The Venus Project (part 4)

A story by SubSophie

sophiewarninger(at)gmail.com

(MMMMMFFFFF tort medical nc)

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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any real situation is entirely coincidental. The acts described are purely imaginary and are for the purposes of fantasy only. They are not suggested, recommended or condoned in ANY way whatsoever.

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PART FOUR 

 

At that moment, the door burst open and she looked up, eagerly in the hope of seeing a friendly face. Instead, in walked two men she had never seen before. They were dressed very strangely in some kind of grey, military-looking tunics and one carried a clip board. They approached the table and looked at her helpless body for some time before one of them spoke dismissing the two guards with a wave and then addressed Rachel,

          So...what have we here? An interesting specimen, to be sure. He took hold of one of her breasts and roughly manhandled it before running his hand down her belly. All the time he fixed his gaze on her frightened eyes. She closed her eyes tightly whilst managing to utter only,

          Please...I don’t know who you are, but...

          Please? he mocked. Please? Do you mean please touch it? He looked down to his hand which was now in her close-cropped thatch of pubic hair. She shook her head, her eyes still closed,

          No...NO! Please don’t...not my...

          Please don’t? Oh but it’s so inviting. His fingers moved down into her slit and grasped the shaft of her clitoris causing her to wince. There’s nothing we like more than to fiddle with a helpless woman...all those tasty little morsels of tender flesh to play with. To hurt. He looked back at her face. She pleaded with him,

          Please... Please don’t hurt me. I am supposed to be here to see Dr Kuren? Where is she?

          Where is she indeed? He laughed coldly. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, my dear. Rachel now opened her eyes and looked at him. Eager to hear his answer. Dr Kuren no longer works here, I’m afraid. You are ours now.

          Yours...? What do you mean she no longer works here?

          Ours to have some fun with...

          Fun? What do you...what sort of fun..? But she could imagine well enough. It was obvious from the predicament she now found herself in what they were planning to do to her. In essence, if not in detail.

          Oh I think you know only too well what sort of fun, he said, as if echoing her thoughts directly. Didn’t you tell Dr Kuren all about your sick little fantasies? At this, she felt cold and more terrified than ever. Her anxieties of the last few days over her honesty were now thrown into sharp focus. She felt betrayed that Joanna could have broken her confidentiality. Perhaps there never had been any? Perhaps Joanna had just been tricking her, playing with her all the time? Or perhaps they had obtained the information by force? Could Joanna now also be held somewhere against her will? There were so many possibilities. None of them were encouraging. The lack of certainly was adding to her anxiety and sense of dread.

          Fantasies? No. She attempted to lie, I don’t know what you mean.

          Save it. It’ll only make things worse for you.        

That was just...they were just my own private err.. fantasies...I never...I didn’t... They were just something silly. I didn’t mean them. Her heart began to race.

          Oh come on...Do you really expect us to believe that? Carlo, he indicated to his colleague, let’s remind the dirty little bitch, shall we? She seems to have forgotten. The man with the clipboard then read out loud a verbatim account of her fantasies as confessed to Dr Kuren the previous week. Every word was there and each burned her with embarrassment to hear this man read it out. She felt humiliated and cheated by such a flagrant betrayal by someone she had grown to trust. She now felt sure that her fate had been sealed and as his words came to an end her accuser looked her straight in the eyes,

          Quite a selection of twisted ideas in there eh? I am sure we can accommodate those, and more, you sick little bitch!

          No...please..? Rachel replied, It's not what you think...I didn't...

          Shut it! He looked to his companion and merely nodded whereupon the other man produced a roll of wide packing tape and proceeded to tear off a couple of pieces which he swiftly fixed across Rachel's mouth before she could utter a further word of protest. She could only shake her head from side to side and tears began to roll down her cheeks. But as she lay there, utterly helpless and exposed, she was, aside from her fear, nevertheless aware of a curious tingling of excitement in her loins. What was going on? She was in a frightening and dangerous situation and yet she was capable of feeling the stirrings of erotic arousal. She had always assumed that her fantasies were merely that. Fantasies. That if she were ever in a genuinely threatening situation, she would hate it, be terrified and decidedly un-sexy. But her body appeared to be telling her otherwise.

