Torture The Widow

Chapter 37 – French Methods

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The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental, etc.

Copyright 2004

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"Rozz, I'm terribly sorry that the Sheik and I couldn't be with you and your friends for the wheel torture but the smell was far too revolting. Besides, we were upstairs enjoying the party," said Cory Lewis as she straddled the wide mouthed funnel situated over my face. The small end of the funnel was connected to a length of surgical tubing that I had been forced to swallow. The other end of the tube rested in my stomach. My mouth was held open by a stainless steel mouth speculum that had been cranked to the point that my jaw hinges were on the verge of dislocation.

I've enough S&M experience to know that someone was planning to fill my belly with a disgusting substance or substances. My three companions and I were in identical situations. I wasn't sure what Marcy, Nancy, and Amy knew about torture devices but we were restrained in what my father-in-law would call a French rack. We were on our backs stretched like rubber bands to the point of snapping. Our ankles had been placed in two circular cutouts in a wooden board at one end of the rack. Our wrists were manacled and chained to a large wind up reel or windlass that had multiple handles and a ratcheting gear. I wasn't lying flat. There was a wooden cylinder in the small of my back. It must have been a foot in diameter. If I looked down my body I could see my elevated stomach. The effect was like being extended over a barrel. The skin on my abdomen was stretched so tight you could see the veins and arteries around my navel that had been transformed from an innie to an outtie.

General Donaldson had a similar rack in his home torture chamber, an exact replica of an antique that was found in the dungeon of the French chateau, Chenoceaux. The rack was designed to elicit confessions from criminals and witches and in certain cases to actually punish criminals. Given that different versions of the French rack were used for several centuries by the criminal justice system it must have been highly effective.

On a lark I had once let Trace put me in the General's rack and stretch me. It was a horrible experience for me but Trace said he enjoyed making me scream. Once you have a person stretched on the rack you can do pretty much anything you want with them. Trace had dropped hot candle wax on my armpits to see how loud he could make me yell. He'd also let several large gobs of molten beeswax land on my nipples and the little man in the boat. My sister-in-law, Mary Ellen, had sat nearby masturbating while Trace tortured me. Trace and Mary Ellen were always close. I know she must miss him terribly now that he is gone.

One of the favorites of the French court of criminal justice was a form of water torture that made use of the rack. Criminals were sentenced to spend time in the rack with fourteen pints of water forced down their gullet.

The funnel poised over my mouth made me think that was going to be my fate. I recalled seeing an old print of a naked woman in exactly my situation. A torturer was pouring some sort of foul concoction in the funnel as his helper lashed the woman's distended abdomen. The woman's midsection was elevated in the same way as mine. Whoever put me here must have seen the same print. The legend at the bottom of the page had said such punishment was incredibly painful. As of late, I seemed to be having my share of nasty encounters with things French.

Cory looked quite sexy in her diplomat's pin stripped suit. Her skirt was bunched at her waist and her panties were rolled down below her knees. She was wearing heels and lace toped stay up hose. I would have gotten turned on if I weren't in agonizing pain. I watched helpless as she carefully positioned her urethra over the funnel. I could tell she didn't want to waste a drop.

"I've been drinking iced tea and holding it all morning in anticipation of this moment. Of course for a piss slut like you having a tummy full of warm urine is a treat," said Cory in her Southern accent as she started her flow. A few drops landed on my face but the funnel mouth caught most of it and I felt the warm liquid course down my esophagus into my stomach. The stench of fresh urine filled my nostrils.

"You're enjoying this too much, Rozz," said Cory.

"Rokie, make her uncomfortable," she said to one the goons who was standing nearby. That was the first I learned they had a name. Rokie grabbed the spoke arms of the windless and turned it. He ratcheted me up a notch then kept pressing. My joints signaled my brain they were in excruciating pain.

I screamed as best as I could with my throat full of rubber tubing. Cory laughed and restarted her flow.

"There, that's a girl. You scream all you want, honey, little old Cory Lewis from Plaquemine Parish, Louisiana is going to fill your little tummy with her peepee. Yes, that's more like it, Rokie, keep the pressure on," said Cory noting with satisfaction the horrified look on my face.

I had no idea why Cory had it in for me. I had only casually met her a few times. Once was at an embassy party and then again at several parties at the palaces in Partyville. I had not had sex with her or done anything to piss her off that I could think of.

"And since you're General Donaldson's daughter-in-law, I have a special treat for you. I ate some of the local fruit for breakfast so my caca would be nice and loose. I must have some kind of allergic reaction to it because it always irritates my bowels. Maybe I have irritable bowel syndrome. It should slide right down into your tummy," said Cory once again stopping her pee. I heard something a little more solid land with a splat in the funnel.

