Chapter 1: Slammin'

Tamara was 5'1” with long, straight, bright blond hair that just brushed the top of her nice, curvy butt.  She had ice blue eyes, unlike her younger sister's dark brown eyes.  The younger sister was the taller, though by only two inches.  They were very close in age at 26 and 23.  Stacy, unlike Tamera, had chocolate brown hair to match her eyes which only went halfway down her back, and was slightly wavy.  The two nearly shared a body, with Tamera's breasts and butt being only slightly larger, putting her at about the same weight as her sister.  Both also had wide child bearing hips, though neither had bore any children.  They had no problems swapping clothes Tamera wore a size 5 and Stacey wore a size 4, both with C-cup breasts. 

Today they had met for lunch at an outdoor cafe.  Stacy, who was more athletic than her sister, was wearing a short denim skirt that showed her well toned legs and a white sleeveless sweater that showed she did more jogging than weightlifting.  She wore no jewelry, and simple open toed sandals.  One leg was crossed over the other, giving anyone who was watching an enticing view of her upper thigh.  Her long brown hair was pushed back by a denim headband.

Tamera was wearing an ankle length black velvet skirt with white four inch pumps and black pantyhose.  A thin, tan shirt covered her beautiful chest, and her long blond hair was held back in a loose ponytail.  She wore a long gold necklace as well as several expensive looking bracelets and a few rings.  Neither wore anything on their wedding finger.  Both had French manicures. 

Neither knew they were being watched. 

Sam and his crew had done this many times, but it was unusual to find sisters so pretty, and so obtainable. 

They ate, and then they chatted.  They chatted for far to long in Sam's opinion, but he was patient.  When they finished, they both climbed into Tamera's expensive looking SUV.  As Tamera maneuvered the large vehicle into traffic, Sam's driver followed suit. 

After following the two women for a few blocks, Sam decided it was time to make their move at the next intersection. 

“Here,” he announced.  The driver's foot slipped off of the break, and hit the gas, ramming their van into the SUV.  Sam watched with satisfaction as the reverse lights flashed, indicating Tamera had put the vehicle into park, and both doors opened.  They were going to make this easy.

Sam's driver, who knew this routine well, hopped out of the driver's seat while Sam made his way to the back of the van to join the other two members of his team. 

Tamera, being the kind woman she was, immediately asked if everyone was okay.  The driver assured her everything was, and beckoned her to the back of the van where they could trade information without having to worry about oncoming traffic.  Of course this area had been thoroughly studied and got very little traffic even during the afternoon. 

Sam watched from the darkly tinted window and the driver followed their plan to the letter.  As soon as the driver had passed, Sam violently opened the back door of the van.  Tamera had just enough time to turn her face before the metal door laid her out onto her back on the concrete.

Stacy, who had been examining the damage to both vehicles, came running to the back of the van to see if anything was the matter as she had heard the loud thud.  She was met with a blow to the side of the head from a wooden board as soon as she came around the van.  Sam caught her before she could hit the concrete. 

Sam easily hefted Stacy over his shoulders and reached into his pocket to activate the remote that controlled the van's hidden compartment.  The floor sprang up, and two compartments could be seen underneath, each barely large enough to hold a woman.  Stacy was laid carefully into the one on the right as one of Sam's men laid Tamera into the one on the left.  Sam, who had some training as a medic, checked Tamera's face for any fracturing.  He paid special attention to her teeth and nose as he had friends in various emergency rooms should the need arise.  Aside from having a bit of blood in one nostril, however, Tamera's pretty face was intact.  A wooden board to the side of the head, while painful and more than enough to knock someone out, was not sufficient to have damaged Stacy. 

After both women were loaded, Sam hit the other button on the remote in his pocket which caused the floor of the van to lower back into place, carefully hiding their cargo.  A fine mist of chloroform was always being released into the cargo area to be sure that any occupants stayed asleep. 

One of Sam's men hopped into the luxury SUV and drove it to a local chop shop where they had friends.  As the vehicle would likely not be reported stolen, it would be in many, many pieces before anyone came looking for it, and the sale of those pieces would go into a bank account that was drawn on only to buy equipment or gear that may seem suspicious, should anyone ever catch onto their scheme.  With every connection tied neatly together, and no other connections to any of the men, the worst that could happen is their ill gotten money could be confiscated.  It hadn't happened yet, and wasn't likely to happen in the future.

Within an hour the group had arrived at Sam's home and dungeon.  All were ready and eager to have some fun with their two new toys.

The two women had been offloaded from the van and were laying on the floor of the dungeon area.  It wouldn't be long before they woke up, so Sam and his men got to work quickly. 

