Until you become a permanent member of the devil community, the disadvantages of Hell may seem to outweigh the advantages. The humiliation, the suffering, the indescribable agony are worse than I, for one, had ever imagined. Given my particular likes, though, it became really quite enjoyable for me after a while.
Once you pass all those tests, though, and are accepted as a fully fledged devil yourself, a lot can change. Only if you want it to, that is. Of course, the tests are pretty severe. You see, because you are actually DEAD, in other words, your life on earth has terminated, you cannot die again. You just live on for eternity. We are all immortal here in Hell, though there are occasional exceptions.
I left my life on earth in excruciating pain at the hands of a gang of drug addicts. It started as a simple mugging and ended up with me in a pool of blood, my blood. During the several hours of torment preceding my demise I had been subjected to the perverse sexual and physical abuse of my murderers.
It was the fact that I was enjoying the mistreatment, or some of it at least, and kept ejaculating while they tortured and mutilated me, that probably made them get madder and madder. That attitude of mine certainly helped me succeed, actually excel, in the tests I was subjected to here.
When I arrived in Hell I was, miraculously, complete again. My cock and balls which had been cut off just before I died were intact. My broken limbs had been healed. My missing fingers and toes were back in place, manicured and pedicured. All bruises and lacerations were gone. I was in as perfect a shape as I had ever been. And, in spite of the much worse treatment I have suffered in Hell, I am still in great shape.
You see, no matter what is done to your eternal body, it will automatically and instantly regenerate. The regeneration is painless. But, despite being immortal you can, and do, feel pain, more pain than would be imaginable on earth. Without the brain shutting down, there is no ability to faint. So, as long as it is being inflicted, the pain cannot be avoided.
For those masochists amongst us, this is as much paradise as it is for the sadists. Sadists can continue to inflict the most extreme abuse on masochist subjects, such as me. We subjects certainly demonstrate the extent of the pain with our screams, but we do not pass out. Death is then simulated once the body can no longer sustain minimum faculties.
Immediately after the abuse ceases, which may not be the actual moment of death, regeneration occurs. The subject is instantly available and ready to suffer all over again. As a bonus, we do not tire, and this cycle repeats itself ad infinitum.
As I said, death might not automatically initiate regeneration. Some sadists like to abuse the body after it has died, and this aspect is still available -- we simply do not regenerate until the sadist has completely finished with us. Soon as he has finished, we regenerate.
Despite such repetition, do not think that it is boring here. Far from it. The nature of this place is such that at any time I or any other devil wishes to play out any particular fantasy, everything required becomes instantly available. If I need a sadistic Master, he is there. If I need two, or three, or more, they will appear the instant I think of it. If the scene calls for other masochists, the right number is ready to commence exactly when I am.
Something that may really surprise you is, we also have the choice to become human again or remain as a devil. In my case, I prefer the human body. The agony is somehow enhanced by the psychological influences which are absent in the devil format.
As a devil I feel the physical agony, but with very limited effect on the mind. In a human body, I can sustain the same extreme level of physical torture and abuse, with the bonus of truly human mental feelings and emotions. The human body does tend to shut down a little earlier, but that minor disadvantage is more than adequately outweighed.
There are also Serendips in Hell ... a congruence of circumstances that bring many devils together. We prefer to call the coincidental congregation of like minded devils a Communion of Experience. There is no manipulation by Our Master of Hell. Somehow, each of us involved in a fantasy feels the urge at the same instant. In this way, all ingredients come together in concert. This Communion works on the grand scale and on the small scale. So, no matter what scene I wish to experience, I can do so. At the same time, all of us involved derive our own particular form of satisfaction from the activities, each in our own individual way.
Let me give you some examples of the type of activities I particularly enjoy.
One of my favorite scenes involves two masochists and one devil sadist. In fact, this is just a reenaction of one of my tests before being promoted to devil myself. I still find the experience immensely pleasurable. Almost always, when I play this scene, the other masochist and the devil sadist are the same as in that very first test. But each time, subtle differences in our actions and reactions create the effect of novelty. It is like a new scene every time.
The two of us masochists face each other across an open pit. Our necks are in nooses pulled tight so that our toes can only just touch the edge of the pit. I am armed with a knife. My opponent has an axe. A single devil sadist stands behind me. On the devil sadist's signal, the other masochist and I attack each other across the void.
He hacks away at my arms and abdomen. I plunge my knife into him. We can barely scream, the nooses are so tight across our throats. The devil stands behind me shouting encouragement. I feel his gigantic phallus slide into my rectum, stretching me almost to the point of tearing my anus lips apart. The pain from his invasion is barely discernible by now, though, because of the multiple wounds inflicted on me by the axe.
Blood spurts from numerous parts of our bodies. The axe slices through my abdomen. The devil sadist, still plowing into my rectum, starts to pull my intestines through the gaping wound. I continue to stab into my opponent's belly with one hand while dragging his intestines out with the other. Pieces of bowel hang from both bodies, blood pours into the ground below.
Eventually my knife arm is severed by the unrelenting axe. The arm drops into the pit, the knife clattering as it strikes the ground. I have already disabled my opponent's left arm which can only hang limply by his side. The agony is savage. A real living being could not endure it. But as we enjoy eternal life, so can we suffer these ghastly experiences for as long as required.
The devil sadist bellows as he spurts his seed deep inside me. He rips the rest of my intestines and throws them into the pit. He hangs onto my body, the abdominal cavity now virtually empty. The devil sadist pushes me forward. I swing from the noose. He pulls my opponent forward so that he, too, is swinging over the void.
The devil's erection did not abate. It will not, unless he wishes it. He resumes his thrusts, in and out. This results in a tightening of the noose, effectively cutting off my air supply. The devil sadist pulls my opponent closer. Our faces touch. Our mouths are open as a result of the asphyxiating nooses. Out protruding tongues brush against each other. Our eyes are bulging from the pressure. We look at each other in desperation, though neither of us is really seeking relief.
Our faces are pulled together by the devil sadist. My tongue slides into my opponent's mouth. His tongue enters my mouth. The agony is so excruciating, yet so erotic. The sensation of strangulation is so realistic. We are both fighting a losing battle for breath. We hang there, mouths locked in a bizarre death kiss, each of us trying to gain some small pleasure from the encounter. At the moment that we both drift into yet another simulated death, we simultaneously ejaculate.
His semen gushes against my body, mine spills across his. It drips down our twitching legs, drops onto the bloody mess in the pit below. The devil sadist again ejaculates inside me at that very same instant. We two masochists pass into temporary oblivion. When we recover, we are again complete, uninjured. We are ready for more. As a devil, or as a human again, the choice is ours.
There are many variations on such a theme. In one, I am one of three masochists being tortured by four devil sadists. I am again hanging, a noose tight around my neck. Facing me is another masochist, also hanging in a noose. He has one foot on the floor, the other is pulled up and to one side of his hanging body.
The devil sadists first invade us with a gigantic dildo, one after the other. This stretches the anus until the lips split. It is extremely painful, and causes us to try to scream as the hard dildo forces its inflexible path into the rectum, even breaking through the colon wall. The dildo tears our tender anal membranes and stretches our sphincter muscles to distortion. Our screams are attenuated by the nooses around our necks, but still we can make some sound.
One devil sadist replaces the dildo in the man opposite me with both of his thick arms, clad in studded elbow length gloves. His arms thrust in and out of the man's rectum, ripping any previously undamaged parts to shreds. At the same time, another devil slowly cooks the masochist's foot with a candle.
Meanwhile, the dildo has been pulled from my ravaged anus and replaced with a devil sadist's massive penis. My ankles are pulled uncomfortably apart and upwards behind me. This means that my weight is shared between the noose and my outstretched legs. The devil's phallus plows in and out of my rectum. Opposite me, a gauntlet appears, bursting through the masochist's lower abdomen.
The devil sadist behind me pulls a piece of small intestine from the gap in the other man's belly. He pulls it out towards us. When he has pulled enough out, he passes it around my neck. I hold one end, as instructed. The other masochist also holds a piece of his own intestine. We cannot scream now, the increased pressure of the rope prevents us. Our gaping mouths can emit little more than rasping gurgles.
On the floor, a third masochist is being castrated by another devil sadist. The devil is ripping the squealing man's colon apart with his bare hand, thrust deep inside the rectum. One by one he chews the man's testicles, wrenching them away from the masochist's writhing body. After the testicles, the devil chews off the man's penis. The unrestrained man makes no attempt to stop the devil sadist's destruction of the masochist's genitals.
The third masochist's screams help compensate for the fact that the other two of us can barely be heard. The agonized wails and shrieks from the man on the floor accompany the more severe treatment we are forced to endure, unable to express ourselves audibly. The smell of burning flesh is overpowering as the candle cooks the wriggling foot of the man hanging opposite me. A devil sadist eats the tender foot meat from the masochist who has somehow managed to retain motor action.
The foot turns slightly, the toes, some with very little meat left, flex. The devil sadist grins at his colleagues. The toes are bare of flesh, but the tendons are still intact. Watching the skinned toes flex through my own intense agony strangely reminds me of a skeleton in a horror movie.
The masochist opposite me does not know from where the overpowering pain really emanates. His anus and rectum destroyed, his intestines torn apart and spilling to the floor. Now his foot, cooked and eaten while still attached to him. The studded gauntlets tear a wide hole in the man's belly. The rest of his guts spill out from the hole and from his anus once the sadist's arms are removed.
My devil sadist cuts a slit from my rib-cage to my navel. He is still pumping in and out of me as he uses his hands to pull the skin and muscle apart. After he made the cut he handed me the knife. I hold it in a trembling hand, awaiting instructions. The devil slowly peels back the skin to expose my undulating intestines. The agony is indescribable.
I hold the knife under my scrotum as instructed by the devil sadist. At the instant my insides drop in a wriggling pile to the floor, the devil sadist bellows and spurts his semen into my rectum. He gives me the order and I thrust the knife up and into my own scrotum. I keep sawing, careful not to let the knife near my rectum, which holds the devil's penis.
When I have cut my genitals right through so that they drop, joining my intestines in a heap, the devil sadist recovers the knife and keeps hacking away at my legs, buttocks and back until I pass into temporary oblivion. Of course, I recover immediately, as do the other masochists and we are all set for another session. We can even get to frolic around in our own intestines and blood if we want. The mess only disappears when it is no longer required.
Another fantasy I enjoy playing out does not include a devil sadist. Two of us masochists engage in a knife fight. We stab and cut each other's body. We gash legs and arms. We plunge blades into abdomens, slice cheeks and foreheads. The sharp steel finds its way into muscle and skin, sometimes grinding against bone, before we are ready for the next stage. It is then, with our blood spurting from a dozen wounds, that we embrace each other.
We press our bodies close together. His penis will find a wound in my abdomen or thigh. It will slide in easily. I will locate a similar wound in my opponent. As we rock in rhythm, we kiss passionately. Our orgasms approach in synchronism. We enjoy simultaneous ejaculations. At that very same moment, I plunge my knife between his buttocks, his knife plunges into mine.
Without breaking our kiss, we rip each other's anus and rectum to shreds. We scream together, the sounds absorbed in the kiss. Each of us tears the other's belly open. Our intestines spill to the floor. Mouths locked, we drop to our knees. Unable to remain upright, we topple over into the slimy bowels. Until we pass into oblivion, we remain embraced, kissing, laying in the bloody mess of our own innards.
