Theresa's Punishment Part 11

Respiring in long, drawn out wheezes, Theresa shuffled aside to regain her equilibrium when the crutch provided by her oppressor's hand fled. No sooner had his armoured body ceased to shield her than the High Theocrat closed in and launched the cane. The first withering cut skimmed her thigh. The ferocity of the slice was carried into higher reaches by the tiny fingers that allowed the sting of the plant to bite deep. The wash of duress that poured from the crop was like nothing she had ever felt from such a weapon - the caustic stem was taking her beyond the possibilities of any ordinary crop.

The priestess of misery paused and let Theresa know that the pain would not fade. The lambent weal retained its precious stash of her misery and kept the flames of it stoked and raging.

The first stroke had still refused to even begin fading when another was applied, and another.

The wide swing of the female attacked every portion of her body and showed no mercy or quarter while Theresa rapidly shuffled away from her. The distraught scramble shifted the inserted rod and ducking her body, her torso flailed and her arms tried to shield herself as she impetuously sought shelter.

The woman applied the scourge with an intense relish and the twisted leer of satisfaction that she found in her work.

With tears rolling down over her face, Theresa clapped her palms to the wall. She pressed her face to the cold surface and set her eyes to the sky as the stern lashes chewed into her already wellflogged back and hindquarters. Her frame convulsed with each new stripe. The view began to distort, her stamina being eroded until with giddiness holding regnant in her senses, she toppled and slammed harshly to the ground. The scowl of her wounds against this sudden battering went unnoticed because the Mistress of this stygian cathedral continued to apply her weapon of vengeance without pause.

Clawing at the ground, Theresa dragged herself onward. She towed her tethered legs in her wake and the immobilised limbs received harsh kisses from the cane. Those to her exposed soles were the worst to encounter but there was no way to protect them from the animus of the High Theocrat.

Whipped around the circular room, Theresa was suddenly halted when the instep between heel and toe of a thigh boot captured the chain between her ankles. She was stopped in her flight so the High Theocrat might apply her weapon with new and furious speed. The cane shaded in Theresa's b.u.t.tocks and thighs, coating the skin in depictions of purple radiance.

The offensive broke off without warning and the stalk hummed against the air with testing flicks so that it might shed the droplets of moisture that Theresa's fevered frame had lain upon it.

Gloved and armoured fingers touched her bonds, removed the straps, and freeing her legs.

Her frame was still maintaining the c.u.mulative fever pitch of every stripe she had acquired from the beating.

"Remove yourself and lick my boots, slave, and I will grant you clemency ... maybe," offered the woman.

The Theocrat looked aside and her mere gaze seemingly caused a section of floor to part, exposing the submerged cage that was Theresa's cell and her route back to a tenuous sanctuary. With her flesh still reverberating from the palpitating scars of her discipline, Theresa fought off the looming spectre of unconsciousness and slapped her palms to the ground. Strengthening her resolve, she dragged herself forward and kept the tracts of her p.u.s.s.y as limp as possible, hoping to slither free without too much pain. The nodules scratched and nipped terribly, each expelled millimetre surrendering only after an inferno of internal discord.

Only once she was beset with tremors of grotesque affliction did it finally come free and her forced squeal degenerated into a sorrowful moan when the tip emerged from her blazing orifice and dropped against the floor. The heat of her womb started to slothfully subside and leave her with the dubious friendship of her stings and the c.u.mulative cache from her bruises of this session. Rising crooked and numb onto all fours, Theresa felt the locks at the back of her gag being manipulated. The fixture capturing her nose popped open and let the straps fall loose. With a retching hack, she forced the balloon out and the diameter pushed her jaws apart almost to the point of dislocation before it squeaked across her teeth and dropped to the floor. The huge bulb glistened with a thick layer of saliva and freed of the obstruction to the fulfilling of her orders, Theresa turned around and found that she was staring into the burnished panes of the woman's boots.

Held in a retained layer of suffering by the weals that were still scalding her, she knew she could take no more, not until she had been granted time to recover and let her mind rest.

