Jen and the Inquisition

The Inquisitor stepped forward to examine the preparations. He gave the rope a few light tugs, then with two fingers lightly stroked the outer lips that bulged slightly on either side of the rope. He signaled to the torturer manning the winch, who started reeling in the rope.

Jen felt the rope start to bite into her, forcing her again to bend forward to relieve the pressure slightly. But there was only so far she could bend. The rope was now also bearing on the leather straps binding her wrists, limiting how far forward she could lean. Again she felt her weight being transferred to one part of her body, a part not meant to bear it. As the rope bit into her pussy Jen began to wonder if it was still possible to return to the original form of the strappado.

Then she was up on her toes again, but only briefly. In moments she was free of the stone floor and swinging, like a painful pendulum. She expected them to stop as they had before, hoped they would. But the torturer at the crank handle kept turning. She was lifted up until she, bent over as she was, reached eye level with the Inquisitor.

"We will now commence to drop you," he said.

He's not serious, Jen thought to herself. They can't really drop me. My God! I'd be crippled!

But the Inquisitor held up his left hand, forming a fist except for the extended index finger. He brought that finger down sharply. Jen heard a metallic rasp at the torturer at the windlass released the catch. She dropped suddenly but not far. The man had only allowed the windlass to move back one notch. Still the rope gave her a nasty jerk and she just had to scream.

"Up," the Inquisitor said. "We'll try two notches this time."

Jen heard the sound of the catch clicking as she was slowly raised up higher. She was starting to think that maybe this was a good time to start confessing. The pain of being dropped an inch or two was severe enough that she wasn't particularly keen on finding out what dropping four or finch inches and then suddenly being brought to a stop by the rope would feel like.

"It's time, Inquisitor," the second torturer said.

"And we were making sudden progress," the Inquisitor sighed. "Unfortunately, heretic, the rules of the Holy Office of the Inquisition allow only a set length of time that we may apply coercive measures. Let her down."

Jen was lowered back to the floor, the rope unfastened. One of the torturers inspected her pussy as he did so, giving it a quick, surreptitious massage in the process. Then Jen was taken to a small cell. It was really just a small alcove, an arch of stone built into the wall of the torture chamber, about four feet tall and four feet deep. Metal bars and a narrow swinging door of bars transformed it into a cell. Jen was unceremoniously shoved into it, being forced to duck down as she entered. Then she was left to squat on the straw that covered the floor while her tormentors went off to another part of the torture chamber.

After about fifteen minutes the two torturers came for her. They helped her out of the cell. The cramped position and the after effects of her tortures had made her a bit stiff. Then they walked her out to the central portion of the torture chamber. A rather substantial chair had been placed there.

Jen was taken to the chair. It was a large, heavy wooden structure, with solid wooden arms and a straight back. The seat of the chair was composed of an iron plate, covered with small points. About ten inches below the plate was a shelf, also of metal. The entire thing looked rather ominous.

They sat her down. Her ankles were strapped to the front legs of the chair. Other straps fastened her thighs. Her arms were placed on the arms of the chair and strapped down at wrist and elbow. More straps went from the back of the chair around her biceps, just below her armpits. When the were finished she was firmly held in place, almost unable to move.

The Inquisitor reappeared.

"Not very comfortable, is it," he asked Jen shook her head. The points, little pyramid shaped things, were distinctly uncomfortable. She found they were bearable if she remained still, but any shifting of her weight caused the points to dig into her flesh.

"Well, we have ways of making it even more uncomfortable."

He raised a hand and motioned to one of the assistants. The man came into view from the side carrying a small two handled pot. Jen could see the glow of charcoal within the pot. The man briefly showed the pot to her, as if making an offering. The he went behind the chair. She heard the metallic scraping of the pot being slid onto the lower shelf.

"It will take but a short time for the seat to warm up," the Inquisitor said. "Confess now and save your precious buns from being roasted."

