Horror Beneath The Park

The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy get the heck outta here. The author in no way advocates non-consensual activities such as are depicted here (and he strongly recommends against consensual acting out of such scenes unless the participants have reserved parking at the emergency room and a very understanding health plan).

Horror Beneath the Park

by

von Hentzau

Part III

Joanna lay in the semi-darkness of her cell. The only light was what little filtered back from a single bulb far down the vaulted brick passageway. It had been several days since her last "session" in the torture chamber. At least she thought it had been several days. Her only way of marking the passage of time in her underground prison was the delivery of her meals by Gilbert or one of his scruffy helpers. No light from the outside world penetrated to her small cell. The electric lights in the cell and the passageway that gave access to it were often turned off or dimmed for long periods.

And those meals. If Gilbert only knew it! They were possibly the worst torture he could have inflicted. Joanna hadn't been to a MacDonald's since college. She hated fast food! And that was what they were giving her for three meals a day. At least she assumed it was three meals a day. With only the artificial light of the single bulb outside her cell, and no way of knowing at what intervals they turned it on and off, there was no way for her to tell day from night.

She couldn't even really guess from the erratic schedule of tortures they inflicted on her. She assumed at first that they were torturing her at nights. Sometimes they came for her when the light was off. But sometimes they came when it was on. Sometimes they merely took her into the main chamber, gave her a few strokes on rump or breasts, then put her back into the cell. Other times they subjected her to seemingly endless, agonizing sessions that left her barely conscious. And that was another form of torture, not knowing what to expect when she woke to find herself trussed up in the torture chamber.

She rolled over on her sleeping mat and stared at the dim patterns in the brick wall opposite her cell. And something caught her eye. Motion, a brief flash of light. Her eyes scanned the darkness, trying to discern if someone, or something, was there.

Flashlights appeared in the passageway, four of them, their beams sweeping back and forth. Odd, Joanna thought. Usually Gilbert and her other tormentors turned on he lights when they brought her food. And usually they knocked her out before taking her to the torture chamber. What was going on?

The flashlights approached. Joanna could see four black clad figures. As they came closer to the cell one of the flashlights turned back towards the bearer to illuminate large yellow letters across his chest. "Police" the letters spelled out. Joanna's spirits soared. A SWAT team had found her. She almost jumped into the air from her mat. It was as if she flew to the bars of her cell.

She started to speak to them but one of the officers motioned her for silence. Two of the others, weapons ready, positioned themselves on opposite sides, watching the passage way. One held a flashlight on the lock while another took out a lock picking device and began trying to open it. With surprising speed the lock clicked open. They swung the door of Joanna's cell open and helped her out. Without a word they led her down the passageway, in the direction they'd come from.

They ran down the passageway, two of the police officers in the lead, then Joanna and then the other two officers close behind her. They ran down one passageway, turned, ran down another. Several more turns and Joanna could see a faint light well down the tunnel. As they approached closer Joanna suddenly realized they were heading straight for the torture chamber.

"No no!" she screamed out. "Not this way! Not this way!"

She tried to turn but hands grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. Again the cloaked and hooded creatures were ranged in the shadows along the wall. In the center of the torture chamber a wooden structure had been set up. It had the shape of a Y but with a cross bar running at a right angle to the stem. It was horizontal, standing on short, heavy legs. The two police officers, or imposters, behind Joanna pushed her towards the device which she was certain was some form of torture frame.

As they drew closer to the device the four phoney SWAT team members grabbed Joanna by the arms and legs. She was quickly lifted off her feet and deposited on the torture frame, legs spread along the branches of the Y, arms stretched out on the crossbar. Just as quickly, and in spite of her efforts to break free, they had her wrists and ankles strapped into cuffs. Each cuff was in turn fastened to a small winch. It took only a few turns of each before Joanna was tightly stretched along the various arms of the device. The short extension of the stem of the Y, past the cross bar, provided a rest for her head. It was curved down, so that her head was tilted back..

Once Joanna was firmly fastened the four "SWAT" officers took their hoods off. They were Gilbert, Gertie, Zack and another man Joanna hadn't seen before. By the three days growth of beard and shaggy hair she guessed he was another street person like Zack and Gertie.

"Surprise!" Gertie yelled, leaning over to look Joanna in the face. Her breath stank. God knew what she'd been eating. Or more likely drinking. "I bet you thought you were about to be rescued, didn't you? Wrong-o!"