          At that moment, the double doors burst open and two more men, similarly dressed, entered at a pace. The taller of the two appeared somehow more authoritative, more senior. There was something about his bearing, his natural assumption of superiority that suggested he outranked the others. He was also a strikingly handsome man and the combination of his looks and his powerful status caused the tingling she was feeling to intensify. Although she was in a very vulnerable position, surrounded by strangers and helpless to defend herself, Rachel was acutely aware of the intensely sexual aspect of her situation. In some way, it was as though part of her felt she wanted to offer herself in submission to them. Give herself up utterly to whatever they had in store for her. The man approached her, looked her up and down for a long while causing the hot flush of embarrassment to sear her cheeks. She noticed a military style embroidered label on his left breast pocket ‘HARWOOD’ He then walked to the foot of the operating table to peer between her legs. He stood there for some moments just staring at her crotch. Seeing him like that, now leaning forward slightly to inspect her sex yet more closely caused her to shiver with a mixture of horror and delight. The look of disdain in his dark eyes and the fact that he did not even have the courtesy to address her or acknowledge her in any way as he invaded her privacy was electrifying. She could feel herself moistening.

          This position's no good. No good at all, he said crossly. He took hold of the two straight leg sections of the table and, unfastening them from their flattened position raised them upwards and out to the sides. As the metalwork clicked into position Rachel now found herself placed in the familiar gynaecological examination position; thighs widely apart, legs held up in the air, genitals fully accessible. That's better. Now, he continued, looking up at the ceiling, what about these lights? I can't see a damn thing! He turned accusingly at one of his colleagues and clearly expected a response.

          Yes Sir, his colleague replied promptly, Of course, Sir. Scurrying over to the wall control panel he switched on the powerful overhead operating lamp. Rachel saw her body now flooded with an intense bluish-white light and she could feel its heat on her skin. Harwood now looked once again between her legs, closer this time. She knew he must be able to see her vulva in the most extreme detail. Every glistening fold of pink flesh. She felt defenceless and humiliated. She was vulnerable to whatever he desired. He was completely free to do whatever he wished to her most intimate and feminine place.

          Yes. Yes... he mused. That's better. Much better. Rachel instinctively tensed as he reached out to touch her, not knowing what he might do, preparing for the worst. But his touch was disarmingly gentle. He merely stroked the shaft of her clitoris and then the furrow between her lips. His intent, almost studious gaze caused her to feel that unmistakeable sensation that every woman instantly recognises; the warming  of her genitals as they engorged with blood. But she was, nevertheless helpless and could have no say or influence over what he or any of the others could do to her. She knew in her gut that it would be her vulva they would be most interested in. That was always what men desired most in her experience. Whatever they had in store for her, she already knew would be focused there. This gave her the sense that, as far as these men were concerned, her entire identity as a woman was suddenly focussed entirely on the soft, tender flesh between her legs. This notion that she was reduced to a mere set of genitals caused her the most intense feelings of horror and trepidation mixed with the giddy excitement of anticipation. Harwood then spoke again, but this time he addressed Rachel directly.

          Ok, I can see you are more than a little taken aback by all this Rachel. Things are not at all as you expected. So let me tell you a little about what is going to happen to you over the next few hours. His voice was measured and mellifluous. He had the kind of voice most women could listen to for hours; the easy nonchalance of the late night radio show presenter. In a few moments, the room you can see behind the picture window will fill with spectators. Each of them has paid good money, on the black market of course, to see a woman sexually tortured. The words sent an electric thrill down Rachel’s spine and her stomach knotted with fear. What they have paid for is something that very few people will ever be lucky enough to witness. It is, after all, a primeval urge in the male to see the female sexually dominated. Whatever thin veneer of culture and morality civilisation has overlaid, this basic urge is there in every man. Whether he will admit it or not, there isn’t a man born who wouldn’t relish the opportunity to have a woman naked and helpless before him to rape and brutalise to his heart’s content. It is the stuff of male masturbatory fantasies more often than anything else.