One particular masochist devil I often practice this with shares my enjoyment for playing with the mess afterwards. We have been known to enact this scene a dozen times, each occasion seeing a bigger pile of bloody intestines amassing on the ground. Afterwards, whole again in human bodies, we roll around in the slimy blood and gore, kissing and embracing, entering each other or sucking each others bloodied genitals. That might sound pretty extreme to you on earth, but there are no limits here. Why not enjoy what you really like?
It is a very great and rare honor to be called to serve Our Master of Hell. The summons is instantaneous. You appear before Him in whichever form he wishes you to take. The last time I was lucky enough to be summoned, I found myself in a human body which had been developed in some rather special ways. I had been adapted for absolute self eroticism.
For instance, my nipples were very large, quite like udders. The strange part was that they could secrete a substance with the texture, color and odor of semen. As they secreted, the sensation was identical to an orgasm. The feeling spread throughout my chest, instead of my groin. When combined with the more normal sensation of genital orgasm, the result is so violently erotic that it defies description.
I stood before my Master while hooded monks worked on my body. My nipples were squeezed, milked you could say, in a continuous orgasm. My penis was aroused, but a finger was pushed into the urethra at the moment I started to ejaculate. My testicles were squeezed, my penis stroked, yet I could not eject the seed which was still building up inside me.
I moaned with erotic agony as the pressure built up. Hands roamed all over my body. A rod was thrust into my anus and pumped in and out. The monks all ejaculated into their hands, and offered me the semen to swallow, which I did eagerly. The pressure inside my penis to ejaculate was intense, even though I was experiencing an uninterrupted series of orgasms from my nipples.
He clapped his hands, the monks disappeared. I stood, semen spurting in great arcs from the recently unblocked urethra. My nipples oozed their secretions which dripped down my body. The rod had been removed from my anus. He beckoned me forward. I fell at His feet. I paid homage to my Master, to his feet, up his powerful legs. I took His gargantuan member into my mouth and was immediately rewarded with a gush of His tangy semen.
I found myself lifted up, and impaled on His phallus. I gasped as my rectum succumbed to the gigantic invader. I was facing Him, but could not look into His face. He took my nipple into his mouth and sucked. Each time he sucked, I experienced a new orgasm in my nipple. He repeated this with the other nipple. My penis was spurting an incessant flow of semen from an unceasing climax. My whole being was in orgasm.
I felt my Master's member grow larger inside me. My body at first adapted to the swelling phallus. But the hotrod kept growing, longer and thicker. It forced its way through my intestinal walls, my anus split apart. Yet the penis was still growing. The pain was so utterly ferocious as to be unbearable for a human.
But I was a devil in a human body and must endure the savage agony for the pleasure of my Master. To confuse the powerful emotions coursing through me, the ejaculations from my nipples and penis combined to engulf me in a total aura of violent sensuality. My eyes were drawn to His. I saw two dark pools of emptiness. His mouth opened, wider and wider. It became a gaping cavern into which He drew my head.
I was still experiencing unrelenting orgasms which continued even after my Master bit off my head, even after He ripped my body into pieces which He swallowed. Regeneration is generally instantaneous but the absolute intensity of that experience delayed my regeneration for a little on that occasion. I long for the next time that Our Master of Hell calls me to serve Him once more. That is the ultimate in total experiences.
The variety here in Hell is limitless. Perhaps this place could best be described, in earth terms, as one long continuous orgy of sexual and physical excess. Here we do not consider it to be excess, however, but by human standards it most certainly is. Very few humans could survive more than a few minutes under conditions that we consider mild.
Our love for Our Master of Hell is infinite, but so is our love for each other. We are all part of Him. He wants us to enjoy whatever we do, in His name. We do not always need to exercise our sensuality in the most extreme ways. Just lying around, making love to each other, is sufficient enjoyment for some. All devils are not classified simply as sadists or masochists. Some like occasional such activities, many never engage in them. Even I enjoy non violent sexual love on occasions.
We are true devils then, mostly. But I, and many others, often like to assume human form to immerse myself in the eroticism of Hell's superior lovemaking. Before long, though, the urge to suffer overcomes me. I must submit myself to more use and abuse. I must allow my body to be tortured, destroyed, in order to attain satisfaction and fulfillment.
Many options are available to me. We are allowed to revisit earth quite regularly. These are missions, normally. We can elect to recruit humans however we wish. Some devils like to befriend suitable humans and gently persuade them that eternity in Hell is not the penance so often taught. Others frighten or cajole people into opting to join us.
In my case I like to combine my earthly trips with a bit of good old human fun. I put myself in a position to become a victim. I manipulate my human contacts into harsher, more extreme actions, far beyond their own imagination. The great part is when my body dies. I love to watch the reactions. These vary from the arrogant satisfaction of taking a life, to guilt and remorse.
When I am ready, I make the body disappear. This always has an unsettling effect. Only then do I communicate with him, or them, mentally. What you would call ESP. That is how I, personally, recruit new applicants. Believe me, it can be very great fun for an immortal masochist like me.
One time I ran into a couple of petty crooks who were lying low in a remote forest. They were violent, and had injured a lot of people, some seriously, during muggings and robberies. Until then, they had not actually killed anyone. I knew that they were turned on by inflicting pain and injury. I had every intention of exploiting this.
It was dawn when I wandered into their camp. I rekindled the fire, warmed up some coffee, and started to cook breakfast. Only then did they awake. They were pretty mad at first. I was wearing only tattered cotton shorts, no shirt, underclothes or shoes. I begged them to let me eat with them. I had not eaten for two days since being robbed as I camped off the main road.
They both noticed my deliberate erection as I recounted my tale. They agreed that I could eat with them, as I was cooking. I asked if I could stay for a while, offering to do anything they wished in exchange for a chance to recuperate from my experience. I served breakfast as they sat on a rough wooden bench. One of the men, Mitch, told me to remove my shorts.
I acted embarrassed, but one sharp word and I slipped the torn shorts over my feet and kicked them into the fire as instructed. The other guy, Eddie, accidentally spilled the remains of his breakfast into his lap. I eagerly crawled over to him on my knees. I lapped it all up, making sure that my expert tongue liberally bathed his swelling penis. As I did this, Mitch moved behind me and I felt his erect member pushing against my anus.
I moaned in ecstasy, taking Eddie's phallus into my throat at the same moment Mitch entered my rectum with a single, far from gentle, thrust. I quickly had these guys wild. After they had been sated sexually, they started to get violent towards me. Just as expected, they began hitting me with their belts, kicking and punching me. I screamed and begged, but my erection did not falter.
This made them more violent, and they made their next move. They pushed me onto my back. A rope was passed across my throat and tied to two tent pegs hammered into the ground. Another rope was wrapped around my ankles and secured in a similar way. They laid into me with tree branches and belts, but still my erection refused to subside. Mitch got so mad that he pushed a broken tent peg through my upper arm, impaling it which resulted in some paralysis.
He enjoyed hearing me scream, and was determined to make my penis soften so he drove another spike through the right arm. In the meantime, Eddie had grabbed two small cleavers. He threatened that unless I stopped ridiculing them, that is the expression he used, by staying hard, he would chop my genitals off. Naturally, I had no intention of allowing my erection to abate.
I pretended that there was nothing I could do about it, my words just sniffles through my moans and sobs. Eddie held the cleaver over my right hand. I watched, a look of horror on my face, as he brought the blade down. One by one he chopped off the fingers of my right hand at the knuckle. He did the same with my left hand. I begged for mercy, but he just laughed and chopped all ten toes off, too.
Eddie knelt down beside me, the bloody cleaver in his left hand. With his right hand, Eddie brought his erect penis out from his shorts and began to masturbate. Mitch knelt astride my legs. His evil leer caused me to ejaculate. This drove him crazy. Mitch picked up the cleaver and brought it down into my solar plexus.
I screamed as he hacked away at my abdomen. Blood splashed off the shiny blade and spattered all three of us. Eddie watched, entranced, stroking his member, drinking in the scene of my agony and torment. Mitch dropped the cleaver and began to pull my intestines out from the jagged wound. Miraculously, he had not castrated me, and so I was able to ejaculate again.
No normal human could have survived thus far. But I was, of course, no ordinary human. I was experiencing the physical pain, and the mental anguish, but also the sensuality of it all. Mitch shouted at me as he dragged my intestines out and laid them across my face. Blood dripped into my mouth which was open in a silent scream.
Eddie moved closer. He ejaculated over me. My eyes were filled with terror as Mitch also ejaculated over me. Then the two of them urinated into my abdominal cavity. Mitch even defecated in there. I was still alive, which amazed them. Actually, it was beginning to frighten them. Only then did Mitch chop off my genitals and stuff them into my throat.
In my human body I could have endured the pain a while longer, but the lack of air made me succumb. Cool as you like, after a couple of minutes for them to recover their composure, Mitch and Eddie dug a shallow grave and unceremoniously dumped my torso, and the bits they had cut off, into it. I let them cover me with soil, before making my corpse vanish. They were unaware that the grave was now empty.
It was as they relived the experience, guzzling the last of their beer, that I communicated with them. The two of them were ideal recruits for Hell. I did such good sales job on them that they immediately gave themselves up to the police. After a quick trial in which they pleaded guilty to a number of murders, which they did not commit (remember, my body had disappeared by then) they were sentenced to the electric chair. The police were happy to be able to close some old cases, and to be rid of scum like them. Mitch and Eddie are now very active members here and I get to suffer at their hands quite regularly.
It is not always possible to goad people that far. I once had a great time on earth with a gang of bikers. For three months (earth time, that is. There is no concept of time in Hell) I was forced to serve the entire gang in almost every perverted way imaginable. But their violence was controlled and never got out of hand. Still, that did not detract from the experience. Even though I often longed for more extreme abuse, they were nice guys and I enjoyed staying with them.
To meet the gang I contrived to be hitch hiking down a deserted country road as they drove by. As usual I walked barefoot wearing only an old torn pair of skimpy shorts. The bikes roared past me, then returned. The leader called me over to him. I stood next to his bike and became erect. He groped inside my shorts. The moment his gloved hand touched me, I ejaculated with a loud moan.
That was all the introduction I needed. On his command I straddled the bike, my arms around his broad back, and we were off. Their camp was nearby and we arrived in a swirl of dust. I was immediately relieved of my shorts and put to work around the camp. As I cleaned the bikes, tidied the bedrolls and prepared dinner, I was constantly interrupted by gang members probing my anus and groping my genitals.
The fact that I was constantly erect became a subject of great mirth. When the conversation came around to how they could deflate my rampant penis, I thought they would soon grab hold of me. They did, but what they did was put my feet into a pair of motor cycle boots and pull a Tee shirt onto me. My shorts reappeared and I found myself more dressed than when I had arrived on earth.
My erection bulged through the thin fabric of the shorts. I was made to service each of the cyclists, orally. I was forbidden to touch my own genitals. After a few portions of semen had slid down my throat, I ejaculated into the shorts, to a roar of mock disapproval. The shorts were ripped off me once more and stuffed into my mouth. I tasted my own semen and sucked hard to savor it.
