Chapter 25: Eleanor Torture
Sam’s grip on Eleanor’s hips was iron, her voice low. “My turn.” She rolled them, pinning Eleanor beneath her, the harnessed cock still buried deep inside Sam, now a shared instrument. “You broke the stone,” Sam said, her hand wrapping in Eleanor’s red pageboy. “But I’m the flaw in your design.” She reached for the polished steel speculum from the bedside table, its cold click echoing in the quiet room. “Open.” Eleanor’s thighs fell apart, her breath catching as Sam worked the steel jaws into her with a ruthless precision she’d learned by feel. The ratchet clicked, once, twice, stretching Eleanor’s cunt wide open to the lamplight. “See?” Sam whispered, her finger tracing Eleanor’s exposed inner walls, slick and clenching. Next was the bronze plug, its spirals gleaming. Sam coated it in oil and pressed it against Eleanor’s ass, pushing past the tight resistance with a slow, relentless corkscrew motion until it was seated fully. “Full now?” Sam asked, her own emptiness a hollow ache beneath the harness. She took a slender, medical-grade sound from the drawer, its smooth steel chilling her palm. “And this,” she breathed, aligning the tip with Eleanor’s urethra. Eleanor gasped, a sharp, ragged sound, as Sam fed the thin metal rod into that impossible channel, a deep, invasive stretch that made Eleanor’s whole body tense. “Three points of failure,” Sam murmured, watching her work reflected in the dark mirror. She picked up a fresh saline bag and a syringe. “You wanted volume.” The needle slid into Eleanor’s nipple ring, and Sam depressed the plunger, watching the areola swell taut and shiny. She repeated it on the other side, Eleanor’s breasts becoming heavy, distended weights. “Beautiful,” Sam said, almost to herself. Lastly, she lifted the electric clippers, their buzz slicing the silence. She sheared off 2” of Eleanor’s hair leaving her with a very short bowl haircut Eleanor’s vibrant red pageboy was now a bowl
in ragged, unforgiving swaths, leaving only stubble. Sam wiped a thick smear of black dye across Eleanor’s pale scalp, staining her, marking her.
The black dye dripped like thick ink down Eleanor’s temple as she stared up, her breath shallow. “Feel marked?” Sam asked, her voice detached as she picked up the sound still protruding from Eleanor’s urethra. She gave it a slow, quarter-turn, the metal grinding inside a channel never meant for this. Eleanor jerked, a raw gasp tearing from her throat. “It burns.”
“Good,” Sam whispered, her other hand circling the base of the saline-inflated breast, squeezing the swollen, rock-hard flesh. She began to fuck Eleanor with the sound, a shallow, insistent piston motion that made Eleanor’s hips buck against the speculum’s steel jaws. “You’re so open everywhere.” Sam’s own cunt throbbed, empty and aching beneath the harness. She pressed the head of the silicone cock against Eleanor’s stretched entrance, now obscenely framed by metal. “You wanted to see inside me.” Sam pushed in, the cock sliding alongside the cold steel of the speculum, a brutal, double-filled stretch. “Now I’m inside you.”
Eleanor’s cry was half pain, half shattered pleasure, her body arching off the bed. Sam set a brutal pace, each thrust jostling the sound and the bronze plug in Eleanor’s ass. “Come around it,” Sam demanded, pounding into the wet, metal-caged heat. “Come because it hurts.” Eleanor’s orgasm was a violent seizure, a strangled shout as her cunt clamped and fluttered against the invading objects. Sam rode it out, then stilled, buried to the hilt. She looked at the black-stained scalp, the bloated breasts, the mess of metal and flesh. “We’re even,” Sam breathed, but the words tasted like a lie in the charged silence.
Eleanor’s chest heaved, her swollen breasts shining with a false, painful fullness. She didn’t speak. Instead, her hand, trembling slightly, rose from the rumpled sheets. Her fingers didn’t push Sam away. They didn’t claw or fight. They wrapped around Sam’s wrist, the one still holding the sound buried in her urethra, and guided it to twist the metal rod again. “Do it harder,” Eleanor whispered, her voice cracked and raw, her eyes holding Sam’s with a terrifying vacancy. It wasn’t a challenge. It was a granting of permission, a handing over of the last key.
Sam twisted the sound, a sharp, cruel rotation that made Eleanor’s back arch, a silent scream stretching her mouth. Then Eleanor’s body went utterly limp, a marionette with cut strings, her head lolling to the side to expose the black stain on her scalp. Every line of her surrendered, from her speculum-stretched cunt to her plugged ass to the accepting slackness of her jaw. A single, clear tear tracked through the dye on her temple, cutting a path through the black. It was absolute. It was horrifying. It was complete.
cxxxxxxxx
The vacuum of her faint was louder than any scream. Sam stared, the sound still in her hand, her own breath sawing in her throat. "Eleanor." No response, just the terrible limpness, the speculum a grotesque steel flower in the stillness of her cunt.
