The Fine Art of Torture (Slave of the Aristocracy Book 3)

by Ashley Zacharias

  “If my owner comes back, I’m going to tell him that you broke in to steal stuff and then tried to rape me when you found me here alone.”

  That woke him up. “That’s not true. You can’t say that.”

  “I can say whatever I need to say to save my life. So if you don’t want to get castrated, you’re going to get out of here.”

  He buckled his belt. “I don’t think that you’re as nice as you pretend.”

  “You think that it’s nice to fuck me?”

  He nodded. “It sure is.”

  “Then get out of here and we’ll both live to fuck another day.”

  “I have to pee. Where’s the bathroom?”

  She had seen that before. Some men always peed after sex. “Pee in an alley. There’s no bathroom for you in here.”

  He finally let her usher him out of the studio.

  She wasn’t going to bring anyone back here again. If the boys couldn’t find a safe place to fuck her, they weren’t going to have her.

  She went upstairs to her room to hang up her housedress. Now, in addition to the lady’s dresses that she wore to dinner, she had a pair of steel-toed boots, jeans, and three pairs of tee shirts . The professor insisted that she had to dress properly when she was working in the shop. She didn’t see what was wrong with the housedress, but he said that it could get caught in the equipment.

  The jeans were tight and the tee shirts tighter. She’d worn lingerie that revealed less of her figure. The professor might not want to fuck her, but he did like to ogle her body.

  One thing was damn sure. There was no loose fabric on her work outfits that could get caught in any saws or drills.

  He also insisted that she wear her long hair up in a tight bun on the top of her head when she was in the shop. That made sense. If her hair got caught in a lathe or drill, she would be scalped in an instant.

  She was doing up her hair when she heard the front door close downstairs.

  She was sure that she had locked it when Mr. B left so he couldn’t have come back in to steal anything. Or to fuck her again.

  She listened for a long time, but the building was silent.

  She ventured downstairs slowly. The runners creaked softly under her tread. She’d never noticed that before.

  If an intruder was in the studio and he listened hard, he would hear her coming.

  She peered through the door at the bottom of the stairs into the studio. She could see no one.

  Her heart was pounding as she crossed the floor to the front door. She kept looking around, making sure that no one was creeping up behind her.

  The front door was unlocked.

  She could clearly remember locking it when the boy left. Clearly. Surely she couldn’t have been mistaken about that.

  She began checking the building systematically, beginning with looking behind every torture device in the studio, looking into every cupboard that was large enough to conceal a person.

  While she searched, she wondered what she would do if she found an intruder.

  She would offer herself to him in hope that sex would be enough to make him happy.

  She couldn’t be raped. She was a slave. She didn’t own her body, so it was impossible for her to either to consent or to deny anyone the use of it. Her owner could object to someone using her without his permission but she suspected that the professor wouldn’t bother making an issue out of it, especially if she sustained no damage.

  The only reason that an intruder would kill her was if he wanted to get rid of a witness to his break and entry.

  She could eliminate that possibility.

  She opened the equipment cupboard and removed a heavy leather blindfold. The same one that Carl had used on her when her left nipple was being tortured.

  She buckled it over her eyes. “If anyone is here, I don’t know who you are.” Her shout echoed through the empty building. “I’m blindfolded. I can’t see you. You can leave any time. I’ll never be able to identify you.”

  She slumped to the floor and then waited to see if an anonymous intruder would grab her and fuck her before leaving.

  She hoped not. It was one thing to be fucked in the dark by guests of her owner – as slaves sometimes were – but another to be fucked by a stranger who might kill her afterward.

  She waited for a long time, but nothing happened. Eventually, she began to feel paranoid and foolish. There was no one else here. She was sitting all alone in an empty building with a blindfold covering her eyes.

  She removed the blindfold, put it back in the cupboard, and then went to the shop to work on her torture device.

  She couldn’t have been mistaken, she was sure that the front door had opened and closed, but she had no answer to the mystery so she forgot about it.

  * * *

  “I could order you to show it to me,” the professor said.

  Irene was standing in front of a large object, eight feet tall, which was covered by a tarp in the back of the woodworking shop. “You could and I would, but then you’d miss out on the big surprise. It would be like peeking at your presents before Christmas. I promise you that it’ll be worth the wait.”

  The professor pursed his lips. “I won’t put a device in my show unless I’ve seen it work.”

  “I don’t expect you to. You’ll see me suffer in it well in advance of your opening.” Her body twitched at the thought of what she was going to have to endure when her device was finished. “I’ll give you and Moe and Carl your own private show as soon as it’s built. We have to test it and make sure that it works right. I have to give myself enough time to modify if it doesn’t work smoothly enough.”

  He frowned. “It has moving parts?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t have anything with moving parts. All my devices are adjustable, but once they’re adjusted, they’re stationary.”

  “Not mine. Don’t expect anything too dramatic. The movement is only a few inches at most. But it does move. I can move a little bit when I’m in it. That’s its charm.”