I stood behind a motorcycle and I was pushed forward, my buttocks at the back edge of the saddle. My wrists and booted legs were tied either side of the bike to the pedals. My genitals, penis still erect, were squashed uncomfortably underneath me. The worn leather saddle began to feel good against my body. In spite of the discomfort, I ejaculated again. The sticky liquid spread out between the saddle and my lower belly.
I received a number of light lashes from a leather whip. It was only a token punishment. For several weeks I remained in this position except for two daily exercise periods. My anus and mouth were available to every member of the gang whose penises I tasted in one or both orifices several times daily. My back was whipped as regularly, but relatively lightly just like that first time.
I received my food on the motorcycle, usually by licking it from an erect penis. I was forced to eat feces, and drank little other than urine. During my twice daily exercise periods I was allowed to urinate and defecate, then wash myself off in the stream running past the camp.
Then I would collect the water to fill the buckets and clean up the campsite. Before being put back onto the motorcycle, I had to lick the saddle clean. I ejaculated so many times each day that my dried semen was thick on the worn leather. Towards the end of my stint on the motorcycle, they did not bother to tie me in place. I voluntarily remained in position so long as I was ordered to.
By then, winter approached. It would be too cold to remain camping. The gang was moving to their house in a slightly warmer area at a lower altitude. I spent the entire journey, almost ten hours, in my regular position. The gang leader sat on my back. Every time we stopped, I became the depository for the semen and urine of each gang member. It was amazing that we saw nobody else on the road. Still, we were in a remote part of the country, far from any settlement.
The gang house was a rambling, dilapidated cottage in a small clearing. It had a well which fed water into the house, and there was a large fireplace which heated the single room. I chopped and carried firewood as well as kept the cottage clean. The sexual gratification of all gang members rested with me, a chore I accepted with enthusiasm.
Winter set in and it became quite chilly. Because I had to bring in firewood, I was permitted to wear boots. I was not allowed any other clothing. This would encourage me not to tarry outside, I was told. In the evenings I would often be expected to entertain the gang. This always entailed some degree of pain, but with these guys it was never excessive.
For instance, one evening I was suspended by three chains hanging from the rafters. One chain was wrapped around the base of my genitals. Each of the other chains was hooked to rings which had been inserted behind my nipples early on during my captivity. The strain was almost unbearable and I had to help support my weight on my hands.
I was ordered to keep my feet clear of the floor, which was very difficult. In order to assist me, a candle was placed under each thigh. Every time my leg began to relax and drop lower, the flame would sear my skin and remind me to keep my legs up and clear. As I was hanging there in increasing discomfort, the gang leader began tormenting my body.
The whip was used to elicit a few entertaining screams, though the marks were only pink and light. A number of clothes pegs were fixed onto my testicles. It was then that he pierced the end of my penis, right through the urethra. I almost lost my handhold when the pain washed over me, but the tugging in my nipples helped me recover quickly.
Still hurting from the piercing, the leader worked my anus with his hands. He used a lot of lubricant and I anticipated his next move. My anus had been so used over the past weeks that it rarely had the opportunity to dry out. My rectum was always filled with plenty of semen. The entry of one finger was enough to lubricate my anus lips from within.
Whatever he had in mind, that it required lubrication warned me that I was about to be invaded by something pretty big. I expected a fist, and was not disappointed. I groaned as the knuckles forced their passage past my sphincter. I cried out in pain as I ejaculated, the semen stinging my new piercing.
No sooner had I grown accustomed to the invading fist than I felt more work around my anus. I wailed and sobbed, pleaded for mercy. The leader knew that I could take it. So did I!! Soon two muscular arms were wriggling about inside my rectum. One hand felt around the bend in my colon. The leader gently pulled his forearms apart, stretching my anus lips.
The pressure was too great. I ejaculated again, to the delight of the whole gang. One of the members moved closer. He slipped his hand between the leader's slightly opened forearms. I was being stretched almost to the point of splitting. Gently they withdrew. I was lowered to the floor and that night I was allowed to sleep on the carpet in front of the fire.
My tender anus was entered countless times during the night. Each occasion was with great consideration. I was also called upon to service many gang members orally. They were tender and thoughtful, even to the extent of sucking me to a number of climaxes. That had never happened since I met the gang.
During the next few nights my anus was developed and stretched. Then one evening, I was told that I would take a foot. I was scared, tried to protest. I was silenced. If I would not take it voluntarily, I would be restrained. In any event, I was about to have a foot inserted into my anus.
It was actually easier than I had imagined. The careful preparations with two, then three arms had made me ready. Very soon I had accepted the foot of every gang member inside my rectum, once even a foot still wearing a boot. I found these experiences erotic and exciting. Since time immemorial, the worship of feet has been a sign of submission. By enveloping a foot with my anus, as well as my mouth, I demonstrated my way of worshiping and submitting.
The gang leader decided that the next stage in my anal development was to insert a foot between two arms. I was sure that this would be impossible, that my anus lips would split apart and I would die of infection or blood loss. Again, the leader was right. I was able to accommodate all three limbs.
With one member's two arms buried up to the elbow, another man stood ready to insert his foot. My anus was manipulated and massaged. When the lips were sufficiently pliable, the two arms were held slightly apart. I watched with some apprehension as the foot was positioned between the two forearms. The foot pointed down, the toes against my anus.
The arms were pushed in, slowly, carefully, As the forearms disappeared into my rectum, the toes entered, too. I cried out as the erotic agony hit me. They kept pushing. I rolled my head from side to side. I begged them to stop, to withdraw. I did not mean it, and they knew that. When the arms were buried to the elbow, the foot was right inside me, to halfway up the calf. While they waited for me to become accustomed to this new sensation, I climaxed with a soft, satisfied moan.
Another gang member lay alongside me and encouraged me. He told me that I could take two feet. I was not sure, but I did not try to refuse. While the two arms and one foot were moved around inside my full rectum, the next member offered his feet to be worshiped. I sucked his left foot, covering it with my saliva. The member whose hands were inside me sucked the right foot. They were showing me that foot worship can be a mutual affair.
His two feet covered in our saliva, the man was ready to enter me. The foot was removed carefully from between the arms. The arms came out in a slow action so that my sphincter did not try to lock tightly closed. I was lifted up and a foot placed against my anus. I slipped in quite easily. More lubricant was used on the second foot. I cried out as it entered me. They let me go. I lowered myself onto the two feet.
Sweat dripped from me and trickled down my body. I sat down on the legs until the feet were pushing painfully against my colon. By now the legs were inside me almost to the knee. I felt his toes wriggling inside me. The flexing of his calf muscles massaged my prostate. The man to whom I was joined so intimately picked up my own foot. He sucked at my toes, letting his tongue flicker between them. It was too much for me and I had a noisy orgasm.
He kept sucking at my foot while another member pushed his hand into the man's anus. This brought him to a gushing climax. After several sexually overpowering hours in variations on this position I was gently lifted from the two legs and given a chance to recuperate.
It was after another night of attentive pleasure that I decided to return to Hell. I still call on the gang now and again. They will join me here one day, I am sure. Though not as vicious as some, they will be at home here, and I shall enjoy reliving old times with them.
The ability to adopt different physiological appearances is often quite useful. I have returned to one particular man on earth several times. Each time I have been a different person. After he has finished with me, always by murdering me, we have a little talk. He needs no convincing that he should come to Hell. It is simply that he is having such a good time on earth he is in no hurry to die.
I never reveal my identity until after I am dead. He does not know whether his next victim will be me, or a real man. That is a lot of the fun, he tells me. After all, I was not his first victim, and so he had already prequalified for a place in Hell. I enjoy the fact that he is a committed murderer whose chief pleasure in life is killing his victims in as painful and terrifying manner as he can devise.
On one of my sojourns on earth I met this guy in a deserted part of the old docklands. Of course, he did not know that it was me, nor did he really care. I was walking along the dimly lit street towards him, though he did not know that I was aware of his presence. When I drew alongside the doorway in which he was lurking, he stepped out in front of me. I acted scared, which my human body actually was.
He grabbed me, pulled me into the doorway and in seconds I found myself handcuffed. He opened the door and pushed me forward into the dark passageway. Only when he had closed the door did he turn on the light, a low power red lamp at the other end of the corridor. I trembled as he pushed me forward and through a door at the end.
The room was as dimly lit. Without saying anything, the man produced a knife. I stifled a scream. He simply cut through my clothing. I was soon standing naked, and barefoot once he made me kick off my shoes. It was cool in that room, yet I was sweating, and my shivers were from fear, not the temperature. He opened a trap-door in the floor and beckoned me to descend.
We went down two flights of wooden steps until we landed in a deep basement. Only then did my abductor speak. He told me that I could make as much noise as I liked, he was counting on it. But that nobody, not even anyone passing right by the warehouse above, could hear. The basement was absolutely soundproof. He then described how he was going to kill me.
I thought that he looked at me a little strangely, sort of questioningly, when I became aroused at his description. He just shrugged, though, when I started begging for mercy, and pulled me over to the rough stone wall. He released the handcuffs and made me stand, feet apart, with my back against the cold, damp stone.
The man asked me if I understood my position. With a trembling voice I told him that I did. I admitted that I was scared, knowing that I was about to die. I sobbed, begged him to spare me while telling him that I would take any abuse, any torture, if only he would let me live. The man laughed, the wicked, eerie sounds echoing around the walls.
Then he made his usual offer, though he did not know at that point that I expected it. There was absolutely no possibility of being released. My life would end in that basement. Of that there was no doubt. However, I could make my death easier, less painful if I cooperated with him.
As the man spoke, his eyes looked deeply into mine, trying to read my mind. Occasionally his glance would drop to my fully engorged cock, returning quickly to lock onto my own, frightened, look. I dropped to my knees. I embraced his muscled legs, begged for mercy. I took his stirring phallus into my mouth. He let me grovel for a while.
Then he repeated his earlier question. Would I cooperate, or must he restrain me for the forthcoming torture and death? With a reluctance felt only by my human body and mind, certainly not by my devil being, I sobbed my agreement. He allowed me to lick and suck his balls, which undulated in his low hanging sac. After a few minutes, the man announced that it was time to begin.
I rose to my feet unsteadily. The man led me to a noose which hung from an overhead beam. I stood on a small rock, just a few inches in diameter and three inches high, situated beneath the noose. The man was gentle in his movements, but I knew that this would be short lived. I followed his instruction, placing the noose around my neck. He pulled it tight, and snugged the knot behind my ear. Then he turned a handle on the wall.
I found myself being pulled up by my neck. The noose tightened, restricting my breathing but not cutting off the air altogether. My hands reached for the rope, to try to relieve the pressure. The man growled a warning, my hands dropped to my sides as ordered. When my toes were barely able to take some of my weight by resting on the tiny rock, he locked the handle. The man watched me for a while.
He watched me struggle to relieve some of the pressure on my windpipe by trying to push my toes into the rock. He watched the more intense inner struggle to keep my hands by my sides, when I had an almost overpowering desire to release myself from the torment. I concentrated, very hard. I was still fully erect, fluid oozing from the slit in the end of my hard member.
I heard the whistle of the whip only a fraction of a second before the stinging sensation raced across my back, right into the pain center of the brain. My scream was muffled by the noose but was still pretty loud. I lost my rather tenuous footing, which restricted my breathing even more. My toes groped around in a desperate effort to locate the low rock. I found it and was able to take a little of my weight on my feet again.
