whips.
"This is indeed all that we've heard it to be," remarked the commander of Hawaii, "But I believe the best part is yet to come. A place which they call simply, The Room."
"Right on. That is the best of the attractions of our little rest camp. All of those who pass through it find it quite restful. Some find it so restful that they rest permanently."
"That would be a sight worth seeing."
"Perhaps we will arrange it for you the next time you grace this establishment with your presence."
They passed a girl bound to a wall with fine link chains criss crossing her flesh. Her body leaked blood from a pattern of cuts and bruises. One of the fag tourists pinched up a bit of her belly, causing the claret to squirt from between his fingers to the giggling amusement of his fellows who played with his swishy white ass.
"Look at the bitch squirm."
Barrigan lashed her tits with a quirt, striping the nipples and the soft white mounds.
"These radicals are tough. This stubborn one still refuses to break, but it's only a question of time."
"Do any of them hold out?"
"A few carry their stubbornness into the graves with them, but only a few. There are too many techniques we can use on them and too few ways to resist."
She whipped the top stretch of the tits, slashing red streaks into the ivory meat and then overlapping them with other whip marks. She probed the wide open cunt gash and then rained lashes upon it, sending the girl into a paroxysm of wild threshing under the reaction to the agony.
The queers were rubbing ass and cock, getting their rocks off watching the wild torture.
"We'll be at The Room soon gentlemen. Down there you'll see some fantastic things. You'll see flesh stripped of all except the primordial scream. You'll hear sounds unimaginable from the human throat."
The governor general of Hawaii kissed her tits, his tongue washing her sprightly coral nipple.
"You almost make me hungry for the crudity of a woman's hot gash. Do you mind if I taste yours?"
"Help yourself."
She presented her cunt to the lips of the pervert and then allowed him a sampling of her ass as well. His tongue was long, heavy, and very moist. He pronounced her tastes and smells first rate and she allowed his hands to remain in groping contact with her swaying buttocks all the way down the winding staircase they followed. They wound up in the room behind the viewing mirrors, and laid out before them was the central horror core of The Room.
A girl had been tied to a spit turning over a low fire. The Ripper personally handled the luscious morsel. She ran her cigarette up and down over the girl's thighs. The girl moaned, as the heat of the cigarette overshadowed the radiated heat burning into her body.
A newcomer taking her first trip down to The Room stood before this tableau of terror, huddling and shivering with dread, her eyes darting about taking in all of the varied atrocities being committed upon her fellow inmates.
"You're not put off by the sight of a little blood, are you," The Ripper asked.
"Please�please don't hurt me."
"We never hurt people. We may torture them a bit but we never hurt. Here, I'll show you what I mean."
She lit a fresh cigarette and tossed the match at the torso of the woman she was frying over the flames. The match bounced off of the white body leaving a blackish mark upon the ivory softness. The Ripper spun the cigarette around in her fingers, touching it almost gently to the white flesh. It left little red marks or little black marks upon the form turning over the fire.
"See what I mean. Now you come over here."
The girl was rooted to the spot and could not move her limbs. The Ripper gave her three cutting lashes across the breasts. The girl collapsed to the floor, burying her head in her arms as if this could lock out the horror enveloping her. The queen dignitaries had stripped off their uniforms and costumes and now cavorted stark naked behind the wonderful viewing mirrors that revealed the unimaginable delights to them. One of them seized a male guard by his big thick tool and danced around playing with it, frigging it with his demented hands.
"I'm a general, you faggot guard. You inferior underling shithead, on your knees and suck my dick."
"This is my prison," cautioned Barrigan. "My staff may not be abused without my permission."
"Do I have your permission, madam."
"Enjoy your cocksucking."
The guard obediently dropped to his knees and took the dirty grey old man's tiny withered tool into his mouth. The Governor General of Hawaii came up behind the guard and dealt him a terrific smack to the bottom.
"Do me when you finish old Charlie," he demanded.
Back in the torture chamber the girl who had been introduced to her first dose of the discipline of The Room was dragged into a vertical position by two of the hulking Amazonian girl guards.
