GirlFun for February 2004
Katharsis Dot Net
F02GF F00S S97D #52 / 21 pages

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31 December, 2003

Dear John,

I like to ima­gine I am strap­ped to a table, (work bench, oper­at­ing table, etc.), face up, legs spread, gen­i­tals ex­pos­ed. I like this posi­tion be­cause it is a good one for pro­long­ed work (sev­eral hours to sev­eral days), and it works for geni­tor­ture, as well as tor­ture of the ab­do­men, chest, head, etc.

It is some­what in­con­ven­ient for ass work, but this can be ac­com­mo­dat­ed by rais­ing the legs with an over­head hoist or stir­rups when re­quir­ed. It also pro­vides a good view of the fun, which is very im­port­ant to me (I like the idea of being forced to watch my­self be­ing muti­lat­ed). Note that in one of the pic­tures the man's head is held in posi­tion look­ing down over his body, and in the other a mir­ror is placed above his head to pro­vide a view of the action.

There are a number of scenarios that I like to imagine which could place me in such a position -- I could be in the basement workshop of a serial torture killer, having been abducted off the street. Or, I could be in a high tech torture clinic -- a subject of medical experiments to develop new and better torture methods. Or perhaps I could be a political prisoner, who having been determined to know nothing of value, has been tuned over to the sadistic prison doctor for his amusement. Whatever the setting, I am always completely immobilized, unable to move at all, and totally unable to defend myself against what is done to me.

I am also forced to erection, using vasodilators injected directly into my cock to make it easier to torture (plus I love the look of an erect cock getting fucked up!). Yes, I know that tourniquets can achieve the same effect, but if used for the length of time that I fantasize about a tourniquet would cause unacceptable loss of sensation and tissue damage.

What is done to me is the stuff of nightmares. I love electro-torture, so there is lots of that -- using clip on electrodes, various probes inserted into body orifices (especially the urethra), electrified needles, etc. There are also a variety of different types of electrical generators used, both AC and DC, some with automatic programs to control the voltage and frequency of the shocks, others under the control of the torturer. Electro-torture would be used to cause pain, burns, muscle spasms, and also to make me ejaculate over and over, until my balls were drained dry and the ejaculations became painful by themselves. There would be many long hours of intense electro-torture, until I was reduced to a screaming, sobbing, mindless wreck. In fact, one of my favorite fantasies is to have my cock actually cooked alive at the end with electricity -- watching it swell to huge size as the steam built up inside, feeling the buzzing of the current, and smelling the cooking flesh would be intense!

Of course, electro-torture would only be one part of the experience. I also like burns, and my preferred instrument for administering them is a small, low wattage electric soldering iron with a pencil tip. This would deliver tiny, precisely controlled burns with a minimum of nerve damage, making them especially painful. It could be used throughout the torture, as the burns are very small and a man has lots of skin surface area. I think it would be especially intense to have my erect cock or tightly bound scrotum decorated with a pattern of burns, but there are plenty of other places where it could be used as well.

A variation on the soldering iron is to replace the tip with a long needle (like a hat pin or an ice pick). Now it can be used to pierce and burn meat, whether a cock, ball, nipple, or large muscle mass like a leg or abdomen. Another variation I like is to use a long, thin rod in place of the tip, so that it can be forced down my urethra to burn the inside of my cock. The rod can even be enhanced with spikes, hooks, blades, etc., to really fuck up the lining of the urethra while at the same time cauterizing the wounds to prevent excess bleeding. My torturer uses all of these devices, and more on me during the torture.

I also like cutting, especially in the latter part of the torture. Early on some of the less important parts (i.e. fingers, toes, etc.) might be cut off , or even better yet skinned and the meat sliced off the bone. As things progressed I would lose my nipples, eyelids (the better to have to watch), maybe an ear or two, etc. Strips of skin would be stripped from my chest, abdomen, legs, and arms, and the wounds cauterized. But the main event would be saved for close to the end of the torture -- the skinning and dissection of my cock and balls.