          Well, today, for those men, that fantasy becomes a reality. They will be treated to a veritable smorgasbord of torture, a banquet of perverted and evil delights all based on the degradation and pain of one woman. You, Rachel,  are that woman. Now we know from Dr Kuren’s highly informative little facade that you have such fantasies yourself. That’s not uncommon. Many women – if they are honest – have such fantasies of domination, rape, even torture. Even if they are never brave enough to admit them to their partners. But those women rarely, if ever, get to find out if they are any more than fantasies, or whether they might actually recoil in horror if the things they dream of were ever to be enacted. You, lucky Rachel, are about to find out. Will the brutal abuse of your sexual organs prove deliciously exciting, as in your fantasies? Or will they, instead, be the most appalling, agonizing, unspeakable torments. Suffering beyond imagining? One thing is for certain, however. There is no turning back. You will find out, one way or another, very shortly. If it is the latter. God help you!

          Harwood then walked over to his colleague and whispered something into his ear, inaudible to Rachel, which caused the other man to speak into his walkie talkie,

          Ok Mike. You can let the punters in now. Rachel saw the lights go on in the room behind the picture window. Shortly thereafter a door opened at the rear of the room, behind the rows of seating and a stream of men entered and took their seats one by one. She could see they were a mixed group. A range of ages and seemingly socially mixed too. Some were young men in jeans. Others were older, more distinguished looking men in suits. She tried to imagine these men with their wives and families, or in their offices. What would they say if they knew what their husbands, brothers, sons were doing? But this was their private, forbidden pleasure and they presumably felt an immunity from discovery. She noticed that not one of them met her gaze. Even from the distance and safety of the glass it seemed they were ashamed to face her, this poor wretch about to be brutalised for their enjoyment. This disgusted her. The least they could do, she thought, would be to acknowledge her sacrifice and to look her in the eye like men. To her horror she also saw two women in the audience; both with short hair. She assumed they were lesbians, but all the same it appalled her to think that a woman could watch the torture of one her own. The last person now took his seat and Harwood started again,

          Each of these men (and a few women, as you will see) has permission to masturbate during the session and believe me they will take full advantage of the license. What they will see will be profoundly arousing even to their jaded tastes, blunted by hour after hour of the most depraved and horrific internet pornography. After all, there’s nothing like the real thing, eh? He laughed cruelly. Rachel found that her stomach was now tensing from the anticipation. She couldn’t help believing that somehow not knowing exactly what would be done to her was the worst part of it. But she also felt a strong sense of indignation at the sheepish and furtive men behind the glass. She was nothing more than an object for them to wank over, almost literally. How dare they! What right did they have to see her like this, humiliated and vulnerable. We shall also be filming the entire process as real life sexual torture movies are extremely rare and valuable. Rachel shuddered to think of the idea of countless thousands of faceless men around the world buying such films (no doubt for exorbitant sums) so they could masturbate at the sufferings of a woman being sexually abused. The realisation was made all the worse by the thought that she, herself would soon be one of these poor, abused creatures. Forever demeaned and brutalised; a perpetual victim, re-victimised each time the film was viewed.

          Harwood turned and spoke again to his colleague, again out of Rachel’s earshot, causing him to use his walkie-talkie to summon some more staff. This time, to Rachel’s surprise, three women entered. Each was quite young, probably in her 20s or 30s and attractive. All three were dressed identically in operating theatre greens. One of them immediately went over to one of the metal instrument trolleys and wheeled it towards the operating table. Her air of professionalism and her complete familiarity with the room and its contents left Rachel in no doubt that she was trained in medicine or nursing. Meanwhile, Harwood was now speaking in a low whisper to the other two female assistants who nodded periodically as if taking instruction from him. Rachel was now being fitted with electrical sensors over her heart and forehead which the nurse attached to one of the recording machines. She pressed a couple of switches and the instrument came to life with a row of blinking indicator lights. It also seemed to light up a flatscreen monitor which she had not previously noticed, perhaps because it required her to turn her head slightly to see it. On this screen were a matrix of numbers which she assumed were things like her heart rate or blood pressure.