All four of the men enjoyed hurting women.  Past that, they didn't have a lot in common, nor were commonalities necessary.  They all were fairly well built from years of torturing, and had no problems lugging the two light females around. 

One of the men began to work on Tamera.  He lifted her skirt up over her head but did not remove it.  Her panty hose were pulled down and her bland panties were cut off with the man's pocket knife.  He also carved two holes in her hose, one at each orifice, effectively creating crotchless hose.  With Tamera face down on the floor, her legs were bent over double and tightly zip-tied foot to upper thigh.  Her pumps, as they had no straps, were zip-tied to her feet and ankles.  Her skirt was pulled back down into place. 

After experimenting with her arms for a bit, the man concluded that the least comfortable position for them while not doing any permanent damage would be to fuse her elbows, wrists, and ring fingers together.  After zip-tying them all tightly together, making sure to get that last click out of each one, he was satisfied. 

Another of the men rolled a modified appliance dolly over to where the still unconscious Tamera was being prepared.  Tamera was loaded onto the dolly with her knees on the bottom plate.  A heavy duty ratcheting strap was looped around her waist and then tightened, holding her fast.  The ratcheting strap took a gentle hand as it was more than capable of crushing the woman's innards.  Although these men may not be beyond such brutality, they had much more fun to have.  Therefore, the strap was tightened only tight enough that the now moaning and grimacing woman could barely breathe.  Her neck was zip-tied to the back of the dolly, and a leather strap pulled her legs back as well.  Her hands were already purple from the tight zip-ties and being crushed between the metal dolly and Tamera's body. 

Her mouth was pried open and a ring gag was shoved in an then latched, also around the back of the dolly.  The dolly was then turned so that Tamera would have an excellent view of the upcoming show.

Tamera's eyes opened slowly, and a flood of horrors assailed her senses. 

As Tamera was being prepared, another of the men was working on Stacy, who was going to be the main event for the night.  First, her shirt was pushed up and her lacy bra removed.  Each breast was tied tightly at the base with thin, but strong twine, with a rope going between them.  Her sandals were removed, and her little skirt was pushed up and her thong cut away.  Stacy's lady parts were shaved bare, which was a contrast to Tamera's small landing strip. 

Stacy's mouth was pried apart and a pump gag was inserted, then pumped to nearly maximum, quickly filling the woman's mouth and rendering her mute once she woke.

A hook, which was attached to a rope that was thrown over an overhead rafter, was slipped onto the rope between her breasts.  One of the men pulled on the other side of the rope, pulling the unfortunate woman to her knees by her breasts, which were already a nice shade of purple.  The man who had tied her breasts quickly zip-tied her elbows together behind her back, leaving her hands free but effectively useless.  Her toned legs were also left free.

With the first jerk of the rope, Stacy awoke.  The first thing she saw was the tall triangular wooden horse in the middle of the floor.  The second thing she noticed was her sister.  She tried to scream, or call out to her, but was only able to produce muffled sounds.  The second jerk brought her to her feet and made it feel as if someone was attempting to rip her breasts off her chest.  Stacy tried to bring her hands up to pull at the infernal twine, but her elbows were held fast behind her.  She could just barely touch the bottom of her left breast if she really tried.  Another jerk, and her feet were off the ground, leaving her entire 110 lbs on her breasts.  Had she been able, Stacy would've screamed at the searing pain.  Instead she merely created a long squeak.  Again and again they pulled her up until her feet were higher than the wooden horse.  One of the men then shoved an unlubricated cue stick directly into her ass, and guided her over to the horse. 

Tamera's eyes were wide as she watched her sister dangling by her darkening breasts, desperately trying to reach for the ropes and pitifully pleading for help with her darting, panicked eyes.  Her long brown hair streamed out behind her, making her look almost angelic.

Once Stacy was directly over the wooden horse, the man began to let loose the rope.  Stacy looked down and, seeing some sort of surface that would bear her weight instead of her tortured breasts, tried frantically to get her feet into a sort of tight-wire configuration so that she could attempt to balance on the quarter inch thin surface. 

Tamera was shocked to see that her sister was actually able to get her feet under her.  The other men in the chamber though weren't so surprised.  Most women could and did do that for a limited time.  Such precarious balance, however does not last forever. 

Stacy, in tears of frustration, tried valiantly to balance herself on the very thin surface.  For about a minute, she succeeded.  Then, however, one foot slipped.  She tried to compensate with the other, but that over balanced her, putting her feet on either side of the wooden horse.  Only then did Stacy truly realize what was in store for her.  She squeezed her eyes shut as she fell, her legs sliding on the sides, valiantly fighting for purchase. 