Jen found it was easy to ignore him at the moment. She was concentrating on the metal seat and wondering how hot it would get and how long she would be able to hold out. She thought she could already feel the metal warming up. And there was nothing she could do to escape it. The straps that bound her to the chair severely limited her wiggle room and at that trying to pull one cheek away from the metal only forced the other one down harder onto the points on that side.

As the metal heated up Jen started squirming even more. Consequently, she realized quickly, she was actually torturing herself. She started to worry. This torture seemed irresistible. All they had to do was stand back and wait until her bottom roasted or she gave in.

Then she realized something else. The little points, as nasty as they were, actually limited the amount of contact between her skin and the hot metal. She concentrated hard and forced herself to sit still. The less she moved the less additional pain she received from the points and then she only had to deal with the heat radiating from the seat bottom. If it was a waiting game they were playing, she would wait them out as long as possible.

The Inquisitor and his assistants stood before her with arms crossed, watching and silent. Finally the Inquisitor spoke.

"See how the heretic seems impervious to the heat? Are you certain she bore no Devil's Mark?"

The two assistant torturers muttered affirmatives.

"Very well," he said. "We shall have to employ another method."

Jen was quite relieved and feeling a bit triumphant when the straps were removed and she was helped up off the chair. She'd been within seconds of throwing in the towel when the Inquisitor had given in. She tried to keep a poker face, though, not wanting him to guess how close he'd come to breaking her.

Jen was taken to another alcove. One of the torturers placed torches in the sconces on either side. In the flickering light Jen saw a wooden bar perhaps six feet long suspended by chains from the ceiling. It hung at her shoulder height. They stood her with her back to the bar. Her arms were stretched out along the bar, then fastened by leather straps at wrist, elbow and shoulder. When her arms had been secured her legs were spread apart and her ankles strapped to the ends of another bar. She heard the rattle of chains being handled. Then the sound of chain being taken up by a windlass.

She felt a tug on her ankles. Suddenly her feet were pulled out from beneath her. Then her legs were being raised and she was suspended. Slowly she was brought up into about a 45 degree angle, hanging as if caught in suspended animation while doing a swan dive. It was not comfortable, but not unbearable. Jen wondered if this was the extent of this torture. But she should have known better. The Inquisitor stepped up before her. He reached out and fondled both of Jen's breasts. With her body in this position they were hanging at full extension.

"Proud of these, are you, heretic?" the Inquisitor said. "Well, that shall make them even more vulnerable than they already are." He gave her left breast a hard slap against the underside, then signaled to one of the torturers . The torturer came forward, holding out an implement. It was metal, hinged at one end rather like a large salad tong. But instead of ending in scoops the two arms ended in semi-circular metal pieces. The inside surface of each was covered by small rounded bumps. The inquisitor held Jen's head up by the hair so she could have a good look at the device.

"This is the breast ripper. We've taken a small mercy on you by modifying it slightly." He ran a finger along the inside of one of the curved pieces. "These small bumps were once sharp little hooks. Two or three applications of the device in its original form and there would be little point in continuing, since there would be nothing left of your precious boobies but bloody shreds. Since we want you to last through this inquiry we've filed them down. But I promise you they will be bad enough."

He handed the device back to the torturer who took up a position to Jen's left. He knelt down and brought the device up, trapping Jen's left breast between the metal lips. He squeezed the handles together using both hands. The metal lips closed on Jen's breast. Then he slowly pulled the device downwards, pulling the breast with it, letting the flesh slowly squeeze back through the jaws.

At first he applied only mild pressure. It was actually a bit sensual, a firm tugging and twisting that Jen found quite stimulating. But she could also feel he small bumps where the sharp points should be. It was frightening to think what would have been happening to her sensitive boob if those points were still in place, tearing at her.

Then he began squeezing even harder, as well as adding more twisting motion. It was distinctly uncomfortable, bordering on painful. Jen thought it really would be painful, except that she was getting surprisingly turned on by the attentions. If he could only devise a way to apply a little stimulation to the nipple things could easily get out of hand.