          Sally is now connecting her up to our stress monitoring system. Rachel first assumed that Harwood was addressing her, but the use of the third person made it clear her was explaining for the benefit of the assembled spectators. As we have taped up her mouth it won’t really be possible to get a sense from her screams just how much pain she is as a result of each procedure. So instead, we are monitoring a number of stress variables, her skin conductivity, breathing, pulse, blood pressure and serum cortisol level. These have all been thoroughly studied and are known to be very reliable markers of pain and suffering in humans. So each variable will be recorded in real time and processed by our computer into a single number which represents Rachel’s pain level. We realise that as you watch each procedure, you will be keen to know exactly how much pain she is experiencing, so this pain level will be displayed on the master panel here above the window. Rachel heard his words with a deep sense of dread. The sheer cold calculation in all this was impressive and appalling at the same time, she thought. They had clearly gone to a lot of trouble and she could not help thinking that she was probably not the first woman to undergo this ordeal. She wondered what had become of the others. For a brief and horrifying moment she considered the possibility that they had not survived. But this was too shocking to allow herself to believe and she hastily pushed it to the back of her mind, where it nevertheless gnawed away at her and resurfaced at various times. The presence of the women had really surprised her. She knew what men were capable of and how their depraved imaginations worked. But how did they persuade these attractive girls to be part of such an appalling enterprise? With money, presumably. But didn’t they feel for her? What could they possibly be thinking about it all?

          As these thoughts ran around in her head, Sally - who had now finished setting up the monitoring system – opened a small cupboard and took out a coiled, hemp rope. She threw a questioning glance at Harwood who nodded back in agreement and she re-approached the table. She reached under the small of Rachel’s back and looped the rope around her waist to form a belt-like shape. The end of the rope was then passed under her bottom and back up between her buttocks. Harwood described what was going on for his attentive audience.

          Sally is now fitting Rachel with a crotch rope. I am sure you all know what that is, but in case you haven’t heard of it before a crotch rope is part of the ancient Japanese bondage repertoire and is designed to apply erotic pressure to a woman’s genitals. The rope is placed between her legs and passes through the central furrow of her vulva. Once it is pulled tight it applies pressure to her vulva which is concentrated on her clitoris via a knot in the rope. Sally, do make sure that the knot is positioned correctly, won’t you? You know the spot it needs to press on.  Sally looked up at him and smiled in acknowledgement. She knew. Turning back to her work, she carefully positioned  the rough hemp rope between Rachel’s labia and then placed the knot right on her clitoris. Threading it back up through the front of the rope belt, she then pulled it tight. Rachel felt the discomfort immediately. The roughness of the surface was harsh against her delicate and sensitive tissues and it drew her breath in sharply in response. It wasn’t so much painful as uncomfortable and was similar to the sensation she got from wearing tight jeans. Of course she would be able to adjust the position of her jeans to be more comfortable, but in this case she just had to lie there and accept it. She did try to move her hips slightly to ease the pressure, but due to the way the rope was tied around her waist, that had the effect of  tugging uncomfortably back and forth against her clitoris. Given how rough the rope was, this was a very unpleasant, abrasive sensation on her most exquisitely sensitive spot. When she had finished, Sally looked up at Harwood for approval. She held the loose end of the rope up offering it to him. Harwood walked over and took hold of the rope.