THUNK!

Stacy's crotch slammed into the wood, smashing her clitoris.  Her tiny denim skirt happily moved out of the way of the wooden intruder and was now riding on her hips.  Stacy screamed into her gag and began to sob in earnest as the area between her legs seemed to catch fire.  There was no foothold, and she could not reach any of the wooden horse to try to push herself back off.  Her full weight was now resting on her crushed vagina.

Tamera was horrified as she watched her sister go through the most terrible torture she could imagine.  One of the men who was not maneuvering Stacy about decided to avail himself of Tamera's charms, however, and crammed his member into her mouth.  Stacy, with her ring gag, couldn't say no.  The penis was shoved in fast and hard, first running along her tongue, then jamming into the back of her throat.  As Tamera struggled to breathe, the sharp pain from the dolly strap began to worsen.  The man pumped harder and harder, going deeper and deeper into Tamera's throat, gagging her over and over again.  Tamera's vision was just beginning to darken when the man came, spewing his load down her throat and into her stomach.  The man heaved a great sigh and, his penis going flaccid, pulled out of the bound woman's mouth.  A plug that was hanging on the side of the dolly was shoved into her mouth, prohibiting her from ejecting any of the sperm that didn't make it down her throat. 

Stacy was being lifted by her breasts back into the air.  Stupidly, though perhaps it was an involuntary reaction, Stacy was kicking her legs every which way causing further yanking and agony to her darkened breasts. She was almost all the way up, almost high enough that Stacy would be able to balance, at least for a moment, on the thin surface with her feet instead of her crotch.  But the lifting had stopped.  Stacy frantically tried to pull her feet up high enough, and nearly succeeded, but not in time.  She was falling again. 

THUNK!

The second time was much worse than the first, and Stacy nearly passed out.  She had heard and felt a crack though, and knew something was now broken.  She looked down and was horrified, but not surprised, to find that she was bleeding from her crotch. 

Tamera also heard the crack, but was face deep in another forced blow job so was not able to see the blood.

Sam, who had been quietly observing the goings on, noticed the blood and put his hand up to signal the torturer to halt.  He approached the trembling woman, and almost lovingly caressed her exposed thigh.  Stacy, whose injured pussy was still bearing her full weight, could barely see the man who was molesting her through the tears in her eyes. 

Sam motioned for the man holding the rope to lift the poor girl.  As she was lifted from the wood, Stacy felt the slickness of her own blood.  She was lifted, again by her bulging violet breasts, high enough that Sam could get underneath her.  The leader of the group pulled out a towel and cleaned some of the blood off; enough that he could get a good look at the injury.  There was no protruding bone, but there was a rather large cut on her left vulva.  He felt around the area in a clinical fashion, putting pressure on various bones, listening and feeling for an extreme reaction.  Pain, shame, and humiliation were all normal for a woman in this situation, but Sam was looking for something more.  He got it, too.  Suddenly, as Sam touched a bit further into her pussy on the left side, Stacy began going insane, making weird grunting whining sounds and twitching about involuntarily.  Then she fell unconscious.  Sam returned to that area and put a bit of pressure on it.  No movement, so the pelvis wasn't broken, but there was definitely something solid there.  Probably just a bone spur, maybe a fracture.  Nothing that would cause anything but pain to the girl, but they should probably stop slamming her for the moment. 

The leader told the man with the rope to lower her onto the ground; that they were done with her for the time being.  The man whom Stacy had involuntarily pleasured and was now relaxing in a chair in the back of the room groaned in disappointment.  Some girls lasted five or six slams before any serious injury, though there was the one poor thing whose pelvis had completely shattered, taking her hip along with it on the first trip down.   

Tamera, with her mouth again plugged and filled with cum, watched as her unconscious sister was lowered to the ground.  She could see the brunette breathing, so knew she had just passed out from the pain and was not dead.  Though she could taste the salty stuff in her mouth, she was still mostly worried about her sister.  She hoped that the men would avail themselves of her ready mouth and spare her poor Stacy any more agony.  Unfortunately for the two sisters, nothing could be further from the truth.

Chapter 2

Sam had a fetish, and it was a strange one even by this groups' standards.  He liked invisible injuries.  His biggest turn on was when women looked healthy and whole, except by the pain in the eyes and face.  So it was that, when Stacy was injured, Sam was ready for his orgasm. 

He nonchalantly walked over to where Tamara was kept, moved behind her and, much to her alarm, pitched the dolly back and wheeled her toward the nearest chair.  Tamara's arms were only dully throbbing now, and she wondered if they were turning black.  Luckily for her, they were only a deep purple. 