The next blow was less of a surprise, but again I lost my footing for a few seconds. By the time the whip bit into me for the fourth time, I had managed to become more stable, and my toes remained on the rock, as firmly as was possible considering it was so small. The pace of the whipping was slow but erratic. I was never able to anticipate just when, or where, the whip would land.
The man was able to keep this up for a long time, his action never really becoming too strenuous. My whole body was sending alarm signals to my brain, and I knew that I was a trellis-work of red, blue and black stripes. Several times the hard leather tip of the bull whip flicked into my scrotum, which was swelling noticeably. Yet my hard cock remained at full attention, despite a number of ugly gashes and bruises inflicted by the whip.
At no time during this ordeal had my hands moved from my sides. Indeed, the concentration required to fight the instinct for defense or relief went a long way to blocking out much of the pain from the whipping. While the man rested, my body began to relax. Now that I was not so intent in self control, the pain became more intense. It started to engulf me in waves.
I heard my sobs and cries echoed back to me. My body began to shake. Breathing was still hard, but I was able to inhale sufficient air to remain fully conscious and aware of what was happening. The man came to me. He looked into my eyes again. I saw only evil, and I involuntarily climaxed.
The man swore, I had ejaculated over his boots. He punched me in the belly, I slipped off the rock again. He punched me again and again, in the belly, in the kidneys, in the genitals. I was screaming so much that I exhaled more than I was able to inhale. My lungs became starved, mercifully, I passed out.
When I regained consciousness I found myself lying face up on a wooden table. My hands had been pulled apart above my head and tied to rings in the corners of the table. My legs were over my head and my ankles were attached to the same rings. I felt an object stretching my anus painfully, but could not see what it was.
The man became aware that I was awake. He told me that he would proceed with my torture. I was only restrained, he told me, because it would be impossible for me to maintain the position he wanted without the ropes. As he spoke, his cruel voice causing me to shiver, my semi flaccid penis became hard again. The man grinned at me, then disappeared from my view.
The object in my anus was a metal device with a hard rubber inflatable bulb near one end. Once the man had inserted the device deep into my rectum to press against the colon, he inflated the rubber bulb. This pressed against the inside of my anus lips, thus preventing the device from being ejected without tearing my anus apart completely.
The device, I learned later, had a number of holes through it from end to end. Each hole was connected to a tube, which in turn was attached to a valve or container. Added to that, wires led to an electrical control box. What followed was a whole day of severe anal torture which had me screaming almost continuously until I lost my voice.
Fluids of varying viscosity and temperature were pumped into my rectum until the pressure was so great my abdomen bulged out against my thighs. Oil not far off boiling point was replaced with icy water. An effervescent liquid was further agitated with carbon dioxide until I was convinced that my guts would explode. The man had warned me, when he first described my tortures, that I would enjoy an unusual enema. His term was greatly understated, believe me.
The pain would probably have caused most real humans to pass out, but I remained in conscious agony throughout. And with an erection. This prompted the man to insert a tube into my penis and pump hot mineral oil into my bladder. This additional pain was almost sufficient to drive me insane. My screams were clearly entertaining the man because I saw his member was hard.
The torment ceased at last, and the man deflated the bulb and removed the device. He did not release me at once. He started to work his fingers around my anus which had not completely closed after its gigantic invader was gone. His touch was erotic, even when he roughly pushed his knuckles past my tender sphincter muscle.
The man pushed his arm into me, all the while opening and closing his hands inside me. The sensation was too much for my self control and I ejaculated, the semen splashing across my face and into my mouth. The man grinned at me, and kept up his assault on my colon. Once the enema had ceased, my screams had abated. The pain had subsided, and the man's actions inside me caused me to moan with renewed pleasure.
The man forced his hand around the bend in my colon. I gasped, he kept pushing. His elbow was very soon at my anus lips. His arm was generating new spasms in my intestines, so recently ravaged by his fluid tortures. The man's second hand joined the first. I screamed as he stretched my anus, and I was sure that he had ripped it open.
The man knelt on the table and pushed both hands into me up to the elbow. It was clear that the only way this was possible was by tearing through the tender walls of my colon. If ever my human mind had hoped for a reprieve, such hopes were shattered. Within hours, even if I suffered no further abuse, I would die in agony from peritonitis. I began to pray that the man would kill me before the infection took root.
The man seemed to read my mind. He removed his hands and showed them to me. Both arms were covered in blood and tissue. He made me lick his hands and arms clean before releasing my wrists and ankles. The pain inside me was growing more powerful. I had difficulty remaining upright when the man told me to get up and stand on the table. He told me to stand with my feet apart and to brace myself on a wooden beam above my head.
I whimpered when he produced the steel box which contained tools, spikes and nails. The man held a large headed nail against my foot. My leg shook as I overcame the desire to pull my foot away. I knew what came next. The man placed the nail carefully. He pushed it down until the sharp point perforated the skin. He pushed the nail further until I felt the tip press against the inside of my sole. The pain was not too bad, and I just sobbed.
Only then did the man use the hammer. With a single blow the nail was driven into the table top, the head resting against my foot. The other foot was nailed in just the same way. I knew that there was far worse to come, and wondered why the man was so careful in his actions. He stood on the table. His breath was warm against my face as he leaned up and moved my left arm a little.
He nailed my hands to the side of the beam, driving the nails through the skin to the accompaniment of my screams. He used several more nails, breaking most of my fingers in the process. The little finger of my left hand was hanging down, almost completely severed, when he stood back to admire his work.
After kissing me deeply, his tongue exploring the dry inside of my mouth, the man jumped down from the table. Methodically he nailed each of my toes to the table, then added more nails to hold my foot securely in place. I was babbling incomprehensively by now, but still retained an erection.
Shiny steel spikes were next. The man showed them to me and explained where each was to go. I was begging him to stop, to kill me, but we both knew that I did not really mean it. My swollen penis proved that.
The longer pins were pushed through the skin of my buttocks and love handles. Some were passed through my trembling thighs and calves, right through the muscles. Shorter pins decorated my arms, and the shortest of all were set behind my nipples, ten each side. I shuddered and cried as each spike was slowly pushed into the skin, to emerge again somewhere else. By now I was inured to this kind of pain so I did not scream.
The man did not seem to care about this. My moans were still very entertaining and the rivulets of blood which were coursing down my body shimmered in the eerie light. To complete the task the man inserted thicker, blunter pins through the scrotal skin and through each testicle. I must admit that the first two did elicit a shriek from me, but the remaining six were greeted with little more than a whimper.
The man jumped off the table again and looked at me intently. The sight must have been arousing for him because his already hard penis swelled more. He began to masturbate himself, which had the effect of increasing my own arousal. The man pumped faster and faster. With a shout, his seed erupted from his massive penis and splashed onto my nailed feet.
At the same instant, without benefit of any stimulation other than the pain, I ejaculated, too. The man laughed at this and told me that I had just enjoyed my last orgasm. My penis, which had started to soften after the climax, immediately hardened again when I heard this.
I knew from the way he looked at me that he was trying to decide if it was me, his personal devil masochist, or just another lucky find. It would make no difference to him, in any case. Whether I was a devil or human, I was suffering for his enjoyment, and would continue to suffer until he was ready to take my life.
I groaned at another cramp in my ravaged intestines. This encouraged the man to resume torturing me, he knew that I would soon succumb to the infection even then building up inside me. He stood on the table, showed me some more steel spikes. These were for my penis, he told me.
I looked down with a morbid fascination as he inserted each of the four inch long spikes through my penis. He alternated them so that when he finished there were ten spikes from side to side and another ten from top to bottom. Finally, he produced a metal rod at least one inch thick, with one end machined into several sharp points.
I screamed when he opened my urethra, still painful from its earlier irrigation, with his thumb. Then he pushed pointed end of the rod into the dilated slit. I screamed again and jerked against the nails in my hands and feet as the man pushed the rod through my penis, right into my bladder. Whenever it met one of the spikes impaling my phallus, the rod pushed it aside, ripping the tender penis tissue. Blood spurted out of my urethra and the spike wounds along the length of my member.
The pain was almost enough to make me faint. Fortunately, though, I remained conscious. The sharp points had destroyed my urethra and severely damaged my prostate on its journey into my bladder. This did not cause my erection to falter though, and I think that the man then realized it was me. He pulled a thick leather gauntlet onto his right hand, and grabbed by bleeding penis.
I screamed as loud as my depleted voice box would allow as the man masturbated my severely damaged phallus. His actions became more violent and blood began to splatter both of us. My penis began to open up at various points along its length and the rod inserted into it gleamed as it reflected the light.
It was then that I was able to achieve my final orgasm. I knew that there was still one left inside me. As it started to well up inside my testicles and force its way through the spermatic cord, I started to moan and writhe in ecstatic agony. My penis literally fell apart in the man's gloved hand, and he ripped it away from my body complete with the thick rod.
Semen erupted from the wound with a pressure even greater than the blood. I thought the orgasm would never stop, I kept cumming and cumming. Eventually I slumped in exhaustion, hanging from my nailed hands, blood and semen dribbling between my legs. The man was impressed, but he was not yet finished with me.
With a serrated knife, he cut upwards from the hole where my penis had been up to my navel. I groaned, but was too spent to react further. The man cut through the skin and muscle. I was to be disemboweled, just as he had promised. It would not be quick, I knew.
With great care and concentration, the man opened the incision using only his hands. When my intestines became exposed to the cool air, I began to moan louder. The pain grew, and continued to increase. The man gently loosened part of the small intestine. He began to pull it out. The small intestine slowly emerged, with the man's expert assistance. He finished severing my damaged colon so that he could pull out my large intestine.
It took almost an hour of profound concentration by the man, and severe agony for me, before the job was completed. The man admired his handiwork. My belly was open and my entire digestive tract hung out, some draped around my neck. My testes, still intact, still impaled, had been removed from the scrotum, which lay in tatters between my feet. Bleeding had been kept miraculously light and I could anticipate a few more hours of intense pain before death.
But the man still had a surprise in store for me. After letting me suffer for a while, he started again. Working much more quickly now, he used a very sharp knife to expose my knees. Once exposed, each kneecap was broken with a mallet so that all of my weight hung from my hands, still nailed to the beam.
The man moved close to me again. Once more I looked straight into those cruel black pools. He kissed me, and I reciprocated passionately. After some minutes of sensuous kisses, he pulled away, a look of mock reluctance on his face. He lifted a piece of my intestine which hung around me like a necklace. He made certain that I saw it, focussed on it, before biting down on it and grinding his teeth.
The pain seemed to come from inside me, even though my abdominal cavity was almost empty. The man continued biting my intestine until he had severed it completely. He stuffed one end into my mouth. I gagged, but he persisted. He pushed the intestine down my throat, using his fingers. I swallowed and soon found that I was somehow pulling the intestine into my gullet.
He kept feeding me my own intestine until he was able to reach the end through a small slit he had made in my stomach. Then he pulled it down and back through the slit in my abdomen until it was out far enough to show me. The severity of the pain at this point would have most certainly got the better of a real human. I believe the man knew that I was a devil. Nevertheless, in my human guise I was unable to stand much more.