          Now you can see that when I pull on the free end of the rope, it tightens the crotch rope casing it to bite deeper into her slit, crushing her clitoris deliciously. By way of demonstration, he pulled sharply on the rope and Rachel flinched, clenching her teeth at the sharp stabbing pain she felt in her clitoris. He alternately tugged and relaxed on the rope causing it to work its way ever deeper into her cleft. As it moved, it also had the effect of pulling the protective hood of her clitoris away from the tip of the tiny organ exposing it fully to the tight, prickling sting of the hemp strands. Harwood knew exactly what he was doing, and as he agitated the rope, he looked at her with those cruel, mocking eyes as if to say ‘I know exactly what I am doing to you’ This had the effect of increasing the sense of degradation she felt and the result of her helpless submission to him was a small trickle of moisture from her vagina which she desperately hoped he would not see. Apparently enjoying himself, Harwood now looped the rope around his fist for a better grip and suddenly pulled on it with all his might, pursing his lips with the effort. The sharp stabbing pain intensified several levels as the tiny bud of exquisitely sensitive flesh was brutally crushed and Rachel arched her pelvis upwards in pain. At the sight of this, two of the nurses gasped and one could be heard to say,

          Jeez! I bet that hurt! Of course, hearing this only made matters worse for Rachel. She felt doubly betrayed by their involvement in her torment. As women with sensitive vulvas of their own, they must know only too well how she  was suffering, yet they were there not only witnessing it, but assisting in it. She desperately tried to figure out which way to move her pelvis to ease the dreadful pain, but one way she tried even made matters worse. She felt the sweat break out on her body as the agony surged in cruel pulses from the very heart of her womanhood. Many of the men behind the glass were now massaging their crotches as they drank in the arousing spectacle. Their direct view from behind the glass was augmented with a number of video monitors in the room itself which displayed Rachel’s predicament from several medical cameras trained on operating table at various angles. Each monitor showed a hugely magnified view of the corrugated landscape of glistening pink and purple ridges that was her most intimate and feminine tissues as it was ravaged by the rough surface of the rope.

          After what seemed like an age to her, Harwood now dropped the end of the rope and the blessed relief washed over her as the pain in her clitoris faded to a dull ache.

          So, gentlemen. That was the basic crotch rope beloved of Japanese bondage enthusiasts. I can see from the reactions from some of you that it was quite an arousing sight. I must say, I am very fond of it myself. However, there is another, yet more fiendishly cruel variant of this delightful tie. The so-called ‘split crotch rope’. This time, he gestured to Sally who went over to Rachel followed by one of her colleagues, we use two ropes placed side by side, but between which the clitoris is pinched. As she listened, Rachel’s heart sank at the prospect of still more torment of her most tender spot. Meanwhile, Sally and the other girl were doubling up the rope between her legs and carefully positioning each strand just to the left and right of the shaft of her clitoris. She was struck by their air of cool professionalism as they worked away between her thighs. It was quite shocking to her that these young girls could be so calculating in preparing the sexual torture of a fellow female. Having satisfied themselves that the rope was positioned correctly, they stood back and Sally handed the reins once again to Harwood. As you can see from your display screens, Rachel’s clitoris is now trapped between the two ropes and when I pull on them, like this, the clitoral hood is retracted and the glans exposed. As he spoke, Rachel could feel the pressure once again, but this time it was different. She could feel the tip of her clitoris squeezed out and forward. But the best part of it is that if I pull still harder, the base of her clitoris is constricted, causing blood to be trapped in it. In short, a powerful erection is produced in the tiny organ. It is isolated, enlarged and exposed. The advantage of this, is that it is even more sensitive and vulnerable to punishment! As he increased the tension on the rope, she could feel the uncomfortable sensation intensify. In a sense, it was like the engorgement she felt when she was very aroused, but in a sense unlike that, for it was unpleasant and distressing. The swelling she felt was too sharp and pointed to be enjoyable. In this exquisitely sensitized condition, any torments we apply to her clitoris are hugely amplified. Sally, I think the sandpaper, if you don’t mind.

