It was her sixth day.
She knew exactly how long she had been there. The grated openings behind where she sat let light through from some distant windows, though no sounds penetrated from the street or city. The days came and went, the pain persisted. She no longer felt the vulnerability of nudity, though the temperatures at night fell low enough she shook and huddled next to the other slaves for warmth.
She sat between two others; a young man to her left, and a woman to her right. They didn't speak, there was little to say if it had even been allowed. They fought for what little food was given them, though the other girl was weak and usually lost, going hungry. At night they huddled and touched out of necessity to share warmth; there was no intimacy implied.
It had never been this bad before. Her last owner had been demanding and cruel, but she had always at least been able to wear clothes when cold. Isolation and punishment had been severe, but here... here she felt like she was being cast aside as an animal. Or worse than an animal.
The cell was a long concrete chamber, three or four feet wide and perhaps 30 feet long. Obviously designed to hold more slaves, the chamber had the absolute barest of features; a trough on the floor leading to a drain down which body waste products were washed once a day. A shelf protruded from the wall before them where dry, moldy bread was placed and a tiny trough filled with stale water.
And the dildos. Yes, the dildos; the monstrous devices that kept the prisoners in place.
The dildos were about seven or eight inches long, perhaps three wide; enough to fill and spread any body orifice tightly. Spaced irregularly every inch or so along the sides were curved spikes, very much like thorns from a rose bush. They were curved and smoothed on one side, but on the other-- sharp, ready to gouge and shred. When she had first arrived the guards had pushed her down into a squatting position, grabbed her ankles and forced her legs wide, and then taken one of these hideous probes and shoved it up her cunt, jamming it in deep until she felt her insides being compressed upward against intestines and stomach.
It went in OK, but even the slightest attempt to pull it out caused the sharp points of the thorns to gouge and dig into the sensitive flesh walls of her vagina. She screamed the first time she moved, the pain of the thorns hooking and penetrating flesh shocking her senses. Not moving became a priority. Some movement was necessary, but it was careful, and slow, and designed not to pull or dislodge the spiked obscenity inside her.
It wasn't easy; the barbed dildo was attached to the wall by a chain. Movement more than a couple of feet pulled the chain tight and the dildo barbs grabbed her flesh and she cried, screamed, once again.
Her hands were secured behind her back.
And so she simply sat in the cell, unable to move about, the pain of the dildo barbs occasionally shooting deep inside her gut. Blood from the cuts inside her dried on the inside of her thighs.
What had she done to deserve this? She knew, but didn't understand. She had failed to have an orgasm when commanded by her last master. It didn't matter that he had a tiny dick and smelled of pig shit; when he fucked her, she was to cum. Loudly. She had done her best, but he had become angered by her performance, threatened to sell her, and finally had done just that. Sold her to the famous palace of sadists, who used and consumed slaves for their own sick pleasures.
Her price had been high, that she knew as well. She was young, fit, and pretty. Her last master had used her frequently, kept her clean and well dressed, and allowed her privileges because he liked to see her. Coming to this place was like dropping from a beautiful meadow into a dark tiger trap.
She leaned forward to where a rat was nibbling on a crust of bread and took it in her mouth. The movement disturbed the dildo barbs, but she was so hungry, she had to eat. Kneeling, she pushed the bread around with her tongue until she could get some of it between her lips, and then teeth, where she bit a piece and chewed.
The water in the tiny trough was fetid, but she lapped and then urinated below her. Movement was so limited by the dildo's chain she had to sit back down on the wet concrete. A hose was used to wash the concrete and naked slaves once a day, but the place still smelled like a cesspool.
As the sixth day waned to darkness, she found herself wondering how long it had been since she had used her arms. They were tied behind her back when her old master had become angry and decided to sell her. How many days? 10? 11?
Muffled screams echoed down the corridor behind their cell and filtered through the grate above their heads. Someone was being tortured nearby. It would be easy to feel pity, but down deep she knew she would be screaming like that, soon. The screams went on for a long time, sometimes subsiding for a while, but always beginning again. They took on a wild, animal quality, no longer human. Just... screams, yanked out of some poor girl's gut. Tears trickled down her cheeks, not in pity for the poor tortured girl screaming a few yards away, but because she knew her screams would sound exactly the same.
The next morning she awoke, and the screams were gone. Whatever had been going on had stopped. Or the girl had lost the ability to scream. A privileged slave came by and hosed down the cell, taking special care to spray between her legs. He was an ugly slave, with a deformed face that looked like it sagged on one side. Every day he sprayed the cell, and took special care to spray her between her legs, as if that was the only form of sexual satisfaction he would ever have in life. She had been raped by many objects in her short life, and the water was inconsequential.
