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From: exdaedalus@aol.com (ExDaedalus)
Subject: Elizabeth's Story - Part Two (MF/F N/C)
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Here is Part Two of Elizabeth's Story.
The usual caveats apply. This material is not intended for minors.
iv
The woman studied the ubiquitous clipboard.
"You've written 'Fiber' on this," she said, addressing the man whose
techniques for torturing Elizabeth she was finding fascinating. "But you have
a question-mark after it." She gave the man a quizzical look. The man had
disassembled his drill and was stowing the pieces in small trunk.
"Yes," he replied in a leisurely fashion. "I actually have something else in
mind, but it would take a little co-operation."
"What do you mean?"
"You have something planned for her other nipple, correct?"
"Yes."
"Then go ahead with your arrangements, but load a new film-can into this
camera." The man pointed above his head, to the camera which had been used to
film the agonizing flaying of Elizabeth's labia. The woman looked worried.
"I can do that. But I need twenty-minutes of action from the next two scenes.
You're asking me to make them run concurrently."
"Don't worry," the man urged. "We'll get that long - at least. Just let me
know when you're ready to begin, and then give me a few moments to finish my
preparations. You'll find this quite entertaining."
"As long as the customer does, too," the woman said, acquiescing to the man's
suggestion.
The man rested his elbows against Elizabeth's smooth buttocks. In his fingers
he held a short length of steel wire that he had snipped from a coil. The end
of the wire, left purposefully jagged, was located at the entrance to
Elizabeth's urethra. Using his fingertips, the man began to rotate the wire,
urging the sharp extremity into the highly sensitive vascular duct. He felt
Elizabeth's body stiffen and heard her sudden intake of breath. He continued
turning the wire while introducing it further into the narrow, flexible
passageway. Elizabeth cried out, begging him to stop. The man knew that the
pain he was currently causing was only acute; as soon as he had scored the
entire length of the integument and removed the wire, Elizabeth would stop
screaming.
Until, he told himself, she urinated.
The woman sat in front of the stock that still held Elizabeth's breasts. Her
hand was poised. Her fingers held a spigot from which a long hose fell in a
loop to the floor. She watched the man hold a bag aloft, until its contents
had drained through a catheter into Elizabeth's bladder. She saw him step
sideways - clear of Elizabeth's body - and remove the catheter. After a few
moments, she saw a thin stream of liquid arise from between Elizabeth's thighs,
and watched it describe a graceful arc. But, before the first drop of fluid
touched the floor, she heard Elizabeth's strident squeal. Then she saw the
emanation abruptly cease and, shifting her gaze to Elizabeth's face, saw a look
full of pain, astonishment, and utter disbelief. Moments later Elizabeth
screeched again; a high-pitched, shrill piping that accompanied a second
attempt to evacuate her more-than replete bladder.
The woman waited, watching Elizabeth's mounting effort to control herself.
Then, when the woman gauged that all of Elizabeth's concentration was focused
upon not urinating, she pressed a trigger on the spigot. She saw a short,
thin, nebulous stream emerge from the tip, heard the attendant hiss, and aimed
the spigot at Elizabeth's left breast.
She quickly drew the jet of steam from the edge of Elizabeth's aureole to the
tip of her nipple. Almost immediately, the path of the steam became visible;
betrayed by a narrow line of skin that turned pearl as fluid built up instantly
inside the blister.
When the pain reached Elizabeth's senses, she lost her concentration and cried
aloud because of the new agony. Her bladder began to empty involuntarily,
sending caustic liquid into her urethra. She closed her mind to the searing
pain at the tip of her left breast and, with almighty effort, clamped the
sphincter that controlled the evacuation of her bladder. She was rewarded with
a second white line on her aureole and nipple.
The man had been right. The scene of the combined tortures had lasted twenty-
two minutes. Elizabeth had endured the double agonies for almost half that
time before passing out with flecks of froth staining the corners of her mouth.
Then the liquid remaining in her bladder had flowed freely. The summit of her
left breast was covered with a pattern of red and white lines, all beginning at
the circumference of her tan-colored halo, and converging to the tip of her
attractive nipple. As before, the woman had waited for Elizabeth to regain
consciousness before proceeding to remove the skin. That had consumed another
ten minutes, while the woman pierced each blister, and squeezed the fluid from
inside before lifting the sliver of skin free. Elizabeth had screamed
continuously, lasting until the woman swabbed the freshly exposed tissue with
saline solution.