After he had parked the helpless woman in front of the chair, he sat on it.  Tamara was sobbing a bit, and trying to get a good look at the men.  Once she did, she wished she hadn't.

Menacing looking enough with his built frame and crew cut blond hair, Sam was particularly terrifying when looking at a girl with an evil, pondering half smile, as she kneels tightly bound in front of him.

“Bring me the iron, and put the slutty one over here beside me on the floor, and tie her ankles up on the wall,” Sam said, with a thoughtful voice.

Two of the men lifted Stacy while the other went rummaging through the cabinets to find the iron. 

In the back of her head, Tamara found it mildly ironic that if the men actually knew the sisters, they would say Tamara was the slutty one.  In fact, Stacy had only lost her virginity a few months earlier, while Tamara had been messing around with boys since she was 15. 

Stacy grunted a bit as she was carried over, but did not awaken.  The man who set her ass end on the ground was the same one who had been slamming her, and with perhaps a bit of vengefulness, he plopped her down rather hard, and jerked her left foot into the air toward a hinged cuff that was attached to the wall.  Another of the men did the same on the other side.  Though taller then her sister, her ankles still didn't reach from this position, and once both of her ankles were securely latched to the wall, Stacy was painfully perched on her lower back, her pussy looking up at the sky. 

Sam directed the men as they prepared the hapless woman, who was slowly beginning to wake.  He pointed at the one with the hardest looking dick, which was also the one who hadn't gotten a blow job from Tamara, and whispered to him what to do with the iron. 

Tamara looked on, wondering what they would inflict upon her poor sister next. 

“Alright cutie,” Sam said, grabbing Tamara by the chin and forcing her to face him.  He looked her straight in the eye as her sister began screaming beside him.  “You're going to give me the best BJ you've ever given, and you're going to do it quick.  Quicker than it takes an iron to heat up.  Or your sister's going to have a cooked cunt.”

Tamara looked over and saw the man, his dick buried up to the hilt in Stacy's virgin ass, smashing her injured vagina with the hot end of the iron and holding the cord near an electrical outlet.  Sam removed the plug from Tamera's ring gag.

“When I say 'go,'” Sam continued, “you start sucking.  The iron stays put until I cum, and then tell him to pull it off your sister.  Go!”

Tamara was taken completely off guard, almost choking on the dick shoved down her throat.  Normally a pretty decent cock-sucker, Tamara was at a loss as to exactly what to do without the use of her lips.      

The other men had basically skull fucked her, but Sam was waiting for her to do something.  The whimpering of her sister, however, convinced her to at least try.

She did, at least, have her tongue.  The blond closed her eyes and did her best to imagine herself in a different place, pleasuring a different man.  This was made difficult by the ever more insistent yelpings of her sister as the iron began to heat. 

Tamara ran her tongue along the base of her rapists dick, and then pulled it back to flick the end.  She could feel him react, and knew she was on the right track.  By alternating between circling the head of his penis, and flicking her tongue on the end, she was able to move him toward skull fucking her, which she facilitated with her tongue whenever possible.  She would've moved her head up and down his cock, but her head was still firmly buckled to the dolly by the gag strap. 

Stacy, by this point, was nearly hyperventilating.  Her vagina felt like it was melting while her ass felt like it was going to rip in half.  Her torturer was not even moving, content to watch the agony in her eyes and let her struggles bring him to climax while he simply sat there with his member buried deep in her backside.  The smell of burning flesh from the iron was intoxicating.

“Aaaaahhhh...” Sam said finally.  “Ok, you can stop boiling her now.” 

Stacy's torturer removed the iron, and the sight of her burned cunt, with blisters already forming, was enough to drive him to orgasm as well. 

Both men sat for a moment, resting, while both women mentally recovered from their most recent ordeal. 

Sam then removed his flaccid penis from Tamara's mouth, and gently pushed her back far enough to be able to rise.  The man who had violated Stacy set the iron on the floor to the side, and scooted back a bit, waiting to see what Sam would do next. 

Tamara was stuck looking at an empty chair, or her gently sobbing sister who sat, still bound and gagged, on the floor beside. 

Sam returned with something clutched in his right hand.  After making himself comfortable on the chair, legs on either side of the dolly-bound Tamara, he produced his latest torture implement.

“This is a needle, made of surgical steel,” he announced, showing it to Tamara, though Stacy was also watching as well as she could. 

Tamara wasn't impressed.  Of all of the things that had been done to them, of all the piercings she could think of, nothing could be as painful or horrible as what they had already done to poor Stacy.