The boy was a privileged slave because he was ugly. That is what saved him, she knew. She was beautiful; she had always been beautiful. Her body was slim and her breasts large but did not sag. Her hair was dark and silky, though chopped short by her last master when he flew into a rage. It was her beauty that would be her undoing in this place. The men here would be eager to use her, to make her scream like the poor girl last night. She had no hope.
The sunlight in the cell was turning reddish as the afternoon of the seventh day progressed when two men came to the cell. She panicked and slid away, then cried out as the dildo barbs dig into her flesh once more. One man grabbed and spread her legs and the other grabbed the dildo; she cried out, begging them no, no, don't yank it out! The man pulled; the thorns dug deep into her vaginal flesh, catching and resisting. The man pulled harder and the sharp points dug into her sensitive flesh and began to tear. Blood trickled, and then drained from her cunt hole as the dildo was slowly pulled out. Her hips wriggled, her whole body writhed, her screams echoed in the small space.
She didn't realize at first when the thing had finally been removed, the pain continued after the spikes tore through the last flesh and the dildo fell out. The other two prisoners would not look at her, averting their eyes as she was lifted to a standing position and roughly guided out of the cell door and into the hall. She made a token bit of resistance but didn't have the strength to truly put up a fight.
Down deep inside she had still harbored a hope that her looks might save her; that she would be assigned to a brothel function, fucking endless lines of men, letting them shit on her, pee on her, hit her, fuck all her holes at once, endlessly. The prospect of being used in that way was all she hoped for. Now, her cunt had been shredded and was ruined. She knew she would never be lucky enough to become a slave whore.
The chamber was the nicest she had seen in the entire torture palace. Marble floors reflected beautiful decorations and light streaming in from the morning sun. She noticed these things because of the contrast with the cell from which she had just been removed, but they meant little to her. She was dragged to the center of the room. Several men gathered around her, evaluating and touching her naked flesh. Apparently, they approved. Several were smiling and kept touching her body.
They lifted her naked body up and her feet were inserted into a strange box with two holes at the top. She had to point her toes down in order to get her feet inside, and once she stood on her own, clamps inside automatically snapped into place, grabbing her ankles and feet. She could not move from the spot, but stood looking at the men that surrounded her.
"You ruined her cunt," one of the men observed. It wasn't a judgment, just an observation.
"You can still fuck it if you want," another said. "It's nice and lubed."
That brought harsh laughter. The man who had spoken first unzipped his pants, pulled out an enormous rock hard cock and walked around behind her. Someone punched her in the stomach, causing her to bend over with a grunt, and when she did the man behind her spread her ass cheeks and rammed his cock deep inside her rectum. He fucked her hard, making her body jerk and bob back and forth as he thrust. Her breasts were not big but large enough to wobble from the rhythmic banging from behind. She was tight around his cock and he finished quickly, spurting a load of fluid inside her and then withdrawing. She heard the zipper of his pants go back up.
Her hands were unfastened, causing blood to rush back into places that had been starved and numb. It hurt and she whimpered, rubbing hands and arms together. Her knees bent and she began to kneel down, though the stiff brackets held her ankles and legs in place and prevented her from doing so. As it was her arms were only free for a moment. The men grabbed her wrists and pulled them up over her head, inserting them into a similar box as her feet. Inside the holes in this box her wrists were clamped tightly in place.
She stood, legs held in place slightly apart and arms extended above, also held slightly apart. Her naked condition made her feel more vulnerable in this position, and she looked around at the men, wondering what would happen.
It became clear when she saw the bullwhip. An ugly man in a suit and tie pulled down, with collar open, wielded it expertly. Without warning or delay, he swung the long leather strand over his head and it lashed out toward her, wrapping itself around her naked body. The impact caused her flesh to ripple.
She heard the screaming, same as the night before, and realized it was her. It had begun.
After the third or fourth cutting stroke, the man stopped and said, "stretch her a bit."
In response there was a slight pneumatic hiss and the box holding her wrists pulled upward. Her body stretched, elongating painfully as the device pulled her muscles and joints tight. It was as if she was a guitar string, stretched and pulled tight, ready to be plucked. The men stood around, observing and appreciating how the stretched body became more beautiful, flesh pulled tight against and showing the slave girl's ribs and hips, her breasts lifted up slightly, and not least of all her face contorted in agony from the strain.