"Fuck." Sam dropped the sound; it clattered on the floor. Her fingers, slick, went to Eleanor’s throat, finding a pulse that thrummed too fast and thin. The clinical part of her mind, the student who understood systems and failures, engaged with cold fury. The saline. The metal. The shock.
She had to get it all out. Sam’s hands shook as she found the speculum’s release. The steel jaws clicked shut inside Eleanor, a wet, tight sound, and Sam drew them free. Next, the bronze plug, unscrewing it from Eleanor’s slack ass with a slick, twisting pull.
The urethral sound was the worst, a faint suction as it slid from that tender channel. Sam tossed it aside, her focus on the swollen, injected breasts. She found the hypodermic needle still lodged in one nipple ring, withdrew it, and pressed her thumb hard over the tiny puncture. Clear fluid wept out, but not enough.
She needed leverage. Sam straddled Eleanor’s torso, her own harnessed cock an absurdity, and used both hands to squeeze the first saline-filled breast like a vile udder, applying brutal, kneading pressure from the base toward the nipple. A stream of saline mixed with a little blood shot from the ring, spraying Sam’s stomach.
"Come on, you stupid bitch," Sam grunted, working the flesh, forcing the foreign fluid out. She repeated the process on the other breast, her movements frantic, mechanical. Eleanor’s head lolled, a low moan escaping her lips as her body began to lighten, the unnatural tension draining away onto the sheets.
Sam collapsed back, staring at the ceiling, her hands sticky, the room smelling of sex and saline and panic. Eleanor’s eyelids fluttered. Her hand, weak, moved to her deflating breast, her fingers brushing the sore ring. She turned her head, her dyed-black scalp scratching the pillow, and looked at Sam. Her expression wasn't gratitude. It was a raw, hollow assessment. "You stopped," she whispered, the words an accusation.
Sam’s hands, still tacky with saline, froze on Eleanor’s deflated breast. “You think I wanted you to fucking die?” she spat, the words brittle in the thick air. She shoved herself off the bed, her own harnessed cock swinging heavily between her thighs.
Her fingers trembled on the buckle’s cold metal tongue. She ripped the leather straps open, one after another, peeling the harness from her hips like a second skin. The silicone cock slid out with a wet suck and hit the floor with a dull, disrespectful thud.
Eleanor watched it fall, her breath shallow. “It felt good,” she murmured, her voice a raw scrape. Sam ignored her, snatching up the discarded steel collar from the rumpled sheets.
Its weight was familiar, a chilling circle of control. She hurled it across the room where it cracked against the dungeon wall, leaving a silver scar on the concrete. “All your fucking toys,” Sam muttered, kneeling to gather the brutal geometry of the speculum.
Its jaws were slick, clinging to threads of Eleanor’s fluids. The urethral sound followed, its slender metal glinting under the low light. Sam dropped them into the empty saline basin with a series of hollow, metallic clangs that echoed like gunshots.
The bronze plug rolled near her knee. She picked it up, feeling the intricate spirals bite into her palm, still warm from Eleanor’s ass. She tossed it into the basin, the final piece.
“Clean,” Sam stated, but the word sounded hollow. Eleanor pushed herself up, wincing, her thighs falling open to reveal the angry, stretched flesh between them. “You didn’t finish,” she said, her fingers tracing her own reddened labia.
“You’re a ruin,” Sam whispered, but she was moving back to the bed, her hand outstretched. Her fingers found Eleanor’s clit, swollen and hot, and rubbed hard, circular strokes that made Eleanor gasp. “Do it properly,” Eleanor choked out, arching into the touch.
Sam pushed two fingers inside the tender, loosened cunt, feeling the inner walls clutch greedily. “You want it rough?” Sam breathed, curling her fingers, scraping a spot that made Eleanor’s eyes roll back. Eleanor came with a shattered cry, her body seizing, soaking Sam’s hand.
Sam kept fucking her with her fingers, fast and deep, through the tremors. “Again,” Eleanor demanded, her voice broken, pulling Sam down by the hair for a kiss that tasted of blood and salt.
Sam kissed her back, a furious mess of teeth and shared blood, before shoving Eleanor face-first into the mattress. “You don’t get to demand.” Sam’s knee pressed into the back of Eleanor’s thigh, spreading her open, that raw, used cunt exposed again. She spit onto her fingers, a crude lubricant, and pushed them back into Eleanor’s loosened hole, fucking her with three fingers in a rough, sawing rhythm. “You take what I give you.”