This would take place after they had been extensively tortured with other methods, of course, and the skin had lost most of its sensitivity to pain as a result of burns or electrical damage. They would be forced to erection again if necessary, and the skin would be stripped off the shaft of my cock (but not the head) as slowly and painfully as possible. My scrotum would also be slit open, the testicles moved safely out of the way, and it too would be cut into strips and removed. Now my bare genitals would be tortured further, with lots of electro, piercing, burns, etc. delivered right to the raw meat. After quite a bit of this, the dissection would proceed.

I assume that you are familiar with the anatomy of a cock, but I'll give a brief recap just in case. The cock is actually formed from three fleshy tubes of meat, bound together by muscle fibers. One of these tubes, the Corpus Spongiosum runs down the bottom of the cock (the ridge on the underside of an erect cock) and is partially surrounded by the other two, which are both known as Corpus Cavernos. The Corpus Spongiosum broadens out to form the cock-head, and the urethra runs down the center of it. The other two tubes form the top surface of the cock (you can feel the depression where they meet with your finger when you are hard).

Anyway -- one of my favorite fantasies, which is illustrated in the "Recliner" JPG, is to have the three tubes cut apart and tortured individually. This should be possible to do with minimal blood loss, as there are no major blood vessels connecting between the tubes. In fact, given strong enough drugs to force blood to flow into my cock, it might actually be possible for me to remain erect during and after the procedure, to enjoy the fun as more electro and burns were applied to the individual tubes.

At the same time, lots of interesting stuff would be happening to my balls as well -- heavy duty piercing, very heavy electro (no concerns about nerve damage at this point), slow crushing between spiked plates, or maybe cutting them open and scraping out the insides with a dental pick.

Once my cock and balls were of no further use they could be cut off (in small pieces) or left attached for me to stare at in horror as I was finished off. I have lots of different ideas for how I would like that to go too -- but generally I prefer painful, bloody ends.

Asphyxiation or hanging just don't do it for me -- I would much prefer slow disemboweling, impaling, complete skinning alive, being sawed in half (lengthwise, please), a good long session with a propane torch, or any combination of these. I noticed that you are into beheading -- I could get into that, but would prefer that it be done slowly, perhaps with a dull, rusty saw, rather than a quick, clean chop with an axe.

Well, that should give you an idea of what I was thinking about as I produced those drawings. They are illustrating various intermediate stages in the scenario that I have just described. In both cases, the man on the table (me) has already been subjected to some heavy duty torture, but has plenty more in store for him before the torturer lets him die.

In my first E-Mail to you, I mentioned that I thought men were more vicious than women, more familiar with what really hurts. You said, "Our views of viciousness are contrapositives -- I'm mostly gay ... and I think women are much more vicious than men ... doing things to men other men would never do."

Now that is interesting! As I said, I don't have a firm preference as far as the sex of my torturers, but I have found that women are generally more into power exchange and "sensual" dominance than men, whereas men tend to be more into causing pain and damage. Of course there are always notable exceptions, I know several women who are extreme sadists, and I didn't mean to imply that they don't exist, but on the whole I think I would stand by my contention that in general men have a greater capacity for cruelty than women. I am, however, willing to keep an open mind and listen to opposing viewpoints, especially if they are illustrated with examples or artwork...;)

You wrote,

Interesting scenario... with many possibilities. With men in such abundant supply, men could be used for all sorts of "amusements."

I have a sometimes fantasy where women have taken over the world, and are busy exterminating men. Of course, with several billion men to get rid of, it would be a very large project. They set up production lines to do the work, sort of death factories. Each man is gagged and secured spreadeagled to a pallet, then run down a conveyor belt past a series of stations, each "manned" by a woman who operates a variety of torture machines and robots.

At the first station, the men's cocks are mechanically or electrically milked, and the semen collected to provide the basis of future generations or women. At subsequent stations the men are subjected to a variety of excruciating tortures, to make them pay for their heritage of abuse and degradation of women.

I imagine the factory as having dozens of identical lines side by side, with the men having to watch and listen to the struggles of men on other lines having the same things done to them (and having to see what is waiting for them at the next station, too!). I can see the women chatting nonchalantly among themselves about the weather, their girlfriends, etc. as they strip the skin off the men's cocks or drill out their urethras, completely oblivious to the agony that they are causing.

Finally, after a long trip down the "disassembly line" lasting several hours, the men are fed into a giant grinder that chews them (still alive and screaming) into hamburger, with the remains used as animal feed.

