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These are extreme stories, and I do mean extreme. They come from my wild,
kinky, preverted imagination and they are full of yuckie stuff.
They are just flights of fantasy and certainly don't represent anything I
would ever want to do or see happen.


Some of these stories were partially inspired by other people's imagination.
I won't embarass them by naming names without their permission, but you know who you are.


Home 144 Short-Short Torture Stories – volume 1

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How the _hell_ did she get free, he thought furiously. He
types frantically. No mistakes, no mistakes…
As if to read his mind, she said, “Got Internet Explorer
working and found a website on handcuffs and lockpicking.” She ripped
the whip across his shoulders and he howled.
“As soon as you’re done editing the Registry, reboot and
see if that assigns the CD-ROM a drive letter,” she hissed, and
whipped him again.
Arrgh!! Was this Hell? No matter, he was in it. “Key Not
Found” came to the mocking error message as he rattled his chains
attached to the horrid little laptop.
Crying, she lay tied to the boardroom table, naked and
spreadeagled. The rolled-up reports bulged out of her vagina.
“If you can’t meet the targets, you suffer the consequences,”
said the sales manager sternly as he handed out the whips.
She gripped the electric drill firmly in both hands, then
pressed the bit into the tip of his erect penis.
“And who says women aren’t good with tools,” she thought as
blood spattered around the room.
The light glinted off the scalpel and shone in her
terror-filled eyes.
“Now where was that first cut supposed to go?” he muttered as
he flipped through the book on Jack the Ripper.
She coughed and sputtered as some of the gasoline splashed over
her face.
“Enjoy your smoke,” he said cheerfully, and dropped the lit
cigarette onto her stomach.
His right testicle swelled, then popped and spurted like a
grape.
She released the Vice-Grips and positioned them carefully on
the other ball. “One down, one to go,” she thought gleefully.
She could only gargle a scream as he pushed the first skewer
through her tongue.
“Oh hush up,” he rebuked. “I bought a large box of five
hundred. I told you, we’re going to be here all night.”
The wind picked up as the thunderstorm drew closer. She
shivered, and a few drops of rain landed on her naked breasts.
“It’s the anticipation, you see,” he said, snicking the
handcuffs around her wrists. He walked away, leaving her impaled on the
steel rod in the middle of the field.
“Umph,” she grunted, as she forced the two-foot electrode up
his resisting ass. “Hope the circuit breakers hold,” she thought and
flipped the switch.
They held.
She writhed as the spit went down her throat, through her
stomach and gut, and came out her vagina. He hit the motor drive and
she began to rotate over the bed of coals in the firepit in the
backyard.
“Now, that recipe for a spicy sauce called for…” he mused as
he went back into the kitchen. It would be at least three hours until
dinner, and he was expecting at least 20 guests.
The girls were having a barbecue with their husbands. “Helen,”
Karen called out, “Did you want mustard or relish on yours?” “Mustard,”
said Helen.
“We’ll cut some flank steaks after this,” Karen said as she
reached for a bun, fired up the blowtorch, and began to roast Dan’s
penis.
Helen’s husband howled in agony as the smell of burning pubic
hair drifted over the trees.
She splashed around in pain for a bit, fighting her bonds, but
eventually, she settled down, her hair flowing out around her head in a
halo.
The 500-gallon industrial-sized deep frier sizzled and popped.
“Another five minutes,” he thought, looking at his watch.
He rummaged in the drawer. “Where the hell did that thing
go…?” he swore.
Ah. Found it. Bending down to start at her feet, he hefted the
sharp vegetable peeler and began to remove her skin.
Her legs were spread wide and tied to stakes on either side of
the machine. The sharp edge pressed against her pubic bone.
“I tell ya, you can buy anything at Sears,” he said admiringly,
and turned on the new log-splitter.
“Look, Marge, I built the damn thing, I’ve got to try it out at
least once to see if it works. Just take your clothes off, put your
head here, wrists tied there, legs tied there, that’s perfect. Now,
hold still while I set up the video camera…”
The guillotine blade came arcing down.