"I don't believe she can absorb much more of this treatment without a
respite," the woman said.
"Not if you want to keep her viable," the man pointed out. "Besides," he went
on, "the last scene is mine; I need her taken off of this contraption." He
pressed a finger against the bar over which Elizabeth had been bent for nearly
three hours.
"That's okay," the woman told him. "As long as I can have the film in the
editing-room by tonight." She looked at her watch, then turned to one of the
crew. "Get her out of this and take her back to the cell. Let her stay there
for a couple of hours." Then wiping her forehead she added: "We all need a
break."
On the way out, the man said: "I'll need a Delivery Table. Do you have one?"
The woman looked at him, mildly astonished.
"You mean a table from a hospital delivery-room - the maternity department?"
"Yes."
"They're not in much demand in this place. We have a GYN table, though. Will
that do?"
"Does it have stirrups."
"It did, the last time I saw it."
"Then it'll do fine." The two reached the foot of the stairs and the
outside door.
"By the way," the woman said. "If I hadn't agreed to running the two scenes
together, what was your other plan? What did 'Fiber' mean?"
"Fiber-glass," the man replied. "Fiber-glass insulation comes in sheets about
as thick as your finger. Rolled tightly and inserted into the vagina, it is
quite diabolical"
"Why?" the woman inquired.
"The fibers are only as thick as a human hair, but they are brittle. When
they are brushed against the vaginal wall, the fibers break off and become
embedded under the skin and in the muscle. This creates an irritation that
gradually evolves into a burning sensation. I've heard that women tortured in
this way have gone insane after a couple of hours."
"Quite diabolical," the woman commented.
"Where shall eat?" the man wanted to know.
v
The device was simple, but cruelly effective; a length of hollow, flexible
tubing surrounded by an inflatable bladder.
The man partially inflated the bladder and oiled its surface. The black
rubber object resembled a thick pipe. The man placed the end of the tube in
the entrance to Elizabeth's vagina and pushed gently. The opening opposed the
bladder at first, but gave way under slight pressure. After that, Elizabeth's
muscles allowed the object to intrude without further resistance, and the man
inserted the bladder - carefully and slowly - ensuring that the lubricated
surface did not bind and fold, or wrinkle. He encountered no difficulty until
the end of the tubing reached Elizabeth's cervix.
Elizabeth emitted a sharp groan when she felt the object reach the innermost
extent of her vagina. She lay on the examination table, firmly secured by her
upper and lower arms, unable to raise her body. Her feet had been placed in
the stirrups and fastened there; her legs were hardly more capable of movement
than the rest of her. She could, with utmost effort, raise her hips enough for
a slim hand to slide freely between her bottom and the surface of the table.
The top of her pantyhose was missing; cut off around her thighs, creating the
appearance that she was wearing ordinary stockings.
The man turned the bladder, maneuvering the end of the tube past
Elizabeth's cervix. It entered her womb. He began to inflate the bladder
further, slowly dilating Elizabeth's vaginal passage, increasing her pain.
When he was satisfied that he had created a seal between the rubber and the
wall of Elizabeth's vagina, he stopped the flow of air into the bladder=2E
Then her started pumping air through the tubing into Elizabeth's uterus.
Elizabeth's womb expanded. In just a few minutes the man created an effect
that took Nature nine months to produce; Elizabeth's belly was hugely swollen.
Her screams reverberated. Only the whites of her eyes showed. Her back was
arched and every muscle in her body strained. The abdominal expansion was
clearly excruciating, her agony augmented by the awful dilation of her vagina.
But not forgotten entirely were the lacerated and denuded nipples, the scorched
clitoris, the wounds in her delicate labia where the flesh had been macerated
in a score of places, or the biting pain left over from the fluid that had
burned her urethra. Elizabeth was the perfect picture of applied torment. The
camera lenses saw her agony and the microphones heard her screams. All of this
was faithfully recorded.