"Things were getting kinda dull, you know," Gilbert said, coming up on Joanna's other side. "Same old thing, everyday. Another day, another butt whipping for Joanna. Booooring! We thought we would spice things a little."

"What shall we do, what shall we do?" Gertie asked no one in particular. "Here's Joanna all nicely spread out and ready for us. You got any suggestions, Jo? I know! We can play with our stun guns!"

Gertie whipped a small black device out of her SWAT gear and held it in front of Joanna's face. Joanna recognized it from the presentation that the company's security service had given. She'd seen a videotape of one in use on a volunteer. It didn't look pleasant. The volunteer, a young man who could've been a lineman on a professional football team, had been literally knocked on his ass.

"Don't worry, Joanna," Gilbert said softly. "We've modified our stun guns slightly. A regular stun gun would literally knock you on your ass, if you weren't on it already. Tied down like you are, on the first or second jolt and you'd most likely dislocate a shoulder or two trying to get loose. So we toned ours down from the 'whupass' setting to a mild, 'hurts like Hell' setting. You'll also notice the metal contacts are a little closer together than the standard model. Can you guess why?"

Joanna saw Gilbert move the hand holding his stun gun move downwards, out of sight. She felt the cold metal of the contacts on either side of her left nipple. A moment later she felt a blinding pain, as if her nipple had been physically ripped off her breast.

“Yup,” Gilbert said. “We adjusted them for just a nice fit on either side of a nipple. Your nipples, actually.”

“Well, isn't that just special?” Gertie asked in a mocking voice. “And guess what other knobby little thing they fit?”

Joanna's eyes grew wide as she realized what Gertie meant. She saw Gertie reach down. She braced herself, but still nearly felt like she would rip her arms off trying to get loose when Gertie shocked her other nipple. Anything to get away from the source of the pain.

“Betcha thought I was going for your clit, didn't ya?” Gertie said. She was reaching out again. Joanna closed her eyes and braced herself for the pain. Instead she felt fingers gently massaging her clit.

“Yeah, I'm gonna fry this cute little thing for ya, but not just yet,” Gertie said quietly.

When her breathing had almost returned to normal and she opened her eyes Joanna saw Gertie looking down at her.

“Well, guess I gotcher attention, didn't I?” Gertie asked. “What? You're not talking to me now?”

“Yes, no, yes!” Joanna shouted out. She couldn't think clearly. What did the bitch want her to say?

“Well, you seem a little confused there,” Gertie said. “Let's try the other side again.”

“Nooo.....aiiiiiieeeee!” Joanna screamed. If anything it was even worse the second time. She wondered if the demonic little device was leaving burn marks on her.

“Hey don't be a pig, Gert,” Zack said. “Let the rest of us have some fun.”

Gert responded by grabbing one of Joanna's breasts and squeezing hard.

“Don't worry, guys,” she said. “There's plenty of Joanna to go around.”

In response Joanna felt pressure against the side of her right hip, then pain streaking through her right side. That was followed by a similar shock to her left side. Then the insides of her thighs were repeatedly subjected to shocks. The stranger founded his own peculiar way to torment her. Joanna's large breasts rolled off to either side of her chest. The stranger grabbed one of Joanna's nipples and pulled the meaty mass back towards the center.

“Watch this,” he said. “This is kinda trippy.”

He released the nipple. Joanna's breast, propelled by gravity, rolled back down and onto the points of the stranger's stungun. Joanna screamed again.

Then they stopped for several minutes. Joanna waited for the next assault, wondering how long she could keep her sanity if they kept up if they continued the shocks. Then Gertie was hovering over her again. She seemed to have removed her top. Her exposed nipples were standing out, hard. The light brown areoles were even puffed up, which oddly seemed to emphasize how small her breasts were.

“I'm going to give you a choice, Joanna,” she said mockingly. “I was going to fry your clit. But, if you can get me off by licking my cunt I'll spare your poor little love button. Deal?”

Joanna nodded meekly. How could anything be worse than having those horrible stunguns torture her pussy?

She heard scraping, like something, a wooden box maybe, being dragged across the floor. Then Gertie was swinging a leg over Joanna's face. She had a brief glimpse of Gertie's gaping pussy, flushed red and surrounded by scraggle, kinky black hair, before Gertie lowered herself onto Joanna's mouth.

“I figured you'd be giving me a tongue bath today, Jo,” Gertie said as she rocked her hips gently back and forth. “So I didn't bother washing up. Y'know, hygiene is really a difficult problem for us street people. Guess you never thought much about, up there in the executive suite, did you?”