"Lift her by the knockers."
The unfortunate girl was seized by her tits and yanked up off the ground, her tits half crushed and half mangled in the powerful hands of the three hundred pound brutesses who held her suspended off the floor in their powerful grips by her delicate mounds.
"Stop screaming child," chided the Ripper in the tones of an indulgent schoolmaster. "We're elongating those knockers of yours. All of the boys will be eager to get those tits of yours into their hot mouths when we're finished increasing the length of them. I might even want to do a bit of chomping myself."
They could not hold her off the ground that way forever, especially with the violent contortions her body was going through. They dropped her to the floor, a half-broken rag doll. The Ripper walked over to her and booted her in the ribs.
"On your feet. I have a few more little games in store for you."
The two animals lifted her up again, a child helpless and weightless in their huge hands. They suspended her by the feet while the evil Ripper slowly wedged and jammed squared dildoes into her. Even though the dongs were composed of the rubber usually utilized in such objects the shape alone was enough to subject her to maddening pain. When they dropped the squirming animal to the ground after the dongs had been shoved up her, she frothed at the mouth and her eyes darted from side to side in strange rhythms.
"A real artist, that big ugly dyke," commented the Governor General of Arizona fondling the wide stretched buttocks of The Governor General of Hawaii.
"I choose only the best," Gale boasted. "She's the worst of them, the meanest bitch this side of hell-excluding me that is."
"What about giving us a personal demonstration of your techniques in that case so that we have a valid basis of comparison."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure. A demonstration you shall have immediately or even sooner than that."
Barrigan left the tour group and entered the chamber. Many of those undergoing even the most rigorous ordeals paled at her intrusion into the chamber.
"The fun and games are over now children. The real torture now begins."
She thrust her fingers into the succulent cunt tissues of a girl hanging by barbed wire nooses around her large size 38 tits. Blood flowed in a steady series of streams down her belly from the purple and black blood gorged half torn off boobs into her black pubic patch. Barrigan tore loose a vast amount of the heavily foliaged pelt and thrust it into the mouth of a young boy bent over a bar with a giant electric vibrator tearing his asshole apart with its triple speed action. She gave the kid a rap in the mouth that knocked a few teeth loose in their moorings.
A whip was presented to her. She lashed out first at the new girl, the pathetic victim trying to melt into the stones of the floor, her head buried in her arms. A volley of heavy lashes cut her bottom to bits. Strips of skin hung from the heavily wealed buttocks. A bucket of boiling water was thrown upon the whipped seat, sending the unfortunate girl into a series of wild thrashing convulsions which ended when her ass was kicked across the chamber by guards with heavy stomping boots.
Barrigan shoved her tongue into the mouth of a beauty with gorgeous waist length hair, a girl so luscious that the warden wondered at her lack of previous notice of the lush brunette, who would make an excellent personal pet. But an examination of the webwork of welts covering her back from neck to ankles convinced Barrigan that the girl was too heavily damaged to be of such a personal interest to the brutal warden. And so Barrigan thrust a red hot poker between the girl's breasts, spinning the shaft of the iron about in her gloved hands, screwing it into the blackened crater that erupted smoke and sparks of incinerating flesh. Then as the iron was cooling in the hideously enlarging black pit of a wound Gale pulled it down the soft white body turning it in her hands so as to touch the flesh with every hot fraction of an inch, causing the iron to create a ragged black burn line all down the contours of the girl's body to her cunt. The foliage burned and sizzled under the assault of heat. The girl screamed with her nape of neck thrown all the way back and her face turned up to the ceiling, saliva spewing forth from her gaping mouth. Barrigan ran a second iron from shoulder to shoulder, across the tops of the ripe, strawberry topped breasts. She burned a smoking, seared T wound into the magnificent torso. The girl slumped forward, her body washed in a slime of sweat, her eyes rolling and revealing the whites. The cruel mistress of the haven of horror was not yet finished with her victim.
