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Chapter 2
Sam had a fetish, and it was a strange one even by this groups' standards. He liked invisible injuries. His biggest turn on was when women looked healthy and whole, except by the pain in the eyes and face. So it was that, when Stacy was injured, Sam was ready for his orgasm.
He nonchalantly walked over to where Tamara was kept, moved behind her and, much to her alarm, pitched the dolly back and wheeled her toward the nearest chair. Tamara's arms were only dully throbbing now, and she wondered if they were turning black. Luckily for her, they were only a deep purple.
After he had parked the helpless woman in front of the chair, he sat on it. Tamara was sobbing a bit, and trying to get a good look at the men. Once she did, she wished she hadn't.
Menacing looking enough with his built frame and crew cut blond hair, Sam was particularly terrifying when looking at a girl with an evil, pondering half smile, as she kneels tightly bound in front of him.
“Bring me the iron, and put the slutty one over here beside me on the floor, and tie her ankles up on the wall,” Sam said, with a thoughtful voice.
Two of the men lifted Stacy while the other went rummaging through the cabinets to find the iron.
In the back of her head, Tamara found it mildly ironic that if the men actually knew the sisters, they would say Tamara was the slutty one. In fact, Stacy had only lost her virginity a few months earlier, while Tamara had been messing around with boys since she was 15.
Stacy grunted a bit as she was carried over, but did not awaken. The man who set her ass end on the ground was the same one who had been slamming her, and with perhaps a bit of vengefulness, he plopped her down rather hard, and jerked her left foot into the air toward a hinged cuff that was attached to the wall. Another of the men did the same on the other side. Though taller then her sister, her ankles still didn't reach from this position, and once both of her ankles were securely latched to the wall, Stacy was painfully perched on her lower back, her pussy looking up at the sky.
Sam directed the men as they prepared the hapless woman, who was slowly beginning to wake. He pointed at the one with the hardest looking dick, which was also the one who hadn't gotten a blow job from Tamara, and whispered to him what to do with the iron.
Tamara looked on, wondering what they would inflict upon her poor sister next.
“Alright cutie,” Sam said, grabbing Tamara by the chin and forcing her to face him. He looked her straight in the eye as her sister began screaming beside him. “You're going to give me the best BJ you've ever given, and you're going to do it quick. Quicker than it takes an iron to heat up. Or your sister's going to have a cooked cunt.”
Tamara looked over and saw the man, his dick buried up to the hilt in Stacy's virgin ass, smashing her injured vagina with the hot end of the iron and holding the cord near an electrical outlet. Sam removed the plug from Tamera's ring gag.
“When I say 'go,'” Sam continued, “you start sucking. The iron stays put until I cum, and then tell him to pull it off your sister. Go!”
Tamara was taken completely off guard, almost choking on the dick shoved down her throat. Normally a pretty decent cock-sucker, Tamara was at a loss as to exactly what to do without the use of her lips.
The other men had basically skull fucked her, but Sam was waiting for her to do something. The whimpering of her sister, however, convinced her to at least try.
She did, at least, have her tongue. The blond closed her eyes and did her best to imagine herself in a different place, pleasuring a different man. This was made difficult by the ever more insistent yelpings of her sister as the iron began to heat.
Tamara ran her tongue along the base of her rapists dick, and then pulled it back to flick the end. She could feel him react, and knew she was on the right track. By alternating between circling the head of his penis, and flicking her tongue on the end, she was able to move him toward skull fucking her, which she facilitated with her tongue whenever possible. She would've moved her head up and down his cock, but her head was still firmly buckled to the dolly by the gag strap.
Stacy, by this point, was nearly hyperventilating. Her vagina felt like it was melting while her ass felt like it was going to rip in half. Her torturer was not even moving, content to watch the agony in her eyes and let her struggles bring him to climax while he simply sat there with his member buried deep in her backside. The smell of burning flesh from the iron was intoxicating.
“Aaaaahhhh...” Sam said finally. “Ok, you can stop boiling her now.”
Stacy's torturer removed the iron, and the sight of her burned cunt, with blisters already forming, was enough to drive him to orgasm as well.
Both men sat for a moment, resting, while both women mentally recovered from their most recent ordeal.
Sam then removed his flaccid penis from Tamara's mouth, and gently pushed her back far enough to be able to rise. The man who had violated Stacy set the iron on the floor to the side, and scooted back a bit, waiting to see what Sam would do next.
