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THE FUNHOUSE
All the girls auctioned, the twins are delivered to their destinations, not knowing the other’s fate. Their first week a living hell, they’re quickly subjugated into what appears to be a nightmarish existence.
Chapter four… The twins
The dark dampness surrounds her, clinging to her naked flesh. Stretching tautly from her bound wrists as the ropes creak under her weight she hears the occasional harsh ‘crack’ in the background followed by muffled cries, her own mouth stuffed with a soiled rag. The tips of her toes point downward barely touching, the ropes tightly binding her ankles attached to the flat stone in the cold puddle of water and urine mixed with feces on the stone floor beneath her giving off a nauseating stench as her arms ache while she struggles for breath. Only wisps of light dart through the small cracks in the stone walls as the torturous sounds of the whip laying into bare flesh echoes in the otherwise darkness.
Terrified, haven’t slept for what seems like days, forced to remain naked since arriving at this foreboding chateau a few days ago, her thoughts of her sister, her friend’s haunt her as she’s continuously tormented by the dark robed, hooded men. Forced to scrub the stone floors, the rock walls, shovel and clean stalls on her hands and knees, all while naked, her filthy body wreaks of the stenches she’s not been allowed to clean off.
Her once proud body, flawless like her sister’s seems weathered and bruised in just a short few days. Hair scraggly, unkempt, her body unshaven and filthy, her own odors are wrenching, even traces of urine caked to her thighs as she’s forced to relieve herself in her cell while chained to the wall at night by her neck, unable to sit, much less lay down.
Unable to count the days or nights, she’s constantly been kept inside the lower portion of the chateau, the garages, stalls and urinals. While working hours on end without the shortest of breaks, forced to kneel, accept whatever any of the men want of her at any time as they pass her by, painfully taken in any hole, then not allowed to wipe herself, forced to swallow if her mouth is used, her mind is on the edge of insanity. Barely able to comprehend the blur since entering the funhouse at the carnival, everything’s been a constant, sick nightmare, one rape after the other, floggings and insults, forced labor, now bound and stretched by her wrists and ankles.
The creaking sound of the large oak door swaying open on its aged hinges is quickly followed by the flickering light from the flames of a hand held torch. A trio of hooded men enters from behind her, one stepping in front. Arms crossed above his bare chest, his eyes glaring through the rumpled black hood, he nods, watches as the second man slips the blackened iron pair of flat, reddish stained perforated metal braces above and below her bare breasts as the sounds of the flogging in the background escalates through the open door.
Reaching out, twisting the matching pair of metal knobs on either end of the braces, the bases of her breasts slowly flatten between the compressing metal. The second man twists and tugs, spreading her breasts apart by her nipples as the flat metal presses closer together. Whimpering with the mounting pain, still hearing the ‘cracking’ in the background, her grunts and groans echo in the small chamber as her mind races. Staring downward at the cold, harsh metal, his grimy hands twisting the knobs, her breasts bulging as the slates tightens, she feels each turn harsher, more painful until the pair of metal practically touch, her tit flesh forced through the small perforations as her areolas, nipples swelling outward are almost translucent, pointing apart.
Glancing pleadingly from one hooded mask to the other flickering in the torchlight, hearing the tortured cries in the background as the leather strikes flesh, her body reflexively trembles under the mounting strain as the second man steps closer. Wide eyed and whimpering, she shakes her head back and forth as he raises his hands toward her face. One with a glistening skewer between his thumb and finger, the other hand with a number of similar skewers, all no thicker then hypodermic needles, she feels the first man gripping her ballooning breasts as the first skewer’s sadistically rammed through a top perforation of the metal breast clamp.
Bucking, jerking at her wrist and ankles bindings, the ropes chaffing at her already raw flesh, her screams are muffled by the mouth rag as the skewer impales the center of her left breast. Squinting, feeling her right breast squeezed, the sharp tip of another skewer probing into a similar perforation, the harsh pain of the sharp tip jamming through her flattened tit flesh, she again jerks and twists. Gasping for breath, her straining body’s muscles, tendons contort under her naked, glistening flesh as her heart pounds, her stomach knots in spasms, the pair of skewers quivering through aligned holes of the matching iron slates.
Barely conscious, feeling skewer after skewer forming a row across each tortured breast, her raw throat still stuffed with the damp rag, she feels her body being turned toward the open doorway. Glancing through her swollen eyes out across the hallway, the sounds of the whipping has stopped, the opposite oak door creaking open. Wide eyed, disbelieving what she’s seeing, she can only grunt, shake her head at the sight of her twin sister facing toward her.
Head tilted forward across her chest with a rag stuffed in her throat, her naked body bound and stretched identically, her bulging breasts flattened in black iron clamps, skewers lining across both clamps, the only difference, the multiple crisscrossing red welts oozing trickles of blood from her armpits to her thighs. Glaring, frantically shaking her head back and forth she watches as a bare-chested hooded, sweat drenched man steps around her sister, into the hallway with a crimson tinged bullwhip in his hand, dragging its tip as he approaches.
Even as he steps through the doorway the whip curls, swishes as if in slow motion as she closes her eyes. “Swish… Thwack!” The flexing leather smacks across both swollen areolas, just beneath the nubs of her nipples.
“Oomph!” Her guttural gasp barely leaves her stuffed mouth. “Swish… Thwack!” Another backhanded flick of the wrist and the snakelike leather circles her navel, the small of her back. “Aaaggghhh!!”
The searing pain of the leather ripping into her sweating flesh causes her naked body to lurch in the stretched bindings. The whip’s tip digging into her sunken navel twists around the loosening leather as it drops from her trembling thighs. Scraping across the floor, he flicks it upward, again. “Thwack!”
“Aaagghhh!!!” Across her pubic mound, the tip glancing off her rounded hip just below her waist as her body twists with the lashing. Barely able to lift her head, her eyes lock with her sister’s as the flogging continues. The constant swishing, the familiar sound of leather striking bare flesh is now hers as the red welts take on the eerily, almost precise patterns as her sister’s. Comprehending the matching tortures she can almost count the remaining lashings to come as their whipped bodies hideously match.
As the flogging nearly reaches its completion, two of the men leave, each returning with a couple large wooden buckets, brine water splashing across their sides. Stepping behind the girls, they wait for the final stroke. The last lashing resonates between her thighs, lifting her upwards as she barely rasps out in pain, just as the first buckets are poured across their slumping heads, shoulders. The salty water cascading across their naked, welted flesh splashes across the floor as their muffled screams are literally drowned out by the splashing water. Sweat, blood mixes with spurts of urine as their stretched, naked bodies twist and buck in the creaking ropes, the fifth washed from their naked flesh.
The first buckets empty, the men splash the other buckets across their bare breasts, thighs, their buttocks, letting the filthy water drain off their legs, across the floor. Done, they file out into the hallway, leaving the doors open as the girls hang by their wrists facing each other. Beaten, breasts clamped and impaled, their raw wounds washed out with the thick brine water, they can barely gaze toward one another, their dazed minds almost wondering if they’re virtually looking at their own reflections, in agonizing pain, yet exhausted.
The sound of footsteps on the hallway’s stone floor, the hooded man stops at the open doors. Glancing from one to the other, he flips the short whip in his hand. “Today’s Sunday… Your day of penance and time to reflect… Tomorrow starts a new week of labor and gratifying the Brothers.” Glancing at their tortured bodies, he adds. “You’ve also received your weekly cleansing… You’ll remain like you are for the rest of the day fasting and meditating.”
Shutting the one door with a loud thud, then the other, he leaves them in darkness, alone in their cells, to contemplate another week.
End Part 4
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