You wrote,

Hmmm... Gladiator scenes are not my thing -- not that I have anything against them, they just don't do it for me, sorry. It has to do with the nature of my personal fantasies -- I am always tightly bound (even immobilized) and totally helpless as I am tortured -- being able to fight for my life would be a turn-off. I know that lots of guys are into this, but I just can't get excited about it. Now if I was suspended from a framework in the arena, and slowly and methodically tortured to death for the amusement of the audience, that would be a different story...

You wrote,

Very impressive, and I know how difficult that is -- among my many jobs, I am also editor of my company's newsletter, an eight page bi-monthly. We rarely come out on time, but that is due more to the requirements we have to deal with for both internal and external review. I don't imagine that you have that problem, being both editor and approval authority.

I do write (when I have time), though usually with one hand, and you know how that goes...;) I am enclosing a story that I wrote -- it is definitely a one handed effort, but I did do some cursory editing with both hands, and it seems to be reasonably coherent -- let me know if you like it and want to use it. If you do, I will need to check with DebiJean (the author who wrote the original piece that I adapted) to see if she wants her name to appear in print or not, so please check back with me before printing it. The original story was very different -- had a female as the victim, and about the only things that I retained are the design of the chair and some of the torture devices.

Well enough of that ... here's the story.



the Torturee

the Show

watch out for those encores!

inspired by "The Chair" by DebiJean, adapted with permission.

The late night air was hot and steamy, full of the smells of farm and earth as we drove through the Mexican countryside in a Mercedes touring car. The windows were wide open, a damp 40 mile an hour breeze blowing over my face, but it could not cool my heated anticipation.

After so long searching, so many false leads, so many dead end trails, I had finally found what I was looking for — I hoped. The man driving, whose name I had never learned, had assured me that tonight I would see another man tortured to death. It had taken six months of waiting even after I made the connection, and the payment of an astronomical sum, but at last I was here, and in a short while I would be watching the ultimate spectacle.

When we finally arrived at the compound after a two hour drive through the darkness it took my breath away. The place was huge — a sprawling complex of adobe and wood buildings on top of a hill, ringed by a barbed wire and chain link fence. We drove in through a gate, past two guards armed with submachine guns who stood smoking cigarettes in the yellow glow of a Mercury vapor floodlight. They checked us closely, then let us pass up the road to the compound.

As the guards had checked us, I noticed that they wore the patches of the Mexican State Policia on their uniforms. That confirmed my suspicions that this particular operation was connected high up within the Mexican Government, a fact which made me feel safer. We wouldn't need to worry about the show getting raided. We drove up to one of the buildings — a long, low wooden structure, and the driver parked the car.

We got out of the car, and went inside through a door in the end wall of the building. The first thing that hit me was the air conditioning. It must have been about 60 degrees inside the building, despite the fact that it was already crowded with people . Then I looked around, and got very excited.

The building was set up like a theater, with rows of plush seats facing a low stage, lit by high intensity spotlights mounted near the ceiling. Several people were working on the stage, assembling a kind of chair from steel pipes and wood.

The man who was going to be tortured was there, naked, tied hand and foot and gagged, and forced to watch as the workmen assembled his instrument of execution. He was Mexican, maybe 20 years old, with a very lean, smooth, almost hairless body. He had golden skin, a thick black head of hair, and was very good looking, in a rough sort of way. This is going to be good! I thought to myself, as I found a seat near the front.

After checking out the star of the show, I turned my attention to the chair that the workmen were building. It looked very evil, and I felt my anticipation rising as I saw all the unpleasant things that were being prepared for the young man.

The seat of the chair was an old toilet seat, that had one inch long wood screws penetrating through from the bottom side, so that about three-eights inch of the screw point was exposed. The entire seat had been filled with them, so that when he sat on it they would pierce his skin, not only in his ass, but along his thighs as well. The seat had been cut in two, and hinged in back, so that after sitting on it his legs could be spread apart. It was mounted on cross rails that were connected to the pipe frame.

Higher up along the back of the frame, a triangle wedge shaped piece of wood was mounted cross-wise, making up the back of the "chair". When seated, the sharp edge of the wood would press into his back, just below his shoulder blades.

