by OxyFemboi » May 14th, 2016, 10:42 am
If you send me two or three pages of description of what you want to happen to you, I will write you a file that will have you throwing up for days. I will not send my mind to that black cauldron of rape, pillage, and torture without a large financial reward. If you either had any sense and/or knew my way with words, you would be running to an airport to get out of range of any possible wi-fi signal now. When I say I will have you throwing up, I mean that you will be dry-heaving for days.
He used the blackened and burnt asbestos glove to lift the formerly black, now very red-hot pincers (which were in places glowing white) from the burning coals that were heating up other items of torture which I did not recognize. I knew from what they had done to me so far that I would be intimately acquainted with their many uses in a time that would be much too short for me to endure and much too long to live. The heat of the pincers reached me much earlier before their serrated grip grasped my right hand pinky's fingernail. He exquisitely grasped the handle with the burning asbestos glove and pulled oh-so-slowly, as slowly as a lover who was reluctant to unclasp his love's embrace. I was not even allowed the relief of screaming. They had gagged my mouth in some way that I did not understand, but the effect was that I able to breathe and slowly answer what questions he asked but was totally unable to scream or beg for pity. From their actions so far as well as the weighted chains pulling my arms from my shoulders, I expected no pity. As I had no idea what their questions referred to, or even the language in which they were asked, I had no ability to extricate myself from their not-so-tender mercies by giving them whatever information they wanted.
As the one in his black leather blacksmith's apron worked slowly and joyfully on my pinky nail, slowly extracting it from my finger's embrace, he sang Beethoven's Ode to Joy in a magnificent basso-profundo, which was a sardonic counterpoint and rendered what was being done to me a musical juxtaposition of true horror. The smaller one had gripped some of the coals in other burning asbestos gloves and was juggling five of them as he approached me. It appeared that he was going to practice his juggling act and my abdomen was to be the net which caught the coals before they could land on some of the piss-dampened bloody straw littering the floor. There was some other light than the ruddy light of the coals ... but it came from hoary stained glass windows. The scenes they depicted were the usual cheery, excessively bloody scenes of horror one expects to see in a church; they were so perfectly executed that one expected their blood would need to be cleaned up shortly. I began to pity their poor janitor -- I had seen him earlier when he brought the green moldy bread (or was it a science experiment?) and turgid water that was to be my daily meal; he was a handsome, muscular, idiotic studmuffin with hair the color of the flames heating those unknown instruments of torture who had been castrated, his tongue cut out with a pleasant toothy smirk, dull green moldy eyes, and the probable IQ of a cow's stinking turd -- when the open wound they had made in my side earlier began to bleed in unrequited sympathy.
I screamed.
Enough? It's one of my poorer efforts and is only a very rough first draft.
JackStock: Thanks for the compliments on my script advice.
If you are working on something similar, take it from me: there is no safe way to "do" extreme torment. Either go all out or don't do it.
Peace Love Unity Respect
Ox & Honey & Yoshi & Rocky & Dave & Adam
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Hypnosis & NLP are the install programs for fetishes and phobias.