"There's nothing more satisfying than a good shit. Don't you agree, Rozz?" said Cory with her eyes closed concentrating on emptying her bowels. I like a good shit as well as the next woman but that didn't mean I enjoyed swallowing hers.

"Again, Rokie, make Rozz appreciate all we are doing for her," said Cory as she managed to really open up her bowels. The smell of some very foul excrement assaulted my nose. It sounded like she was taking the dump of a lifetime.

"Here, how about a Dirty Sanchez?" said Cory reaching back to dip two fingers into her shit then rubbing them slowly across my upper lip. She repeated that several times even slipping her brown-coated fingers into my nostrils.

"There, a perfect Dirty Sanchez, Rokie, don't you think Rozz looks like a Mexican bandito?" said Cory. I gave Cory high marks in taunting. She had a gift for it. Rokie responded by pressing the windlass making me think he was going to rip my arms off.

"How about a little taste?" asked Cory as she placed two shit covered fingers in my mouth and coated my tongue with her excrement. Ugh, it was not what I would call flavorful.

Around me I could hear my fellow victims complaining as the goons and the Sheik pissed in the funnel mouths.

Cory alternated her piss and shit while Rokie made me inches taller. Feeling your stomach slowly fill with another person's shit is a never to be forgotten experience. I was feeling full by the time she was done. She reached back to the crack of her ass, grabbed the residue and rubbed it over my face. The she calmly climbed off and wiped her ass with a rag. Cory was standing between the Marcy and my rack when she decided to give Marcy some of her attention.

"Sorry Marcy, but I am all out of fresh shit. Rozz hogged it all but I did save something special for you and the other. A girl has to plan ahead if she wants to have a good time."

I glanced sideways as Cory walked over to a tote bag labeled "U.S. State Department" over an emblem of Old Glory and extracted three Tupperware containers.

"Be right back, girls," chirped Cory running off somewhere after putting the Tupperware back in the tote bag.

When I looked down, I did not recognize my abdomen. I looked eight months pregnant. Around me, I could hear Marcy, Nancy, and Amy moaning, grunting, and whimpering. The goons had finished pissing in the funnels. Marcy's belly the only one I could see other than my own looked about to burst. A spidery network of blue veins was clearly visible through the translucent skin.

"How did we survive without microwaves?" said Cory returning with her Government Issue tote bag.

"Hope this doesn't burn the inside of your tummy," said Cory popping the top off a Tupperware container. A cloud of steam wafted out. Cory gave the contents a quick stir with a wooden spoon.

"Have a taste, Marcy. I think this is from Sunday morning because Saturday night I was at a party at the Spanish Embassy and they served the most delicious paella," said Cory placing the spoon in Marcy's mouth. I could hear poor Marcy sputtering, trying to spit the shit out.

"Rokie, make Marcy taller," said Cory.

By turning my head to the side, I could see Marcy writhe in pain as Rokie worked the windlass.

"Enjoy," laughed Cory as she dumped the concoction in Marcy's funnel. She used the wooden spoon to scrape the container clean.

"And here is a little warm pee to wash it down," said Cory pouring the yellow contents of a Tupperware pitcher down Marcy's funnel.

Cory moved on to Nancy depositing another container of microwaved feces washed down with a slug of hot piss in her belly. When Cory was finished with Amy, she noticed that the piss pitcher was still half full.

"Here, I'll just top you all off," said Cory was she went among us pouring a small measure of the yellow contents into the funnel until the pitcher was empty.

I was sweating like a pig. All that warm liquid inside me caused me to heat up. I seriously doubted whether any of my joints would ever work again and I was nauseated beyond anything I had ever experienced. But Cory was not done with us.

"I got to get some images to email to my mommy and daddy. All their friends in Baton Rouge just love scat," said Cory reaching over to extract a camera from her handbag. She took a dozen shots of the others and me stretched in the rack our faces smeared with shit. Her remark about her parents gave me the urge to look up Cory's parents. How many daughters share their parent's scat fetish?

It was mid morning on the third day after our torture on the wheel. For the past two days, we had been mostly left alone in our cell to recuperate.

The doctor had checked us both days pleased with himself that we had not come down with some horrible disease. Any attempt to speak with the doctor or his nurse resulted in a bitch slap by one of the goons. The doctor informed us that our blood work showed we had not caught any nasty little microbe from being repeatedly dipped in Kuwaiti shit. The doctor attributed that to the booster shot of antibiotics he had provided.

We were not left entirely alone. Frequently during the two days, one or more of the goons had shown up and pointed to one of us. They didn't speak a word and to this day I do not know where they were capable of human speech. We quickly learned they communicated with us by pulling our hair and slapping our face. Their hard little hands like to grab our nipples and drag us around too.

On these visits, if they pointed your way you could avoid being slapped silly by proceeding immediately to your tiny bed, lying on your back and spreading your legs as wide as possible.

