“Couldn’t or wouldn’t? We’ll see.”
I forced him to grasp the center of a three-foot piece of broomstick, and as he gripped it, I wrapped duct tape tightly around his fist so he wouldn’t be able to release it.
He looked at the contraption and sarcastically popped off, “I wasn’t able to pull my arm out as it was.”
I tossed the roll of tape. “I bet you that it can slide out.”
“What? You think I am fucking Houdini?” He thought for a second. “No, no, no! Please don’t cut if off! I’ll do anything!”
I smiled. “I’m not going to cut off your arm, so relax.”
He stared at me with uncertainty. “You’re not?”
“No. I’m not.”
He took a deep breath as he laid his head on the table. “I thank you for showing mercy.”
While he laid on the table with a sigh of relief on his face, I grabbed the stick and started lightly rotating it, and as his arm was being twisted, he raised his head up and looked at me. “What are you doing?”
I stopped twisting, but held the tension on the stick. “Tell me on a scale from one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad does this hurt?”
He spoke quickly without thinking. “A ten!”
“Really, what about this?” I twisted the shit out of the stick.
“Oh shit! Stop!”
I held the tension. “How bad? From one to ten? I’ll turn it in the direction of less pain according to the scale.”
He screamed out. “A fucking twelve!”
“One to ten. Twelve is not on the scale.”
Sweat was pouring off his face. “Ten, ten, ten!”
“Ten was already used at the beginning.” I continued to hold the tension. “So, what you’re saying is this hurts as bad as when I was lightly twisting your arm?”
He started breathing deeply. “You’re gonna break it!”
I still hadn’t let off the pressure. “I will hurt you less if you tell me how bad this hurts on the scale, and remember, you have already used ten.”
“Then it’s a nine! It’s a fucking nine!”
When he yelled nine for the third time I started twisting his arm as hard as I could. He screamed at the top of his lungs as the massive amount of pressure was causing severe stress to his bones and ligaments. At first it was hard to twist the stick, and with every pop I heard, the stick got easier to twist. He was screaming so loud from the excruciating pain that he broke the speaker in the Electro pharynx. Even though his body had begun to violently shake and he was probably going to pass out, I continued to twist his arm until it tore in half at the elbow. After I pulled the lower portion of his arm out of the hollowed trunk and threw it on the floor, he started dry heaving, and as soon as blood and pieces of bone came gushing out of the end of the wooden device he passed out. Before he bled to death, I quickly unlatched his restraints and pulled his ravaged stub out of the device. The upper portion of his arm was destroyed, so I amputated it at the shoulder and cauterized the stub. His body was in shock and I knew he couldn’t handle anymore trauma, so I removed him from the table and put him in an intensive care room that was separate from the chamber. Over the next several hours I worked quickly addressing his wounds. First, I removed his tongue, which was now a large infected piece of rotting meat. I half-assed repaired the holes in his face by grafting some of his skin that I cut from his ass cheeks. When I was done, I had a good laugh—he had an old tattoo of a pair of cherries on his left ass cheek, which was now on the side of his face. Not sure about cherries, kind of gay I thought. The facial repairs only took a couple of hours, but it took weeks to fight the infection in his leg, and it took months for him to fully recover from all his injuries. The entire time he was in the intensive care room he didn’t say a word. I think he was glad because he thought his suffering was over.
A couple of months later when he was fully recovered, I walked up to him as he was watching TV. “Are you ready to tear off your dick?”
He just looked at me in fright as he laid on a comfortable bed. The past several months Bill had been on easy street as I had been torturing some of the newcomers. He was almost like new for the exception of having no arms, no tongue and severe scarring on his face and leg. He became hostile as I wheeled his bed into the chamber. His retarded-sounding voice was echoing throughout the chamber. “You’re not going to touch me anymore, you sick and twisted fucker! You hear me! You will not fucking touch me! Do you understand?”
I had to pull him kicking and screaming from the bed onto the wooden table, and as I tied down his legs he shouted, “Get the fuck away from me you son of a bitch!”
I screwed the torch head on the propane cylinder.
He raised his head up and stared into my eyes. “You have no fucking right to do this to me!”
“I bet the kids that you stuck your dick into felt the same.”
He glared at me with fury. “Fuck you, you sick and twisted fucker!”
I lit the torch. “Now get to bitin’, you tongueless fuck!”
His facial expression went from a hatred look to a confused look. “You’re out of your fucking mind! You’re insane!”
“I’ll tell you what’s insane. The fact that you didn’t listen the first two times, you now have to bite your dick off. And who’s sicker? Me for forcing you to punish your sorry ass, or you finding pleasure in hurting and touching little boys? You fucking child molester piece of shit!”
After that comment he became very, very angry. His eyes turned red and he spewed spit out of his mouth as he shouted, “You can go fuck yourself!!! I will not give you the satisfaction of begging anymore! Do whatever you need to do you fucking cocksucker!”