I think he sensed that, too. He kissed me again. Then he held the knife up to show me. I watched, transfixed, as he put the point against my eye. I did not flinch or blink when he thrust the knife into my eyeball, deflating. Using the same knife, he severed my tongue at the root, letting me see with my one good eye as he sucked the fresh blood and chewed to tough meat.
He made me look down as he wrapped my intestines around his rampant cock and started to masturbate himself. With his other hand he held the knife to my good eye, pushed forward and I was blind. The blood from my tongue trickled down my throat. The man's masturbating action brought renewed cramps which added to the excruciating agony I suffered.
As I drifted into the mercy of a human death, the man pressed his mouth against mine, his tongue probed inside. All I could do was suck, which was very difficult, but at least I was able to show a reaction. Just before unconsciousness overcame me, the man tensed and moaned into my moth as he climaxed into my exposed intestine.
The man sat down exhausted and waited, watching my corpse. Just as he had anticipated, it disappeared. He laughed and began to talk to me, telling me he knew who I was. We chatted for a while. He still wishes to remain on earth for a while longer. He feels that something would be missing if he knows that the death he inflicts is not real, even though the sensations are there. We shall meet again, soon, I know.
Back in Hell we are still having a great time. One of the devil masochists who recently joined us requested that his hand which had been severed on earth but replaced in Hell, should be removed. He liked the idea of a hook to inflict damage on himself as well as others. Our Master of Hell agreed, and I must admit it is a lot of fun.
As usual I like to be hanging. I love the feel of the rope around my neck, and the pressure against my windpipe. I do not bother with a weapon, but the new devil masochist carries a knife as well as his hook. We are often joined by a third devil masochist to add even more interest to the session. The is armed with a hook, too. That is a great weapon for such contact sports.
While I hang there, the other two masochists attack my abdomen with their hooks. They do not simply rip open my belly, they also tear into my intestines. Disembowelment is an extremely painful experience at any time. This savage destruction of the intestines intensifies the pain quite considerable. Careful not to damage my genitals, they hack away until I have a gaping wound from navel to sternum.
For a while I hold my intestines in place, not wishing them to fall out just yet. The devil with the hook instead of a hand is assisted by the third masochist in inflicting a similar wound to himself as he lies on the ground. When we are both ready, we each pull out our mutilated intestines. The hooked devil then plunges his knife into the third masochist's scrotum.
The result is that all three of us achieve simultaneous orgasms, but remain in excruciating agony for some time more. I will eventually suffocate, the hooked devil will succumb to blood loss. The third devil will then cut me down, lay me alongside the other corpse, and masturbate. At the moment of his orgasm, he will castrate himself with his hook, gouging and hacking until he has destroyed his own genitals.
That demonstrates how each of us is able to enjoy our own special likes in a real environment. What is fantasy on earth can be reality here in Hell. The variety is boundless, limited only by your own imagination. Nothing is impossible here, everything is available to stimulate and satisfy us devils. We consider nothing is too extreme to practice because we were created to experience pleasure, that is ordained.
Whether we derive our pleasure from suffering pain, or inflicting it, from being abused or abusing, the essential point is that we must do whatever we desire. This can involve some way out activities, which I touched on before. In general, we have an idea what we like when we arrive here.
I knew beforehand that I am an insatiable masochist. On earth I had only one life to give. I was lucky that my life was taken with sexual violence. Most masochists are not so fortunate. Even those who have nurtured fantasies without ever experiencing them often become activists in their chosen field or fields of pleasure. What might seem disgusting to you now might turn out to be very attractive once you try it out here.
Let me give you an example. A guy I knew in life was gay and harbored secret fantasies of being abused. But they remained in his imagination. He never practiced any of his fantasies when he was alive. Within a very short period here he had passed all tests as a devil masochist with flying colors. Now he is one of our most extreme masochists and we often act out sessions together.
One scene he and I act out together in human form with a couple of devil sadists would have been unthinkable for him when he was alive. Now he revels in it all. To begin with, a devil sadist starts to hack at my abdomen with an axe. Because there is no concept of time here, the hacking goes on and on, complete with its associated pain, without inflicting really severe damage which would bring the session to an early end.
My masochist friend squats on the floor and I begin to carve gashes in his calf and thigh with a cleaver. At the same time, the other sadist cuts into the masochist's erect penis while my friend is masturbating. But the big surprise, the devil sadist hacking away at me produces a gigantic turd. My masochist friend takes this into his mouth and greedily chews it, swallowing the entire three feet length of it.
This man, who would not even make love without taking a shower first, sucks and eats the sadist's shit like he was born to it. When the axe eventually perforates and destroys my entire intestines, my friend ejaculates, the semen pouring out of the slits along each side of his penis. At that very same moment, he slices off his own testicles, then plunges the knife repeatedly into his own belly and disembowels himself.
At the instant my masochist friend ejaculates, the two devil sadists and I also climax. The sadists then hack my entire body into pieces, sometimes joined by spectators who like to watch us in action. By the time I pass into oblivion, my limbs have been severed, my genitals lie in pieces on the ground surrounded by my intestines, and my torso lies in a pool of my own bodily fluids.
Sadists are not always essential to good activity. Sometimes sessions without sadists can be as enjoyable as when they are involved. It is usually necessary to enact these in human form to derive maximum pleasure. That same masochist friend likes three way sessions, and we often perform these together, with a third masochist.
We start with each of the other two armed with a sword and a dagger, whereas I have only a dagger. I really like unfair combat like that, especially when I am at the disadvantage. We engage in a fight, hacking and slashing at each other, careful that the wounds inflicted are not too deep. Suddenly the other two gang up on me.
They impale my navel on a pointed stake which has barbs along its length. My own body weight pushes me down and my blood and innards spill out. My friend sits on a sword which pushes into his rectum, through the entire length of his urethra and penis to emerge at the tip. The third man also thrusts his sword into his anus and through the belly wall. His intestines drop out of the wound, slowly at first. We are all screaming loudly from the pain.
I have retained my dagger which I use to cut into my friend's testicles. The third man sticks his dagger into my anus and cuts away between my upturned buttocks. My friend starts to saw at my neck with his dagger. Impossible though it sounds to you, all three of us will experience simultaneous orgasms.
As I slice off my friend's testes, his seed spurts through his urethra and up the blood covered sword. The masochist behind me ejaculates as his guts fall from his enlarged anus to the ground. At the same moment, my cum shoots out and my head is severed, the blood gushing over my friend who puts his mouth to the gaping neck wound to drink. All three of us remain in erotic agony then until we are ready for regeneration.
It is not essential for us to retain our genital organs to achieve sexual satisfaction. We are able to redirect the sensation to another part of the body so that we still experience what you would consider an orgasm. This is especially useful if we are castrated early on, as a climax should be enjoyed as close to death as practicable. This facility can also be adopted when we assume human form to return to earth.
On one memorable visit I met a pair of truly sadistic but not fully experienced guys. Naturally, I had placed myself in the position so they could take me. At first they just wanted to treat me a bit roughly, punching and whipping, that sort of thing. After a few days of this abuse, which was sometimes quite severe, I began to sow seeds in their minds.
At any time of the day or night I was forced to be a total slave to these guys. And I mean a TOTAL slave. This included sex, of course, plenty of it. It also meant that I was their servant, bathing attendant, whipping boy, and toilet. It was a fun time and I performed very well. During my entire captivity I only ever drank urine, weak or strong, and all food emanated from the rectum of one or both of my Masters.
In general, this was fecal matter, though I sometimes received food which a Master had pushed into his rectum first. This was also covered with feces, but it added variety to my diet. The two guys were becoming more violent and extreme in their treatment of me, thanks partly to my incessant erection, but also to my subtle suggestions.
That is how I drove them to murder me. I told them that the only way my penis would soften would be to cut it off. At first they took it as a joke, but soon began to discuss the idea between them, in my presence. My constant hardness, under the most severe treatment, was beginning to irritate the two guys.
When I knew that the idea of my castration had taken root, I gently suggested that they might feel happier by killing me. After all, once castrated, I would probably die of an infection anyway, so why should they not get the pleasure from murdering me deliberately. It would have to be painful, for them to avenge their honor, which I had slighted by refusing to soften under abuse.
It was not long before the guys informed me that they had agreed to my own suggestion. They opined that it would be suicide and they need feel no remorse. I eagerly agreed that I wished to take my own life, but being incapable of doing so, I begged them to help me. We discussed the whole thing in a civilized manner. I was able to lead them into the mechanics of a terminal session in a way that they thought was their idea. The following day would see my suicide.
All night the two guys vented their lust on my body. I was fucked in anus and mouth, my nipples were twisted, pierced and burned. I was whipped and caned, my genitals punched and squashed to the point that my scrotum swelled to twice its normal size. At regular intervals my mouth was locked against an anus to receive the contents of its bowels, and softening penises gushed tangy urine deep into my throat.
When the guys had rested a little, which I had not, they went to tie me up. I begged them not to, promising not to resist or try to evade my fate. At last they agreed to my request and I was ordered to lie on the cold floor. It was not the coolness of the floor which made me tremble. It was the eager anticipation of my impending ordeal.
After receiving so much punishment and abuse during the night, castration was to be next. I lay as still as I could, arms stretched out, legs opened to give easy access to my constantly erect manhood. I had really orchestrated the event by planting the ideas in their minds. They stood above me, each holding a knife. I knew that the blades were dull, I had rubbed them on the stone floor to remove the edges.
The guys knelt by my side. I saw that they were nervous. I begged them to remove my worthless cock and balls, which had so offended them with its impudent refusal to go soft at their abuse and thus insulting their seniority. Furthermore, I pleaded, the removal of the offending member was insufficient punishment for my behavior. I must atone for my Masters' displeasure by suffering an excruciating death at their hands.
That did it, I saw it in their eyes as they looked at each other. One of them went to kneel over my face, but I pointed out that would deprive them of the pleasure of my screams. He knelt instead on my arm which I curled around his thigh for mutual comfort. The two guys kissed me in turn, as I had wanted, then kissed each other.
I whimpered when the knives touched my genitals, one under my scrotum, the other on top of my penis. They kissed again, then began the slow, painful process of sawing through my manhood. My screams aroused them more, their rock hard penises oozed semen as the dull blades destroyed my cock and balls for ever. I took them almost twenty minutes of sawing and hacking before the two knives met with a clink.
My severed genitals were shown to me, and I thanked them between sniffles and sobs. I was allowed to kiss my penis before it was thrown into the garbage can. A very ignominious, but fitting end. The disemboweling incision was to be small. The dull knife sawed its painful way from the castration wound to a spot just below my navel. Fortunately, there was not too much bleeding and I knew that I would survive for quite a lot longer.
A piece of small intestine was pulled from the gap, and sliced through. I was screaming almost continuously, which encouraged the two guys even more. I grabbed the thigh in my arm harder in a vain attempt to find some relief from the agony, but my other arm remained resolutely where it lay.
The two guys kissed again, at the same time very slowly pulling my intestine out from my abdomen. Whenever they met any resistance they would tug harder. The resulting cramps increased the volume of my screams, so I really think that they did it on purpose, even when it was not necessary. By the time most of my digestive tract had been pulled into the open air, I was hoarse and almost screamed out.
Still following my suggestions, the guys took turns in fucking the wound. They also made me eat more of their feces, and drink more urine. Finally, a piece of intestine was placed in my mouth and I was ordered to chew it. It was tough, and warm, and I ground into it with my teeth, swallowing each little piece I was able to bite off.