With her tolerance gone and her willpower smashed, she parted her dry lips and let her long subdued tongue roll forth to run across the smooth fields of patent leather. Even this was no easy task because the stud that cruelly bisected the implement of cleaning caught on the wrinkles and made its existence felt because of movement in a raw tunnel that was still very much fresh and tender.

Crossing the pointed toe with slavish devotion, Theresa licked the footwear. She attended the towering boots and made sure she covered them properly. She let her tongue snake up and down the skysc.r.a.per heel and around shin, knee, and to the tips of her thighs. With one boot done, she mindlessly turned to the other. Her indignity was subdued against the promise of finding respite against the session. The Dregakk were whimsical creatures, and if she could lose herself from the High Theocrat's gaze, even for a short time, then perhaps the maenad would forget about her and find another mortal subject to fill her attention. The rim of the second thigh boot was finished, and a last lick up the length of the suspender was the last act of self-subjugation. Theresa sat back onto her haunches and kept her gaze low in the hope of not irking the woman. Theresa prayed for mercy with all her heart.

A long, uneasy quiet ruled for a short time while the High Theocrat weighed up her choices, or was she merely just letting Theresa's dolour continue to grow fat within her soul, guzzling the choice fare of what might be?

"Get back into your box, slave," announced the pious s.a.d.i.s.t.

Lifting up her boot, she locked the instep to her shoulder. After digging in the heel, she shoved Theresa onto her back.

Without any further need for permission, she scudded to the pit on her belly, threw up the lid to her cage, and clumsily dropped herself within.

Theresa was all too eager to be removed from this chamber of torture, even if it meant prolonged and cramped incarceration. She let the hatch fall in her wake and the locks sealed themselves automatically to trap her.

"I shall see you again, slave. Perhaps next time we can continue with more significant lessons for you," promised the woman as she settled down before the cage to look upon Theresa's huddled form one last time before sending her on her way. The prison began a graceful descent. It slid down and the light was cut off as the ground sealed back in her wake, leaving Theresa in complete darkness once more. The void was now a blessed soothing blanket that promised her sanctuary from the Theocrat's attention. Her eyes accustomed swiftly, and she started to make out the glow of her whip marks. The stains of her beating twinkled with a purple hue in the bleak tunnels, these being the only source of light. The descent stopped and she was borne along before beginning a lengthy ascent. The gentle wash of the forced air over her skin soothed Theresa slightly. The tender kiss of wind to her abused physique continued for long minutes until her rise cut off and she was ferried forward. The doors ahead slid apart to expose the familiar and long sought after sight of her alcove. With a slow ease, she was inserted back into place. The portal locked behind her and she was once more left bathed in a faint twilight from the lower depths of the ma.s.s penitentiary.

Laying herself down and being careful of her contusions, she closed her eyes. The feat of resting was difficult because of the stubborn effects of the alien plant upon her flesh.

The sound of the cages coming and going continued to lull her into sleep, and the soft lullaby of their steady clattering song carried her into a slumber where she dreamed of being on gra.s.sy hills, with the sky and its ample banks of fluffy white clouds all about her, and crisp clean air in her lungs.

Chapter Eleven.

The door closed and the High Theocrat listened to it lock. Alone at last, she pulled off her thong and tore open the mesh between her legs. She flopped onto all fours and grabbed Theresa's forsaken inhibitor bar. Her hands reverently embraced the spiteful tool and her lips parted so she might run her tongue along the pliant barbs. The taste of the human's p.u.s.s.y was divine and she rapidly fawned upon it before taking the whole thing in her mouth and then sucking on it.

Unable to hold her libido in check she swung the device between her legs and threaded it into her own body. Her chest arched and she gave a long mewl of heady delight from the feel of the cruel intrusion but she could not stop herself. Sitting up with difficulty, she managed to fasten some straps around her knees and thighs. With the instrument anch.o.r.ed to her, she started to stroke her c.l.i.t and shift her legs. The rubber p.r.o.ngs grated against her humid s.e.x and each minor tremble made their existence more p.r.o.nounced. Gasping for breath, she continued to m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e, dreaming of the human standing over her, imperiously making her pay for everything she had done to her.