At a point level with the seat on both front legs of the frame straps were attached, to fasten his knees to the pipes. Below them was another set for his ankles. On the back of the chair, straps were positioned to wrap around his torso at the waist and just below his chest, and wrist straps were attached high up on the back pipes, so that his hands would be bound up over his head. It was obvious that once he was strapped in, he wasn't going anywhere!

Hooks were then put on the outside edge of the back, and enema bags hung on them. A double burner hot plate was hooked up with pots of water set on them to be used in the enemas.

Another bracket was installed between the pipes, underneath the seat, and a torch was set into it and adjusted for height and position so that when he sat it would be aimed right at his ass. The torch was then removed, so that it wouldn't be in the way until it was needed.

A table was placed next to the torture device, and knives of varying sizes were placed on it. There were also several small saws, candles, large needles, pins, pliers, sandpaper, etc. placed on the table. There were also a number of short lengths of steel leader wire of varying lengths, each with a barbed fish hook on each end.

My guide told me that they had started torturing the man the night before. They had kept him awake all night, making him drink soapy water so that he'd vomit, giving him repeated enemas with soapy water to clean him out, and using sandpaper and a cattle prod on certain areas of his body to make them extra sensitive . All of this, he said, was just to prime him for what was to come.

I looked at the man up there, and saw the fear in his eyes. He knew what was coming, knew that the night of hell he'd just been through had been a breeze compared to what was about to happen to him, but there was nothing he could do. He was totally helpless, at the mercy of his captors, and they would show him no mercy, I was sure. I felt strangely excited, as I studied him watching the final preparations being made for his torture.

What excited me most, was that he knew that he wasn't going to survive the torture. It was obvious from the equipment being set up that he was going to be tortured to death, and he had to know that. I wondered what was going through his mind — what scared him more, the fear of dying, or the fear of what was going to happen to him before he died?

The seats were full of people who, like me, wanted to see him abused and had paid handsomely for the privilege. Most seemed to be Americans, like me, but some were wealthy Mexicans, and I even heard a few distinctly European voices — a smattering of German here, a wisp of French there, It seemed that people had come from all over the world to this Mexican hilltop to watch this young man die. I wondered if he had any idea how much money his captors were going to make on his agony?

At last the preparations were done, and they brought him up to the chair. He fought, and struggled, and made pleading noises behind the gag as several strong men undid the bonds on his ankles and picked him up like so much baggage. The room was silent in anticipation, as they forced him down on the spiked seat. They pushed him down firmly onto the screw points, then pulled his legs apart and fastened them at the knees and ankles. Then they tightened the straps across his torso, and his arms were then jerked up over his head, and his wrists locked into position. The wedge in his back made him arch his chest out uncomfortably, and I suspected that this was so that his nice, brown, hairless nipples could be abused.

He continued to struggle and make frantic sounds, even after secured. The room fell quiet, conversations hushed out as the speakers turned their attention to the show about to begin. I was glad that the theater was dark, because I quietly unzipped my fl y and started to slowly stroke my already rock hard cock. I knew I'd have to pace myself, I didn't want to cum until the moment the man died, but this was making me so horny!

Then the men left the stage, and the lights dimmed for a minute. There was dark silence for several seconds, then an ear-piercing scream rang out and the lights came up suddenly.

There were now two women on the stage with the man in the chair (whose gag had been removed), and they were naked as well. They had fairly nice bodies, though they looked hard and mean as hell — like a couple of old Mexican hookers who had found a more profitable line of work. I was so busy checking out the women, that I almost missed the reason the man was screaming. One of the women was holding a pair of pliers, and grasped in the jaws was one of the man's fingers! I looked at his hands, bound above his head, and saw that blood was pouring from the stump of his left index finger. The woman had literally ripped it off with the pliers!

The woman tossed the finger out to the audience, where someone caught it eagerly, then applied the pliers to the next finger on the hand. In short order she twisted and tore all nine remaining fingers off both of the man's hands, throwing each grisly souvenir to an audience member.

That got the crowd fired up. They had tasted blood, and now they wanted more. I almost felt sorry for the poor bastard in the chair — if this crowd had it's way he was going to suffer like he'd never imagined.