She selected a small iron and touched it almost tenderly to the luscious point of the cheek of the buttock. It sizzled and left its mark, a red arrow shaped wound up in the white steak meat of the ass cheek. Barrigan touched it once again to the buttock, a short distance from the first mark. She rapidly touched the iron half a dozen times to the two buttock halves, leaving her mark upon the shaking cheeks. The girl moaned and groaned and her head did a weird rolling thing upon her shoulders as if it were attempting to unscrew. The warden was profoundly enjoying her little torture game and had no intention of stopping her action. She touched the last heat in the small iron between the ass globes, into the deep cleavage and extinguishing the heat between them.
"What a woman," exclaimed the Governor General of Hawaii, playing with the tool of a male guard as a second licked his rancid ass clean.
"Knows her job to the T. A real blast from the past." commented the Governor General of Arizona. "Early Dachau if I'm not mistaken."
"Watch what you say," reminded a general of modest appearance and deceptively innocuous title who actually outranked the both of them in the hierarchy. "You know that we disapprove of any comparisons with the Third Reich, even among our own and even in jest."
"Right on, but I think we should be proud of such a comparison. The Third Reich did a damn good job of ridding Europe of commies and other scum. We should only do half as well to consider ourselves a success."
"Bullshit. Look what happened to the dumb mothers. They got wasted."
The political discussion was shelved in order to more fully enjoy the show being staged in the torture chamber. Barrigan thrust a hot iron between the thighs of the girl, carefully burning away much of her lush beaver pelt. The girl was in a terrible state, her muscles twitching and foam rolling down from her mouth. Barrigan snuffed out the heat of the iron with a few brutal touches to the girl's thighs.
The hot irons continued their work. The hair of the armpits blazed up as the soft and delicate pits were burned. The breasts were touched a dozen times with small irons, and the belly flesh half a dozen times. The girl was now well covered with the horrible burn marks.
"Aaaaiiiieeeee. Kill me, kill me, but don't torture me anymore."
Gale turned her over to The Ripper for further torture. Her body was pierced with red hot needles finishing the fire job that had scarred her loveliness.
The warden turned her attentions to a young boy, dipping her fingers into his gaping ass which was oozing the come of many rapings. His mouth also dripped the seminal fluid.
"Having a party fairy. Well, mustn't save it all for the boys."
The boy had been a part of the gay brigade, and he had since been constantly subjected to a series of mass gang bangs. Barrigan kissed him on the nose, sinking her teeth into the long beak. She tore out a tuft of his long hair. She shoved his face between her breasts and forced him to lap the sweat pouring down her body.
"Fag, dirty little fag."
She used a spike tipped whip on him. The whip tore his ass halves bloody, shot the blood yards away from his splattering buttocks. Bits of skin and flesh were cratered and half loosened by the barbaric pounding.
"The boys won't be so eager to sink their cocks into that soft tail of yours the next time when I'm finished with you, little fairy."
The creeps watching the sport were almost insane with sex heat. They yanked and clawed at each other's things striving not to miss a single moment of the wonderful sport.
The cruel warden passed on to a girl whose body still bore few of the marks of a prisoner enduring the ordeal of The Room.
"This one is still fresh, I see. Well, I'll change that right now."
Barrigan began with her hands. Her fists pounded the ripe tits to bags of blood, slowly, mashing deep into the gory globes again and again. Barrigan reared back her fists and shot the punches in sometimes hitting lower in the tender stomach. The flesh could take very little of the hideous treatment, but a glut of the punishment was the prescribed diet to which the girl was subjected.
Her face came next, the delicate sculpture of bone and white flesh that was pounded and pounded by the powerful breaking hands. Ivory skin tore and leaked blood, sections of flesh became swelling, purpled bruising. Gale pounded blood from the nose, blood from the mouth, blood from a series of heavy ridged swellings around the eyes and along the cheeks. The unconscious head moved left and right, back and forth in limpid obedience to the will of the hurting hands.
The Ripper was shooting her animal rocks off, the face of the boy with the ripped ass buried in the mass of her bottom meat. The boy ate and licked the stinking mountain of fat that jiggled and shook like the emptied out mass of guts from a dead stripped down whale as its shoved across the deck of a whaling ship before being dumped over the side. The boy suffered the torture of the horrid ass on his face, feeling more loathing and horror than he had during the whipping. He was turned off by the touch of a woman, and this thing on his face was more of an ape than a human. The stench flooded through his nostrils so that he felt it would never leave him.