“Do you like these pumps? Yes, I know they cost a lot but
they’re _so_ stylish, and they go with my blue dress, and the heels are
so _sharp!_”
“That’s it, put your penis right there on the block, there’s a
good slave…”
“Oh, honey? Could you come here for a minute? I’d like to try
something new with the Cuisinart.”
Whoa, look at the clock, gotta run, I’m late, no time, no time!! (While
I’m trying to catch up, here are some more short-shorts)
Short-Short Warning: If you do any of this you’ll go to jail (depending
on which state you’re in; Florida plays with _real_ electricity,
y’ know 🙂
The beam groaned ominously but held as the noose tightened
around her fragile throat.
“Shit,” she thought. “If this one breaks I’m gonna be _real_
pissed.”
“Don’t worry, I sharpened the blades especially for you,” she
purred as she guided his penis into the fan.
Beating The Heat II
She rummaged in the bucket for another handful. Tsk. Almost
out.
“Honey, the next refrigerator we get has just _got_ to have an
ice maker, don’t you agree?” she asked, pushing another cube up his
ass.
“Mmmph!!”
“998, Uh! 999, Uh! 1000, Uh! Phew. There, I’m done, honey. Now
you whip me.”
“…Honey?”
“God, but you look beautiful. That’s got to be at least 100
pounds of weight hanging off your pierces,” he said to the girl as he
turned the tap to fill the tank with water.
She screamed, as much in surprise as agony as he ran the hot
iron over her stomach and breasts.
“Gotta get those creases out,” he muttered and hit the steam
button again.
“I really think these things are wasted on mice, don’t you?”
she said as she reached for his cock.
“Aiiiieeghh!”
He uncorked the bottle of acid and said, “You know, honey, I
think this is going to be a _lot_ more fun than wax.”
Her breasts slowly turned brown as the current from the battery
charger coursed through them. The huge clamps around her nipples had
long since scorched the fleshy buds to a crisp.
“Wow,” he said, awed. “Exactly like Brett Easton Ellis said.”
She groaned and bit her lip. “Is it in yet?” she panted.
“No,” he grunted. “Just another push… Uh!” Then she screamed,
“Oh!! It’s in! It’s in!”
He sat back, breathing hard. Amazing. Who would’ve believed it
would go? It had to be at least 8 inches in diameter. He gave it an
experimental tug.
Uh oh. “Honey?”
“What!?” she snarled between waves of pain.
“…It’s stuck.”
Gagged and blindfolded, she knelt naked, her pierced pussy lips
tied to her ankles. The two four-inch-thick dildoes impaled her,
spreading her needle-pocked ass wide. Her wire-bound breasts were
turning into purple balls , each stuck through with half a dozen bloody
skewers. Her arms were squeezed into a leather sheath that had been
soaked with water; the ceiling rope had almost pulled them off her
shoulders.
“Well, it passes the time,” he sighed and left the room.
“Doctor, the patient is unconcious, has whip marks over 100% of
her body, electric burns on her nipples and labia, needle-marks all
over her breasts and buttocks, arms and legs have been stretched from
their sockets, all her hair has been pulled out, and there’s evidence
of violent anal and vaginal intercourse, several very large objects, I
suspect. But there’s something odd.”
“Odd!!?? My god, Nurse, did you hear yourself? She’s been
tortured almost to death! How much more odd does it get?”
“She won’t stop smiling.”
“Yes, I know the bungee rope usually goes around the feet,”
she said, with a little shiver of anticipation, “but this time I want
to try something different.”
Her screams made a desperate sort of harmony with the whine of
the butcher’s saw. There was a kind of as it hit, and then went
through the bone.
“Now why didn’t I think of this sooner?” thought Karl the deli
manager, pushing the pretty cashier forward another inch.
A thin trickle dribbled down one side of her chin as he
crazy-glued her lips around the huge ball gag. Her eyes bulged in
terror.
“Now the nose,” he muttered, pinching her nostrils shut.
Finally, he reached her head, making sure to get a good seal
over her mouth and nose. But even as he finished, it occurred to him
that the puny little hairdryer was just not up to handling this much
shrink-wrap.
The machine whirred and clunked, chewing his penis to shreds.