I cranked the flame on the torch to its max and started burning his right leg. He was screaming at the top of his lungs and throwing his head and body around as his skin boiled. He would sit up and lean forward, and as he screamed into my ear, I would take the torch and burn his face until he fell back to the table. The process continued to repeat until his hair caught fire, and at that point the pain between his leg and his smoking head was so excruciating he started slamming his head on the table in an attempt to knock himself unconscious. Because he was refusing to bite his wiener, I decided to shut off the torch and try something that would be more enticing.
His head was still smoking as he laid his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I told you. I told you I would not give you satisfaction. I can take whatever you dish out, so you might as well just cut it off yourself or just kill me.”
I opened the top of ten small plastic containers that were cylindrical in shape, then poured their contents on the top of his burnt leg from his ankle to his hip.
He sat up with a cocky grin. “What the fuck is that, freak?”
“Motivation.”
He took a deep breath. “You’re wasting your time. There is nothing I can physically do to stop you, but I can use my mind to overcome the pain. So, you might as well give up.”
Seth pulled an empty plastic container out of his pocket and tossed it into the chamber next to Dicky. “That’s what I went into town to get for Bill the day I ran across the carjackers. It’s used in conjunction with lead molds to weld copper wiring together, or copper wiring to metal such as rebar or metal beams. The container is filled with powdered metal oxides and an aluminum reducing agent. The powder is poured into a mold and ignited with a spark gun to create an exothermic chemical reaction. The powder reaches between twenty-five hundred and three thousand degrees within a few seconds to create a superheated molten metal weld. I thought it would be interesting to see what the powder would do to flesh.”
Dicky picked up the plastic container. “Bill seemed to be a strong-willed person.”
“No, more like stubborn. He was used to being the aggressor in life and he would rather suffer horrendously than submit to someone else. I remember like it was yesterday when I ignited the powder—there was a large flash that looked like a thousand sparklers that instantl
y went off. It was so bright I had to step back and shield my eyes. The chemical reaction of the powder and Bill’s burning flesh created such a thick cloud of smoke that his leg was completely hidden. Pieces of burning particles were being shot all over the place as the superheated material came into contact with his flesh and muscles. Bill sat up and screamed at the top of his lungs, and as he stared in horror, the fire from his leg was burning his face and head. He finally passed out about the same time the particles stopped shooting out of his leg, but the smoke continued to pour out and fill the chamber with the raunchy smell of burning flesh for several more minutes. I could start to see the damage as soon as the smoke began to dissipate from his leg. Right off I knew cauterizing wasn’t going to be needed. The top of his entire leg had caved in and was charred to the point it looked like a tree limb that had been burned in a brush pile. The molten metal had disintegrated his flesh and was smoldering on the top of his bones. The flesh and muscles on each side of his bones were disintegrated and some of the molten metal was still burning the top of the wooden table. The only tissue he had left was under his leg.
Several minutes later, I threw cold water on his face, and when he became coherent I said, “Check out your leg.”
When he sat up and looked at it, he began to panic as he stared in horror. “Oh shit! What the fuck have you done? That’s fucking bad!”
I smiled. “What’s really bad is I have to amputate it as soon as possible so you don’t die.”
He was terrified as I lifted his thigh and pulled a handheld flexible tree limb saw under his leg, and after I climbed up and stood on the top of the table, I bent down and grabbed a handle with each hand. He screamed as I started working the blade back and forth, and by the time the blade reached his bone, he had blown his voice box. He passed out as I was cutting through the last portion of muscle.”
Judas Cradle
“Over the next couple of weeks, I let Bill recover from his injuries in the intensive care room again. He was watching the ten o’clock news one evening when I came into his room to remove him from his cozy bed and into a wheelchair. I sometimes allow TV in parts of the chamber so these assholes don’t forget the fact that they are missing out on the real world. It’s very agonizing for them to be forced into confinement against their will. When I pushed him out of the room and back into the chamber he didn’t say a word. He was furious as I rolled him across the stone floor. I could almost hear him cursing me in his head. When we reached the opposite corner of the chamber I parked him next to a strange looking device, and as he sat dumbfounded I said, “You’re running out of limbs, pal, so we’ll try something different.”
He turned towards me with a very hateful look. “If you want it torn off, then you do it! I am not going to play your game anymore.”
While he sat in the chair pouting, I secured a metal band around his chest. The band had four eyebolts located evenly around it, and each of them had a rope secured to it. The ropes ran through its own pulley that was mounted to the ceiling, and the four pulleys were mounted about ten feet apart in a square pattern. After I tied a rope around his ankle, I started hoisting him up by pulling on each rope a little at a time, and when he was suspended about eight feet in the air I tied off the ropes. I needed him to be at a slight angle, so I took the rope that was secured to his leg and tied if off where it held his leg slightly out in front of him. He watched with uncertainty as I slid a six-foot tall pyramid-shaped device out of the corner of the chamber. I centered the metal point of the pyramid under him, then stepped back so I could see his face. “This is called a Judas Cradle and it was used in the medieval times to torture assholes like you.”
