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Ch 3
De-clitted.
Lila’s pussy was on fire after her caning. With her legs bent back, her pussy exposed, and her wrists tied down, there was nothing she could do to relieve her violent burning. Immobile, she looked up at the ceiling, whimpered and cried. She had never been whipped there, and this was, until now, the most painful experience of her short life. Of course, something even more painful would come soon but ignoring it, or trying to, was her way of keeping herself together. She wondered what Manu, her torturer was doing right now.
He had left the room, ostensibly to fetch her some lemonade, but in truth, he could not bear to see her whimpering in pain, trying to writhe and not succeeding. How he would manage to burn her clitoris off was only one of his worries. If Al-Mansur had simply ordered her de-clitted, he could slice it off with a scalpel or cut it off with scissors, both methods that, while painful, were more humane than the horror that he had to subject her to.
He refilled her glass of lemonade, got a bag of ice, and returned to the torture room where Lila awaited. She was still crying and whimpering when he arrived. Leaving the lemonade on a table, he applied the ice bag to her pussy and was rewarded by her “Ohhh.” of relief. He admired her bound beauty for a few minutes more, before releasing her arms and legs. He pulled her up on the table to let her rest for a while and drink the lemonade.
“I’m so sorry I could not thank you before, sir,” Lila said, “but the pain was so much I could only scream and cry.”
Manu could not believe her docility, “It’s all right Lila.”
“How are you going to… you know, de-clit me?”
Manu took a deep breath, “I’m sorry that the instructions are so specific Lila. I would have preferred to slice it off with a knife or cut it off with scissors; I don’t have that choice, I hope you understand.”
“I understand sir; you are most kind.”
“It is simple, I will take three irons and place them in a lit charcoal brazier,” Lila shuddered when he said this, “I will let them heat until they are white hot, and then burn your clitoris off with them.”
Lila started to tremble and to silently cry again. Manu watched her, willing himself to be professional about this, and failing miserably.
She managed to restrain her sobs, “I’m truly sorry sir,” she said.
“How can you be so accepting, so docile?” He asked, perplexed, helping her up off the table.
He also noticed the raging erection that threatened to burst out of his underwear. He always used slips to work; it just wouldn’t do to have his victims witness his arousal, it would be unprofessional. With Lila, however, he did not want her to know that her pain and suffering was exciting him. He feared she would think less of him for that. He shook his head and helped her to her knees.
Kneeling, Lila responded, her eyes downcast and tears flowing again:
“There is nothing that can be done, so why fight? It is better to accept and submit,” her voice quavered, “besides, I deserve this.”
“What foolishness is this?” Manu sputtered, stunned. “How can anybody, much less someone as sweet as you, deserve this?”
Lila’s sobs were louder now, between them, she managed to answer:
“I was the youngest and prettiest of my master’s slaves. He used Sarah the most, he loved her of course; but when he was not using her, he would always use me.”
Lila continued crying, “When Sarah decided she was going to get snuffed, we were all devastated, but when Master chose Juggy and me to come to Brunei with him and Sarah…”
She was bawling out loud now, “I… I was glad. I thought he would pick me, to be his first girl.”
She lost all control, her hands clenched into fists, pounding at the air, “And then she climbed on the stage, and was impaled… and I wanted to die.”
Manu knelt down and embraced the sobbing girl. He patted her on the back, her nude body melding into his. It took her a long time to calm down. He stroked her hair all the time until her tears dried out and her breathing evened.
“I deserve everything I get,” Lila concluded.
Manu got up.
“Is it time?” she asked.
“Will you let me help? Please,” she added.
She followed him into another room, a storage room. There was an iron brazier filled with coals; it was on a stand with wheels, hooked up to a propane bottle. She pulled it into the torture room; opening the gas, she lit the flames.
“The gas attachment makes it much easier to get the coals going,” Manu explained. “It will still be more than an hour until the coals are ready and then the irons still need to heat up.”
Lila nodded; she started the air extractor, to blow the fumes out of the basement, and followed him to the room with the bookcases. He sat at the armchair and she kneeled at his side, leaning her head on his knee.
“Believe me, I will not hurt you more than what is strictly necessary.”
“I believe you sir, but please, do not concern yourself on my account.”
He caressed her hair. An idea began to creep into his brain: “There is no way the sheik will sell her to me now, but after she is de-clitted, I will ask him. May be then, maybe after she’s been tortured for a while” Not wishing to give her false hopes, he did not tell her about his idea, but he continued toying with it while caressing her hair in silence.
“It is time to put the irons on,” Manu said, getting up.
“I’ll do it sir.”
Lila picked up the three irons. For the first time she had a good look at the instruments that soon would sear into the very center of her womanhood. They looked very much like the pokers she used to see around New England fireplaces, except that where many of the Yankee pokers were ornamental, so many of the fireplaces burned gas nowadays, these were cruelly functional. A straight iron rod ended on one side in a wood handle; the other side, which she examined last, the business end that would burn into her most sensitive spot, was a small pyramid of iron. She touched it with her fingers and then, with as much vigor as she could muster, she thrust the three irons into the depths of the glowing red coals. She turned her back on the brazier and saw Manu at the door, looking at her. Her fear, gnawing again at her guts, threatened to possess her again. She needed to pee.