The torturer began to work on Jen's other boob. He started out more firmly on this one. Perhaps he'd noticed how her nipples were reacting. Jen suspected she was going to have some nice bruises when it was all over, but at the moment she didn't really care about that. She only hoped her reactions wouldn't betray how much she was enjoying this torture.

Too soon the other torturer called time. Jen was actually disappointed when they began to unfasten her and led her, somewhat unsteadily, out of the alcove.

They again left Jen to wait in the small cell off the central portion of the torture chamber. The wait was worse this time than before since she was beginning to feel the effects of the repeated bindings and tortures and there was no way to get comfortable in the tiny cubbyhole. They let her wait for what might have been an hour, though it may only have seemed that long. The wait was made even longer by her aroused and rather frustrated state after the breast torture. She toyed with the idea of finishing herself. Would that be considered bad form in the middle of a torture session? She decided she'd better not, not if she was to make it through the rest of the experience.

Then the two torturers came back and pulled her out. She was returned to the main part of the torture chamber where the Inquisitor awaited her.

"We'll see how stubborn you are when faced with the hot irons," the Inquisitor said.

Jen shuddered at the mention. Red hot irons. A fearsome staple of the Inquisition.

"Secure her to the ladder," the Inquisitor said to his assistants.

The torturers each grabbed one of Jen's arms and walked her to another of the alcoves. Within the alcove was a ladder of sorts. Two uprights ran vertically from floor to a beam in the ceiling, a bit more than shoulder width apart. Rungs ran between the uprights, but spaced erratically, not like a normal ladder. Jen was backed up against it. Her arms were pulled back and over a rung that crossed her back just below her armpits. Her wrists were strapped to the uprights. Two more straps secured her upper arms.

Jen could feel rungs at the small of her back and against the backs of her thighs. She felt a waist belt being strapped in place. Then her ankles were pulled to either side and strapped to the uprights. Finally straps were placed just above her knees and her thighs were spread and fastened. Apart from being uncomfortable, the position had the effect of thrusting her breasts forward and exposing her pussy.

Then she noticed it. Off to one side, a charcoal brazier, glowing red. And sticking out past the rim of the brazier were iron shafts ending in wooden handles. One of the torturers went to it, grasped one of the handles and withdrew a glowing red iron from the charcoal. Walking over to Jen he held the glowing red iron before her face, close enough that she could feel the heat. Then he touched it to one of the wooden uprights. Smoke immediately appeared. He removed the iron, leaving a scorch mark.

"Blindfold her," the Inquisitor commanded. "It will hurt more if she can't anticipate where the iron will touch."

The torturer quickly complied, tying a heavy black cloth over Jen's eyes.

My god! Jen thought. They can't! They wouldn't actually use a red hot iron on me! She began to panic, her breath coming in short gasps, too frozen with fear to beg for them to stop. She screamed as she felt the hot touch against the fold between buttock and thigh on her right side.

It was a brief touch and not actually that painful. As Jen gained control of herself she realized it couldn't have been the red hot iron. Then she remembered. She and her husband had watched a demonstration of a woman, blindfolded, being tortured with a device like a curling iron. The heat was carefully controlled, perhaps a little more than a hot light bulb and applied for only a second. But it was still hot enough to cause pain. She squealed again as the iron touched her belly. Just a brief touch but enough to make her take notice. The muscles of her belly spasmed at the touch.

There was a long pause. Jen braced herself for the next assault. Her left buttock now. She tried to draw away but her bonds were too tight. Then in quick succession a touch on her left breast, the inside of her right thigh, her right buttock. With each touch the urge to escape, to twist away from the painful device grew stronger. Her inability to anticipate where the next touch would be increased her sense of panic.

Another long pause. They knew exactly what they were doing, Jen thought. The waiting, the sense of dread, not knowing where the pain would come was almost worse than the actual touch of the iron. To steady herself she resolved not to scream again.

Then her resolve melted away and she screamed at the top of her lungs as the bar came up under the fold of her left breast and was held there twice as long, three times as long as usual. He removed it but before the pain had faded he was dragging it across the top of the breast. Then following the curve of the underside of the tortured member. A longer pause. Then Jen screamed again as he placed the hot iron directly on her left nipple and pressed it in, holding it there for two, three, four, five seconds.