"Hurry up, Brad, stick it in. Jennifer will be home soon," I said to amuse the others. As the senior officer present I had a duty to keep morale up.

Brad would hop up on the bed like a chimp in heat and work his pecker in my hole.

"Oh, Brad, you are so handsome and sexy, fuck me, Brad, fuck me long and deep, lover," I would cry out as I wrapped my legs around his toad like body and pumped him just like he really was Brad Pitt.

In spite of my carrying on the goons didn't react. They didn't believe in any form of fore play. We girls continually didled out clit to keep our twats oiled just in case.

I tried without success to make friends by offering oral sex or being very responsive during normal intercourse.

"Fuck me, Weirdo, fuck me hard," I screamed as I wrapped my arms around him and passionately kissed his rubbery lips. The other three nurses also tried to engage the goons in various ways without success. We did the flirt thing: batted our eyes, swayed our hips, ground our pussies against their groin and in general acted like they were the greatest lovers we had ever encountered. We even played some games. As soon as we heard the key in the lock, all four of us would jump in bed, assume the position, and start fingering our clit and pussy.

"Do me. I'm so horny," one of us would shout.

"No me, I'm so horny," would yell another.

They ignored us. Their imagination was severely limited. Sex was mainly missionary position for vaginal intercourse. If a goon wanted anal, he would grab you by the hair and reposition you on all fours. At the end of the second day, I finally got one of them to accept a blowjob. Nancy also had a break through when one of the goons let her rim his asshole while he fucked Amy. We seemed to be making some kind of progress.

From a biological point of view, one could debate whether the goons were Homo sapiens or a separate species, at the least a sub-species. They had zero body hair. Their skin was albino-fair but they lacked the white body hair and pink eyes of a true albino. They were short; maybe 5'5" was the tallest but extremely strong and agile. They never wore any clothes. Amy said they reminded her of Amazonian tribesmen that had been bleached.

Given that we were nurses and had taken extensive courses in zoology, we discussed where they stood in the tree of man. We debated whether to name them Homo goonius or Homo cretinius. We decided they were somewhere between Neanderthal and Modern Man. We could have liked to dissect one to find out for sure.

Their semen didn't taste human. I confirmed that. It reminded me of dog cum.

On the morning of the third day, we had another examination with the Doctor and his nurse. She was skinny to the point of being emaciated. She wore all black and kept her hair covered indicating she was a devout Muslim woman. While the doctor who hadn't fucked any of us but did seem to have a thing for cavity exams was putting his latex clad fingers up Marcy's cunt, I managed to stand beside the nurse without the goons noticing. I casually let my hand fall to the side then ever so slowly moved it to where it rested on the Arab nurse's buttock. I expected her to scream and tell one of the goons to slap the shit out of me. But to my surprise, she didn't move. In fact, I got the sense that she pressed her little rear back into my hand. We stood there watching Marcy then Nancy have their cavity inspection before the doctor asked for something and the nurse had to move away.

When it was my turn I hopped up on the examination table and placed my feet in the stirrups. There's something erotic about the position. The management of the Hellfire Club bought a used examination table and maintains a supply of disposable vaginal and anal speculums. I'd been more than willing to spend sometime on the table with my holes cranked open for the Saturday night crowd. They club kept a flashlight at hand for those individuals who believe there is something magic deep inside a girl's asshole.

The Arab doctor used old style chromed steel instruments that actually work better if you discount the sterilization issue. When the doctor had his fingers in my cunt, I gave it a powerful squeeze with my Kegel muscles. That caused the good doctor to smile at me. The goon's attention appeared to be engaged elsewhere so I took a chance and whispered, "My friends and I would love to fuck you. We'll take you around the world."

The doctor looked around to check that no one was listening. Then he said, "We'll see what can be arranged."

When the exam was over, we four were not taken back to our cell but to a large room where there were four French racks. "Oh shit," I whispered to myself when I surveyed the room. The place was obviously a torture chamber.

The goons made us remove our robes then placed us in the racks stretching our arms and legs until we started screaming. Marcy was one side of me. Nancy was screaming her lungs out on the other side. When we were stretched to the point of breaking, they inserted the steel speculums in our mouth and cranked them open. You can't exactly talk when your mouth is wide open. You can make noise.

The Arab nurse showed up with lengths of surgical tubing. She skillfully threaded them into our esophagus and down our gullet until they passed the stomach valve or lower esophageal sphincter or LES as we nurses refer to it. ER's that frequently have to pump the stomach of drug overdose and suicide patients usually have nurses that are expert at the technique.

The goons placed a large funnel in a metal stand over our head and the nurse connected the tubing to the bottom end of the funnel. Our nurse made a final inspection that all was well. Then she left for a few minutes. When she came back, she brought the doctor.