Tamara was stuck looking at an empty chair, or her gently sobbing sister who sat, still bound and gagged, on the floor beside.
Sam returned with something clutched in his right hand. After making himself comfortable on the chair, legs on either side of the dolly-bound Tamara, he produced his latest torture implement.
“This is a needle, made of surgical steel,” he announced, showing it to Tamara, though Stacy was also watching as well as she could.
Tamara wasn't impressed. Of all of the things that had been done to them, of all the piercings she could think of, nothing could be as painful or horrible as what they had already done to poor Stacy.
Or so she thought.
“It's tiny, I know,” he said, as if reading her mind, “I mean, it's not even an inch long. You've got to be thinking, 'what could he possibly do with such a tiny needle that would be worse than having my pussy burnt or crushed.'”
Now Tamara was beginning to worry. Stacy had closed her tear soaked eyes, and was weeping softly to herself.
“This needle is going underneath someone's fingernail,” he said, as Tamara's eyes widened in shock. “The CIA says this torture, when inflicted for fifteen minutes, causes 'excruciating pain but no permanent physical damage'; but we're going to make it a bit more permanent. We're not going to take it out. Ever.”
Sam paused a moment to let this new information seep in. Tamara was shaking, her eyes were closed, and tears seeped from under her eyelids. This was Sam's favorite part. The mental torture. The ultimate in control. And Sam was a master at it.
“Now, for each needle, there will be a choice,” Sam continued, after Tamara had recovered enough to look at him once more, though tears streamed freely down her face and her long eyelashes glistened with wetness. “I suppose, theoretically, you could get through this with none at all. It's never happened, though, and from what I can tell, the pain never really goes away. I don't even know that it subsides. I've seen women cradling their needled fingers while I...well, we don't want to spoil any surprises, do we?”
“Anyway,” he went on, “Tamara, you get to chose first, and for this one we'll make it simple. This needle goes into you, or your sister. Now, I know, sibling love and all that, the choice may seem obvious, especially having not yet experienced your first needle. So I'm going to add to it a bit. If you chose yourself, not only do you get the needle, but your nightmare starts tonight instead of tomorrow. If you chose your sister, you get to sleep exactly as you are. You can also chose to make no choice at all, in which case we will tape your eyes open and force you to watch as we remove your sister's arm with a hacksaw. I'm not kidding, or exaggerating. We'd like both your pretty limbs all intact, but we want your obedience even more.”
Tamara had already made her decision, but she wasn't sure how to voice it.
“Now,” Sam continued, “I want you to blink once if you want me to put the needle in you. Twice if you want me to put it into your sister. Go.
Tamara blinked. Once.
Sam gave her a few moments to see if she would blink again, but she merely stared at him, fear and determination mixed in her gorgeous blue eyes, desperately searching his for a sign that he was kidding, or bluffing.
She saw none. To her, Sam's eyes were eerily normal. They weren't hard, as one would expect of a mass murderer. They weren't crazy. They looked like any other man's eyes. He could've been having a business meeting with her, except he was explaining horrendous torture, after having raped her orally, and she was strictly bound to a dolly with her mouth forced open.
“Okay, get her off the dolly, it's time to make her comfortable for the night,” said Sam, after shrugging.
Two of Sam's men began loosening Tamara bonds, starting with the strap that was biting into her stomach and the gag, as they were what connected her to the dolly itself. Even her arms were unbound. For a moment, Tamara was completely free. Unfortunately, as her arms and legs had been smashed for hours, she had very little feeling in them, and could do little more than lay on the floor and try to un-cramp herself.
Her sister was still bound sitting with her burnt vagina pointed at the sky. To Tamara, she looked as if she were asleep.
Sam was directing his men on the construction of their latest contraption.
Tamara managed to push herself to her knees, and get her jaw loose enough to speak.
“Please,” Tamara said, very softly, as that was all she could manage.
Sam walked over to the shaking, barely balancing Tamara, and stared at her expectantly.
“Please,” she repeated, a bit louder. “Please le --”
*WHACK!*
Sam backhanded the abused woman so hard that she slid about an inch on the concrete. Tamara was bleeding from her mouth, and an angry welt was already appearing on her cheeck.
“You will not speak unless told to,” Sam told her, “period.”
He then grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her back to her kneeling position. Again, he stared at her expectantly.
Tamara remained silent, and cast her eyes to the ground.
“That's better,” Sam said, and returned to inspect the work that had now been completed by his associates.