Eleanor’s response was muffled by the sheets, a guttural, “Yes.” Sam added a fourth finger, the stretch making Eleanor’s back bow. “Look at you,” Sam hissed, watching her own knuckles disappear into that slick, reddened flesh. “You’re just a ruined hole now.” She crooked her fingers, searching for that spot, and hammered it relentlessly. Eleanor came again with a choked, sobbing gasp, her body convulsing around Sam’s invading hand.
Sam withdrew her glistening fingers and slapped Eleanor’s ass, the sound cracking in the room. “Roll over.” Eleanor complied, movements sluggish, her eyes glassy. Sam stared at the black dye smeared across her scalp, at the purpling bite marks on her breasts. She lowered her mouth to Eleanor’s cunt, her tongue lashing the oversensitized, swollen clit without mercy. Eleanor shrieked, her hands fisting in Sam’s hair. “You don’t stop,” Sam growled against her, the vibrations pulling another broken orgasm from Eleanor’s shuddering body.
SHE CONTINUES.
SHE CONTINUES until the taste of Eleanor is a sour, metallic film on her tongue and the shuddering motions beneath her mouth subside into a twitching stillness. She lifted her head, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, and stared at the wreckage of the woman beneath her—the black-stained scalp, the deflated, bruised breasts, the cunt glistening and slack.
A distant, precise buzz from the house’s intercom shattered the humid silence.
Eleanor’s eyes, clouded with exhaustion, sharpened instantly. “The gate,” she murmured, her voice shredded. She pushed weakly at Sam’s shoulder. “Front drive. Accept the delivery.”
Sam stood, her body aching, and walked naked to the panel on the wall. She pressed the button. “Yeah?”
“Valkyrie Collections,” a cheerful male voice crackled. “Got a priority crate for an E. Vance. Need a signature.”
“Leave it,” Sam said, her tone flat.
“Can’t. Protocol.”
Sam released the gate lock with a jab of her finger. She watched from the foyer window as a uniformed man wheeled a long, black plastic crate up the cobblestone path. She signed the digital pad without reading it, her eyes on the container. It was dense, heavy. She dragged it inside, the sound of its hard wheels a jarring intrusion on the polished floor, and pulled it into the dungeon’s doorway.
Eleanor had managed to sit up on the bed’s edge. “Open it,” she said, a strange, eager light returning to her gaze.
Sam pried open the latches with a dull thunk and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in grey foam, lay new instruments of polished surgical steel. A speculum, but larger, with intricate screw-adjustments. A series of graduated sounds, thicker than the last. A set of brutal, flower-like vaginal dilators. A heavy, twin-tailed silicone strap meant for double penetration. A sleek, vicious-looking urethral hook.
At the very bottom, wrapped in velvet, was a new collar. This one was wider, lined with soft leather, with a heavy D-ring at the front and a small, integrated electronic panel glowing with a soft blue light on the side.
Sam reached in and picked up the hook, its cold, curved tip catching the light. She looked from the steel in her hand to Eleanor’s expectant, hollowed-out face on the bed, then back to the crate full of gleaming, promised violence.
“No,” Sam said, but the word was quiet, and her fingers didn’t drop the hook.
The hook’s cold curve felt like a conclusion in her palm. Eleanor watched, her split lips parting, a fresh bead of blood welling. “You know what it’s for,” she said, her voice a dry rustle.
Sam stepped forward, the steel grazing the inside of Eleanor’s bruised thigh. “This is sickness.” “It’s a lens,” Eleanor corrected, her hips shifting minutely upward, seeking the touch. Sam pressed the tip against Eleanor’s urethra, that most vulnerable aperture, but didn’t insert it; she just held the threat of that deep, internal violation there, a promise of razor-sharp focus.
A tremor ran through Eleanor’s stomach. “You wanted to choose.” Sam’s own cunt pulsed, a traitorous echo of the speculum’s memory. “I choose to see you break.” She applied the slightest pressure, and Eleanor’s breath hitched, a sharp, desperate sound. “Please,” Eleanor whispered, the word airless.
“Please what?” Sam’s voice was flat, clinical, as she traced the tiny opening with the metal. “Say it.” Eleanor’s hands clenched the ruined sheets, her knuckles white. Her eyes, fixed on Sam’s, were pools of pure, undiluted need, stripped of all pretense. “Put it in me,” she gasped, the admission tearing from her. “Fuck me with it. I need it. I need to feel it.”
SHE BEGS.
The word hung between them, viscous and final. Sam slid the hooked steel tip into Eleanor’s urethra with a terrible, precise slowness, feeling the tight inner tissue yield to the invasion. Eleanor’s entire body went rigid, a strangled scream locked behind her teeth as the curve navigated deep into her bladder, a full, burning presence where no object should ever be.