He went over to a sink filled a beaker with water then added a blue powder and stirred it with a glass rod. He fixed four beakers. The nurse dutifully took each of the beakers and dumped them in our funnels. I started to feel full after one.

The doctor and nurse waited a few minutes then they gave us another liter. The sensation went from full to painful. There was another wait before they added a third liter. Now I knew how a French peasant felt who had been apprehended poaching the Marquis's deer. I was hurting. We were all whimpering and sobbing when the Sheik and Cory arrived.

It was at that point that Cory added her piss and shit to the mixture inside our stomach. The Sheik and the goons contributed their urine to the party. Belly full to bursting our nurse carefully removed the funnel and tubing. French water torture is absolute agony. If I ever wanted to die it was lying there with my joints in absolute agony and my stomach creating an internal source of pain that made me feel that each of my organs, liver, kidneys, pancreas, spleen, etc were being crushed in a vise. I developed a grudging respect for the French's savvy in knowing how to really hurt a girl.

Just when you thing that matters cannot get worse you are proven wrong. I took a look sideways and didn't like what I saw.

The Sheik was handing out thin flexible canes to his goons. Cory had undressed down to her heels and hose and was fingering her twat as she observed us. Cory was extremely attractive if you had a thing for voluptuous honey blondes with big tits and ass. Her fingers were a blur as she worked the little man in the boat. I watched amazed as she jerked herself off hitting a big 'O' that sent her writhing and twisting across the stone floor. I thought she was hot and I wanted to do her. In other circumstances we might have been friends.

A goon positioned himself beside me resting the cane across my round belly. He looked down at me and sort of smiled. When you are a goon living in a subterranean dungeon I suppose you have to learn to enjoy whatever comes your way. Caning a shit covered Army nurse with a belly like an over inflated beach ball was today's goon happy moment.

Cory had recovered from her climax and was busy sticking the suction cup end of an enormous dildo to the top of short stool. She repeated her actions with a slightly smaller dildo. Then she extracted a tube of K-Y from her tote bag and lubricated first the dildos then her orifices. The Sheik supported her as she lowered herself down on the dildos. With some serious pushing and grunting she managed to achieve double penetration. I estimated that the big dildo was a good foot up her large intestine and the smaller one well inside her uterus. But she looked happy.

The Sheik parted his robes to reveal an impressive uncut penis that he offered to Cory. Cory got busy teasing the foreskin with her mouth. The Sheik barked an order to the goons. Seconds later my goon landed the cane across my stomach and I screamed like a banshee. Goddamn that hurt. It was the kind of hurt the body does not want to bear for one second. Our goons fell into a regular rhythm of caning us. They went in sequence so each of us could hear the other being whipped.

Cory was busy. One hand was busy working her clit as she raised the lowered herself on the stool. The other hand was massaging the Sheik's balls as she sucked his cock. She had one eye on the four of us being caned. The multi-processing bitch was multi-orgasmic.

I have no idea how long we were caned. My belly slowly turned into one enormous purple bruise with yellow highlights.

Finally I saw that the Sheik was getting to his big 'O'. He jerked his hips as he spewed in her mouth. She gave him a big finish. Well he was a fabulously wealthy Sheik.

The Sheik commanded the goons to stop. My goon looked a trifle disappointed that he had not been allowed to cane me to death. I felt like he was close. Several places on my belly were oozing blood.

I watched as Cory slowly stood up extracting the dildos from the holes. She walked over to Amy, hesitated a moment then jumped into the air coming down butt first on Amy's belly. Poor Amy spewed like an erupting volcano. Puke practically hit the very high ceiling. Cory repeated her action twice more until Amy emptied.

Next she did Nancy and Marcy. Cory was covered in dripping vomit when she got to me.

"Saved you for last, Rozz," said Cory as she used a finger to wipe puke from her eye sockets. She started to jump on my gut then thought better of it.

She ran over and grabbed the stool quickly removing the dildos. She placed the stool at the side of my rack and stepped up on it.

"A little extra height will make it more fun," said Cory.

I watched as the Embassy's official spokesperson launched herself high in the air coming downing with an enormous splat on a belly that had been stretched and caned to a point beyond human misery. Vomit spewed like the water show at that Las Vegas hotel. It all came up in one great torrent. What I hadn't realized was that there were two possible exits and I felt my asshole open and spray like the nozzle on a power washer.

"I need a shower," calmly announced Cory when she had finished. She was covered from head to toe in our vomit. I decided at that moment she was certifiably insane.

The Sheik barked an order and everyone quickly left the room. Whoever left last switched off the light. The four of us were left for what seemed forever. We laid there in the dark, lying in runny shit, covered in puke, our stomach a fiery source of pain with our joints on the very verge of dislocation.

We four were borderline insane when the goons finally showed up to release us and take us to the showers for another scrubbing with those brushes that removed both dirt and the outer layer of our skin.