This aroused the guys even more and they started an orgy of hacking away at my exposed guts. Their knives soon turned to my outstretched arms and legs, though the dull blades inflicted only superficial damage. One guy lifted my legs to his shoulder and pushed his penis into my rectum. He thrust his hand into the castration would, grabbed his own penis and started up a rhythm.
The other guy's erection was forced into my throat, still burning from all the screams, and all that urine. The two worked in synchronism, even to the extent of climaxing together. It was then that they began to have some recourse, and I saw the signs of panic. I grabbed their ankles and squeezed reassuringly. In a whisper I thanked them for giving me my just desserts.
This helped calm them down. I suggested, now barely able to talk at all, that the ultimate degradation was for me to suffer my agonizing death alone. I promised them that they would soon realize that they had acted correctly and done the right thing.
They left me, and two pain filled hours later, I was released into death. I quickly made the corpse disappear, and then communicated with the two guys. This was the beginning of a promising career of torture and murder for these men, which will ultimately lead to their place in Hell.
I have been fortunate on several occasions to come across cruel gangs of anti-homosexual sadists. Fortunate for me, and for them, and perhaps for a potential victim whose place I took and who thus escaped an agonizing demise. The odd thing about these thugs, although they espouse a heterosexual lifestyle, they are as likely to indulge in some sort of sexual activity with their victims, even when in a group. Alone, they often exhibit clear latent homosexual tendencies.
One such gang kidnaped me and took me to a secret hideout in a slum area of New York City. For several days they tortured me and methodically, slowly, dismembered me. It was, for me, almost as good as being in Hell. These guys are very practiced at their chosen pursuits. They are expert at inflicting maximum physical pain and mental torment, while at the same time keeping the victim alive and fit enough to understand everything being done to him.
What helps them, to begin with, is their choice of victim. No older, overweight faggots for them. They select fit young men, exactly as I appeared to them when they first saw me. It was late when I left the gay bar. I saw their car parked across the street just where I knew it would be. It was a warm evening, so I took off my tee shirt and casually threw it over my shoulder. My tit rings reflected the bar lights as I looked towards them.
Slowly I walked down the street. They were parked on the opposite side. As I was abreast of them, I looked over and rubbed my crotch. The engine fired into life and the car spun across the street in a noisy U turn. As it drew alongside me the rear door opened and four hands grabbed me. I was dragged into the rear of the car, which sped off without lights. It had begun.
In the car my pants were torn from me and my body was roughly poked and probed. My erection was apparent to them and soon was the object of some crude and ribald repartee. I found myself squashed on the floor between two denim clad thighs. An open fly produced a semi flaccid penis which I took into my mouth without being told. I was rewarded with a bladderful of urine with the clear flavor of beer as its main constituent.
When the stream stopped, I continued to suck at the penis. It began to swell in my mouth, and was soon erect. I sucked silently, not wishing to attract the attention of the other occupants of the car. The thighs clamped together against my shoulders, the penis swelled some more, and I was rewarded with a good helping of fresh semen.
The car entered some sort of abandoned building and gates were closed behind it. I was dragged out and down a flight of steps into a corridor. We twisted and turned in a maze of passageways and rooms, all in a poor state of repair, and down more steps. We emerged into a high arched room, which I soon discovered was under a subway line. The noise from the trains regularly passing by would drown any screams, that was for sure.
My four kidnapers were all in their early twenties, maybe one or two even younger. They were good looking guys, too, which helped. I noticed that two of them, the blond and the skinhead, wore shorts, real skimpy they were. The oriental looking guy was in leather. The redhead wore jeans. He looked away as my eyes met his. For now, what happened in the car would be our secret.
These straight guys made no pretense that they were admiring my body. Their eyes feasted over me like hungry vultures. I saw particular attention being paid to my rampant penis which had not softened since they waylaid me. I began to plead with them not to hurt me. That was expected, and I did not wish to disappoint them. They laughed, told me that I was dead meat, you perverted fucking faggot.
My hands were lashed behind my back and a rope was tied very tightly around the base of my genitals. This rope was then fixed to a ring suspended from the beam above. One of the guys pushed me, I lost my balance. The pain in my groin made me scream really loudly. That made all of them laugh. I managed to relieve some of my weight, which was then entirely supported by my genitals, by pressing my feet onto the floor.
The strain on my genitals was terrible and each minute made it worse. I was in a most uncomfortable position, which I tried to remedy by shuffling my feet closer under my buttocks so my legs could take some of the weight. I discovered that by moving my feet apart, I could press up easier and relieve my aching groin a little better.
For a while they played with me, occasionally kicking my feet from under me just to hear me scream. Each time I was able to get my footing again. They fondled my raging phallus, squeezed my balls until my eyes watered and I begged them to stop. I saw that the redhead did not really join in, guilt I expect. The most vicious of them all was the oriental.
They got bored and decided amongst themselves to turn in for the night. I could wait until morning. However, just so that I could sleep better, they thought that I should know what was in store for me. Of course I knew, but as they described how they were going to whip and beat me, slowly remove my limbs without any anesthetic, skin me alive, castrate me and finally remove my inner organs one by one, the pain in my genitals was forgotten and I ejaculated with a moan.
Not long after they left the redhead returned. He started to apologize to me but I silenced him. I told him that I really was a no-good fucking faggot who deserved to die. I assured him that I recognized him, and his friends, as my superiors. That I was prepared to suffer, ultimately to die, in order that they could rid the world of one more pervert like me.
But, I warned him, he must not be seen to be holding back with the punishment. Without referring to the event in the car, I advise him to be even more cruel than the others. I fully appreciated his position, and the fact that he had come to see me was sufficient apology. Now, he must never show mercy, I forgave him in advance for whatever he would do to me.
My little talk had the desired effect. He had come to release me, for the night, but instead he decided to take advantage of his superior position. He lifted my legs, again making my genitals support my whole weight. Without warning, he plunged his member into my anus. I grunted as he swung me forward and backwards. My grunts became sobs as the pain in my groin increased again.
His actions became faster, jerkier and then he ejaculated inside me. My own seed spurted across my chest and belly at the same moment and I saw a little smile on the redhead's face. He withdrew and moved around me. He pushed my head down slightly so that he could place his softening penis into my mouth. For the second time that evening, I swallowed his urine, this time with the added taste of my own feces and mucus as a side order.
By the time my four abductors returned in the morning, I am sure that my scrotum had been stretched at least three or four inches away from my body. I know that I had managed to find a relatively comfortable position and had some rest, although sleep had been impossible. They played with me a bit, twisting my nipple rings until I begged for mercy through gritted teeth. They all slapped my balls and fingered my anus which I soon found pleasurable.
It was the oriental whose fingers discovered semen inside my rectum and I was made to lick his hand clean. As I did so he told me that this confirmed what they already knew. I was a fucking faggot and I had to be disposed of. I went through the machinations of pleading for my life, offering them anything they wanted to release me, promising not to tell anybody if they let me go. We all knew my pleas were futile.
I was lowered to the floor, and I sighed as the pain slowly subsided in my groin. They dragged me over to a door which was leaning against the wall on a slightly raised wooden platform. I was ordered to lean forward at the waist so that my hands touched the door. My feet were roughly pulled apart. I felt the searing pain of a nail being driven through my left foot, joined at once by another in my right.
The nails were carefully placed. I had already been told to expect a slow death, so they were not ready to do too much damage just yet. My hands were placed flat against the door, which almost made my legs collapse. The oriental nailed my hands. My legs were quivering with the new sensations of pain from my feet and hands. My leg muscles were pulled taut, my back strained and my arms felt like they would break.
The redhead knelt under me and grinned into my face. He showed me two barbed fishhooks. My nipples were already pierced, but these hooks were roughly pushed into my pectorals, behind my existing piercing. My screams began to die down, but they were instantly renewed as my testicles were skewered with two more fish hooks. Then cords were tied between the hooks so that my left testicle and right nipple were connected, and vice versa.
The cords were pulled so tight that I was sure either my nipple would rip off, or my testicle would. After a few twangs on the cords, the redhead flashed me another grin, then stood up. The guys began horsing around, daring each other. They remarked on my perpetual hard on and somehow they all agreed that my cock and balls should be saved till last.
This was a relief for me. At least I would be able to enjoy the sexual satisfaction of the torture until near the very end. Fingers groped my anus, roughly poking inside. I gasped as a hand entered me, with no finesse at all. They took it in turns to fist me while guzzling beers. At some point, the alcohol began to take effect. Inhibitions began to falter, secret desires moved closer to the surface.
By the time they stopped to rest that evening, all four of them had fucked me several times, and had urinated inside my rectum. They even found a way to pull my head aside so that I could tongue bathe their members and drink from them. My rectum was so full with semen and urine, with my own feces pressing down too, that it began to seep out and trickle down my legs. This caused great mirth, and I was left in that sorry state to spend the night.
During the night the redhead visited me. He said nothing, just fucked me and left. Then the blond came in, ejaculated into me and also left without a word. The following morning the nails were removed and I was allowed to squat on the floor to rest a little. They let me drink water and fed me gruel and rice. Since my capture I had drunk nothing but urine, and semen had been my only sustenance.
I was pushed back against the door. My hands were pulled so that they were outstretched at the elbow. For the next several hours, my captors carefully and methodically nailed my arms to the door. Each finger was meticulously secured with pins, the palms and wrists with larger pins. Nails along my forearms and upper arms. Finally, the largest nails held my shoulder firmly against the door.
I think that my shrieks and screams barely abated during the whole exercise, and this greatly pleased my tormentors. After a rest for them to eat, they resumed working on me. My feet were nailed to the floor, my calves and thighs to the door. Large spikes were then driven around my hips to force my buttocks flat against the rough wood. I lost count how many times I ejaculated during this ordeal, but when they left for the night I saw a pile of drying semen between my feet.
All of them visited me that night, one after the other. They seemed to sense that I would say nothing. They admired my sleek, trembling body, my stretched nipples and balls. But most of all, they came to worship my penis. The redhead was first again. His hands roamed over my body causing involuntary shudders of pleasure. His fingers traced the nail heads and the wounds. Then his nails lightly scratched my erection.
He knelt between my nailed feet and no sooner had his mouth enveloped me than I sighed and spurted into his throat over and over again. The redhead kissed me, passing some of my semen back into my mouth. No words passed between us but my eyes thanked him and his eyes acknowledged my gratitude.
A few minutes after the redhead left, the oriental came in. He also stroked my body, maybe not as gently as the previous guy, but not too hard. His hand wrapped around my restored erection and pumped, his action increasing in pace. I groaned with ecstatic pleasure pain, and cried out as my second orgasm of the night erupted over the oriental's hand. I was allowed to lick the semen from him before he left.
The blond was next. He spent longer touching me. He seemed fascinated that I could bear the pain of the nails so stoically. He could not comprehend how I managed to retain my erection. If he had known about my previous two encounters, he would have been astounded. He pressed his body against mine, licked my open lips with his tongue. He moved his mouth against mine and kissed. His passions increased as we kissed. Without doubt a true gay.