The queers in the viewing chamber had no sympathy for his plight. They were pederasts more for the fact that it was considered perverse than for any deep sexual convictions, a few of them had also experimented with animals and with the dead. They were indeed a motley and sub-human crew, the riffraff and monstrous brutes who always rise to the top on the crest of a wave of repression.
Barrigan sucked the cunt of the girl she had so brutally beaten. Some sex instinct locked in the perfect and luscious body responded to the dragging of the mouth at its tender vale. Juice began to flow and heat mounted in the tender slit.
Barrigan whipped the girl's ass when she finished her suck job. It was hot and stuffy down in The Room, and moisture streamed off her body. She was weary of the action and decided to leave the torture chamber to her staff and return to the role of spectator.
She ended the treatment and shoved the whip up the ass of the girl, tying off the coil of the lash around her two tits.
"Get down to it ladies and gentlemen. The people I have viewing this little performance are all of the highest rank and quality and I promised them a circus of memorable proportions. So get down to it and get with it."
The action of horror picked up as soon as she departed with her words urging on the ruthless and pitiless massacre. Tits were whipped and stripped until the blood ran to the floor. Irons were used and flesh tearing pincers. Every form of savagery was practiced.
The Ripper set up a delicate soulful girl above a brazier, her ankles and wrists dangling from pulleys and tied together so that her ass hung down over the fire. Slowly the tender tail simmered and fired. Slow roasting of ass and tits was the favorite technique of the brutal Ripper.
But even as this series of tortures was perpetrated the prison faced its last day. A new uprising was now ready. Launched from an unexpected quarter. Those that had been repelled by the excesses of the revolution were soul stricken by the unspeakable crimes of the repression. Within the ranks of those deemed safe by the regime rebellion and action had taken place, and an uprising launched by the armed forces was ready to spring forth to overthrow the dictatorship and restore democracy.
CHAPTER TEN
They came by land and by sea, by air and by submarine. Rebelling units of the Army sickened and fed up by the hideous excesses of the regime and longing for the return of the days of the democracy. The Army, the Navy, and the Air Force, their ranks swelled by tens of thousands of fresh guerrilla fighters and students, by young and old. Civil war raged once more, but the freedom fighters carried all before them.
New Devil's Island was one of the first units hit. It was the symbol of terror of the regime, a bastion of their rule, the ax over the heads of the people. It had to go.
The invaders of the hellhole came in assault craft reinforced and covered by assault and landing helicopters. Hundreds of them were regular troops and assault units of armed guerrillas, maniacs with submachine guns.
They came in overwhelming assault, blasting down the machine gun crews on the high walls of the prison, clearing the walls, annihilating the crews manning the four great towers. One copter went down riddled with machine gun fire, five others were shot up. But even as this battle raged the walls of the prison exploded at three separate points from blast charges planted by infiltrating sappers.
Platoons armed with assault rifles, submachine guns, grenades, explosive charges and flame throwers swarmed through the breeches in the walls to mow down the hundreds of fanatic guards and rescue the thousands of prisoners.
There was chaos and inferno. Some guards hid and quavered in dread begging for the mercy they had never once displayed.
But the evidence of their barbarity was all around the horror chamber maze of the prison and no mercy was granted. Other guards murdered hundreds of prisoners in their cells and bondage, to take as many innocent victims with them as they could before their time came. Squads of guards melted into the catacombs of secret passages and viewing rooms, the interconnected tunnels that only they knew about, to strike out suddenly mowing down dozens of the assailants before their own turn came. Twenty of the troops were caught in The Room and shot down through the two-way mirrors that they failed to suspect as they freed captives from the horrible implements of torture they were bound to. But a follow-up squad of the assault force ripped and shattered the guards now revealed behind the shot away mirrors, sending grenades into their hole, blasting them out and mowing them down.