Or so she thought.

“It's tiny, I know,” he said, as if reading her mind, “I mean, it's not even an inch long.  You've got to be thinking, 'what could he possibly do with such a tiny needle that would be worse than having my pussy burnt or crushed.'”

Now Tamara was beginning to worry.  Stacy had closed her tear soaked eyes, and was weeping softly to herself. 

“This needle is going underneath someone's fingernail,” he said, as Tamara's eyes widened in shock.  “The CIA says this torture, when inflicted for fifteen minutes, causes 'excruciating pain but no permanent physical damage'; but we're going to make it a bit more permanent.  We're not going to take it out.  Ever.”

Sam paused a moment to let this new information seep in.  Tamara was shaking, her eyes were closed, and tears seeped from under her eyelids.  This was Sam's favorite part.  The mental torture.  The ultimate in control.  And Sam was a master at it.

“Now, for each needle, there will be a choice,” Sam continued, after Tamara had recovered enough to look at him once more, though tears streamed freely down her face and her long eyelashes glistened with wetness.  “I suppose, theoretically, you could get through this with none at all.  It's never happened, though, and from what I can tell, the pain never really goes away.  I don't even know that it subsides.  I've seen women cradling their needled fingers while I...well, we don't want to spoil any surprises, do we?”

“Anyway,” he went on, “Tamara, you get to chose first, and for this one we'll make it simple.  This needle goes into you, or your sister.  Now, I know, sibling love and all that, the choice may seem obvious, especially having not yet experienced your first needle.  So I'm going to add to it a bit.  If you chose yourself, not only do you get the needle, but your nightmare starts tonight instead of tomorrow.  If you chose your sister, you get to sleep exactly as you are.  You can also chose to make no choice at all, in which case we will tape your eyes open and force you to watch as we remove your sister's arm with a hacksaw.  I'm not kidding, or exaggerating.  We'd like both your pretty limbs all intact, but we want your obedience even more.”

Tamara had already made her decision, but she wasn't sure how to voice it. 

“Now,” Sam continued, “I want you to blink once if you want me to put the needle in you.  Twice if you want me to put it into your sister.  Go.

Tamara blinked.  Once. 

Sam gave her a few moments to see if she would blink again, but she merely stared at him, fear and determination mixed in her gorgeous blue eyes, desperately searching his for a sign that he was kidding, or bluffing. 

She saw none.  To her, Sam's eyes were eerily normal.  They weren't hard, as one would expect of a mass murderer.  They weren't crazy.  They looked like any other man's eyes.  He could've been having a business meeting with her, except he was explaining horrendous torture, after having raped her orally, and she was strictly bound to a dolly with her mouth forced open.

“Okay, get her off the dolly, it's time to make her comfortable for the night,” said Sam, after shrugging.

Two of Sam's men began loosening Tamara bonds, starting with the strap that was biting into her stomach and the gag, as they were what connected her to the dolly itself.  Even her arms were unbound.  For a moment, Tamara was completely free.  Unfortunately, as her arms and legs had been smashed for hours, she had very little feeling in them, and could do little more than lay on the floor and try to un-cramp herself.

Her sister was still bound sitting with her burnt vagina pointed at the sky.  To Tamara, she looked as if she were asleep. 

Sam was directing his men on the construction of their latest contraption. 

Tamara managed to push herself to her knees, and get her jaw loose enough to speak. 

“Please,” Tamara said, very softly, as that was all she could manage.

Sam walked over to the shaking, barely balancing Tamara, and stared at her expectantly. 

“Please,” she repeated, a bit louder.  “Please le --”

*WHACK!*

Sam backhanded the abused woman so hard that she slid about an inch on the concrete.  Tamara was bleeding from her mouth, and an angry welt was already appearing on her cheeck.

“You will not speak unless told to,” Sam told her, “period.” 

He then grabbed her by the hair, and yanked her back to her kneeling position.  Again, he stared at her expectantly.

Tamara remained silent, and cast her eyes to the ground.

“That's better,” Sam said, and returned to inspect the work that had now been completed by his associates. 

One of the men lifted Tamara, who was limp and did not even try to fight, and dragged her across the room.  Tamara actually did attempt to walk, but her heels and their pace, mixed with her still weakened legs, made this quite difficult. 

Once in the proper location, one man held the limp woman in a standing position while another lifted her shirt.  Her bra straps were taken off her shoulders, slid down her arms, then left to hang her sides.  The bra itself was pulled down to nearly her stomach. 