Joanna didn't have to told about Gertie's hygiene problems. The woman's pussy stank. It was all Joanna could do to keep her gorge from rising. Joanna had never gone down on a woman before. She stuck her tongue out and worked it around, trying to remember the times men had gone down on her and guessing what they's done.

Whatever she was doing, it seemed to work. Gertie quickly shut up. Her rocking motion speeded up, her breathing came quicker and became quite audible. She began moaning. Then her body stiffened spasmodically, once, twice, a third time and then she slowly settled down. Joanna was grateful Gertie had come so quickly, tried not to think about the fluids she could feel dripping over her face and into her mouth, and wished Gertie would get off her before she smothered.

Finally Gertie raised herself up and lazily swung her leg back over Joanna's face.

“Wow! You're good, bitch. We're gonna have to do this again sometime soon.”

Then Gilbert was looking down on her.

“So, Joanna,” he said snidely, “think we can work a similar deal? Suck me off or I shock your clit?”

Joanna weakly nodded yes. God, was she going to have to do all four of them?

“I don't think so,” Gilbert said, a vicious tone to his voice. “I've still got a bone to pick with you. As pleasant as it would be to come in your mouth, I still remember what a fucking bitch you were when you had the power. I really think I'd rather torture your pussy. Hey, maybe I'll jerk off while I do it. How's that for kinky?”

He disappeared from her sights. Then she felt fingers working up and down her lower lips. They moved to her clit, gently grasping it and massaging it.

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Gilbert asked. “So tender, so sensitive.” He paused. “So vulnerable.” He paused again, still massaging her. “This first one is just a warm up. I'm going to stick the contacts on either side of you asshole. Just for fun.”

She felt the metal points pressing against the flesh of her inner butt cheeks. Then her mid section came up off the torture frame as pain surged through her groin, her belly, her upper thighs. When she settled down Gilbert began massaging her clit again. It seemed like several minutes before he spoke again.

“Brace yourself,” he said.

She felt the metal tips pressing in on either side of her clit. He held it there for the longest time, making her suffer from the anticipation of what was to about to happen. Then the worst pain she had experienced yet racked her body. She flopped around violently, pulling frantically at the bonds that held her. She screamed and screamed and then everything faded to blackness.

Joanna came to slowly. It was all too familiar now. First the brief whiff of what smell like a spice, then waking up in some horrendous situation. There was a hood over her head, as usual. She began to check her body position. She was laid out on her back, arms over her head. She moved her arms slightly. There were cuffs on her wrists. She moved her legs. Her ankles were similarly fastened.

She heard muffled voices, then the sound of gears clacking. Chains rattling. She felt the tugging on her wrists as the slack was taken out of the chains. Then her arms were being raised up. Quickly her shoulders were coming up off the floor. She'd learned by now there was no point fighting it. She went limp and let them pull her up. She would find out what they had in mind all too soon.

The winch continued turning. Soon Joanna was almost upright. She shuffled her feet clumsily trying to stand up and take the strain off her arms. For few brief moments she was able to stand. But then the slack in the chain was taken up again and she was lifted, first onto the balls of her feet, her toes and then she was fully suspended.

The sounds of the winch turning slowed. Joanna felt the tension building in her legs, her back and her shoulders, as the short lengths of chain that fastened each of her ankle cuffs to the floor were stretched taut. They were stretching her tighter than they had before. Her head was pushed into a chin down position as her arms were stretched.

She felt fingers tracing the muscles in her back, her buttocks, her legs.

"Ok," a voice she recognized as Gilbert's said. "That should do it."

The hood was whisked off. Joanna blinked, her eyes adjusting to the light. As usual she was in what she had come to think of as the torture chamber. The Demons were in their places in the shadows along the walls. Gilbert and Gertie were standing in front of her. Gertie, as she often did, had stripped off her top, revealing her sad little fried egg tits. Her torso was beginning to glisten with a film of sweat. The flaring gaslights made the chamber quite warm.

Gilbert stepped up before her. He fondled her breasts lightly, leering into her face as he did so.

"We have a treat for you, today," Gilbert said. “We've brought in a guest torturer. Joanna, meet Indiana Jones."

Joanna looked up as best she could and did an immediate double take. The leather jacket, fedora, the whip hanging on the belt. It actually did look like Indiana Jones.

"Ok, so he's a bit delusional," Gilbert said. "We don't like to argue with him when he says he's Indiana Jones and he's got a whip in his hand. Besides, wait until you see him with that whip."