Theresa was ripening nicely. The abuse was making her strong, and hateful towards the woman who tortured her. When the time was right, she would extend the offer. How she yearned to make that move right now, but Theresa was the most apt candidate in decades and she dared not ruin her dream by acting precipitously. There were other parts of her plan about to unfold. She knew that she needed something to enforce Theresa's commitment to the deal, something more terrifying than being used as a sacrifice, something so terrible that Theresa would never back out once she had accepted her fate. The interrogation at the start of their most recent encounter had proven that she was on the right track, and now all she had to do was play that trump card and watch Theresa traipse along the predetermined path that she was completely ignorant of.

Theresa was in her cell, compressed, aching, alive with rancour. The things that the human female would do to her in retaliation for these abuses raced through her thoughts. The High Theocrat felt o.r.g.a.s.m loom and as her digits danced on her p.u.s.s.y, she started to kick with her legs, punishing her p.u.s.s.y and making her spasm with twisted relish.

"Soon, Theresa. Soon," she murmured, and licked at her fingers to taste of female juices.

A crackle snapped her awake and Theresa opened her heavy eyelids to see the portal before her open a crack. It paused, flickered with a discharge of cyan forks, shut sharply, and then opened with a swish of speedy movement. With a lurch, Theresa was startled to find her cell moving back into the warren beyond the walls of the great hall. The movement jerked occasionally, as though her journey were being deliberated, or reconsidered.

The pain in her body had dwindled considerably. The light from her stings had faded, leaving her in true bleak oblivion as she was swallowed and ferried upwards into the higher peaks of the infernal cathedral.

With a jolt she stopped, started to descend, and was then shoved aside into a new corridor. Again, her hesitant path rolled on, until a solid impact cast her against the mesh. The stab of barbs made her recoil with a grunt and fortunately, the solid barrier she had struck prevented the fence being pushed out and thereby encourage retribution.

Trapped, there was a cyan pulse as a flicker of light rolled around before her and followed the seams of a doorway. Was this some manner of malfunction? Had the pathway system gone awry and dispatched her at random. Maybe short circuits or misinformation within the guidance computer was moving her randomly around. Did her gaolers know her fate, or was it occurring without their knowledge? What if she was lodged in some forgotten corner, with only slow starvation awaiting her unless she was detected? Was this to be her final and unexpected fate after so much torture? After all their intentions to kill her with their deranged l.u.s.ts, would she eventually meet her demise because of a mere computer glitch?

The doors before her opened in a series of abrupt motions and exposed a bright sheet. The light fazed her as suddenly she was being borne forward again. The cage emerged and fell, the exit having been situated high on a wall. After a brief moment of freefall the prison struck the ground with a deafening tone, slamming her to the roof as it bounced and then rolled to a halt. The many teeth of the walls scratched her until the lock snapped, the hatch fell open, and her body spilled onto the polished floor.

With a heavy clang, the box dropped onto its side, and Theresa felt the cold of the ground seeping into her chest. Proc.u.mbent and winded by the debilitating clumsiness of the landing, she lifted her head and surveyed her surroundings.

The room was virtually barren, with one wall opened by a large windowpane. The rest of the chamber was lined with fixed shackles and these the metal cuffs hung from a foot of chain and parted only to allow a thin corridor to snake off into darkness.

Looking out of the window, she found the evil city of the Dregakk on this colony world bathed in a soft light and this glow seeped stealthily into the chamber like a scalded animal. The monstrous towers before her gouged at the dark sky with jagged claws, their t.i.tanic heights left far below her in the exceptional peak she now dwelt in. This cathedral towered above all others, just as its denizens towered over the Dregakk in cruelty and s.a.d.i.s.tic skill.

Moving closer to the rectangular view, Theresa put her hands to the transparent pane and looked down into the depths. The severity of the plunge made her head suddenly swim and vertigo strike.

The oppressive night was kicked aside by flares of light from burning braziers, the headlights of speeding craft in the air and on the ground, and the dotted street lamps that followed paths and roads and then wove through the buildings in intricate patterns. In addition, the light from the thousands of windows dotting the sides of the vast mountains of bleak stone and metal added an ambient haze. Upon their sides hung the many flags and banners of House identification, and many thousands of bound and tormented slaves whose strict bondage confined them to exposure and public scrutiny in their funereal fate. In every apartment and residence, the Dregakk were no doubt abusing their servants and slaves. It was startling to imagine the sheer amount of anguish being conjured in the city.