The other woman picked up the propane torch, and lit it. Then she started applying it to the stumps of the man's fingers, as he screamed like a banshee. At first I thought she was just torturing him, but then I realized that she was also burning the stumps to stop the bleeding, so that the man would last longer. Geez! I thought. This guy is really gonna get it!

Next the women turned their attention to his nipples, as I had suspected. They each took one side, and began by sticking several large needles completely through each one. He screamed at that, but he screamed more when they each stuck one of the fish hooks attached to a steel leader through a nipple and pulled them out away from his ribs.

As he made the most horrible noises, the women sunk the other hook on each leader into the man's knees. This stretched his nipples so far that I was sure the hooks were going to tear out, but somehow they held. Then, one of the women picked up the propane torch.

She started out slowly — just playing the blue hot flame lightly and quickly over each nipple, raising dozens of tiny blisters. The man screamed like he was dying, but that just excited her more, and she brought the torch back for another pass over the tortured flesh, then another and another. Soon his once brown nipples were black and charred, and the sickly stench of burned flesh filled the air. The man looked like he was having a heart attack — his eyes were bulging out, his tongue was protruding, and he was making gagging noises as he apparently tried to vomit but couldn't.

There was a brief interruption, as a man — a doctor, I presumed — appeared from off stage and gave the victim a large shot of something. Whatever it was, it seemed to bring him back to his senses without dulling the pain at all, as he immediately began screaming again when the two women sliced his burned nipples off, using serrated knives with a sawing motion.

Bright red blood streamed down the man's smooth, brown chest, until the woman with the torch once again seared the wounds with the torch and stopped the flow. The man didn't seem to enjoy that at all — he screamed so hard that he pissed all over the floor.

Pissing was, as it turned out, a very bad idea. It drew the women's attention to the man's cock, and that was too bad for him. One of the women called something out in Spanish, and the doctor reappeared, with another hypodermic. This time he injected something directly into the man's cock, and began to massage the organ with his fingers.

To my amazement, the man's cock began to get hard. Whatever the doctor had given him seemed to be producing an erection, and in less than a minute the cock was standing at full attention. Then the doctor wrapped a rubber cord tightly around the base of it, forming a tourniquet, and nodded to the woman.

The woman began by inserting one of the fish hooks into the man's urethra, and pushing it out through the ridge on the bottom of his cock. He screamed real good at that, which was also a bad idea, because the second woman grabbed his tongue with the pliers and pulled it out and down a couple inches, forcing the man's jaw into his chest. Then the first woman pulled the man's cock up with the steel leader, and sank the hook on the other end into the stretched out tongue.

The poor bastard was really fucked now. He had to keep his head down and his tongue stuck out as far as possible to try to take some of the tension off the hook in his cock. If he pulled his head up or his tongue back in, he would literally rip one of the hooks out — either from his cock or his tongue. And I had a feeling that he couldn't hold that position and scream at the same time.

The women must have suspected the same thing, so they decided to see if they could make him scream real good. One of them took one of the enema nozzles, and jammed it into the end of his cock. I don't know how she made it fit, but somehow she did, and she forced it in a couple of inches before she opened the valve that allowed boiling hot water to flow into the man's cock.

He screamed, of course, and though he fought to keep his head down, I could see the hook in his cock pulling harder and harder at the flesh. A tiny rivulet of blood ran down the shaft from the hole the hook was in, which increased every time his head tried to jerk up. He fought for at least a minute, and seemed to be winning the battle, until the other woman grasped one of the big needles in the pliers, heated it red hot with the torch, and then slowly pushed it through the shaft of the man's cock.

That did it. His head snapped back, a spray of blood flying as the hook in his tongue ripped out, and he screamed bloody murder, which, of course, was what was happening to him.

By this time, I was incredibly excited. It was all I could do to keep from humming, and I had to stop stroking my cock for several minutes as the two women took turns pushing red hot needles through the man's cock. They used a dozen or more — I lost count, and he sprayed more blood all over as he screamed. Then, with all the needles and the enema nozzle still in place, they used the torch to burn the skin and reheat the needles over and over.