Gertie had been busy setting up a small table. She set a cantaloupe on top the table. Then she set another piece of fruit, Joanna thought it was a plum, on top the cantaloupe. Then Gertie stepped back a good, long ways. The faux Indiana Jones took up a position on the far side of the table.

“It's a little restricted down here for a bullwhip,” Gilbert explained. ‘To get the real impact of his skill you should see him from the side. But I think you'll get the idea even watching it head on.”

Joanna watched the man lay the whip out. Then with what seemed like an almost effortless motion he had the whip in the air, curling it back and forth. Suddenly the tip lashed out and the plum exploded in a shower of purplish-red pulp.

“That was the accuracy demonstration,” Gertie said. “Next he's going to do the power demonstration.”

The whip resumed its rhythmic back and forth motion. Joanna was almost mesmerized by smooth, sinuous pattern the tapered leather made. Suddenly the tip was lashing out again and pieces of cantaloupe went flying. The man worked the whip back and forth a few more times, then let it slowly settle to the floor. Then he coiled it.

“My God!” Joanna screamed out. “You can't let him use that thing on me! It's...it's inhuman!”

“You're forgetting one thing, Joanna,” Gilbert said quietly. “Our hosts aren't human. Can't you feel it? Can't you feel their joy in anticipating what's about to happen? The best you can do in this situation, Joanna, is to go with the flow. Accept the fact you're going to hurt like hell and scream your head off. Like the man said, it's showtime!”

Gilbert stepped back, way back. Joanna heard the evil whooshing of the bullwhip being worked back and forth. She braced herself in anticipation and suddenly thought, is that sound like the sound a field mouse hears as the hawk dives on it?

She felt the strike, like a knife being drawn quickly across her body. She was surprised to realize that the blow had come across her shoulders. She heard the fatal whistle again and felt the whip bite at the back of one thigh. The next stroke fell on the opposite thigh. Then he struck at her shoulders again below the first stroke. Another stroke fell on the back of her thigh, above the first. Then another stroke to the opposite thigh. Was he demonstrating his control? Circling in on the main target?

He made another circuit, slashing her high and low. Then the first strokes started landing on her buttocks. He alternated, left and right, high and low. Each stroke felt as if she were being slashed with a knife. She was certain she felt blood dripping down the backs of her legs.

“Guess she's going to be sleeping on her belly for a while'” Joanna heard someone say.

“Maybe, Maybe not.” She heard someone else say ominously.

The strokes kept landing. Joanna lost count of how many there has been. She was soon reduced to hanging limply in her bonds, moaning softly and barely conscious.

Then Joanna felt water being splashed on her back. The slight sting and a vague smell doctor's office smell told her was probably water laced with an antiseptic.

“Ooooh!” she heard Gertie say, “those are some nasty, nasty cuts. Totally, like, vicious.”

She felt hands moving over her back, her thighs and her buttocks, spreading a greasy ointment. The pain began to subside quickly. She must be sliced up really badly, she thought, if they were doctoring her while she was still in the torture chamber. They usually waited until she was back in her cell to patch her up.

Someone was slapping her face, trying to rouse her. She smelled something, ammonia she thought. Someone had broken a capsule under her nose. She looked around, still dazed. With fear she realized that her torment had taken up a position in front of her.

“We're not finished with you yet, bitch,” Gertie was saying. “Try to hang in there for the last act, at least.”

She saw the whip man start working the leather monster, back and forth, sinuously.

“Try not to take her nipples off, Indy,” someone called. “It's a real nuisance to try and fix them.”

The Indiana Jones imposter nodded towards the speaker. Then the whip was streaking towards her. It slashed viciously at her left breast, then flew away, only to come streaking back to punish her right breast. Twice more the whip struck at each breast. Joanna closed her eyes, unable to watch. Then a stroke landed square on her mons. She jerked back violently, and heard distant laughter. A second blow landed on her mons. She instinctively started twisting and jerking to protecting her sensitive crotch.

“Hey, a moving target,” someone called out. “Indy, see if you can get that little pink thing sticking out between her lower lips!”

Joanna twisted and swung her mid-section around even more frantically when she heard that. Several more blows landed, on upper thigh and on her mons. Then once connected, dead on target. Joanna shrieked and lapsed into unconsciousness. As she faded out she felt the strangest sensation of great pleasure, erotic, orgasmic pleasure emanating through the torture chamber.

To be Continued......

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