Then, choked with blood, it gave out a pathetic little mechanical whine
and broke down, an error message flashing on the screen.
“Damn it,” she swore, “that salesman assured me this floppy
the drive would read anything.”
Do shopping. Feed the cats. Clean the apartment. Empty
the litter boxes. Shovel the driveway. Back up the computer. Hardly any
time for writing these days. All I can manage is a few more short-shorts.
Short-short Warning: The Surgeon-General has determined that torture can
be fatal (but he _also_ said it can be a heckuva lot of fun; nobody reads
that part of the report. 🙂
He gasped as she hauled on the rope that went up over the
pulley, and then down to his cock and balls .
“When I’m finished with you,” she cooed, “you’ll never post
spam to alt.torture again.”
Half asleep, she lay on her stomach, sunbathing nude on a
blanket in the back yard.
He hefted the weed-whacker, then looked thoughtfully at her
delectable tush; her best asset, she called it.

He quivered, straddling the log, and tried to keep his balance
as she pounded the spike through his cock and into the wood.
“Now stay!” she ordered.
“Uhh!” “Aeeiigh!” “Oww!! No!”
“Oh god, not that, Master…!!” “Auuuggh!”
(Author’s note: I have no idea what they were doing. I was
wearing a blindfold and the lights were out.)
He jammed the huge, ripe orange up her pussy and held a glass
beneath her.
“Squeeze.”
He finished smearing the odd-colored fluid over her naked body
as she struggled against the bonds that held her tied to the picnic
table.
She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, Honey, what is that stuff?” she
panted, as first one, and then another mosquito landed on her right
breast and began to feed.
“Insect attractant,” he grinned evilly.
Puzzled, the German Shepherd sniffed at the spread-eagled
woman’s crotch and took an experimental lick. Then he bared his
fangs, sank them deep into her pussy and began to gnaw as though
he had just been handed a steak. She screamed.
“No, Adolf!,” he shouted. “Fuck, not eat!!”
It occupied half of her apartment and had taken three weeks
to assemble. It made Rube Goldberg look like an amateur first-year
engineering student. But the strange, complicated machine was finally
ready for its first test. She pushed the button.
“Ahhhh,” she sighed in pleasure as the noose tightened around
her neck and dragged her off the floor.
She tugged, and he howled as his wire-bound penis, a little too
tightly tied, came off in her hands. Blood went everywhere.
“Whoopsy,” she muttered. “Now don’t panic, honey. The sewing kit
is around here somewhere.”
She screamed as her bound breasts bubbled and popped. The
microwave oven hummed, oblivious to her agony.
“See,” he said with satisfaction, “I told you I could get it
to go on with the door open.”
He started the engine, and she writhed as the current flowed
over the cables and through the clamps attached to her pussy lips.
“Give you a boost, lady?” he leered.
The kettle came to a boil, whistling shrilly. She picked it up,
reached for the enema tube that was stuck deep into his ass, and began
to pour.
“Fart in my face while I’m giving you a blowjob, will you?”
she muttered, ignoring his screams.
Hanging upside down from the ceiling, legs spread wide, the
rope cut sharply into her ankles as the 30-pound weights dangled from
the nipples of her bound breasts. The obligatory 4-inch-wide dildos
jutted upwards from her tormented pussy and ass. The corset cinched her
waist in almost to the backbone, making it hard to breathe, and her arms
were tied together up to the shoulders. She whimpered through the ball
gag.
“Did you say something, honey?” he said absently from the plush
armchair, turning another page in the book he was reading.
“The trick is getting the ball to balance on the nipple,” he
said to the other men in the foursome, as he chose a three-wood and
teed up on the 8th.
She shivered but held perfectly still as he began his
backswing.
“Now, how the hell does this thing go?” he muttered, wrestling
with the torture implement. There was a muffled , and he swore.
“I’ll get it, I’ll get it right, just give me a second,” he said
frantically, fumbling with the straps. Then, with a clatter, he
dropped the thing on the floor.
Helpless in her bonds, she rolled her eyes and sighed through
the ball gag.