          Harwood now nodded to Sally who went over to the instrument trolley to pick up a few objects that Rachel was unable to identify. She then bent over slightly between Rachel’s thighs and rubbed a piece of coarse grade sandpaper against the now shining purplish bud of her clitoris. The pain was very so intense that Rachel thought it might cause her empty her bladder. She clenched her teeth and held her breath as the rasping abrasion of her clitoris continued and she noticed that Sally seemed to be focussing on her task with a perverse delight. Her expression was purposeful and she poked out her tongue slightly in rapt concentration. But once again, Rachel became aware of a powerful and heady excitement which accompanied the suffering. As she lay there bravely trying to endure the sharp scraping of the sandpaper on her most delicate spot, she saw Harwood stare fixedly at her with his severe expression and she could also see the men in the observation room. One of them had quite openly released his penis from his jeans and was pumping it energetically with his fist. These clear manifestations of her degradation, of her abject humiliation and objectification as merely a sexual plaything for the watching crowd gave her an erotic charge she had never felt before. The pain was there certainly – and it was very severe – but it now seemed intimately connected to her pleasure at being used in this dreadful way. She found herself wanting more, eagerly imagining that she would volunteer her poor sex for yet more brutal and painful treatment. But as she was gagged, there was no way she could indicate her compliance. So instead, she allowed herself to adopt a rapt, ecstatic expression as if to signal to her captors and she started moaning lustfully through her nose.

          Harwood and the three women heard this immediately and looked at Rachel’s face seeing the look of sexual hunger on her face.

          My God, the little slut’s loving it! Cried Sally, look at her? She looks like she’s about to come!

          Oh yes, Harwood replied with an air of superiority as though he knew all along how it would turn out. She’s enjoying all right. She’s disgustingly depraved. Hearing herself described like this by this tall, handsome sadist only served to intensify Rachel’s lust further. Her pelvis lunged forward with carnal hunger as if to invite Sally to intensify her torture still further. In response, Sally in turn, attacked her work with renewed zeal. Clenching her teeth she rubbed the tiny morsel of sensitive feminine flesh still  harder until it started to bleed,

          Yeah... she hissed, take that you fucking little bitch...how’s that on your slutty clit! Rachel, as if responding to her ministrations emitted a deep, guttural groan and her face screwed up into a rictus of agony. Through the agonised mist of pain, Rachel was nevertheless all too aware of what was happening. The initial crotch rope had been uncomfortable, then painful and yet had produced in her a definite erotic response. This new torment, however - having the delicate surface of her exposed clitoris scraped with sandpaper - produced suffering of a far greater intensity, but her sexual response was all the more powerful as a result. She had only previously had fantasies involving sexual torture, but now she was actually experiencing the reality there was no question in her mind that she must be a true masochist. It was quite clear that her degree of erotic excitement was directly related to how much she was being made to suffer. The dreadful agony she was now enduring was producing a dribble of lubrication from her vagina which she could feel running down her buttock.

          Ok, Sally. That’ll do, thank you. I don’t want her to experience too much pleasure all at once. We have a long afternoon ahead of us, don’t forget. At this, Sally looked up at him with an air of slight disappointment and stopped her punishment of Rachel’s now angry red and bleeding clitoris. She seemed almost disappointed and stepping back from the table, she let her hand drop to her side. Lucy can you get some close-up shots of this please? He was speaking to one of Sally’s colleagues who, as yet unnoticed by Rachel, was holding a camera and had clearly been taking stills from various angles. Lucy looked up,

          Of her clit, you mean? She asked.

          Yes, replied Harwood. It’s red raw now from that sandpapering and looks most inviting.

          Ok. Lucy approached the table and leaned forward to focus the camera on Rachel’s vulva. How close up, do you want?

          As close as you can get. Use macro. I want a hugely magnified view of it. Lucy adjusted the lens again and, apparently satisfied, took a couple of shots.

          It looks really sore, that, she said, looking up at Harwood who was also admiring Sally’s craftsmanship. The skin’s been scraped quite badly at the side there. Lucy grimaced as she spoke, clearly appreciating the severity of the treatment Rachel had received. She knew how sensitive her own clitoris was and tried to imagine having it scratched and grated so badly like that.