When the assault came Matron Carter had a group of girls lined up with dildos rammed up their bottoms, whipping their asses raw with a strap, sometimes stabbing them in their bottoms with a stiletto, weltering in the blood of her victims as she always did, inflicting mass horror in the way that she loved. She was shot down in the act of slashing the breasts of several shackled girls bound to a spiked section of wall, cutting crisscrossing gashes into their tender tits as the fighting drew nearer, dying in the act of torturing, ready to begin to cut throats as soon as the preliminary suffering had paled. But she had no chance to commit these murders, a line of submachine gun bullets ripped into her guts. She died screaming with her intestines half hanging out. A freed inmate who had joined the fighting tore her bleeding, oozing guts out, spreading the ropish strands of intestines over the screaming, pleading matron who hungered now only for the quick oblivion of death.
"Where's the goddamn army," screamed Warden Barrigan, still safe within the center of her network lair, but hearing the fighting draw ever nearer to the nerve center she still held.
"The army is attacking us," her secretary replied, almost wetting herself in panic.
"There must be loyal troops. We'll be rescued. We have to hold out."
"Communications are out. We're being slaughtered, and they're sweeping our guards away. We can't win. Let's surrender and beg for mercy."
Gale shot the secretary in the stomach with a Beretta pistol.
"Die slowly, coward. Let's hear no more shit about surrender."
The petrified and fearful officers and officials lined up before her were too stunned to speak.
"Anybody else want to surrender?"
There was a dead silence. Like all totalitarians they could not function on their own, and they obediently awaited their orders although the situation was hopeless and they were as good as dead.
"Get out there, creeps. Organize a defense, form up our troops. Counterattack, drive them beyond the walls and cut them down. And start killing the prisoners. We won't leave one of the bastards alive today." But the attackers were being reinforced from the ranks of the prisoners. Old scores were settled as the convicts swarmed out of their shattered cells. Many of the turncoats and renegades were chopped down as they well deserved.
Among those who ended in this way was Lucy Head Stomper, the black militant who had gone over to the enemy in exchange for better treatment. She had long since ceased trying to obtain better treatment as well for the other black prisoners and cared only for her own welfare. The three blonde slave girls who shared the cell she occupied and ate her shit and cleaned her ass with their mouths turned upon her as the main gate of the cell block exploded and a swarm of troops and militants came storming through mowing down a line of guards.
"Get away from me," she screamed as she drove a hard kick into the ribs of one of the girls.
The other two jumped her and brought her down. They swarmed upon her ripping and punching. One girl buried her teeth in the black bosom and tore out a huge hunk of the right tit with her savage teeth including half of the nipple and spat it into Lucy's horror stricken face as the other girl dug both nails into the face and ripped it to shreds narrowly missing the eyes. Lucy rolled and kicked, throwing them off with her superior bulk and lunged to her feet only to be kicked in the head by the third girl who had climbed up on one of the bunks. The girl leaped off and landed on Lucy, smashing her head into the iron bars. Lucy retaliated with a right to the groin and a knee to the belly doubling her up. She seized her by the long blonde hair but the other two were on their feet once more.
One threw a blanket over Lucy's head and then smashed both fists into the center of the blanket. She rammed Lucy's head into the bars. The other girl dropped to her knees and seized the pussy lips in her claws, ripping and crushing at them. She dug her teeth into Lucy's pelvis and tore loose a hunk of flesh, almost ripping it off. Blood gushed into her gnawing mouth and she drank it down with the savage lust of an animal. Lucy kicked out, sheer animal pain spurring on her shattered body, death and destruction triggering her reactions. She tore loose, a screaming maddened animal clawing at her own injuries and trying to repel the pack of blonde wolves that was attempting to tear her apart.
They all fell on her with teeth and claws, fired up by the sight of her blood, driven mad by the din of battle, the sight of her torn black flesh, and the memories of their sufferings at her hands. One dug into the big tits, biting away chunks of the dark meat and spitting them away. Another dug into the gash, clawing the inside bloody with her nails as she bit off pieces of the inner thighs. The third got behind Lucy and ate away hunks of the girl's ass. With one final inhuman wail that drowned out the horrible sounds of the massacre in the cellblock Lucy went down, the three girls biting her to death, ripping dozens of mangled pieces of her once sumptuous body off. The soldiers who came running to the cell turned away, sickened by horror.