Twine was produced, the same type that currently enveloped her sister's breasts.  Tamara's breasts were wrapped cruelly tight, and she, like her sister had been, was suspended from the hook that attached to the ceiling. 

“Stop there, let me put the needle in,” Sam announced. 

One man held her upper arm and wrist immobile while another gripped her soft left hand painfully tight between his thumb and forefinger, and pulled Tamara's own forefinger straight.  Sam approached, and with no ceremony, centered the needle under the woman's carefully manicured fingernail.

Tamara, in a daze, did not resist.  Until he pushed.

The man holding her arm and wrist had to shift to holding her wrist and waist as she began to spasm while screaming at the top of her lungs. 

And still, Sam pushed.  Slowly.

Tamara didn't speak; she only screamed.  Long, loud, and shrill.  Stacy watched from her position on the wall, dumbfounded. 

Then, the needle was fully embedded, the silver invisible under the nail, though a red streak was beginning to appear.  A single drop of blood fell from her fingertip. 

Tamara was shaking violently.  She had not expected it to hurt that bad.  It was, by far, the worst agony she had ever experienced; and it was still there.  She willed it away, willed herself to get used to it, for the pain to subside to the normal dull throb that pain always did.  But it would not.  The agony remained sharp, forcing the dull ache of her purpling breasts to the distant corners of her mind.

She felt her body being lifted, and the pain from her breasts began to fight the pain in her finger. 

A board with dozens of sharp, thin nails was placed under the blond's suspended feet.  Her shoes were then removed, and carefully set to the side. 

“Tamara,” Sam began, “Tamara, look at me so I can explain your situation.”

Tamara forced her gaze to the man in front of her, all but delirious in her agony. 

“There is a bar above you,” Sam said.  “Try grabbing it lightly with your hands.”

The tortured woman, swaying by her breasts, obeyed.  When she touched the bar, however, she immediately withdrew, her hands lightly pricked and bleeding.  There were nails on the bar above her head.  She shot Sam a dirty look as if he had somehow betrayed her.  One of the other men cuffed her wrists loosely to the chain above the bar so that her hands stayed near it.  Twice they brushed against her left forefinger, causing her to scream aloud.

“We're going to take some of the pressure off your breasts now,” Sam continued, “and then I'm going to bed.”

“Good,” Tamara thought through her pain filled haze, “because they sure do hurt.”

At nearly the same instance that she felt some of the tension slacken on her breasts, the blond felt the thin nails sink into the soft soles of her bare feet. 

She made a desperate noise, then remembered the bar above her head.  Her hands made a desperate grab for the conveniently located bar, and grasped it tightly, causing those nails to dig into the soft palms of her hands. 

“Ungh!” she screamed in pain and frustration, releasing her grip, again forcing her full weight onto her breasts and feet, and again forcing the nails under her to create new holes.

She remained in this position for around a minute, but the throbbing in her feet and breasts eventually convinced her to give them a break.  So, again, her hands were cruelly punctured.

“Good night Tamara,” Sam said, after watching the show for a moment.  “One of the guys is taking your sister home tonight, so you won't have to worry about her being hurt too bad...he'll probably just sleep with her and use her as a fucktoy for some of his buddies.”

Tamara, still hanging by her bleeding hands, shot a glance to where her sister had been bound to the wall.  She was no longer there, but in her place was a box with a locked lid that looked like her sister may have been able to barely fit into, if she curled up tightly enough.

One of the men lifted the box, and walked out of the door to the outside world with it.  The other two left using the same door.  Sam walked to an interior door and, before exiting the room, gave the quivering Tamara one last, long look. 

Her purple breasts were sitting below her scrunched up shirt, above her dislocated bra.  Her long skirt was still perfectly in place, leading down to her bleeding feet.  There was also a trickle of blood running down the inside of her left arm from her punctured hands.  Every time she would make a grab for the bar above her head, she would cry out and recoil with her left hand as pressure was put on her needled forefinger.  She wasn't gagged, but was not begging.  This one was smarter than normal.  She might would last a bit longer.

Sam was happy. 

He flipped the light switch, plunging the unfortunate woman into darkness, alone with her pain, and her choices.

As he closed the door, he heard a long, low, almost inhuman moan.

Chapter 3 – The Morning After (or, They Seem to Like Hanging Around)

“I smell pee pee,” said Sam, as he entered his dungeon the next morning, nearly 10 hours later.  He flipped the light on, and examined his latest catch.

Even though the nails were almost hair thin, they had put enough holes in Tamara's flesh that she had lost a dangerous amount of blood.  Though she had made an honest effort to hold her urine, in hopes that she'd be allowed to use a restroom in the morning, once she had gone unconscious, her body had simply let go, and there was now a decent amount of urine on the floor underneath Tamara's feet. 