Turning pensively from the landscape, Theresa could only accept the pa.s.sage because even if there were other exits, they were not available to one of such lowly stature as she. In a last hope of success, she ran her hands upon the seamless fabric of the walls, seeking to stir something into activity, to open a door or other point of egress, or locate something that might aid her in moving freely about the Temple.

Was this really an escape attempt? What was she doing? There was no way to make a break for freedom without being tracked by the Hunters. However, they had only been dispatched because she had been missed. It was doubtful that her fate was cared about now. None were expected to survive the Temple, and thus, if she could get out of the cathedral, and back into the wilds, she could well find herself the freedom she had almost found before. Previously, the threat of being caught and sent to the Temple was her prime factor in declining such flight, but now, this was her lot, and recapture would only have her sent back here again. It left her with nothing to lose. With a sparkle of happiness in her heart, Theresa slipped into the pa.s.sageway and traced her hand along the walls. Following the dark route to an unknown destination, the promise of finding a way out of this hideous church of evil and into the wilds made her steps light as her stomach and heart fluttered with apprehension and excitement.

A corner presented an entry into some sort of hall, and rather than continue to follow it pointlessly around, Theresa decided to cross directly. Moving on her hands and knees, she carefully scanned before her with her fingertips in order to seek any obstacles before crawling blindly into them.

Without warning, a dazzling pulse of light exploded around her. Harsh lights leapt to full intensity and made her sight disappear into a distorted white sheet. Clapping her hands over her eyes, she flipped up onto her feet and fought to see what was going on.

Metallic tethers clamped about her ankles to tilt her and rob her of balance. With her arms flailing wildly, she dropped straight into an arising sculptured seat. The reclining back kept her laid out as the engine of restraint continued to unfold with its captive firmly anch.o.r.ed to it. Lifted up, her legs were carried out on stirrups that spread her wide as her torso was slanted down. Her arms were snagged by automated shackles and hauled along her sides. A sunken headrest s.n.a.t.c.hed her brow with a ribbon of metal and forced her skull back to present her inverted gaze to the brilliant scene.

"Nooooo! Not again!" she howled, dismayed that she had been thwarted a second time. The loss of her hopes was a devastating bereavement.

The untouched canvas of white gathered colour in pale shades, filling the vague shapes she could see and restoring her sight through a steady process.

The moulded chair splayed her within its uncompromising and uncomfortable grip. Her demeaned frame was at the very centre of an amphitheatre, the sunken heart having been accessed by the pa.s.sage she had unwittingly followed. The seats arising all around her were filled with adolescent female Dregakk. The crowds of students were all dressed in the scanty attire indicative of the Holy Order, save that their hair was generally plain in appearance, and none wore the skin cloaks that had seemed so much a part of the Order's uniform.

A door to her right hissed open and revealed the High Theocrat. The woman was flanked by two templars of different visage to the one she had already encountered. Dressed in her ceremonial outfit, the woman marched over to Theresa's p.r.o.ne body and looked over it with her usual vile smile creeping across her lips. This simple smirk revealed that her delivery had been no accident, that the entire affair was an orchestrated trick to offer her the glory of considered escape only to s.n.a.t.c.h it away and make her deliver herself into the clutches of another session of torture.

"Glory to the G.o.ddess," announced the dreaded high priestess and raised her fist into the air.

The a.s.sembled hordes of young women arose as one and echoed the words. A sea of punches rose up as they piously saluted their dark deity.

"Be seated," said the High Theocrat, and the sound of their bodies settling echoed through the hall as the creak of leather and latex attire.

"Now, as we were discussing before the break, the affliction of pain is not solely based on what is actually done, but by the threat of what might be done. To mindlessly torment the body is one thing, but to torment flesh and soul with equal severity, that is a goal worth attaining."