After that, the man required another visit from the doctor with his magic stimulant solution to bring him from the edge of unconsciousness. I'm sure he wished he'd stayed there, because as soon as he revived the women removed the needles and started skinning his cock alive.

It was the most incredible thing I've ever seen. They used the pliers to pull the badly burned skin away from the shaft, and a small, sharp knife to cut it away in strips. They removed his scrotum too, leaving the grayish globes of his testicles dangling down between his legs.

At this point, the man was well beyond pleading for mercy. He screamed every once in a while, when something really hurt, but the rest of the time he just seemed to watch what they were doing to him with a sad, crazy look on his face. I wondered what he was thinking — what it would be like to watch your own genitals being skinned alive. Was he still sane enough to understand what was happening, or had he gone completely around the bend?

He could certainly still feel pain, though, as was demonstrated when the women each took a testicle and pushed a fish hook through it. His head snapped back, his teeth gritted, and his eyes bugged out as his whole body shook. Then they pulled the testicles up sharply — further than I would have thought possible — almost to the level of his ruined nipples, the slick gray cords stretching and threatening to rip out of his body entirely. They sank the fish hooks on the other ends of the leaders into the man's underarms to hold them there, as he convulsed with pain. Then, still not satisfied, they started working on the testicles with the needles and torch.

I almost couldn't watch. I felt my own testicles trying to crawl up inside me, and yet my cock was rock hard and dripping with precum. This guy was being put through pure hell, and they weren't done yet!

Finally, after many long minutes, they decided that his testicles had taken all the abuse that they were capable of. They were stuck full of needles, and badly charred from several close encounters with the torch flame. I half expected them to cut the now useless lumps of meat off, but they left them where they were instead. I would find out why shortly.

Now one of the women pulled the enema nozzle out of the cock, and bloody, steaming liquid shot up into the air from the ruined organ. The man breathed a visible sigh of relief, apparently thinking that the worst was over, but he was very wrong. Holding the cock up with the pliers, the woman used the torch to char the entire surface of the skinned organ. Then, using a small hand saw, she cut it in half lengthwise as blood poured out. Next, she burned the inside with the torch too, until the whole thing looked like a badly burned, split open hot dog. Finally, she cut the two halves off in small sections, and tossed them to the cheering crowd.

The man had reacted to the torture of his cock as expected, with screaming and futile struggle against his bonds. He was clearly aware of what was happening — he kept looking down at his cock as the woman worked on it and screaming in Spanish, but he was also obviously weakening. He must have been in shock by now, despite the injections that the doctor had given him. Still, nothing that had been done to him so far was really life threatening by itself. If they stopped now he would very likely survive, though as a horribly mutilated cripple. But that was about to change.

One of the women grabbed another enema nozzle, this one with a retention balloon on the end of it, and reaching underneath the seated man shoved it deep into his ass. As soon as she had the balloon inflated, sealing his ass shut, she started the flow of boiling liquid into the man's bowel.

He practically levitated off the chair as the scalding fluid filled his colon, and his scream was truly horrible. I knew that his colon was history in a matter of seconds — it must have been boiled alive inside him! But it didn't stop there — the heat f rom the water must be slowly spreading inside him — damaging other organs as well. Now this was a killing injury — without prompt medical attention he would be dead in a short while. And I knew that there was no chance of him getting medical care. My excitement grew even greater, and I began to stroke my cock faster.

What he did get was even more torture. One of the women straddled his lap, sitting facing him, a small knife and a fish hook in her hand. The other woman twined her fingers into the man's thick, dark hair and pulled his head back as far as it would go. The woman with the knife used the fish hook to lift the man's eyelids up away from his eyes, and then the knife to cut them off.

With the man's eyes thus exposed, they began a series of tortures on them that made my toes curl in horror. It began with them using a small, stiff bristled brush — like a toothbrush — to scrub them. I really felt for the poor guy — the way he howled was pitiful. He tried to move his head away from the torture, but the woman holding it was surprisingly strong and would not let him. After a couple minutes of this, when his eyes were surely ruined by the scrubbing, the woman on his lap used the fish hook to spear one eyeball and pull it partly out of the socket. As he jerked and convulsed in pain, she used the knife to cut the small muscles holding the eyeball in, and pulled it completely out, stretching the optic nerve tight.

