ON THE RACK

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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

ON THE RACKThe design of the rack was fairly ordinary; it was a straightforward vertical design. The victim stood with her back against a flat, wooden surface. Her legs were spread. Tight shackles secured her ankles to the rack’s vertical wooden plane. Her wrists were chained together; a single strand of steel links ran from the center of her wrist fetters up to a large overhead winch. And that was all there was to it. The chains tightened with a turn of the winch’s handle. A ratchet kept them tight until the torturer decided to loosen them, which generally occurred only after the death of the subject. It was a simple machine, from a simpler time. There had been no fundamental changes in rack design since the middle ages.?The rack may have been fairly unexceptional, but there was nothing ordinary about the terrified victim whose naked body currently graced it. Her name was Alley Baggett. Her striking, exotic features were framed by red-blonde hair. Her waist was impossibly slender, her belly magnificently flat. She had long, sleek, athletic legs, and she kept her pubic hair neatly trimmed.Alley’s breasts were the highlight of an entirely splendid body. They were two of the finest breasts in the world. They were quite large, of course; Alley carried D-cup, Playmate-caliber sexual weapons. But the importance of Alley’s breasts went beyond mere size. They were absolutely spherical, without the slightest defect or deviation. Their mathematical perfection was obscene, unnatural–and beautiful. The upper halves of Alley’s twin spheres featured dark, oversized nipples. I kept the torture chamber slightly chilly, to ensure that these would remain painfully çanakkale escort erect at all times.”Please don’t hurt me,” Alley whimpered, biting her lip in helpless fear. I smiled and began to tighten her chains. She squirmed gently. As the chains grew tighter, she began to moan softly. Another turn of the winch had her screaming. Alley was a soprano, and the agony brought out all the subtleties of her lovely voice. I stepped back to enjoy her screams, and to admire her suffering body.Impossibly, being stretched on the rack had made her even more beautiful. Every muscle in her was tight, tense, ready. Her stretched, tortured body had a deeply sexual energy to it. Best of all, the stretching action forced her to display her breasts in the most incredible way. The wooden surface of the rack was slightly concave–this was a woman’s rack, after all, designed to bring out the best in the female form. It worked wonders on Alley, putting a slight and subtle arch into her back, forcing her to thrust her peerless breasts up and out. I had a strong temptation to torture those breasts. I longed to fill them with electric pain, to whip them until the nipples bled and burst. I resisted. I wanted Alley to experience the agony of the rack without distraction.What I could not resist was the temptation to fuck her spectacular tits. I lubed my throbbing cock and stepped onto the access stool. My prick, which is not small, was lost in her cleavage. I cupped the sides of her immaculate tits; they were soft and cool, as perfect to touch as they were to look at. I squeezed her breasts together gently, making them into a cunt. I began to thrust escort çanakkale back and forth, staring at her tortured face as I ****d her tits. Her eyes were shut tight against the pain, her thick lips pulled back over pearly white teeth. Her delicious screams filled my ears as I came. I gave her an immense pearl necklace, hosing her chest down with semen.Having satisfied myself, I resumed the torture. I went slowly now. Alley had a lot more suffering left in her, and I wanted her to last all night. And so I turned the winch a single click each time, giving her twenty or thirty minutes to experience this new tightness, this new pain, before turning the handle once more. Alley was in constant, ever-increasing agony, but there was no danger of death, not yet, not until I allowed it. This simple rack gave me complete, precise control over her body and its pain. I gave silent thanks to the Inquisition for granting me the means to torture this magnificent woman so thoroughly.Alley sweated as she suffered; soon she was drenched from head to toe. The firm, naked globes of her breasts glistened with sweat and semen. I savored the sweetly pungent scent of her sweat, the heady aroma of a woman in agony. Her throat quivered, delivering a vast cornucopia of sound: rich, full bodied screams at first, then strangled moans as she grew weary. As the torture wore on, she was finally reduced to making small whimpering sounds, the sounds of a suffering a****l.After about six hours of stretching, Alley’s shoulders finally popped free of their sockets. The right shoulder went first, and she resumed screaming at once; the left shoulder joined its çanakkale escort bayan sister twenty minutes later, on the next click of the winch. Her hips followed in short order. I began to increase the time between clicks. A woman can last quite a while on the rack even after her limbs are dislocated, but you have to be careful. Prior to dislocation, the subject is simply being stretched; afterwards, she is more accurately being broken.Alley was having trouble catching her breath. That was good; it meant that she was beginning to asphyxiate. If a woman is stretched properly on a rack, she will strangle to death. Her body will eventually be stretched so tightly that the muscles responsible for filling her lungs will be unable to perform their task. The period following the onset of asphyxia is the most spectacular, satisfying part of a terminal rack session. The subject is already in immense pain from the stretching; now the sweet agony of strangulation is added to her ordeal. It is crucial to maximize the duration of this part of the torture, for now comes the most intense pain a woman can feel on the rack.I began to give Alley a full hour between clicks, and I was able to tighten her chains four more times before she finally succumbed to the inevitable. She was astoundingly gorgeous as she suffered. Her exquisite body was twisted into a parody of perfection. She was unable to scream or make much noise at all. She could only pant quietly like a dog as she struggled to breathe.She died just after completing her tenth hour of torture. I gave her one final click. Suddenly her eyes opened wide. She stared at me, her green orbs expressing limitless pain. She gurgled softly, spittle running down her chin. Her spectacular breasts quivered and heaved. She relaxed subtly; it was hard to notice, because she was stretched so tightly. But then her head rolled forward onto her chest, and I knew she was gone.

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