He broke away to fetch two stools. He placed one each side of me and stood on them. His penis was level with my mouth so I leaned my head as far forward as my position would allow and took him into me. Suddenly he pulled out and began to squat. His face level with mine again, he resumed the kiss. I felt his hand on my hard penis. He guided it against his own anus.
We grunted in unison into each other's mouth as he pushed himself down onto my erection. Once he was able to recover from the initial shock of my larger than average phallus in his erstwhile virginal anus, the blond raised and lowered himself. He quickly established a rhythm and was able to impale himself right down onto me, then withdraw so that the tip of my cock almost popped out of him.
Our kiss was never broken, indeed it became more passionate and more intense. We sucked, nipped at each other, groaned into each other. I felt him tense, my penis swelled as I made it ejaculate in exact synchronism with him. I did not get soft, and reluctantly, it seemed, the blond pulled himself off me. He smiled, I smiled back. He kissed me on the cheek, then he was gone.
The skinhead came in much later. He carried a leather riding crop. I immediately knew what to expect. Although the group was a democracy, no single member appearing to be the dominant member, it was clear to me that the skinhead was the instigator of it all. He manipulated the others so that they performed what he wanted them to do while thinking that it was what they really wanted. I was grateful to the skinhead. He would make certain that my ordeal would be magnificent in its cruelty.
I begged him to release me, cried like a baby. His sort like that. I squealed as the crop stung my tender nipples, still stretched by the hooks and cord. The skinhead swung the crop in an easy, practiced style that resulted in maximum impact with a minimum of effort. When I climaxed at the instant the crop hit my penis, he got really mad.
After many more vicious lashes, he suddenly dropped the crop and buried his face into my belly. My erection had not abated at all and he began to run his tongue up the length of my penis. My sobs were quieter, to be replaced with moans of erotic pleasure as his tongue and lips worked expertly on my manhood. Four out of four, I remember thinking, just as I spilt yet another load of man-juice into the skinhead's willing throat. All four of them were closet gays.
The third day of my ordeal started with me being fed more gruel and allowed to drink a lot of juice and water. Today I would lose my legs, they told me. After my hysterical screams had died down, they began. A long serrated knife was the instrument of choice. The cut was made about four inches from my hip which was, of course, securely nailed to the door and completely immobile.
They took a lot of time, slowly sawing through the skin and muscle to the unbroken accompaniment of my piercing screams. By the time the knife had just about severed my left leg I had been able to climax at least four times. Once the bone was exposed, it was ripped out of its socket. They tore the amputated leg from the nails and showed it to me. Tears coursed down my face and I ejaculated again.
The wound was sutured up quite well by the redhead. He must have had some medical training, which was probably why he was in the gang. After spoon feeding me more soup, they set to work on my right leg. It took just as long, was no less painful. When the amputation wound had been closed, we were all exhausted. Amazing as it might seem, that fourth night I slept better than I had since my abduction.
I was roused five times that night. The skinhead came to me twice. All of my kidnapers caressed the stubs where my legs had been. Each of them was rewarded with a generous portion of my unlimited semen, the skinhead receiving seconds. When they woke me in the morning, I saw the very first indications of regret. I knew that I had to quash these quickly, else I might be cheated out of the full ferocity of their cruelty.
My approach proved correct. I cajoled them, ridiculed them. Even my redheaded lover became angry. I dared them do their worst and assured them that they would never make me beg again. I had accepted my fate, I knew that escape was impossible. I was ready to die. I told them that from now on, my will would dominate theirs. I might scream, I most certainly would, but never would I ask for mercy, NEVER.
The skinhead cast me a surreptitious glance. He understood, the others did not. He recognized my innate masochism. He would not disappoint me, of that I could be sure. As if to demonstrate the point, he took a small, very sharp, knife and carved the word MERCY onto my quivering belly. I bit my lips so hard that they bled, but I was able to prevent myself from screaming. The whole scene had taken a turn, for the better.
The amputation of my arms was equally as excruciating as the removal of my legs had been. I screamed, of course, almost without respite. But, as promised, I did not plead or beg. I was even able to throw a few challenges at my torturers, goading them to inflict greater torment. Since being nailed into position I had experienced so many orgasms that the pile between my legs was becoming quite big. The skinhead scraped the sticky semen, some almost four days old, and fed it to me with a spoon.
I had actually found a way to relax, and again I was able to get some sleep that night. Supported entirely by the nails in my shoulders and hips, I could still feel pain in my arms and legs, even though they had been removed. I had been warned that my ordeal was to last a week. The following day would be the fifth since my abduction. At least I had passed the half way mark.
The fascination with all four amputation wounds was evident as each of my kidnapers visited me that night. At some time during the previous day, the hooks had been removed from my balls and pectorals, my nipple rings had also gone. The blond took the opportunity to suck my tender chest as he repeated his knee squats onto my hard cock.
My testicles had swollen and were probably infected. The grinding teeth of the oriental produced the screams he so desired with a bonus of my man-juice all over his shiny black hair. Far from being angry, he grinned up at me, then offered his head so that I could clean off the semen with my tongue and lips. After I had rewarded the redhead with three copious portions of warm cum, he gave me a wistful smile before leaving.
My fourth visitor that night, the skinhead, stayed only briefly. He stood on the same stools the blond had used, let me fellate him, then washed his semen down my throat with strong hot urine. Then he knelt, caused me to climax into his mouth, and gently coaxed me into following that with my own yellow nectar.
My bladder was full, I had only been able to urinate twice since my capture, the last time was two whole days previously. The skinhead swallowed it all, and clearly enjoyed it. So did I, and I was able to ejaculate for him again once my bladder had been relieved. Before he left, the skinhead gave me a warm liquid to drink. It was bitter, but not unpleasant. I guessed that it was some sort of drug.
The following morning the nails were removed from my shoulders and hips. The blond and the redhead lowered me to the floor and turned me face down. They took turns fucking me, their libido released, inhibitions temporarily forgotten. Soon I was taking one in my anus and simultaneously another in my mouth. I was very happy at the potency of these guys. They were almost as insatiable as me.
Before long I was slurping away at the blond's anus, my tongue able to penetrate the dark cavern which had been unsullied until he impaled himself on me. I was turned onto my back, the oriental entered my anus. While I sucked the redhead, I felt the blond lower himself onto me once more. His tight sphincter was like a jarful of leaches on my sensitive penis.
The oriental maneuvered himself so that his feet were alongside my head. Very soon we were all moaning and gasping. I looked up and saw the skinhead masturbating, clearly aroused by the scene before him. Suddenly I ejaculated into the blond's love orifice with a roar muffled by the redhead's swelling member.
While I spurted deeply into the blond's colon, my throat was filled with the redhead's man-juice and my own rectum became bathed in the warmth of the oriental's semen. The blond erupted over my chest, his sticky potion being joined within seconds by the skinhead's. They untangled themselves from me and the blond fed me, even giving me a half can of beer, while the others also ate.
Strangely, I had quickly become accustomed to having no limbs. I could still feel a dull ache where my hands and feet should be, but the amputation wounds were causing me very little distress. For me, the feeling of helplessness was overwhelmingly erotic. I began to harbor the desire that these guys would keep me like that, to use and abuse my limbless torso while I had to rely on them for my very existence.
I was able to cast those thoughts from my mind. I needed to experience an agonizing death, and that desire outweighed my fantasies of being a helpless plaything. They turned me back on my face. I felt a sudden searing pain in my buttocks and had to press my mouth to the hard floor in an attempt to stifle a scream. The skinhead had pushed a long spike through my left buttock. The spike continued its arduous journey through the tough skin and muscle until it emerged on the other side.
That was only the first of many spikes. After seven or eight in my buttocks and several more through the skin on my back, I was turned over. More spikes were threaded through my belly and chest, through the shoulder and hip stubs, and through my neck. The sitting of the spikes was expertly chosen and perfectly executed. Bleeding was minimal, no serious damage was inflicted, yet the pain approached unbearable.
Despite that, I was still able to have a couple of orgasms during the ordeal. I somehow found a way to rest also that night although the spikes in my back made it pretty uncomfortable. I was not left to suffer alone all night. My captors again each visited me, fucked my face or mouth, or both, and thanked me by swallowing my man-juice. Before he left, the redhead whispered to me that they would vote the next day whether to castrate me. I asked him to persuade his friends to keep my manhood intact until the end.
It seemed to have been successful because no mention was made to me about removing my genitals. Instead, after another little orgy on the floor, I was lifted up and again nailed to the wooden door by my shoulder stubs. The original wounds had healed quite well, but they were reopened. I guess that was probably better than making new ones. This time my hips were free, and I soon realized why.
By pulling my lower torso forward, my tormentors had good access to my anus. They exploited this facility quite considerably during that sixth day of my ordeal. The spikes through my buttocks had been well positioned so that my rectum and colon were not perforated. This allowed the easy entry of a penis, but when it came time for a hand, the spikes offered a challenging obstacle my torturers were determined to hurdle. The fact that it was painful for me was irrelevant.
I suspected that the following day was to be my last. The redhead informed me otherwise. All four of my abductors spent longer with me that night. They were more passionate and seemed eager to touch me, fuck my rectum and mouth, and to partake of my man-juice. I learned the reason. By the next night neither my anus nor mouth would offer an attractive receptacle for their penises. However, my genitals would remain relatively unscathed for one more day. That was a relief.
My mouth received the initial attention. After being treated to four more doses of semen, a knife was used to slice off my tongue deep in the back of my throat. A glowing poker seared the wound closed, at the same time burning the inside of my mouth in several places. The loss of a tongue generates a completely different noise. I suppose they had become bored with my incessant screaming and wanted a change.
Rubber blocks held my mouth agape for the next phase. One by one my teeth were broken off with pliers or with a hammer and chisel. After each tooth was shattered, it was ripped out by the root. Excessive bleeding was stemmed with the inaccurate poker. When they stopped to eat, my mouth was utterly destroyed internally.
Nonetheless, I was given warm soup, poured through a funnel into a tube which had been inserted into my gullet. If I tried to drink I expect it would have gone into my lungs. They were not ready to let me off that easily. The skinhead tried to use my ravaged mouth for satisfaction but soon gave up. Instead he shot his load inside my rectum. The others followed suit, probably for the last time, I was told.
After their lunch I was removed from the door. A cord was wrapped very tightly around the base of my genitals and I found myself suspended from them once more. The loss of my limbs had substantially reduced my weight so it was less painful this time. The poker was waved in front of me. I felt it against my skin and smelt burning flesh. Unable to scream, the gurgles and grunts emanating from my mutilated mouth caused great mirth amongst my torturers.
Electric wires were connected to some of the spikes which still decorated my body. The wires were connected to a switch on the wall. When the switch was closed, my body jerked up and down, causing additional strain in my groin. At the same time as I was being shocked, the poker created various artistic burns on my body. Then, newly heated in the stove, the poker was thrust rather unceremoniously into my anus.
The initial pain was from my anal lips which just swelled and burst under the red heat. Then a deeper, more intense pain began to well up from inside my rectum. The sphincter muscles alternately tried to egest the searing invader, then pulled away on feeling the heat. My semen gushed forth, spurting upwards into the air and then drooling down my cock and balls.
A tray of red hot metal balls appeared. The skinhead used asbestos gloves to pick up the balls and pop them into my anus which now gaped obscenely, the lips destroyed. I do not know if it was the electricity or the burning agony in my guts, but I was jerking up and down, the strain in my groin producing yet another excruciating orgasm.