She waited for the next strike. And waited and waited. Was this phase of her torture over?

"Sign the confession, heretic," the Inquisitor said softly in her ear. "Sign the confession and it will be all be over."

Jen thought seriously about calling it quits. The arousal she'd felt growing earlier had been dissipated by the stress of this torture. But then she called up a mental image of herself, naked, bound and at the mercy of the Inquisitor. And something odd happened. Part of her said no. They'll have to do better than this to break me. And part of her started getting turned on again.

"No." she whispered. And braced herself for the next onslaught.

"Then we shall continue," the Inquisitor said.

He continued his devilish tour of Jen's body with the iron. Back, thighs, sides, all felt the touch of the hot iron. Then there was a long pause.

"She's deeply sunk in her heresy, this one," the Inquisitor said. "I shall have to be more forceful."

With a sudden sense of dread Jen realized there was one sensitive area they hadn't yet tormented. With her knees pulled wide apart and strapped to the uprights of the ladder her sex was wide open, fully exposed, helpless. And it was almost as if they'd read her mind. Jen jerked stiffly as the iron touch the spot between her anus and vulva. She gagged back the scream. Then the iron was at her mons, prodding and poking into the very beginning of her slit. The torturer traced one labia with the iron, then the other. Another dramatic pause. Then he laid the iron directly between Jen's labia, holding it there until she thought she'd faint. And perhaps she did for just a moment.

The iron was removed and, after a long wait, Jen decided they'd finished with it. This was confirmed when the Inquisitor declared that the heretic should be given time to contemplate her choices. Jen expected to be taken to the tiny cell, but instead, with a torturer at each arm, she was walked to one wall of the chamber. There a pair of iron manacles dangled from the rough stone on short chains. Another pair lay on the floor. The torturers stood Jen with her back against the wall and spread her arms out so they could lock the manacles around her wrists. They spread her legs and secured her ankles as well. Then they left her and went with the Inquisitor into another part of the chamber, out of her sight.

They let Jen wait for perhaps ten minutes. It seemed longer. Much longer. Jen contemplated her situation. For a short while she felt a thrill at being classically "chained to the wall." But it lost it's novelty quickly and she was actually somewhat relieved when the Inquisitor and the torturers returned.

The two torturers struggled to move a heavy implement to the center of the chamber. It was built something like a chair, but with only three legs, the seat being triangular in shape. The back, mounted at the point of the triangle, was of a peculiar fan shape. There was a center post perhaps two or three inches wide. On the outside of the fan were two more heavy pieces of wood mounted at angles such that the top ends were a bit over two feet apart. Metal straps connected the center piece and the end pieces at the top. A wide leather strap was bolted to the two side pieces.

In each V formed between a side piece and the center post was an thinner wooden piece, hinged at the bottom so that it was free to swing between the two fixed members. Jen could see them rattling back and forth as the heavy object was manhandled into place. She couldn't quite picture just what this device was for.

With the chair in place in the center of the chamber the manacles on Jen's wrists and ankles were released and she was brought to the device. Her wrists were bound behind her back and then she was led to the chair. They forced her to sit facing the back and it shortly became obvious what part of her body this torture was going to involve. After her legs were pulled back so her ankles could be strapped to the two front legs of the chair she was pushed towards the back and her breasts inserted between the center post and the two sliding bars. The leather strap was buckled behind her back so that she couldn't withdraw.

One of the torturers brought out a pair of wooden wedges. He placed one between each sliding bar and its outer fixed post. He pushed each wedge downward as firmly as he could without exerting himself. Jen felt the pressure against her breasts as the sliding bars moved inwards toward the center post. As he did the Inquisitor positioned himself in front of her.

"A similar such device," he intoned gravely, "we use to break the legs of heretics. Their legs are placed between the bars and the wedges hammered down until the bones shatter. We've decided this altered application is better suited in your case."