I could hardly believe it when she began poking the bleeding eyeball with a long needle. At first she just poked it lightly, but he jerked in pain with every jab of the needle. Then she pushed the needle completely through, blood and clear fluid squirting out briefly as the needle went through. He screamed, then screamed again as she did it with a second, and then a third needle. She put a total of six needles through the eyeball, the last one going right through the pupil and out the back. Then she left the eyeball hanging on his cheek as she did the same to the other eye.

Now came the worst part of the ordeal. The woman took a large needle with a strong cord attached to it, and threaded it through the man's eyeball. She tied the ends of the cord carefully, so that it wouldn't pull out, then passed the needle and cord through the man's ruined left testicle, still held on his chest by the fish hook.

Now I understood why they had left the testicles attached. Pulling on the cord, the woman drew the eyeball and the testicle together, forcing the man's head down against his chest again. He struggled a bit, but had no real choice in the matter — the only alternative would be to rip his own eyeball out, and that would have been even more painful. When the eyeball and testicle were pressed tightly together, the woman wrapped the cord around testicle and tied it off. Then she did the same thing to the other eye and testicle, and stood up to admire her handiwork.

The man was an incredible sight. I could hardly believe that he was still alive and conscious, but his occasional jerks of pain and pitiful soft pleading in Spanish left no doubt that he was. The two women began to masturbate as they watched him struggle helplessly, and I realized that the end must be near for the man. But there were still a few more indignities that he would have to suffer.

After masturbating silently for a couple minutes, one of the women pulled the enema nozzle out of the man's ass, and hot steaming water squirted out in a steady stream, scalding his anus as well. The man hardly noticed however, but he definitely noticed it when the woman placed the propane torch in the pre-positioned mount, directing the blue flame right at the poor man's anus.

He screamed, of course, and his head tried to come up but was stopped short by the tension on his poor ruined eyes. He had no choice but to hold his contorted position as his ass-hole was burned to a crisp. The women masturbated furiously now, as did most of the audience, myself included, as we sensed the final moment approaching. One woman picked up a long, serrated knife and sat in his lap again, while the other grabbed his hair. With their free hands they masturbated, until they were on the verge of cumming. Then, suddenly, the woman standing jerked the man's head back, ripping his optic nerves out of his brain. His body spasmed wildly, as the other woman began sawing through his exposed neck with the long knife.

The man must have realized what was happening. I wondered what was going through his mind as she sawed his head off — was he glad the ordeal was over, or were those spasms a last, futile attempt to save his own life?

Whatever the case, in about thirty seconds the woman had sawed completely through the neck, and the standing woman held the head up for all to see as the crowd cheered. Blood fountained out of the man's neck as his body convulsed in it's death throes, and drenched the woman sitting in his lap, who came instantly. I came too, hot, steaming cum shooting out of my cock and arcing through the air a good three feet before hitting the floor. Like the blood it just seemed keep coming and coming, easily the greatest orgasm of my life. I almost didn't notice it when the standing woman forced the severed head between her legs and used it to masturbate, rubbing the man's lifeless face against her cunt until she came violently.

When it was finally over I collapsed back into my seat, drained and exhausted. I could not believe what I had just seen. I hadn't been sure what to expect when I made the arrangements to come, just that I would see a man tortured to death. I had never expected anything like that! The level of perversity, the incredible torture that he had endured, left me wondering if this might not all be a dream.

The voice of my guide woke me from my reverie.

Then I realized that he had not masturbated during the show, and I wondered about it. "Does this kind of thing not turn you on?" I asked him, puzzled.

I could hardly believe my good luck! Another show like that would be incredible!

I was amazed at the prospect of someone surviving that kind of torture for four or five hours. I had almost felt sorry for the poor bastard in the first show, but now I understood that he had gotten off lightly — his torture had lasted barely an hour, though it surely seemed like more to him.

I smiled back at the guide.

I stared back at him, uncomprehending, for a second, before I realized what he had said. But it was too late already, as I felt the strong hands of the men who had quietly moved into position behind me grab my arms and legs, and lift me out of my chair....

©1997, 2000, 2002, 2004 Katharsis Dot Net™

click on animated GIF for eight drawings by the author

Author's introduction