For this exact reason, the dungeon floor was made of concrete with recessed drains.  Therefore, it was nothing for same to grab the water hose and spray everything down, which he did, while whistling.

Tamara did not wake, but Sam wasn't concerned.  She was pale from lack of blood, but as soon as she had gone unconscious, she would've let go of the bar above, thereby putting pressure on her feet, which would cause those wounds to clot fairly quickly.  Her hands, being above her head, wouldn't have accounted for enough blood loss to cause concern.

After the floor had been sprayed off, Sam, still alone in his dungeon, as he would be for the next few hours, pulled on the rope attached to Tamara's breasts.  Up she went, her dark purple breasts stretching.  The board remained attached to the undersides of her feet. 

Once he had enough clearance to remove the board, Sam tied the rope to a nearby anchor.  The board slid off her feet, and again blood began dripping, but only from the most recent holes. 

While Tamara was still swinging slowly in the air, unconscious, Sam used the opportunity to remove her shoes, soiled skirt, and hose. 

He then let her down; slowly, so as not to aggravate the wounds on her feet, and let her crumble naturally onto the concrete floor. 

Taking these clothes with him, Sam went into one of the many attached walk-in closets.  He dropped these clothes in a semi-airtight hamper, which would soon be destined for a dry cleaner friend that was compensated well for not noticing urine and blood stains. 

In fact, he'd been compensated just the previous night by Tamara's own mouth.

Returning from the closet, he carried a special set of shoes and leather mittens, a handful of small padlocks, as well as a large bottle full of a yellowish green liquid. 

Sitting, cross legged, on a relatively dry section of the floor, Sam opened the bottle and set it aside. 

He set the seven inch heeled ballet style shoes on the floor, then poured in a liberal amount of the liquid.  Then, curling her leg at the knee, he crammed and shoved each foot into a boot, being sure to lose as little of the fluid as possible.  Once both feet were secure, the tops of the boots, which were very low, only barely touching the bottoms of her ankles, were buckled and locked. 

No matter how much she wanted those boots off, which she certainly would, for reasons other than that they were a size too small, they would be staying on for quite some time. 

He then removed her blouse and bra, being careful not to get them bloody with her hands, and, after checking the blouse's tag delivered them to another hamper.

When he returned, he took the time to examine the beautiful blond. 

Her hands, still covered in blood, were free, and they were beginning to move a bit as she slowly moved toward consciousness.  Even in her current state, she still flinched and jerked her finger back any time she brushed the one with the pin in it against the floor. 

Her calves already looked to be cramping a bit from the extreme position of her feet, and her breasts were still tightly bound, remaining a relatively safe deep purple. 

There were bruises on her cheeks and stomach from the straps that had gouged them. 

Though looking a bit used, Sam surmised, Tamara still had some fun left in her.

As soon as her eyes began to open, she winced and made a half hearted attempt to grab her foot.  Her breathing, which had been steady and rhythmic, though shallow, was now shuddering. 

Being left handed, she attempted to push herself up on her left hand, only to fall back down, clutching her left hand with her right, moaning.  She opened her eyes to examine, and was reminded of her ordeal by the tiny silver point under her nail.

Though they were not quite as painful, her hands were pockmarked with tiny holes, caked over with dried blood. 

The most intense pain, however, was coming from her feet.  Laying on her side, she curled a bit to examine, and noticed Sam was sitting nearby, watching with interest. 

Her feet were encased in locked, leather boots that forced them into the most awful position.  There was no way she could stand on those heels; especially not with her feet hurting like they did.  The raw, intense pain of having nails forced into their soles repeatedly had been replaced by an excruciating, sharp agony.

“Jalapeno juice,” Sam said, lifting the bottle so that she could see.  “Also salt, and some lime juice.  I keep it around for wounds such as these.  I don't believe all that crap about it making them heal faster, but it does keep them disinfected, and also hurts like hell, if your face is any indication.”

A car horn sounded outside.

“Hmm, I wonder if that's the boys with your sister, or the doc?  I hope it's the boys.  I had something I wanted to show you two before the doc got here...” Sam said, presumably to Tamara, as he stood and walked to the exterior door and opened it.

She wondered if he was always so sociable with his victims.  She assumed he probably was. 

Tamara considered screaming help, or something, since the door was open, but knew it would be pointless.  He wouldn't have the door open, otherwise.  Here she was, sitting there nearly unbound, door wide open, yet it was impossible to escape. 

And he'd done it so easily, so simply, so...ritualistically. 