The alluring woman leant over and removed a stubby pistol from the depths of the chair. The small weapon was moulded into the visage of a snarling demonic form where the pursed lips created a muzzle and the stout throat was the b.u.t.t. A thick hose fed the beast, riding up to the grip and forming momentarily into its spine before vanishing into the weapon. The pipe was opaque and therefore carried an unknown cargo.

The woman took an indifferent hold and stepped beside Theresa's upside down features. She was addressing the audience as though the captive were not even alive, rather she was a mannequin, test dummy, or other inanimate object.

Theresa closed her eyes, realising now that she was a subject in some terrible lesson in the fine arts of atrocity. The Holy Order's new recruits were being taught the intricacies for which they were renowned, and the High Theocrat was tutoring them personally while using Theresa as her guinea pig.

"For example. Deprivation is a wonderful thing, and it becomes more potent the more valuable the commodity being removed. Chast.i.ty devices for o.r.g.a.s.m, bondage for movement, gags for speech, blindfolds for sight, but to cut off the slave's access to air is a torment of no small significance. The total denial wrought by smothering or sealing is one of absolutes, the slave having no option. However, to present a route to their desired goal, and to have that goal impossible to attain yet fraught with additional travail is a wise investment of your time. Water torture is both effective and devastating, for it promises death by drowning, which is a demise inherently feared and promised by the ordeal, thus increasing the psychological impact of the torture. The slave may access air if they can swallow the fluid flow, or find a gap in it. This is of course a futile option but one that they may try in desperation. If they do try, they will be frustrated by the knowledge that it is supposedly possible and also afflicted by the ingestion or inhaling of moisture to increase the magnitude of their suffering and panic. Observe ... '

The nozzle was aimed at her and the trigger pressed. A stream of cold water gushed forth into her face. The hose smothered her with a powerful stream, cutting off Theresa's access to air, rolling into her nostrils and into her throat, demanding that she hack and cough and expel valuable breath.

"As you can see, water torture when used in this manner is superior than dunking, for it offers the slave all the discomfort and nightmare possibilities of a drawn out and slow demise, with the constant offer of alleviation if they can just acquire it, while also denying them final release."

Theresa strained against her bonds, her mouth flapping like a goldfish's maw while she sought to find a vent in the steady flow by which she might find air. The Theocrat had declared it as not possible, yet her instincts demanded that she find it. Swallowing great mouthfuls in frantic calamity, her lungs burned and her mind whirled with suffocation. The act of slow and methodical drowning was terrifyingly realistic and made her rabid with panic. Darkness started to loom around the edges of her mind and sight, encroaching slowly, eating away, and stealing her thoughts, making them slower and dull. With unconsciousness overtaking her and preceding drowning, she inhaled rashly and drew in a deep gasp of water, just as the cascade ended.

Breaking into retching strains, she regurgitated the inhaled fluid. Coughing and spluttering thereafter to expel the lingering moisture, her tainted lungs continued to revile the influx and her body writhed impotently in its bonds, unable to get free.

Swallowing and sobbing softly, Theresa slowly went slack. Her muscles were now aching from the exertion of trying to break out of her bonds.

"Additionally, the ordeal may be further magnified by modification to the basic weapon in use. For example, the addition of a caustic ingredient to the flow. Gerintrik is excellent because of the stinging burn upon human skin. Berthnek is a little less potent but has a much more lingering effect, which is especially pleasing if you are adding a paddle or tight clothing afterwards. The raw nature of the skin makes any touch a painful one for any days thereafter. But the one I find most useful is Herthrixx, the extract being wonderful as an irritant to cause spectacular results even in small quant.i.ties, observe."

With a flick of her thumb, the woman shifted one of the demon's horns, and from its throat poured a green tinted wash of stinging water. The slap of it across her features stirred Theresa back into manic activity. She sought to escape, to gain a breath to aid her in weathering the process of pseudo drowning. However, this time there was a new side to her troubles, one that had her throw open her mouth and croak with alarm. Spilling valuable air on a cry, the burning gnaw into her eyes and nostrils was intolerable, and was a level of aggravation that had her battling to rub her eyes, to snort her nostrils free of the toxic droplets. The additive to the waters seemed to burn into the membranes like acid, dissolving her sight and smell. The stink of acrid hot fumes was powerful in her lungs even without the act of stealing a breath.