Now, the man would show off his coup-de-grace; the denouement.
When he supposed that Elizabeth was reaching the limit of what she could
stand, he released the air from the bladder; slowly at first and then more
rapidly. Elizabeth's vaginal muscle contracted, maintaining its grip on the
deflating and unwanted intrusion. But when the bladder began to shrink more
rapidly, the muscle, which had been stretched for too long, would not relax
fast enough.
The seal was suddenly compromised. The air trapped inside Elizabeth's womb
found its deliverance. Filling the gap between the bladder and the tissue, it
began to escape. At that moment, the man stopped the bladder from deflating
further. The vaginal muscle closed around it, threatening to shut off the
airway once again. But the pressure of the air was too much. Elizabeth's
stomach collapsed in one enormous muscular effort and her vaginal passage
dilated in an instant.
In a fraction of a second, the extensible tissue comprising Elizabeth's
vagina was stretched to the very brink of rupture. Elizabeth was overwhelmed
by the shock of an agony far worse than anything she had ever known. Her eyes
widened, her mouth opened and her lips formed a gaping 'O'. She passed out,
the unuttered cry of the demented hanging silent in her throat.
The place was quiet for an eternal moment; quiet for first time in a long
time so it seemed. Only the sound of the whirring cameras broke the silence.
"Cut!" shouted the woman. "Wrap it up!" She paced around in a tight
circle. "Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!" She stared
at the man, the disbelief at what she had just witnessed obvious. "Did you see
the look on her face!" she shouted, then stopped, turned and threw her head
back and called to the man in the boom high above the GYN table. "Did you get
that look on her face?"
"You bet I did, lady," asserted the cameraman. The woman walked across to
the man, who was cleaning the bladder with a cloth.
"That was the most fascinating scene I have ever put onto film. It was
damned perfect. I could watch you do that to her all night."
"I don't believe she'd last that long," the man chuckled. "But the trauma
is not as bad as it might seem. You want to see it again?" He stopped wiping
the bladder.
"There's no point in filming the same thing more than once, but if you can
wait around until all this is cleaned up. . . ." She made a sweeping movement
with her arm encompassing all of the studio equipment lying about on the floor.
"Sure. I can wait. She can handle it again. Perhaps a couple more times."
"I don't know if I can," the woman smiled. She patted the front of her
skirt at the base of her belly.
Old Jake stumbled and tripped.
It was still early evening, but almost dark beneath the viaduct. He groped
around in the gloom for his lost bottle. Then he found the body. That was
strange. Old Jake was usually the first of the local tribe of winos to arrive
looking for a dry place to spend the night. He peered into the face.
"W-who are you?" he asked in a tone that sounded curious rather than
demanding.
Old Jake climbed the embankment and scanned the parking lot above. With
distance vision much better than his reading eyes, he located the familiar
black and white car. He ambled towards it, but the patrolman saw him coming
and got out before he approached too closely.
"Hold it there, Jake," the patrolman said when the wino was still ten feet
from the car's bumper. "What's up?"
"Better come looksee," Old Jake replied. It was too early for his speech
to be unintelligible. "Some woman. Babbling. Says her name's Lizabet or
something. Can't understand her."
"Is she hurt?" the patrolman wanted to know.
"Don't look it. She ain't drunk, either. Been taking other stuff, I
reckon." Old Jake turned and made his way slowly back to the embankment. The
patrolman locked his vehicle and followed the retreating figure of the wino.
"Yeh. Female. Five-feet-eight, five-feet-nine. Hundred-and-thirty pounds.
Light brown hair."
The patrolman was looking down at Old Jake's discovery, and talking over the
radio to his duty officer.
"No, no identification - I can't see a purse. No, I haven't moved her. No
obvious signs of injury, but you'd better get the 'medics rolling. And ask
Jeff to send a couple of his big boys. If she's been stuffing hallucinogens,
she could more than a handful of trouble. . . What's that? . . . Yeh, a red
dress, black shoes . . . Let me look . . . Yeh, she's got a mole on the left
side of her mouth. I guess we've found her. How long's she been missing? . .
. Probably just got bored and went on a spree. . . . We'll probably find she's
been popping ecstasy pills for the last three days . . .."
--
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