“Sir,” she asked, “I need to go to the bathroom.”
He pointed to a closet. She opened it and found an old fashioned chamber pot in it.
“I am sorry; I cannot let you out before the procedure.”
She squatted over the pot, her back to him, grateful for that least measure of privacy he was granting her. Her water tinkled into the porcelain.
“I understand. Thank you sir.”
She replaced the pot in the closet and turned to face her torturer.
“After I am de-clitted, will you still be… you know, hurting, I mean torturing me, until the end?”
“Yes, most of the time; the sheik doesn’t do this things personally anymore. He may have some of his minions have a go at you, but yes, it will be me for most of it.”
Time passed slowly; the sound of the coals burning wafts over from the other room.
“Sir, please: How are we going to do this?”
She would be attached to the table, like she was before, but her legs would be strapped to knee and foot rests that would splay her legs wide open, much more than when her pussy was caned. A wide strap would go around her waist.
“Since the pain will be much worse,” Manu explained, “you have to be bound much tighter.”
Her labia needed to be held open, to expose the sensitive clitoris, he would use small steel hooks on thin rubber bungees. The hooks would hook on her labia and on the skin of her lower abdomen and mons.
“I am sorry that this will hurt you more; there is nothing I can do, I’m afraid” Manu said.
Lila placed her hand on Manu’s and smiled at him sweetly.
“I know.”
The white hot iron would then be thrust against her nub of flesh and held in place until it seared her flesh. Once it had cooled on her tissues, a second iron would be applied to char whatever would be left of her pleasure nub.
“You probably will not feel much of the third iron,” Manu explained “Most of the nerve endings will be gone by then.”
“I see,” Lila’s hand, unconsciously moved to touch her sensitive spot one last time.
For a moment, she relished the pleasurable sensation once more. “I’d better forget it,” she said to herself.
“I will keep you flat while I do it,” Manu said, “that way you won’t see.”
“I’d rather see it coming sir, if you please.”
Manu elevated the head of the bed; Lila picked up one of the irons; its tip glowed white.
“The irons are ready sir,” her voice broke when she said it.
She stood by the table, quaking in fear. He kissed her face and lips. What could he say that would comfort her? She turned and laid herself back on the table, her butt hanging over the edge.
“It’s all right sir,” she said, “I deserve this; I really do.”
He turned his head away to hide his tears. Then without a word, he tied her wrists, knees and ankles with stout leather straps. The final strap went around her waist. He placed a pillow under her head. She looked at him, tears brimming on her eyes. He busied himself opening her labia up with the little bungee hooks. She felt the cold air in her intimate folds. He wanted so much to kiss her down there, just once, but knew he couldn’t bear it. He turned to look at her face, whose lips he wanted to crush with his own, she looked back at him:
“I will be strong,” she said.
He kissed her lips again, “I’m sure you are.”
He picked up the iron; her eyes fused to the white hot tip. He did not hesitate, he was a professional, he turned around and in one fluid motion he thrust the searing metal on to the clitoris of his beloved. She screamed.
Her scream was deafening. On the sitting room upstairs, Al-Mansour, surrounded by Aisha, and two guards heard the scream while sipping tea. Aisha on her knees started shaking, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. Al-Mansour smiled and said:
“Looks like your little playmate will not be able to play with you anymore. Be careful little Aisha lest you join her.”
“Hear and obey.” She said bowing to the ground, her voice shaking. Then, at his gesture, she made her way under his robes to attend to his pleasure. It was while performing this job, with his erect member in her mouth, that Aisha heard Lila’s second scream, accompanied by Al-Mansour’s foul tasting spunk spilling into her mouth at the same time.
In the basement, the second iron burned as bad as the first. Manu could not repress his tears, but fortunately Lila could not see them. Her eyes screwed shut, all her energy used up by her scream of agony. Manu held the iron still, strong, stiff, against her soft, yielding flesh, until no further smoke rose from his beloved. How could he even dream of her, how could he even dare to aspire to her love, after the atrocity he had just committed against her innocent flesh. He pulled the iron out, and took the third. As promised, this one no longer hurt. All the dead nerve endings, turned into charred flesh she, mercifully, felt only intense heat, but not the consuming burn that had seared her tissues before. She continued screaming, her sense of loss, now, as intense as the pain that still seared her loins. He removed the third iron.
Her whimpers tore at his heart, “It’s over my love,” he said.
He applied ointment on her burned flesh, he removed the hooks, she moaned slightly at this, and finally, unable to resist, he kissed the charred hollow where her clitoris had been. She saw him doing that and resumed crying in silence, not grieving for herself; she was dead meat anyway, but for him, for what she had done to him.
She found her voice:
“Promise me.”
“What.”
“Promise me you’ll still do it.”
She guessed exactly what he was thinking. He would resign, leave, and refuse to hurt her anymore. His head shook.
“Promise me,” Her voice is louder, her plea, desperate.
“Promise me!” She almost screams now, “Promise me,” her voice ebbs in a flood of tears.
His lips meet hers, his tears mix with hers, “I promise.”
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