Torture

WARNING: This story is extreamly violent and graphic so if you are squeemish then I suggest you don't read this!

She sat on top of him, with his hands bound behind the back of a chair and his feet strapped to its legs; he was helpless to do anything. He moaned in agony as her weight fell onto his already bruised and gashed thighs, his face contorting with pain. The discolouring of his once white skin and the purple-black that encircled his right eye left no recognition as to how egotistical and full of himself that this man was. Truly, he looked pathetic.

In her hand she held a large broken glass shard, tipping sharply at one end. Painted already in his blood, the glass looked almost beautiful, as if a broken piece from a stained glass window. She held the piece up so he could see it with his still open eye. His body stiffened with fear as she lowered the glass towards his chest. He tried to scream but his voice was muffled by his gag.

She grabbed his shirt, pulling it away from his skin. He knew what was coming and as much as he could try and struggle, it would be a wasted effort. Whoever she was, she seemed as if she�d done this before, and she enjoyed it. Slowly, tauntingly she drew her right hand up over her head so he could see it, then quickly she brought her hand back down, driving it into his stomach and dragging the glass shard down, making a long gash.

He threw his head back in pain, once again trying to scream, once again a wasted effort. A smile came to her lips, blood dripping from the glass, staining his white shirt. She softly dropped the piece of glass to the floor. She slowly put her hands under his shirt, resting them on his soft skin. His stomach was firm and well toned; he was the kind of guy who would come home from whatever kind of work he did and go to his own personal gym at the back of his house and work out for two hours strait before having a healthy dinner and attending to his loyal family.

He winced at the coldness of her hands, which were slowly moving up to the wound she had just given him. Shock was once again beginning to creep over his senses, but every time he felt the cold stab of it, some how she brought him back to himself. This time was no different. As his eyes began to flutter and his nerves began to shake, she drove her cold fingers into his deep wound. It wasn�t just the sheer pain that brought him out of shock; it was her touch, something about it. He tried to curse and scream, forgetting about the piece of white cloth in his mouth, gagging him. At any other point he may have enjoyed being tied up, sadistic as he was.

She leant forward, whispering in his ear, something evil, sinister, although he could scarcely understand. She was only doing it to taunt him, and he knew this. He wanted to cry out, like a child who was in pain. He didn�t much care for his macho image anymore; all he wanted was to go home and cry. He prided himself on making other people feel dirty and scared, he believed it was his right as a person of wealth. If they weren�t up to his standard, then they were as good as rats that must be exterminated. But of course to do anything to the �rats� would be mass murder and he couldn�t have that against his precious name.

She smiled again, in a way that cannot be describe, it had to be seen. She smiled as though she could read his thoughts. He cringed and closed his eyes, maybe he would wake up and find that all the pain and torture was just a dream. But as he felt a blow to his stomach above his newly made wound, he knew that no amount of wishing would make the pain go away. A tear ran down his eye. Was he going to die, or would she somehow keep him alive forever, just to torture him?

She drew her fingers out of his deep wound, and slid her fingers along his smooth skin, out from under his shirt. She was still smiling and he noticed a twinkle in her eye, something almost innocent, or so it seemed. That made him catch his breath for a moment. How could someone so evil have the innocent eyes of a child? But as she raised her hand slowly to his face, he forgot that innocent moment and suddenly cringed, awaiting the next blow.

She lightly tapped the side of his face and she lifted her right leg and swung around until she was standing to his right. He turned his head, although it pained him to do so, until he could see her face. She walked around behind him so he could no longer see her, and he turned back to looking strait ahead. He heard clatters behind him, but did not think as to what they could be; he didn�t want to know. Whatever it was, it couldn�t be good.

Moments had passed and he was starting to get anxious. He was starting to feel the pain of his newly carved wound; soon it would be so excruciating, he would pass out, if she let him. Feeling began to slip from his fingers; then slowly the numbness began to make its way up his arms. She came up behind him, her smiled had trailed away from her, and now tears swelled up behind her eyes, that innocent twinkle was now completely gone. All that was left was a look of misery and anger.

Though he could not see, in her right hand she held a knife, gripped tightly within her long, slender fingers. She was gripping the knife so tightly, her already white skin turned ghostly. He knew she was behind him and fear struck him hard. This was it, he knew. Nothing now would bring him back from where he was going, not even her cold touch.

She slipped the blade of the knife under his throat, tears streamed down both their faces, only she had her eyes open. The cold steal of the blade pierced his skin ever so slightly, drawing the smallest drop of blood, but as she dug the blade in harder and drew it across his neck, the blood became more rapid. He began to splutter and try to cough but it only made it worse. His gag didn�t help. And as his life slowly leaked from him, she felt relief, happier once again. Something inside of her had loosened. But what made it that much better was that he did not know why he was sentenced to death by torture, nor would he ever find out.

There really was no reason to his torture. It had been something she wanted to do, she enjoyed it. But as he had thought, he was not the first she had tortured, nor would he be the last.