“There,” Sam whispered, watching the metal disappear until only the ring at its base rested against swollen flesh. She gave it a gentle, experimental tug upward.
A raw, guttural sound, part agony and part obliterated relief, ripped from Eleanor’s core as the internal hook anchored and pulled. Her eyes rolled back, showing whites. Sam tugged again, a little harder, using it to lift Eleanor’s hips from the bed, and the sound Eleanor made was utterly animal.
“You’re hooked,” Sam said, the simplicity of the statement more devastating than any curse. Eleanor could only nod, frantic, her hands fluttering at her sides, afraid to touch the implement that now owned a part of her plumbing.
Sam released the tension, letting Eleanor’s body settle back onto the sweat-soaked linen. She leaned close, her lips brushing Eleanor’s ear. “Now, you’re going to crawl.”
She pulled the hook sideways, not out, but laterally, a shocking direction of force. Eleanor whimpered, her body instinctively twisting to follow the command of the embedded steel, shuffling onto her hands and knees. A thin trickle of clear fluid, followed by a bead of blood, traced a path down her inner thigh.
Sam stood, holding the hook’s ring like a leash. “To the mirror.” Every hesitant, pained crawl Eleanor made sent a visible jolt through her, the internal metal moving with her. She reached the polished glass, her reflection a nightmare of black-stained stubble, bruised tits, and wide, shocked eyes.
Sam crouched behind her, yanking the hook upward sharply to force Eleanor’s back to arch, presenting her used cunt and the protruding steel to the mirror. “Look at what you are,” Sam hissed.
Eleanor’s breath fogged the glass. “I’m yours,” she choked out, the acknowledgment less a submission than a stark, factual realization. Sam rotated the hook, a slow, grinding twist that made Eleanor sob and piss herself in a sudden, hot rush that splashed the floor. The release seemed to break something else inside her, her body going pliant and heavy on the hook.
Sam let go, leaving it in place. She studied Eleanor’s ruined, vacant expression in the mirror, the dark streak in her hair, the trembling of her limbs. The momentum was gone, spent, leaving only the aftermath trembling in the air between them and the gleaming, terrible steel lodged in Eleanor’s flesh.
The gleaming curve of steel was a perverse landmark in the ravaged landscape of her body. Sam’s fingers, which had been so certain moments before, now hovered. Eleanor’s shallow breathing hitched with every minute tremor.
“Don’t,” Eleanor whispered, but it was a plea for continuation, not cessation.
Sam’s thumb pressed against the ring where it met flesh, feeling the heat of internal violation. She pulled, not with a sadist’s jerk, but with a slow, inexorable traction that made Eleanor’s eyes fly open. The hooked end emerged from her urethra with a soft, wet suck, dragging a thread of pink-tinged fluid after it.
SHE REMOVES HOOK.
Eleanor collapsed forward, forehead thudding against the cool mirror, a long, broken sigh deflating her. Sam stared at the instrument, a simple curve of polished metal now dripping onto the concrete. The void it left behind was palpable, a sudden, unplanned emptiness.
“It’s out,” Sam said, her own voice unfamiliar.
Eleanor’s hand slid between her thighs, fingers finding the sore, open ache. She turned her head, her cheek smearing the glass. “It hurts.”
“I know.”
“Put it back.”
Sam stared at the hooked steel in her hand, glistening under the low light, then at Eleanor’s wrecked body and desperate eyes. “Not there,” Sam said, her voice low and changed. She moved her hand, the cold curve of the hook tracing Eleanor’s jawline before pressing against her parted lips. “Open.” Eleanor’s tongue, pale and vulnerable, slid out over her lower lip in immediate obedience.
Sam placed the curved tip on the center of Eleanor’s tongue, the metal a shocking chill on warm flesh. She pressed down, firmly, until the sharp point pierced through the muscle with a soft, wet pop. A muffled gasp escaped Eleanor, her body jolting, but she held perfectly still, her eyes wide and watering. Sam pushed the hook further, threading it through the meat of her tongue until the curved end emerged from the top, a grotesque silver stud.
Blood, hot and coppery, welled around the metal, pooling in Eleanor’s mouth before spilling over her lips in a thick rivulet. Sam held the base ring, now a filthy bridle. “The hook is free, Eleanor,” Sam whispered, giving it a slight, tugging twist that made Eleanor gag. “And I just placed it in your tongue.” Eleanor’s hands flew up, not to remove it, but to hover shakily near Sam’s wrist, a wordless plea for control or for more. She tried to speak, but the sound was a wet, bloody gurgle around the steel violating her mouth. Sam pulled downward on the ring, using it to drag Eleanor’s head closer. “You wanted it back inside you,” Sam breathed, watching the blood drip onto Eleanor’s thighs. “Now you can taste it with every word you’ll never say again.”