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Chapter 14 – Eulogy Torture
Please take note! Adults Only Literature
The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.
If you are an underage minor or offended by such material -or- if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.
Copyright 2004
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"This is Rosalind, the widow," said Mary Ellen introducing me to somebody.
I was sprawled beside Trace's coffin with cum oozing out of my cunt and feeling nauseated from the amount of jism I had ingested during my prolonged gang rape. There was a long flexible dildo several feet up my ass and my catheter was in place. I could feel the tubing that passed through my urethra to land in my bladder. The bag at the end of the catheter was almost full of dark yellow pee. The puncture wounds in my labia were bleeding; mixing my blood with Donaldson family semen. I was hurting in a dozen spots but I managed to look up at the two Latino men who were standing between Mary Ellen and Denise.
"Diego and Servero are old family friends from Nicaragua. They're going to entertain you while we listen to our brother's eulogies," said Denise.
"I can't stand any more pain," I muttered. I figured that Diego and Servero met the family during some black ops operation in Central America during the Cold War. They had the soulless eyes and merciless looks of death squad members.
"You should have thought about that before you decided to screw every soldier in Kuwait," said Denise.
"Rozz is a whore if ever there was one. Before Trace was killed, someone sent him pictures of her sucking and fucking with dozens of men and some women. She's also a lying bitch and a worthless cunt. You gentlemen don't care much for whores do you?" asked Mary Ellen.
"No, Senorita, we will make her pay," said Diego.
"I expect you to live up to your reputation. She's already a pain-slut. Take her to the next level. If you happen to reduce her to a babbling idiot, none of us will give a shit," said Mary Ellen.
"She's all yours, enjoy," said Denise.
They reached down to grab me by the armpits to lift me up. It was then that I noticed that both were carrying what looked like fishing tackle boxes and for all of me that was what they were. Unfortunately for me, they did not contain floats, sinkers, and lures. They contained things to cause soul-destroying pain.
One of Trace's first cousins was stepping up to the podium to eulogize my husband as I was dragged to the very back of the room and sat in a stout wooden armchair. The scary part was that someone has cut a sizeable whole in the chair seat and my butt hung through when they sat me down.
I knew I was in the hands of men who had probably tortured hundreds if not thousands of human beings in the dirty little wars that the US and the USSR had fought with proxies before the Soviets collapsed. Somewhere along the line, the practice of torture had changed from a job to a fun hobby for those two sadists.
They used belt straps to bind my forearms to the chair rests. My ankles were strapped to the chair's legs and a wide leather strap across my forehead immobilized my head against the chair back. Straps right under my tits and on my thighs left me completely secured to the chair. I could barely bat an eyelash.
Diego opened his torture box and pulled out something that resembled a model train transformer. He plugged it into a nearby wall socket.
"You're not going to use that on me," I whined. I'd seen electricity used in the S&M club scene by hardcore types. They applied serious voltage to sensitive body parts. Master Mike who I'd let whip me into a state where I was delirious with pain wanted to connect me up but I said no way. He found a Goth girl who was so fucked up on drugs she would have agreed that he could run a subway train over her. She had so many piercing she reminded me of the Cenobite named Pinhead in the Hellraiser films. There was a chain that went from her ear lobe through a hole in the side of her cheek to a stud in her tongue. That was the kind of a crazy loser she was. Master Mike wired her tits and pussy and even some of metal piercing. Everyone was coked out of their mind when he turned the switch on to a Tens box and the girl lighted up like a Christmas tree. The stud in her mouth melted burning off part of her tongue and the chain burned a brand across her cheek. The weird part was that her ear lobe sort of exploded splattering blood on the crowd. Everyone decided it would be cool to lick the blood off one another. Someone called the EMTs and they carted her off to the ER. Well, I've already told you I was into some heavy S&M before I met Trace.
When I opened my mouth to protest, Diego captured the tip of my tongue in a hemostat. He proceeded to pull it out to where I thought it was going to rip off. Once extended, Servero attached a metal clamp to the base then stuffed my mouth with rubber. The clamp had a wire attached that was connected to one of the transformer connections. The rubber served two purposes. It kept me from biting my tongue off and it served as a gag.
They put some sort of grease on my earlobes and attached two extremely painful metal clamps. They used those to pass electricity through my brain.
Diego captured one of my nipples in a hemostat and pulled it way out so his partner could push a sharp metal rod through my nipple. He placed a cone shaped apparatus over the end of my tit and stretched the nipple out so that the metal rod rested at the top of the cone. They attached an electrical wire to the metal rod and my nipples were not only very painfully stretched but read to accept voltage.
They did something similar to my clit. They used a plastic rod to push an egg shaped metal object deep into my cervix. Somebody reached under the chair and replaced the dildo in my ass with another metal egg. They completed the circuit by putting wired clamps on my big toes. Wiring completed, Diego gave me a low voltage test that caused me to vibrate like a tuning fork.
Servero signaled that I was ready and Mary Ellen and Denise walked back to see me suffer.
"Show us," said Denise.
They took me through a sequence that started by passing 110 volts from earlobe to earlobe using my brain as a conductor. I could feel my brain getting hot and I would swear it lowered my IQ and made a complete mess of my memory. Tongue and tits were next. The rubber tubes stuffed in my mouth muffled the loud agonizing screams that I made. Clit, vagina, and rectum were next on the agenda.
"Look at how her muscles contort. That must be pure hell," commented Denise.
"She deserves it," laughed Mary Ellen.
"Watch this, Senoras," said Servero as he alternated between my toes and my clit, then my toes and vagina, followed by toes and asshole. Using a set on dials and switches on the transformer, he played me like I was Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.
"Excellent, make her suffer and I mean suffer. We're going to go sit down and listen to Megan's eulogy of Trace. She worshipped him when she was growing up," said Mary Ellen.
"We'll be back to check on you when Megan finishes," said Denise.
Diego and Servero spent over an hour firing electric current through my body using my sensitive most parts as entry points. I started to hope I would die or at the least pass out. It's hard to describe how it feels when for instance they selected my clit and applied the voltage. I felt like that small nubbin of flesh was the center of the worst pain imaginable. The muscles surrounding my clitoris clenched as they went to a paroxysm that made me feel that my entire pubic area was being wrenched from my body. It felt like someone reached in my cunt and turned it inside out. I screamed and screamed to no avail.
In between moments of agonizing torture I saw several of Trace's relatives go to the podium and speak a few words about my husband. I was far too deep into my own private hell to listen to what was said. However, I have transcribed them from a video that that Lois provided.
So as you read the following chapters picture a crowd of well-dressed individuals many dressed in the uniform of their country listening intently to the speaker telling stories about my Trace while ignoring the muffled screams his widow was making in the back of the room.
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