  “Now I’m really curious.”

  She shrugged. She hoped that his curiosity was torturing him as much as he liked to torture her.

  But he was a smart man. He would have figured that out and he would make sure that she was tortured more by her machine than he was by his curiosity.

  “You’re not going to be able to work on it this afternoon. Carl and Moe are coming over. I recommend that you not each lunch today. You’re going to have a very bad afternoon.”

  Her heart leaped in fear.

  “You may remember that I made a promise to Carl some time ago. We’ll be honoring that promise right after lunch.”

  She searched her memory, trying to figure out what he was talking about, but she came up empty. She couldn’t remember any promise that the professor had made to Carl.

  He did not explain. He left her alone in the shop.

  She didn’t want to work on her device; it would be better to conserve her strength, so she spent the next two hours in the study, trying to read. She was unable to concentrate on the words on the page. The professor had promised her a very bad afternoon. There was no doubt that he would deliver on that promise and she was terrified. Sweat soaked her dress and her fingers trembled so much that she could barely hold the book.

  She gave up trying to distract herself when she heard the professor clearing his lunch dishes. She retired to her room and took a cool shower to wash the sweat away.

  No amount of water could wash her fear away.

  She lay on her bed, nude, and waited to be called downstairs.

  After a time, the professor came to her room. “We’re ready for you, my dear. We’ll wait for you in the studio.” She hadn’t heard Carl and Moe arrive.

  He left, confident that she would follow.

  She took several deep breaths and steeled her mind. She was a slave. She was tough. She could endure anything that didn’t kill her. And she was certain, now, that the professor would not do an
ything fatal. He would only make her scream in mindless agony all afternoon. Only that.

  She would be free again for dinner. The professor had not yet made her miss dinner. Though, she was usually too sore and tired to eat much after a torture session.

  Dinner would be served in four hours. She could endure anything for four hours. Even a very bad afternoon. That’s what she told herself. But, it didn’t matter; she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. Four hours could be a long, long time.

  There were four men, not three, waiting in the studio. She remembered Al from her first torture session. He was the engineer who had built and operated the machine that had electrocuted her left nipple all afternoon.

  That’s when she remembered the promise that the professor had made to Carl. That had been when Al had joined them the last time. She whined in terror and her legs almost gave out. She stumbled against the doorframe. The professor took a step toward her but she waved him off. She stood straight, held her head high, and strolled across the room to the men.

  A slave had to be brave.

  She didn’t have to ask what to do. It was obvious. She sat on the gynecological table, rolled down on her back with her head on the pillow, and then fitted her feet into the widespread stainless steel stirrups.

  The professor wrapped leather straps about her feet to bind them to the stirrups and then he buckled other straps across her body and arms to keep them motionless. Straps lashed her knees to the steel frame that supported the stirrups. They were making certain that she wouldn’t be able to close her thighs.

  Al wheeled the constant current source into position next to her hips. He flipped the main power switch to warm up the tubes.

  The professor sat on a stool and drew the first pair of fine, needle-sharp electrodes from the foam. Her cunt was spread wide, her outer lips pulled apart to expose her moist, pink, most-intimate anatomy.

  He gently retracted the hood from her clitoris to expose the most sensitive bud of flesh on her entire body and slid the pair of electrodes deep into the center.

  The pain was severe. She whined piteously.

  Her long, long afternoon had begun.

  The second pair hurt just as bad.

  There was only room for two pairs of electrodes at the end of her clit. He slid the next four pairs into the sides, and then another half dozen pairs around the base.

  By the time he was inserting the first pairs into her juicy inner lips, she could no longer feel the individual pairs. The ventral end of her vulva was an undifferentiated mass of pain. Now the professor was pushing needles down the length of her cunt.

  She was weeping and struggling with her arms and head, but she kept her knees stationary. Any movement of her legs made the pain flare up even worse.

  Carl was standing on one side of her hips, staring alternately at her pincushion cunt and at her face, contorted in agony. His pants bulged hugely at his crotch.

  Moe was on the other side, watching only her cunt, ready to warn the professor if he thought that something medically dangerous was about to happen. But she could see a bulge in the doctor’s pants, too. He was a man before he was a physician, and the sight of a rosy, dripping cunt had bypassed his higher though processes and triggered reflexes in his reptile brain.

  Al seemed less interested in her sex than in his machine. He rested his hand lightly on the top of the grey box and waited patiently. He would have his fun when he threw the switch and made the juice flow.

  Irene couldn’t imagine how much worse the pain would be when Al lit her up. It was already unbearable and this was only the preparation.

  She didn’t have to imagine for much longer.

  As soon at the professor inserted the last pair of electrodes into her inner labia at the dorsal end of her vagina, he turned to Al and said, “Do her.”

  The pain was incredible. Literally unbelievable. Her mind went blank in shock. She was incapable of thought. Agony commandeered her entire brain. Her whole body contracted in a giant spasm. Her screams drowned out all other sounds in the studio.

