Glenarvon
Executioner
I detached the electrodes from her body, wiping a cotton ball over the pale skin
I had maintained the habit of wearing latex gloves and doing all of the normal medical procedures, as if it made sense, as if THAT was normal practice...
I carefully inspected the small breasts, running my fingers over them for signs of burns. But everything was fine: C. and R. were experts and knew how to do their job.
She was awake. No doubts.. Her head remained still in my hands and the black blindfold covered her eyes, but I KNEW she was conscious.
And yet she didn't react in any way... Even tears seemed to have stopped. After the first half hour they had begun to flow beyond the blindfold, sliding up to under the chin and running along the neck and between the breasts.
But now it was all over.
A beginner would think of exhaustion after hours of torture, but I knew it wasn't.
No. She had CHOSEN not to react. After the screams, after the despair, after the climax of the pain, she had managed, as sometimes happens, to regain complete control.
She would never have spoken.
C. and R. knew it as well as I did. But it was better that way for them. Now it wasn't work anymore, it was fun...
Her wrists, firmly tied to the armrests of the chair, showed deep abrasions. The rope that tied the ankles was instead longer, allowing a certain freedom of movement. It wasn't the official procedure, but C. thought it more fun to watch.
Her breathing was quick and shallow, barely lifting her half-bared breasts. Slight tremors pervaded her skinny, gaunt body from time to time.
Her head, thrown back over the chair, exposed her thin neck, while the long hair, dirty, matted and wet, flow on the back of the chair, dripping on the floor.
The edge of the torn shirt exactly half covered her right breast, revealing the small areola. The left was instead clearly visible, scratched and reddened.
Her bare thighs rested on the cold metal chair, also marked by clearly visible scratches and bruises.
Her panties, ripped, lay around her ankle.
I slightly shifted her blouse and rested the stethoscope on her chest…
"It's okay?" Asked C.
“Her body can't bear on much longer! She needs to rest, she needs ... ”
“I didn't ask you for a medical report! Just tell me if it's within the limits of the regulations!
“Barely… she may not survive the night…”
“Will she die in the next ten minutes?”
"No, but..."
"Then keep on!"
I continued to be as professional as possible. I took the probe out of the bag and plugged it into the power cord. It was a simple copper rod, a little longer than a quill, and slightly thinner, with a small ball at the tip. With a cotton swab dipped in alcohol I sterilized the probe. Then, with the same cotton, I tried to clean thighs and pubic area.
I slipped the probe into her. As the cold, thin copper touched her flesh, a shiver ran through the body. For a moment, her muscles tensed, fingers tightening on the armrests.
C. loaded the tool preparing for a new shot.
By now she KNEW the procedure. The five beeps announcing the electrical shock had no other purpose than to terrify the prisoner...
With each beep from her breathing quickened, hands gripping the armrests tightly.
It wasn't a sudden shot. The intensity gradually increased. First it caused a widespread trembling, increasingly intense, then the arching of the back and a rapid shaking of her head,
Only then, with a sudden jerk, she plant feet on the ground, lifting entire body off the chair.
For several seconds, she remained still, raised from the seat, drawing an arched shape, resting only on her toes and the back of her head, pushed against the top of the backrest.
The squirt came out suddenly, just as the electricity went out.
Her body heavily fell back into the metal chair, but the contractions continued, with at least three more lighter splashes.
C. was delighted "Now that's a COME!"
"Look, the bitch even wet the paper on the desk" replied R.
“I told you, skinny ines are always the best”
"Enough!" i said, trying to use some authority "Now We need to stop for a while. No other treatments until tomorrow morning"
“Don't worry” said C., running his hands through her wet hair “we'll find a way to pass the time”
I had maintained the habit of wearing latex gloves and doing all of the normal medical procedures, as if it made sense, as if THAT was normal practice...
I carefully inspected the small breasts, running my fingers over them for signs of burns. But everything was fine: C. and R. were experts and knew how to do their job.
She was awake. No doubts.. Her head remained still in my hands and the black blindfold covered her eyes, but I KNEW she was conscious.
And yet she didn't react in any way... Even tears seemed to have stopped. After the first half hour they had begun to flow beyond the blindfold, sliding up to under the chin and running along the neck and between the breasts.
But now it was all over.
A beginner would think of exhaustion after hours of torture, but I knew it wasn't.
No. She had CHOSEN not to react. After the screams, after the despair, after the climax of the pain, she had managed, as sometimes happens, to regain complete control.
She would never have spoken.
C. and R. knew it as well as I did. But it was better that way for them. Now it wasn't work anymore, it was fun...
Her wrists, firmly tied to the armrests of the chair, showed deep abrasions. The rope that tied the ankles was instead longer, allowing a certain freedom of movement. It wasn't the official procedure, but C. thought it more fun to watch.
Her breathing was quick and shallow, barely lifting her half-bared breasts. Slight tremors pervaded her skinny, gaunt body from time to time.
Her head, thrown back over the chair, exposed her thin neck, while the long hair, dirty, matted and wet, flow on the back of the chair, dripping on the floor.
The edge of the torn shirt exactly half covered her right breast, revealing the small areola. The left was instead clearly visible, scratched and reddened.
Her bare thighs rested on the cold metal chair, also marked by clearly visible scratches and bruises.
Her panties, ripped, lay around her ankle.
I slightly shifted her blouse and rested the stethoscope on her chest…
"It's okay?" Asked C.
“Her body can't bear on much longer! She needs to rest, she needs ... ”
“I didn't ask you for a medical report! Just tell me if it's within the limits of the regulations!
“Barely… she may not survive the night…”
“Will she die in the next ten minutes?”
"No, but..."
"Then keep on!"
I continued to be as professional as possible. I took the probe out of the bag and plugged it into the power cord. It was a simple copper rod, a little longer than a quill, and slightly thinner, with a small ball at the tip. With a cotton swab dipped in alcohol I sterilized the probe. Then, with the same cotton, I tried to clean thighs and pubic area.
I slipped the probe into her. As the cold, thin copper touched her flesh, a shiver ran through the body. For a moment, her muscles tensed, fingers tightening on the armrests.
C. loaded the tool preparing for a new shot.
By now she KNEW the procedure. The five beeps announcing the electrical shock had no other purpose than to terrify the prisoner...
With each beep from her breathing quickened, hands gripping the armrests tightly.
It wasn't a sudden shot. The intensity gradually increased. First it caused a widespread trembling, increasingly intense, then the arching of the back and a rapid shaking of her head,
Only then, with a sudden jerk, she plant feet on the ground, lifting entire body off the chair.
For several seconds, she remained still, raised from the seat, drawing an arched shape, resting only on her toes and the back of her head, pushed against the top of the backrest.
The squirt came out suddenly, just as the electricity went out.
Her body heavily fell back into the metal chair, but the contractions continued, with at least three more lighter splashes.
C. was delighted "Now that's a COME!"
"Look, the bitch even wet the paper on the desk" replied R.
“I told you, skinny ines are always the best”
"Enough!" i said, trying to use some authority "Now We need to stop for a while. No other treatments until tomorrow morning"
“Don't worry” said C., running his hands through her wet hair “we'll find a way to pass the time”
