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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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