  After ten seconds, Al toggled a switch and the pain subsided back down to the previous level of suffering induced by the needles alone.

  “That was impressive,” the professor said.

  Moe stared at her face. “I guess you don’t feel like fucking anyone right now, do you?”

  She thrashed her head in terror.

  “That was the lowest level of current that we used on her nipple a few weeks ago,” Al said.

  “There are more nerves in the genitals than in her nipple,” Moe said, “but they shouldn’t be any more susceptible to damage. We should be able to increase the current to the intermediate level that we used before.”

  “Please, God, no,” Irene croaked.

  “The electrical conductivity of the flesh may be higher here,” Al said. “It would take less voltage to produce the same current flow, so there shouldn’t be much danger of permanent nerve damage.”

  “We didn’t see any decrease in the sensitivity of her nipple after the last session,” the professor said, “so let’s jack up the current.”

  “Please, God. Please. Show some mercy.” Irene tried to plead with her eyes as well as her voice.

  “We’re not big on mercy, here,” Carl said.

  Al reached for the switch.

  “Plea–“

  A surge of current through her vulva turned her plea into a scream.

  The four men stared at her for a long time. A minute? Two minutes? Irene was incapable of estimating time. Every second of torture lasted a lifetime.

  When Al turned the current off again, Irene kept screaming, now in terror rather than pain, because she knew that these men had barely begun to hurt her.

  “You want to play, Ragnar?” Al asked.

  The professor stepped to the machine. “As I recall, this button and lever directs the current to the different electrodes.”

  “Go ahead and experiment,” Al said. “You can’t hurt the equipment.”

  He could only hurt Irene. She felt the pain begin at the base of her vaginal opening and slowly, ever so slowly, spread upward along her labia until it peaked at the tip of her clitoris. It was evil because she could feel it burning more and more as it spread along her vulva and knew that her agony would keep building and building.

  She couldn’t keep herself from screaming.

  The professor sent wave after wave of pain flowing back and forth from clit to perineum and back again while he listened to her scream ebb and flow in synchrony.

  She hated him.

  He could see her hatred in her eyes and found joy in it.

  He flipped the other switch to keep the current flowing constantly through all the electrodes and listened to her scream rise.

  He stepped away from the machine and left it on.

  “Anyone else want to drive for a while?”

  Moe shrugged. “I wouldn’t do anything differently.”

  Carl looked at Al. “More current??

  Irene screamed anew at the thought.

  “We can try a little more,” Al said. “But we reach a limit. Once all the nerves are firing, more current can’t make them fire more, only increase the risk of damage.”

  “Let’s try a little more and see if we’ve reached the limit yet.”

  Al looked at the professor. He nodded. Then Al turned the knob on the front of the machine and watched the needle rise another few degrees on the dial.

  Irene hadn’t thought that it was possible to feel any worse pain in her cunt.

  She was wrong. The pain increased. But her screams stayed constant. She had no more to give.

  Al shrugged. “I’m not sure that made any difference.”

  “Hard to tell,” Carl said.

  Irene could tell, but she kept it to herself. There was on upside to telling them that they could still hurt her even more badly.

  The men watched her scream for a few more minutes. Then Al shrugged and smiled at the professor.
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  “There’s scotch in the study,” the professor said. “If anyone would like to retire upstairs, please help yourself.”

  Moe and Al took their leave.

  Carl kept staring at Irene in fascination.

  The professor watched Carl.

  Through her fog of pain, Irene realized that the professor was reluctant to leave her alone with Carl. After Carl had sat on her lap in the spiked chair, the professor didn’t trust his friend.

  She found a small crumb of gratitude in her heart for that much.

  Her voice was growing hoarse from her screams and her muscles were aching from fighting against the straps.

  Her screams subsided into great sobs, not because the pain was decreasing, but only because she had been depleted of her energy.

  Neither man made any move toward the machine, either to turn it up or to turn it off.

  Irene suffered and endured. It was all she could do.

  After some time, Carl said, “Will you join us for a dram?”

  “I’ll be up in a minute,” the professor said.

  Carl wandered away.

  The professor pulled a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket and mopped Irene’s brow. “You’re doing wonderfully well, my dear. Keep it up.”

  He made no move toward the machine, but walked back toward the stairs to the study to join his friends.

  She was left to suffer alone.

  She cursed them aloud. If they were going to torture her mercilessly, the least that they could do was stay around and watch her suffer. Her curses sounded like more screams. If they heard her all the way up in the study, they wouldn’t know that she was consigning them all to hell where the devil’s hounds would chew on their cocks with their fiery jaws for eternity.

  Which wasn’t a bad approximation of what she was feeling in her crotch for what seemed like her own eternity.

  Suddenly the pain ceased. More or less. She still had a hundred pairs of electrodes – two hundred fine needles – piercing the most sensitive parts of her anatomy.

  She opened her eyes and saw the four men staring down at her.

  “What happened?” Her throat hurt when she tried to form the words.