Sophia, who had been admitted on a probationary status to the ranks of the auxiliary trustees met her end in a similar although not as bizarrely gory way. A mob of prisoners whom she had been disciplining with a cattle prod swarmed over her, tearing her flesh to oozing bloody bits with their fingers, half scalping her as they tore her hair out. It was Judy, armed with an assault rifle she had picked up from a dead trooper, who finished her, as she led a group of troops, militants and guards against a holdout group in a sector of the prison she knew well. She got Sophia out from under the mob that was beating her to death. The look of thanksgiving in Sophia's face quickly changed to blind terror as she saw who her rescuer was and realized that Judy wanted to finish her off personally. Judy grinned at her half-dead enemy.
"You were right about violent revolution being the only way to bring about change. Only now I'm the revolutionary and you're a reactionary pig Fascist fighting for the enemy. Well, here comes your punishment, turncoat."
"No, no, no."
Sophia screamed as Judy brought the cattle prod close to her cunt. But three of the other inmates were holding her down. Judy shoved it into the raw ripped chasm, twisting it in and up the long magnificent tunnel. She twisted the electric stick around inside Sophia as the others let loose of her to avoid the stinging charge. Judy held the depressor down, letting a long, continuous jolt of electricity burn through Sophia's hole, burn and burn until Sophia was quite stone dead. She left the shorted-out cattle prod inside the brutal bitch and led the freed prisoners on to the Central Administration Section where the last of the staff and the remaining guards held out.
Barrigan had one single remaining consolation in her hour of loss. She still had her four blonde slave girls and Veronica Corda. She hovered over Veronica running her brutal hands over the extensive damage to the magnificent body, the burn brand wounds that ran from shoulder to hip, the numerous deep whip cuts.
"You're going to die, you scum." Veronica's voice held a mocking note, as the thing she had predicted but not believed in was happening.
"Don't fool yourself. Help is on the way. This treacherous uprising will be put down and the ringleaders will themselves wind up in here feeling the fury of the state."
"Bullshit. You're going to be dead within an hour. This is a national rising. If it wasn't well planned and general throughout the country they wouldn't be hitting this shit heap. Who's out there, the Army?"
"You dirty fuck."
"I knew it scarface. You're going to pay for your crimes today. They're going to carve that ugly face of yours up for dog food."
The mocking of her face triggered the mad hatred in the warden.
"Maybe I'll die today but you won't live to celebrate my death, scum."
"I was expecting that. Do your worst." Gale ran her hands over the X seared in the torso from shoulder to hip, the scars in the breasts where the hot irons had burned and seared, the numerous hideous wounds of knife and whip.
"Now for your death."
She picked up a whip and snapped the long black lash across the whip-wealed face. A red line was etched into the white skin. Corda strained at the manacles binding her to the flogging wheel.
"Nobody can save you, it's too late for you. Your ass is mine."
The whip coiled around the right tit, slicing into the cleavage. The whip struck once more, splitting off a fragment of the inside curve of the right nipple. Once more the tip of the whip caught the nipple, splitting it once again. Blood oozed from the two lines that had been cut into the nipples.
"Now for some heat."
Barrigan took a long red hot poker out of the fire. She had no time for the customary slow taunting and mental torture of the victim. She touched it to the topmost curls of hair of the richly foliaged cunt pelt, the hair searing and frying and shriveling away in smoke and stench. The poker bit deeper, sinking into blackening flesh. And then it was drawn up the contour of the midriff, rising up and over the belly until it reached the navel. The warden turned and ground it into the navel, burning the charred navel away, destroying it.
"That's a start. I have time for more."
The four terrified slave girls huddled against the wall as far from the scene of atrocity as they could get, huddling together for reassurance, rubbing tits and asses, praying for rescue before the madwoman finished with her object of love-hate and turned upon them.