Only the redhead came to me that night. I was still suspended by my genitals. In spite of the savage destruction of my mouth, he entered me and his slimy man-juice soon lubricated the inside of my tender throat. His sweet, strong urine was comfort to me, and I was able to reward him with a larger than normal helping of my own semen, the production of which appeared to be increasing as a result of my mutilation.
They tried to adopt an air of seriousness the next morning. It soon dissolved into hysterical giggles. A formal sentence of death was announced. Unable to speak, my eyes reflected the agony and despair of my situation. The small knife reappeared. The skinhead popped each of my eyeballs from its socket and severed it from the optic cord.
I was blind, but at least they did not have to put up with my plaintive looks any more. I have never been able to decide on blindness. Whereas I do enjoy to watch my tormentors, savor their cruel expressions, and also see the damage they inflict on me, lack of sight tends to enhance the terror. I suppose that is why blindfolds are so often used in the S/M community. In this case I had been treated to an excellent visual show already. The blindness served to exacerbate my despair and apprehension.
My pectorals were swollen from the hooks and from the way the tit rings had been removed. I felt a hand teak my nipples, the actions getting ever more violent. Teeth ground against a nipple until they met and the bud was ripped from my chest. The other nipple enjoyed a similar fate. The skin on my chest was then peeled away with the aid of a very thin, sharp blade. It was most likely a surgical scalpel.
The exposed subcutaneous membranes must have been very attractive to see. The quivering and trembling would make them seem to shimmer. Eventually the skin had been removed from my chest, belly and buttocks. My whole torso, inside and out, was nothing but a massive pain center. This did not prevent me from ejaculating a few more times, even without any assistance.
I felt the knife at the slit in my penis. It was pushed into my urethra, to be met with another eruption of semen. They sliced my penis along its length. They quartered it. The delicate incision avoided the major blood vessels and the small amount of bleeding was sealed with the poker. My scrotum was opened and my testicles were sliced into several pieces.
Still suspended from my genitals, their gradual destruction was accentuated by the strain. I felt a finger being pushed into the exposed urethra at the crotch. Somehow my gonads were able to generate a final orgasm and the semen forced its path around the finger and dripped down my back and belly. taking their time, my tormentors removed my genitals in small pieces. When there was insufficient to hold the cord, it slipped and I fell to the floor with a thud.
A baseball bat, with a number of nails protruding near the tip, was alternately used to fuck my urethra and my anus. The damage being inflicted would not allow me to survive much longer, so I knew that a merciful end was near. That thought was enough to produce an orgasm inside me, even though my genitals had by now been completely removed. A semi hard penis quenched my thirst to be followed by another. My four abductors emptied their bladders into my throat, for which I was grateful.
The incision in my belly was slow, mainly because of all the spikes that had to be avoided. A panel of muscle and sinew was removed to expose my undulating intestines. With great care and concentration, in a manner designed to create the optimum pain and distress, my intestines were pulled through the gap. Draped over my chest, their removal allowed access to other organs.
They were able to remove my liver, spleen, both kidneys and most of the intestine before my heart began to flutter. They kept me alive for a little while after that, but when they saw I could hang on no longer, an incision in my throat was used to fill my lungs with their urine. It took two or three minutes for me to drown, during which time my palpitating heart was cut open, then removed.
The gang still operates in and around New York City. Very effective they are, too. Now that I have got them to admit their homosexuality, both to themselves and to each other, their enjoyment has been enhanced tenfold. I have met many a devil masochist in Hell who was dispatched by this gang. Without fail their praise is boundless. The only problem is, we all keep returning to them and so they are not often able to practice on a real human.
On trips to earth I find it fun to goad the religious community into punishing me for sacrilege. There are still many hard line extremist religious groups eager and willing to torture and execute non believers. One such Christian sect became very angry at my suggestion that there was no difference between Heaven and Hell, and I was sentenced to be cleansed.
Fortunately for masochists like me, the Inquisition mentality is far from dead. The monks tried to torture me into confessing my sins, while I, of course, savored every moment and continued to defy them. They believed that the cross had the power to purify heretics like me. I was branded with metal crosses, nailed and lashed to wooden crosses, even beaten with a heavy crucifix. All to no avail.
At one stage I was forced to sit on a stake in the courtyard while the monks nailed my feet to the ground. They were pretty rough with me and the stake penetrated my rectum by over a foot. The monks were careful in locating the half dozen nails in each foot. The nails were either driven between my toes, or through the side of the foot. This spared any broken bones or fractured tendons.
There was a great deal of chanting, and the monks were waving their shiny brass crosses at me. They kept pressing the crosses against my skin. I think they expected to see a burn mark, as though I was a vampire or something. My hands were free but I made no effort to protect myself when they began to beat me with the crosses. They were getting increasingly irritated and angry at my refusal to confess my sins and beg forgiveness.
What finally drove them to a frenzy was my constantly growing erection. I could see bulges under their cassocks, so I knew they were aroused tormenting me. However, they were far from amused to observe my own excitement from their treatment. Their blows became more violent. My penis engorged even more.
It was too much for them to bear. They pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me further onto the post. The pushed, I slipped down more. I was screaming as the blunt end of the stake forced its way through my colon wall and into my abdominal cavity until it pressed against my diaphragm.
Only then did the monks suddenly realize that they had gone too far. The fell to the ground, weeping, begging their God for absolution. They kissed my nailed feet, and begged me, too, to forgive them. My response was to ejaculate over their prostrate bodies with a piercing scream, then to pass into a satisfied death.
They removed my body from the stake and took me to the Chief Monk. They confessed exactly what had happened, in every detail. The Chief Monk advised them to return to the chapel and pray, to seek God's forgiveness for their unfortunate, but understandable, sin. When they had left, the Chief Monk embarked on a private orgy of necrophilia with me.
My corpse was subject to intimate contact with the Chief Monk in every conceivable way. He ejaculated and urinated into my throat and into my ravaged anus. His hands and arms increased the damage caused to my insides by the stake. He chewed at my dead penis and testicles, licked my feet to suck up the blood. He also spent a long time with his mouth pressed against my split anus to drink and eat whatever was seeping out.
Finally, the Chief Monk was so spent, that he curled up with my corpse and drifted off to a contented sleep. Imagine his shock and surprise to wake up alone. On that occasion I did not reveal myself to, or communicate with, any of the monks. I left them to unravel the mystery for themselves. Our master of Hell discourages us from teasing the religious fanatics though, so I have rarely done it since then.
There is a continuing supply of devils who request an end to the eternal life. In general they have not been able to involve themselves in some of the more extreme activities. Our Master listens to every request, and will most likely grant it. Instead of regeneration, the infinitely available facility we devils have for our bodies to become intact after any amount of damage, there is also recycling.
The concept is simple. The devils who wish to opt out of Hell are first converted back to humans, which we can all do just with a thought. There human bodies are then ground up into a kind of pulp which is then remolded into a new shape. The new human is then returned to earth in a situation which will lead to an early and violent death.
The devil returns to Hell again, unaware of his earlier time here, and we try to get him to fit in a bit better. With the new formulation of his bodily matter, including the brain, the devil will almost always develop full acceptance of his new environment so repeat recycling is uncommon. The ultimate result, no effect on either population, Hell or earth, and no more discontented devils.
The grinders are interesting. We have four, each operating on a different principle. As those to be recycled are now humans, every grinding method is going to be exceedingly painful. They are often reluctant when its their turn and have to be forced into or onto the grinder. I have heard that the chemical changes in the brain and glands of these men as they are being destroyed in the grinder creates the basis for a completely different make up when the materials are remolded.
The simplest grinder consist of a sloping stone table over which a heavy stone cylinder is rolled. The man lies on the table with his head at the lower end. Two operators slowly roll the cylinder over the man's feet, crushing them. From here on it is impossible for him to escape, so if he was being restrained, the guards can let go.
The cylinder rolls over the man's legs. The blood runs down the table, past his head. He will remain alive at least until his abdomen is crushed. Most likely, when the cylinder has passed over his thighs and is about to destroy his genitals, the man will ejaculate. That is a result of those chemical changes, I am told.
The cylinder eventually crushes the rib-cage, and if he has survived that far, he is most certainly now dead. Once the skull is crushed, the cylinder is rolled over the corpse a few times to complete its work. Then the pulp is flushed into a sump to be mixed up ready for remolding.
Another grinder consists of two stone cylinders which are constantly rotating. A lever controls the upper cylinder which can be raised to allow the body to be inserted. It is then lowered again, and the movement of the cylinders draws the body in and crushes it. Though normal to feed the subjects in feet first, sometimes they are permitted an easy end by inserting the head and crushing it immediately.
Either the screw grinder or the spiked wheel is used if there are a lot of subjects to be recycled. The other two cannot accept the volume. The screw grinder is simply a larger version of the meat grinder found in most kitchens. The screw is rotated very slowly.
Typically, a single subject will take several minutes before his chest is destroyed and he dies. If a number of subjects are thrown in together, this can take longer. Once the screw has a grip on a foot or hand, it will never let go and the subject is drawn inexorably into a rather painful death.
The spiked wheel actually consists of two counter rotating cylinders about four feet in diameter and twenty feet or so long. Each cylinder has rows of spikes about six inches apart placed at twelve inch spacings around the circumference. The spikes on each wheel are offset so that the gap between the main cylinders is a fraction over six inches.
The subjects are made to jump from a platform onto the wheel. If a subject lands on a spike, his foot will be impaled and he will be drawn straight in between the slowly rotating wheels. His legs and torso will be crushed. If he can land between spikes, the subject might try to walk the wheel to prevent himself being dragged in.
Once a subject gets caught, and the slow crushing process has started on his feet and legs, he will very likely try to pull another subject in with him. It is a strange phenomenon, but they seem not to see another man apparently evading death while he is being slowly destroyed, with no chance of relief.
I say apparently because eventually every subject tires or falters and the inevitable begins. Though less obvious with the screw grinder, because the hopper tends to conceal the lower body, in any method of grinding, if the subject's destruction starts at the feet, he will ejaculate seconds before his genitals are crushed into worthless pulp. With the spiked wheel, the semen from the previous subjects often presents a slippery foothold for the subsequent candidates, hence speeding up their deaths.
It is great fun to watch the subjects waiting their turn in the grinder. The operators tease the subjects, make them even more frightened than they already are, by describing in gory detail the experience about to be undertaken. The first time I heard it, I asked to be allowed to have a go. For normal sessions this is not permitted. However, when the grinders are not busy, a special session can be set up.
I have tried them all. I cannot decide which I like most. In any case, I love it when the operator stops the machine just as my genitals are being crushed. I am left there in glorious agony, my final seed slowly oozing onto the grinding wheel or screw. I never want to be recycled, I am content just as I am, but at least I can get to enjoy the experience the recycling subjects have to endure simply in order to avoid exactly such agony.
There is a guy in California who has been abducting young men and boys for some years now. He abuses them sexually before torturing them to death. I have assumed the body of a stunningly good looking eighteen year old. I shall be hitch hiking down a deserted country road, barefoot and bare chested again in my torn shorts just as he drives by. The very anticipation if it all has just made be cum. So here we go again, one more beautiful savage death to be experienced. Oh, it really is so wonderful in Hell!