He didn’t say a word, but he did look terrified as I lowered him down on top of the device. As soon as the point rammed in his ass, he constricted his butt cheeks to stop it from entering further. I tied off the ropes where they had just enough slack so he couldn’t fall off the pyramid. I didn’t say anything as I started to walk off.
“What the fuck? You can’t leave me up here like this.”
I spun around. “Oh, by the way, I suggest you don’t relax too much unless you want to be turned into a human popsicle.”
He shouted profanity at me as I walked to another section of the chamber.
Several hours later when I came back to check on him, his body was covered in sweat and every muscle in his neck was sticking out as he strained to keep his butt cheeks together.
When he saw me he became frantic. “It’s killing me! Please get me down! I don’t want to die this way!”
“It’s a pretty damn humiliating device, isn’t it? And every time you move it slides in deeper. The more you sweat, the more slippery it gets. The more your butt muscles tear the deeper it goes. As the point gets deeper it also widens. Unfortunately, you might have to sit there for several days before you die.”
He looked down at me with a look of desperation. “All right, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want. Just get me down.”
“We’ll discuss that in the morning.” I spun around and walked away.
It was around noon the next day when I came back into the chamber, and when I walked up to Bill, I found he was extremely exhausted and noticed the top of the pyramid was covered in blood, piss and shit. While I stood next to him smoking a cigarette, he was so tired that he couldn’t even speak to tell me how violated he felt; all he could do was hold his head down in shame. A few minutes later, I lowered him to the floor and dragged his white-as-a-ghost body over to his favorite table. I tied his left leg down, the only limb he had left. “Get to bitin’ or the pyramid will become your new perch.”
He didn’t say a word as he tried to sit up, and as I watched him struggle, I realized his body was too exhausted and his mind wasn’t very alert to do what he needed to do. “Let’s wait until your state of mind and body are fully refreshed so you can get the full experience of having to gnaw off your own dick. Tomorrow will be the day that you will give every kid you violated justice.” Before I walked away, he had fallen sound asleep, and for the rest of the day as I did shit around the chamber, I could hear him snoring like a grizzly bear.
The next day when I walked up to Bill he didn’t say anything, and as I stood next to him he sat up without any motivation and tried to reach his penis with his mouth, but he wasn’t flexible enough. After his failed attempt, he laid back down. He just laid on the table with a don’t-give-a-fuck facial expression. “I can’t reach it.”
“Can’t couldn’t do shit, and that’s sure not going to be an excuse in here.” I went and grabbed a rope, some pulleys and a metal collar. He had a smirk on his face as I pulled him forward and secured a metal collar around his neck. On each side of the collar was a point of connection, and after I tied a rope to each side of the collar, I hung them off the side of the table they faced. I crawled under the table and mounted two pulleys directly under his ass, then pulled each rope through a pulley. After I mounted a hand-cranked winch on the end of the table by his feet, I cut off the extra slack in the ropes and connected them both to the winch. With each crank of the handle he moaned louder and louder as the ropes forced his head downwards towards his crotch. I didn’t want to break his back, so I stopped cranking it as soon as he started screaming, then I left him in that dreadful position overnight. Day after day I cranked the winch a little at a time, and when his head finally laid in his crotch, I left him in that miserable position for days.
A week later when I cut the ropes, his head remained motionless, stuck in the bent over position. I thumped him on the side of his head. “Wouldn’t it have been a lot easier and less painful to have torn it off the first time I asked?”
He didn’t say a word, but he did start crying.
“Get after it, or I will cut your other leg off a foot at a time.”
After that comment he picked his head up out of his crotch and grabbed a mouth full of wiener. He bit down and pulled back. It stretched a couple of inches, then slipped out. Every time he grabbed hi
s dick and pulled back it would slip out of his mouth. After the fourth time, he just gave up and laid his head back in his crotch. “I have no teeth. I can’t grip it.”
He screamed loudly as I threw him backwards on the table. He had been forced forward for so long that the new backwards position was causing severe pain due to possible muscle cramping and spinal stress. He attempted to rise back up a couple of times, but he finally just gave up and laid motionless as he cried. While Mr. Snivels blew slobber all over the place, I cut some small diameter stainless steel rod into seven, one-inch pieces, then grounded a sharp point on each end of them. Before Bill knew what hit him, I had grabbed his face and locked his mouth open with a pair of dental clamps, and over the next several minutes he screamed out as loud as a person could scream as I drove four of the rods into the top of his gum and three in the bottom of his gum. After I removed the dental clamps I walked off to the other side of the chamber so I could hear myself think. He had screamed so loud my ears were still ringing an hour later.
Finally, around midnight Bill had settled down, so I walked over and stood next to him. “Any more excuses?”
The complete “A Glimpse into Hell” series - 5 books, 195 chapters, 1700 pages, 600K words of pure gore Page 10