One of the men lifted Tamara, who was limp and did not even try to fight, and dragged her across the room. Tamara actually did attempt to walk, but her heels and their pace, mixed with her still weakened legs, made this quite difficult.
Once in the proper location, one man held the limp woman in a standing position while another lifted her shirt. Her bra straps were taken off her shoulders, slid down her arms, then left to hang her sides. The bra itself was pulled down to nearly her stomach.
Twine was produced, the same type that currently enveloped her sister's breasts. Tamara's breasts were wrapped cruelly tight, and she, like her sister had been, was suspended from the hook that attached to the ceiling.
“Stop there, let me put the needle in,” Sam announced.
One man held her upper arm and wrist immobile while another gripped her soft left hand painfully tight between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled Tamara's own forefinger straight. Sam approached, and with no ceremony, centered the needle under the woman's carefully manicured fingernail.
Tamara, in a daze, did not resist. Until he pushed.
The man holding her arm and wrist had to shift to holding her wrist and waist as she began to spasm while screaming at the top of her lungs.
And still, Sam pushed. Slowly.
Tamara didn't speak; she only screamed. Long, loud, and shrill. Stacy watched from her position on the wall, dumbfounded.
Then, the needle was fully embedded, the silver invisible under the nail, though a red streak was beginning to appear. A single drop of blood fell from her fingertip.
Tamara was shaking violently. She had not expected it to hurt that bad. It was, by far, the worst agony she had ever experienced; and it was still there. She willed it away, willed herself to get used to it, for the pain to subside to the normal dull throb that pain always did. But it would not. The agony remained sharp, forcing the dull ache of her purpling breasts to the distant corners of her mind.
She felt her body being lifted, and the pain from her breasts began to fight the pain in her finger.
A board with dozens of sharp, thin nails was placed under the blond's suspended feet. Her shoes were then removed, and carefully set to the side.
“Tamara,” Sam began, “Tamara, look at me so I can explain your situation.”
Tamara forced her gaze to the man in front of her, all but delirious in her agony.
“There is a bar above you,” Sam said. “Try grabbing it lightly with your hands.”
The tortured woman, swaying by her breasts, obeyed. When she touched the bar, however, she immediately withdrew, her hands lightly pricked and bleeding. There were nails on the bar above her head. She shot Sam a dirty look as if he had somehow betrayed her. One of the other men cuffed her wrists loosely to the chain above the bar so that her hands stayed near it. Twice they brushed against her left forefinger, causing her to scream aloud.
“We're going to take some of the pressure off your breasts now,” Sam continued, “and then I'm going to bed.”
“Good,” Tamara thought through her pain filled haze, “because they sure do hurt.”
At nearly the same instance that she felt some of the tension slacken on her breasts, the blond felt the thin nails sink into the soft soles of her bare feet.
She made a desperate noise, then remembered the bar above her head. Her hands made a desperate grab for the conveniently located bar, and grasped it tightly, causing those nails to dig into the soft palms of her hands.
“Ungh!” she screamed in pain and frustration, releasing her grip, again forcing her full weight onto her breasts and feet, and again forcing the nails under her to create new holes.
She remained in this position for around a minute, but the throbbing in her feet and breasts eventually convinced her to give them a break. So, again, her hands were cruelly punctured.
“Good night Tamara,” Sam said, after watching the show for a moment. “One of the guys is taking your sister home tonight, so you won't have to worry about her being hurt too bad...he'll probably just sleep with her and use her as a fucktoy for some of his buddies.”
Tamara, still hanging by her bleeding hands, shot a glance to where her sister had been bound to the wall. She was no longer there, but in her place was a box with a locked lid that looked like her sister may have been able to barely fit into, if she curled up tightly enough.
One of the men lifted the box, and walked out of the door to the outside world with it. The other two left using the same door. Sam walked to an interior door and, before exiting the room, gave the quivering Tamara one last, long look.
Her purple breasts were sitting below her scrunched up shirt, above her dislocated bra. Her long skirt was still perfectly in place, leading down to her bleeding feet. There was also a trickle of blood running down the inside of her left arm from her punctured hands. Every time she would make a grab for the bar above her head, she would cry out and recoil with her left hand as pressure was put on her needled forefinger. She wasn't gagged, but was not begging. This one was smarter than normal. She might would last a bit longer.
Sam was happy.
He flipped the light switch, plunging the unfortunate woman into darkness, alone with her pain, and her choices.
As he closed the door, he heard a long, low, almost inhuman moan.
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