There was a loud explosion. Plaster crumbled in the walls and dripped off in small pieces to the floor.
"Aaaahhh�better hurry," Veronica moaned. "Your time is running out fast now. I still might live to see you die."
"Don't count on it, you dirty bitch. Your death is approaching very swiftly."
Barrigan touched the next poker to the hideous scarlet, ragged mark that led from the right shoulder to the left hip. With the flesh smoking and blazing she retraced the scar line previously left by a similar branding iron, burning away the scar tissue, widening and deepening the reawakened wound.
"Aaaiiiiieeeee." The scream was incredibly loud and expressed agony beyond imagining.
"I finally got a first rate scream out of you. Well, better late than never."
The troops and their allies stormed the last center of resistance. They broke into the interrogation center. The interrogator still worked on, aloof and inscrutable, ignoring the Armageddon around him. He was probing into the large breast of a tall, Nordic beauty with a white hot iron knitting needle. Her cunt lips had been sewn up with surgical thread and her ass had been punctured with over one hundred fishhooks from which weights of upwards of a pound dangled. She was half mad with the tortures and ready to talk and a tape recorder in the hands of his daughter was ready for her confession.
The interrogator never got to hear that statement. A sergeant of the army emptied a pistol into his groin and stomach. He shot the daughter through the belly after her father collapsed in a screaming ball of jack-knifed pain on the floor before her vomiting and shitting blood, for once knowing the true meaning of suffering and the emotions of pain. The daughter fell across the dying animal that was her father and the enraged soldiers kicked her a few times in the head, a rotten inhuman thing deserving its death.
The Ripper had fallen alive into the hands of her charges. Girls and boys who had been fucked and made to eat shit, who had been whipped until their bodies were one great scar swarmed in a tide over her. Her eyes were torn out, her tits ripped off, her fingers pulled loose one by one with pliers. She was burned and whipped and stuffed front and back with hot coals. The mind inside the broken slimy thing was dead before the body followed into oblivion. The carcass was thrown into the acid vat, and the bodies of the staff of The Room followed into the dissolving liquid.
The Administration Center was blown open, a copter hovering overhead with its machine guns providing cover to the attack force. The guards were overwhelmed, and the prisoners, maddened by their ordeals swarmed through the gunfire to rend and tear apart their torturers with bare hands and the tools of punishment they had stripped from the dead bodies of guards.
Barrigan drove a hot iron into the cleavage between the tits of one of the four blonde masterpieces of flesh that she had taken as her personal cunt harem. The girl screamed as the iron traveled slowly down to her navel.
"You four bitches have given me a lot of pleasure. But before I'm finished I'll make sure that nobody else can ever take such pleasure from your ruined bodies."
A guard came racing in, his face streaming blood from a shrapnel gash.
"They're hitting us everywhere. We're being annihilated. Damn you, you fucking creep slut, get out there and lead us. Fight you shit."
The warden whipped out her pistol and shot him through the center of the head. "Insubordinate bastard."
Corda laughed, a bitter laugh with her body a bleeding scorched ruin.
"You've cracked up. You're over the edge. They're coming to get you, crazy."
The warden spun around. "I can see you want another taste of the iron. This time I'm going to put it right up into your cunt and burn your hole out. I have time for that one little piece of fun before things become too serious around here."
As she advanced on her prey, the girl whose body had felt the burn of the hot poker looked down at the dead body of the guard with glazed eyes. The man had a pistol holstered in his belt. She bent down and took it out, her chains clanking pleasantly, a gentle tinkle that Barrigan enjoyed hearing. She shot the warden twice low in the back, on either side of the spine.
"Die you shit-eating asshole pig," shouted Corda in joy. "Eaaahhhooooo."
But the warden was not dead, not past the wrath of the four blonde slave girls. They hovered over her, taking their vengeance and the vengeance of thousands of others. They thrust the red-hot pokers into her cunt and up her ass and they poured the burning coals over her face.
As the liberating troops burst into the chamber they reeled and staggered back from the terrible stench of burning human flesh, as the warden of New Devil's Island incinerated alive.