The door was thrown open with a crash. The Writer turned in
shock to see two strange, battered figures standing naked in the
entrance. The man bore the marks of surgery around his cock, and
the woman was covered with countless scars. She held a blood-caked
whip.
“That’s the guy, honey,” the man growled, pointing a bandaged
finger at the author. “That’s the one who’s been doing all this to us!”
The woman advanced slowly into the room. “Ooooo, but you’re
going to get it now!!” she hissed venomously, raising the whip over her
head.
Naked and kneeling, she handed him the torture tool, a look of
pleading in her eyes.
“Now what the hell am I supposed to do with _this_?” he exploded,
staring in disbelief at the pink, plush, bunny rabbit. Its button eyes
gleamed impassively, hinting at the pain to come.
She had been hanging from the cruel noose for almost twenty
minutes, her face a deep purple, tongue sticking out. She twisted
feebly, her breath a ragged whistle in her tortured throat.
“Show off,” he thought sourly and landed another whip slash
on her ass.
She turned the valve and the propane hissed out. She struck a
match and held it up. The torch ignited with a soft.
“You’ve heard of prairie oysters, haven’t you?” she said,
turning to her terrified captive.
He plugged her in and she lit up like a Christmas tree,
howling in agony.
“Hmmm, one of the blubs isn’t blinking,” he thought, reaching
for a spare.
She gagged as the finely knitted scarf tightened around her
pretty neck. He pulled harder.
“You want to _return_ it?” he hissed angrily. “After all the
shopping I did to _find_ it?!”
The two cops burst into the room. She was already naked, tied
spread-eagled on the table with clothespins all over her gorgeous breasts,
a huge ball gag in her mouth. She lifted her head and whimpered in relief
at the sight of her rescuers.
“Oh, hi guys,” he said, looking up from the branding irons.
“Wondered when you were going to get here.”
The two police officers looked at each other, then at the girl.
“We were delayed,” said the first one with a grin, unzipping his trousers
as the second one reached for a pair of pliers.
“It’s very simple,” Calvin said with secret glee; she had him
now. “If you don’t torture me, I shall suffer harm,” she said firmly,
folding her arms over her naked breasts.
The robot swayed, the turmoil in its positronic brain clearly
evident.
Finally, in a creaking voice, it said, “…You’re right.” and
picked up the whip.
(That high-speed whirling you hear is Asimov, spinning in his grave 🙂
The wires were firmly clamped to her pierced nipples and labia.
She bit her lip and tried to concentrate.
He turned on the chess computer and set it to Grand Master
level. “When you lose a piece, you suffer,” he crooned in her ear.
“Let’s value the pieces this way,” he said, with a wicked grin.
“Pawn is 5 lashes, a rock is 20, bishop and knights are 30, and the Queen
is 50.”
He paused. “The King, of course, is unlimited.”
She gulped and looked at the vicious whip lying on the table. They
had played before and she _thought_ she could take him…
Eight moves later and screaming, she learned how wrong she was.
Sweat broke out on her brow as she considered her hopeless
position. “Care to resign?” he asked casually.
She looked at the horde of white pieces he had collected, and
then at the pitiful few remaining on the board. She sighed and tipped
her king over.
“Loser’s weepers,” he said with a grin, picking up the whip.
“Listen, Snow, you’ve been slacking off on the housework and
it’s got to stop. Doc? The needles, please?”
The pretty blond yeoman writhed, tied down on his bunk. Her
tunic had been all but ripped off and she swore furiously through her
gag. Her spread legs beckoned.
“Damn,” Kirk thought savagely, setting the phaser on ‘heat’ and
dialing for high intensity, “but I have _always_ wanted to do this!!”
“But… this is illogical,” Spock said in confusion, one eyebrow
raised in bafflement as he examined the whip.
Uhura sighed and clinked her handcuffs in frustration. Vulcans.
“Mr. Spock, sugar,” she said firmly, ” if you don’t _use_ that
the thing on me in the next five seconds, I am just going to _scream_!!”
Naked, the gorgeous Klingon prisoner thrashed in her bonds, her
greenish skin glistening with sweat. Kirk turned to McCoy.
“Damn it, Jim!” McCoy exploded. “I’m a doctor, not
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