Gurgling, the effects of starvation were speeded from her response to the chemical agent, and lost in abject calamity, she flopped and bounced within the arms of the chair. The consuming fog of blackout rolled freely into her mind, erasing her thoughts and promising to extinguish her life.

The waterfall moved aside and broke off. The nozzle dripped a small stream while Theresa gagged and disgorged the inhaled waters. Her lungs went into wild spasms from the repeated intrusion, and her eyes remained tightly closed. The blistering glow in them was still not gone and gave her paranoid cause to think that maybe she had been blinded by this insane tutorial.

"Some schools of thought choose brine. Salt water can be chilled far below the normal freezing point of water and therefore can apply levels of cold that can be quite amusing. However, although this is a good brief shock tactic, the numbing effects of such abuses preclude the full enjoyment of any further diversions and so I will not employ such a lesson here today."

"Now, one of the most widespread effects one can add, even on top of a chemical ingredient, is that of voltage. An electrical charge through the flow will allow you to attack other regions just as readily, and still maintain the suffering you are intending. An advantage here is the debilitating effects of it on human anatomy, which will expedite any asphyxiation."

Theresa tried to murmur her pleas. Her head was limp against the imprisoning metal band, and her eyes were closed tight and still ablaze from the mock corrosive agent.

The waters landed upon her chest in a thin stream but the sudden blazing crackle of lightning filled the air with ozone and acquired Theresa's monstrous squeal. Flying into convulsions, she was rendered defenceless while the woman leisurely steered the flow up her torso and across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Lightning arcs played within her conductive nipple rings, which carried the mordant charge into her flesh where it greatly escalated the effects.

Throwing her chest from side to side and seeking to evade the stream, Theresa s.n.a.t.c.hed in abrupt breaths and hurled them out as highpitched frozen shrieks. The Theocrat timed her attacks to fall in the moment Theresa was about to use an opportunity to grab an inhale so that her every morsel of air was discharged from wailing.

The electrified shower struck her in the face and bored into every pore. Her visage snapped and flicked under the encouraging kick of voltage nips and her cry now a silent frozen mask. Her body demanded that she bawl against such torture, but without any air, she was left to pointlessly trying. Jolting wildly in her restraint, Theresa was kept at this pure peak of h.e.l.l for eternal minutes. The intensity was too great to even consider or feel the approach of a faint from oxygen deprivation.

Without warning, the nozzle fell quiet and she dropped visibly back. Her rigid body went universally inert, all life apparently expelled from every cell.

Giving reign to the odd spasmodic twitch, Theresa opened her eyes slightly now that the charged waters had flushed the irritating agent out. The swaying vision slowly condensed and she found herself looking at the reversed forms of the students. The young girls were studying the lesson intently, watching the High Theocrat divulge favoured pa.s.sions for abuse. Theresa was appalled at such education, that they were not only raised as careless, remorseless s.a.d.i.s.ts, but they would attend a college of such heinous pursuits to perfect their art to the ideal which was the Dregakk's most prominent mode of displaying excellence.

From the crowd directly at her face were sat the most arrogant of the pupils. The most achieved or powerful had found what must be the best seats - before the face of the slave so they might witness in clarity the agonies being tasted. The recognition of one of them succeeded in lifting her bruised mind from torpor, and made her blink to clear her eyes of tears and water to confirm the identification.

Pelakh lounged at the second row. The diabolic nymph was wearing a bra of black hide. The straps over her shoulders were studded and threw a suspender down her arms to grab long gauntlet gloves of the same polished leather. The sheaths were laced tight and flecked with black spines and her slender fingers emerged to be painted black at the nail and sharpened to evil points. A thong to match her bra encased her loins and snagged the top of thigh boots with a single suspender. The attire was complemented by her pale skin and sombre cosmetics that served to follow the naturally acute features of this race, heightening her expression of intense scowling. Pelakh's hair was braided and held back by a headband of curling thorned wires, the weaving stems of metal brambles serving to fling the sea of thin tentacles away.