          Yes, replied Harwood, it’s quite superb. Now, be a good girl and remove this crotchrope will you? We’re ready for the next stage. As Lucy lifted the two strands of hemp rope away from Rachel’s crotch and watched the swelling in her clitoris slowly subside, Harwood called to Sally. Get the breast cages will you? Hearing this, Rachel felt a mixture of dread and relief – breast cages? Her poor genitals were throbbing with pain and now that it sounded as if he would turn his attention to her breasts, she welcomed small mercy of at least having the pain directed elsewhere than between their legs. Sally, who had briefly disappeared, now re-entered the room carrying two alarming looking constructions in shiny steel. As she came closer and placed them on the instrument tray, Rachel got a clearer look. Each appeared to be a hemispherical cage from which protruded several steel rods which she could see were pointed at the ends inside the cage. At the apex of each cage was a small mechanical device she could not make out clearly. Each cage also had black straps attached to it and several electrical wires which now draped over the side of the instrument tray. Harwood spoke again, turning to the spectators.

          Gentlemen (and ladies – I apologise), for our next amusement we have the breast cages. These infernal contraptions are actually based on a medieval torture device (and we know how nasty they were in those days). But we have made some little alterations. Essentially, a cage fits over each breast as you see. He indicated to Sally who proceeded to reach behind Rachel’s back and fasten the straps together with the metal cage over her right breast. As she secured the straps, the base of the cage was pulled snug against her chest so that the breast was now completely encased in the curved metal struts. The long spikes hovered menacingly. Sally then reached inside the cage and took hold of Rachel’s dark nipple lifting it up to the apex of the cage where she inserted it into a steel barrel. Rachel had especially full and sensitive nipples and always loved to have them well stimulated during sex. The sensation of having them inserted into the cold metal tube where it felt to her that they were being sucked softly, was very arousing. And the other one please? Sally fitted the other cage over Rachel’s other breast in the same fashion so she now looked like she was wearing some kind of bizarre technological bra. Sally then took the electrical leads and plugged them into the control unit by the wall. Now there are two aspects to this device, Harwood explained. The whole thing is controlled electrically from the instrument panel over here. First, the six sharpened steel spikes are activated. They are driven into the cages (and hence into the tissue of the breast) by servo motors. The spikes will be forced right through each breast and out the other side. The second aspect is what happens to the nipples. You can see on monitor 2 that Rachel’s nipples have been placed inside the barrel assembly. They are currently held there by gentle suction; a little like a commercial milking machine. Once we initiate the relevant computer control sequence, the barrels will be heated to over 150 degrees (which is enough to produce second degree burns and essentially fry the nipple meat). A series of small, but ultra sharp blades will then emerge in a radial pattern inside the cavity slicing through the flesh of each gently roasting nipple. This would be a truly dreadful ordeal for any woman. But for Rachel whose nipples tested at the upper end of the sensitivity range when we ran the physical tests on her last month, it will be unimaginably awful.

Rachel felt her mouth go dry as she anticipated the agonies to come while Harwood looked up at the observation window as if to gauge the reaction of the paying customers to this latest outrage. Rachel followed his gaze and could see a number of the men chatting excitedly to each other, smiling and leering. No doubt making disgusting and degrading comments about her and how much they were looking forward to the spectacle. She also noticed that one of the few women spectators had her hand in her lap and appeared to be rubbing her pussy through her trousers. Whilst she experienced the men’s excitement at her abuse as demeaning, degrading and humiliating, somehow it felt different seeing a fellow woman getting off on it all. It was as though Rachel had become everywoman; a kind of surrogate for the sexual subjugation and abuse of all women. Seen from that perspective, there seemed to her something almost noble about her ordeal. Somehow, the thought of another woman (who, after all, had the same soft and delicate intimate parts as she did and could fully empathise with her dreadful torments) choosing to watch all this and masturbate to it was strangely poetic and beautiful. She found that she wanted to offer up her intimate and uniquely feminine suffering to this unknown lesbian. To sacrifice herself to the torture for her and to give her the gift of her pain-wracked sexual organs as a means to stimulate her own to the point of orgasm. A sadomasochistic supplication  in which her mutilated genitals were the sacred host. As she was thinking these thoughts, Harwood gave the signal and Sally threw the switch on the control panel causing the breast cages to whirr into life.