She tried, instead, to see if she could remove the shoes to give her feet some relief, if only for a moment before he put them back on and slapped her across the room again.  It would be worth it, the way her feet felt.

Unfortunately, the boots were locked, and were so small on her feet that they wouldn't budge in any way. 

“It's your sister,” Sam said, conversationally, causing Tamara to lean over to see the two big men carrying the wooden box between them. 

“Go in the bathroom there and poop,” Sam said, gesturing at the nearby open door, but still watching the men carrying the box.

As he'd heard very little movement, he turned to see what was slowing her.  She looked like she was trying to stand.

“Crawl, dumb-dumb,” he said, as one would to a child, “you're not going to walk in those, not now, probably not ever.” 

So she crawled. 

In front of the toilet, no doubt put there on purpose, was a body length mirror.  Tamara cried a bit as she looked at herself, and tried to put her head in her palms, but recoiled at the shocking pain, especially from that damned pin. 

She considered pulling it out, throbbing as it had been all night, but there would be no telling what the consequences would've been.  She doubted they would really go so far as to cut off Stacy's arm, but really didn't want to test it. 

Her breasts looked unreal.  So unreal, in fact, that the reality of those dark purple things on her chest being her own tits simply did not sink in.

She didn't even wash her hands.  After a bit less than 24 hours in this place, she didn't know if Sam wanted the blood to remain on her hands, so left it where it was. 

“He certainly knows how break someone's will,” she thought, though honestly believed that he wasn't particularly trying.  This all seemed so natural to him.

“Tamara,” he called out, “no stalling.  Come say 'hi' to your sister while I go get you some clothes, and that thing I wanted to show you.”

Tamara, afraid of worrying her sister, did not want her to see her in this state.  She wiped as well as she could with her throttled hands, wondering at just how soft the toilet paper was, then crawled out of the restroom.

The men had apparently unloaded Stacy onto the floor, not even bothering to bind her, and left.

She was fully clothed, just as she had been the day before, minus the panties, Tamara assumed.  That was about the only good she could say for her sister's condition.

She had two black eyes, one swollen almost shut, as well as a busted lip.  She held her head a bit to the side as if she were having problems balancing, even though she was kneeling. 

Her clothes, as well as her face and hair, were completely covered in dried semen.  Her mouth was partially open, and Tamara could tell by this and the marks on her cheek that Stacy had been subjected to a ring gag recently; likely all night. 

Her legs, which were generally a lovely shade of tan, were almost solid black and purple, with various five-point bruises indicating where hands had brutally squeezed, and likely held.  Her throat looked similar. 

Peeking out of her skirt, as she knelt with her legs slightly spread, were two large, cylindrical metal objects that very obviously plugged her two holes.  Each had a loop on the back, and a chain running through them that connecting to a chain that tightly constricted her stomach.

Had they gang raped her all night, as it certainly appeared, Tamara found herself hoping they hadn't used the natural hole.  Being raped with a broken and melted vagina would be...beyond horrible. 

Tamara scraped her way across the concrete to kneel, as she figured was expected, beside her sister, nearly falling twice from being dizzy, even though she was only on her knees.  It seemed she was still lacking blood.

Sam announced that he had something he wanted to show them, and that they were free to talk to each other as long as they were completely silent when he came back in to the room.

When he left, Tamara thought, for a very brief moment, that this was some sort of great opportunity.  But then she realized...she had nothing to say.  She wasn't alright.  Her sister wasn't alright.  She had no plans of escape.  What would they possibly talk about?

“We're going to die, aren't we Tam?” asked Stacy, suddenly.

“I don't know, Sissy,” replied Tamara, using the name she had used as a little girl without even realizing it.

“I think so,” said Stacy, with a bit of a lisp, likely from some of the bruising around her mouth.  “I think...I think if they let women go, they would've been caught.  They'll have to make us disappear, somehow, or we could turn them in, right?”

“I...I don't know, Sis.  Maybe they're just really good at hiding.  Or maybe we're just across the border in Mexico or Canada or something, and they're safe as long as they don't go into the US.  Maybe --”

“Tam?” the younger woman interrupted.

“Yeah, sis?”

“I want to die here.  I...I don't want to live after this.  I can't.”

For the first time during their conversation, Tamara turned to look at her sister, just as Sam came through the door with the object that he had so badly wanted to show them.

Stacy turned her head and vomited.

Tamara covered her eyes, oblivious to the fact that she had just slammed her pinned finger into her forehead, and screamed for nearly a minute straight. 

It was, at that moment, that Tamara also decided she would rather die in that room than continue living.