The vicious adolescent was here, in the cathedral. The revelation was startling and terrifying because she had always been under the constant and sly bullying of the girl. Would Pelakh be able to access her even now? On the other hand, was she to be spared the attentions of this nubile torturess? Did the girl even recognise her?

"The attack on the face is one that savages the dignity well, but do let yourself be distracted by singular devotion, for there are other regions equally amusing to target. For instance ... '

The nozzle touched her rear and suddenly forced through her sphincter before she could try and bar the pa.s.sageway with a frantic clench. Her response was too late however and so she was left holding her cheeks to the cold metal and vainly seeking to force it out with her trembling muscles.

"The a.n.u.s. An injection of water will cause an engorging effect that must be judged carefully if you do not wish to cause grievous trauma."

The influx of the flow rippled into her stomach and carried with it a cramping cold that screwed up her muscles to make them churn against each other. Theresa grimaced and endured the foul process. The welling pressure in her stomach caused her to groan and grind her teeth, whimpering in degraded shame at the thought of having such a procedure exposed to ma.s.sive attention.

"However, the act can be spiced with either a chemical taint or the conducting of voltage, either or both are equally viable for accentuating a mere enema into the realms of a more interesting and satisfying spectacle," decreed the woman.

Her thumb turned one of the demon's horns and changed settings to make Theresa suffer more impressively.

Words of pleading were slain in her throat as they were still being formed. Theresa arched her back and released a shrill pitch of woe. The acrid force in her belly felt as though it were eating through her insides, dissolving her from within, seeking to hollow her out. Screaming in abject misery, Theresa jolted and fought to push out the ocean building within her, but the remorseless shove of new waters kept the reservoir within and added to it in a steady monstrous cycle.

The struggling ent.i.ty of water within her started to push more stringently at her ca.n.a.ls as it demanded room and found none. Instantly, the ordeal was turned into an encounter of unprecedented sorrow as the demon changed, and added the electrical castigation once more.

Via the sea winding through her stomach, the lightning had free reign. It skipped throughout her insides in an instant, licked at her stretched lanes and made her explode into a vibrating tempest of movement. The unimaginable level of pain was almost destroying her mind within its terrible clutches. The pressure, the caustic burn, the myalgia, the searing energy, it was more than she could take. Her holler lost its pitch and volume to settle into a low murmur while she slipped irresistibly into a swoon. The High Theocrat's last words afflicted her ears.

"As you can see, the lack of the usual drugs has permitted black out, but displays just how much can be inflicted without the need for chemical enhancement. If such were applied, then these torments might well promote a coronary in less st.u.r.dy subjects. And on a personal note, I find it far more satisfying to create agony without medicinal a.s.sistance, so I may call the screams truly my own work and have no other source to allocate praise to. That is all for today. Remember your private studies; I want reports on humiliation techniques for at least three of the major slave races on my desk by tomorrow."

Chapter Twelve.

Examining the ancient texts as they rolled across the screen, Eldral deactivated the security lockouts so he might find the information he sought. The lore within the closed files was lost to all save the Warmasters and the Theocrats. Its words had been deemed too scandalous and dangerous for the ma.s.ses. Yet, it was possibly a means to save the Theocracy.

The historical knowledge he already knew was ma.s.sively edited and extremely biased so as to steer anyone away from the truth with extreme propaganda and scare tactics. The Phed Dregakk civil war had been turned into a legendary battle between good and evil, rather than what it had been in actuality. The truth appearing before his eyes contradicted his childhood teachings, and offered a ray of powerful hope.

If such reservoirs of lost power still existed, he might be able to exploit them. The locations of the old bastions of the forbidden art were largely destroyed, but several had been maintained in sealed caverns, known only to those who had access to the renegade texts.

Summoning his guards, he selected the closest site and readied to seek out one of the largest and most st.u.r.dy domains of the rogue Dregakk. It was located deep in the mountain ranges of Thesnor. He knew the planet because he had visited an old battle tutor who had retired there. It was only a small colony because of the harsh environment, but weak atmosphere, savage storms, and lack of precipitation had in no way impeded the old enemy, making this choice of world ideal.