The whip hissed through the air again, slicing her flesh like a knife. She resumed screaming as the whip continued its work.
The pain of the whip masked what was slowly happening to her body, but during a lull in the lashing she realized she was facing direct sunlight through the window. Through the haze of fiery pain she looked and realized the box at the top had very slowly turned her 45 degrees to the left so her face was now looking at the window.
The whip was handed to another man, who favored the upper half of her body. The whip cut bloody stripes across her breasts and arms, even across her face. A lovely young face, twisted in the screams of her flesh slowly being cut away, an inch at a time.
The box on the top continued to turn slowly. The box holding her feet in place stayed perfectly still. Her body was slowly, ever so slowly twisted to the left.
They stopped whipping her. Perhaps it didn't matter; her flesh was on fire, burning from the horrible flogging. Additional strokes might add some pain but there was something else happening that was going to provide more amusement for the brutish men.
She gasped in horror as she realized the box holding her wrists had turned a complete 180 degrees from where it had started. Her right wrist was over her left leg. The twisting force caused her legs to slide at an angle, her hips turned only halfway around. Her back and body were twisted by the force of the device, and her arms crossed, providing the last bit of give against the slow turning.
Yes, legs and arms were the first to give in to the twisting motion; her body was twisted as well but it resisted.
The pain from the whipping was beginning to fade. No... not fade. It was being displaced by another, deeper agony. All her joints were screaming now as they were pulled tighter and tighter by the slow twisting motion. She continued screaming as well, her head tilted back, looking at the ceiling.
Somewhere, in another part of the building, some poor slave was listening to her screams, wondering what horror was being done, crying not out of pity but out of fear that the same would be done to them.
Arms crossed and intertwined, legs bent and knees pulled, she felt her joints weaken. It would not be long before her arms were pulled out of their sockets. Her back and hips were being twisted horribly, as well.
The men watched as the young girl was slowly, ever so slowly twisted and her body deformed. And yet, it was a beautiful kind of deformity. Her flesh stretched tight, emphasizing her young body's shape. Her breasts hung unaffected. Her hips moved, buttocks began to tighten. It was a beautiful sight.
The first sign of her true destruction was a crunching noise accompanied by a difference in the tone of the young girl's screams. Her upper body suddenly moved a couple of inches, increasing the amount of visible twist in her torso. Some vertebrae in her back had broken and given way to the pressure. It relieved a bit of the pressure on the girl's hips and shoulder joints, and emphasized the twisting of her torso.
Her screams were changing pitch as the device twisted her body around to 270 degrees. Her arms and legs continued to take the brunt of the twist, but her body could not resist the slow, persistent pressure. Breathing was becoming difficult for the girl. Shorter breaths meant shorter screams, more like a gurgling, rasping cry.
Both shoulders gave way at almost the same time. There was no audible sound, but it was obvious when it happened. The relief in pressure was temporary, as the device kept slowly turning.
It had been agreed previously that the twist would go to 360 degrees; that is, one complete turn around so the girl's face would be all the way around to the front. Bets were being taken whether she would survive to this point, and if so, how long after reaching this point she would continue.
Screaming had all but stopped. Two crushed vertebrae had cut off all sensation below her waist. Both shoulders had been pulled from their sockets, but not before her left ulna had cracked. Vital organs were functioning and she lived, still experiencing massive agony, though unable to express it through screams. Breathing was too difficult, her diaphragm was twisted and functioning very poorly, making it almost impossible to draw air in.
She reached 360 degrees-- one full twist around. Her arms, legs and body were a fascinating, gruesome and yet beautiful sight. Bruising throughout her arms and shoulders discolored her skin; her torso flesh was pulled tight in folds. Her head hung back and she panted in short, small breaths, making little noise.
As the girl hung in place, unable to move any part of her body, experiencing the most agonizing pain she had ever experienced, she realized she was no longer screaming and remembered the silence of that other girl, the night before. The silence was worse. It was when the ability to scream was lost, but the pain continued.
The men in the room stood around watching and admiring the twisted work of art that had been the girl slave. They drank, got drunk, prodded and poked her naked body. Her only movement was shallow breathing, but she was aware of their fondling and stroking fingers that probed and pinched and felt where her body had broken. Fingers probed between her legs, in a space that was closed tightly from the twisting pressure, pushing flesh aside until they reached the shredded flesh of her cunt.
After an hour of the 360 degree position, the men decided to add additional twist to finish the girl slave off. It didn't take much. Another 20 degrees and she let out a grunting rasp of breath, and did not take another.