The Wheel

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Rose Invites you to be a voyeur of one of her special appointments. Join her as she tortures her latest victim

 

 

 

The Wheel

 

 

"Assume no ill towards me, dear. It is you whom prompts my devil."


R.B

 

 

 

 

 

The Château Sauvageot stood high on the Dauphine landscape. The rolling foothills it nestled in, added to the image of the building, surrounded by its finely maintained gardens.

From a distance, fairytale-esque, the construction wowed and impressed all those unacquainted with the actual debauched history of the place.

Tall tales of devil worship. Human sacrifices. One would perhaps be forgiven for not being privy to the orgies and sexual frenzy that had apparently taken place over three hundred years previously within its walls. Torture and punishment, barbaric sadism. Some perverted victims would actually beg to be placed into brutal devices, as was their want. Others however, would reluctantly become the poor helpless souls who would be hung from their testicles just to entertain the rich daughters of visiting German aristocrats. Exteriorly, the lovely castle hinted at none of the above.

Yet, of the sparse historians and enthusiasts who did know of these myths and legends, none of them would have any way of knowing that the decadence of old was very much alive and well: Indeed. a selection of deviants still keenly partook in the indulgence of sex and violence and all things morally unaware.

Rose Benoit had been in Monaco at the time of learning of The Château Sauvageot and had very much wanted to be a part of it. The details of it's fetishist debauchery enraptured her.

The relationship she was in had fizzled out by this time. The man was a prince of some distant land in between Asia and the Middle East. Their arrangement had promised so much potential initially, all of which wasn't fulfilled. It became tiresome, so she made East towards the province's interior.


She had always thought that the venue would make the perfect final destination for Andrew Baker. Like in the times of old, the present day wasn't much different in terms of etiquette. There were many men who paid ridiculous amounts of money to be abused by the inhabitants. Just being there at Sauvageot was an honor for them. And if the delectable Rose Benoit and her confidant, the formidable Madam Evangeline DuTvot were in attendance, the stakes they would pay were astronomical. The amount of men who's only desire was to be dominated by voluptuous black women were more than plentiful and was a well established taboo at the Château Sauvageot.

Rose cared little, however, for such trifling matters as being a dominatrix to stupid millionaires. She'd participate, but the grounds for her being there were truly all the more disturbing.


 

Andrew screamed, loud. Hoping in some way that it might be heard by somebody other than the approaching woman. It was the baseball bat that was the main cause of his fear now.  It was longer than the one he'd used to beat Sarah Allen with, a larger end. His thoughts turned to her. He could not recall if it had been fifteen or twenty or twenty five years since he and his friends had mercilessly abused and murdered her. This baseball bat, the one in front of him now, was wooden. Rose Benoit held it nonchalantly with her fingertips.

Get that thing away from me!” Andrew cried. Rose closed her eyes, welcoming his tears with a rapture. “Get it away from me!”

At arm's length, she gently rubbed the end of the bat against his groin, tracing a line upward, slowly across his chest and up to his throat. Rose licked the corner of her mouth, her tongue remained, in concentration.

Kiss it.” she asked.

He thought better of shouting, of telling her to . He gritted his teeth and glared at her angrily.

As if on a reflex, she quickly shoved the end through his teeth. Four were instantly broken as a result of the impact. He cried out again.

You couldn't possibly want me to repeat myself, Andrew dear. Surely not.”

She reapplied the bat to his lips again, albeit softly, and through his bleeding lips and gums he did his best to kiss the end.

Good.” she whispered. “Now suck it.”

She'd showered, her rubber apron was now clean once more, as were her thighs and arms and bosom, free of the blood of the Filipino slave she'd murdered in front of him. Yet, the outlandish horns remained, they protruded, black and shiny and tall. His mind recalled the times before when he doubted her, his being unafraid, unconvinced of the danger and the menace he now knew only too well was real and staring him in the face. His recollections seemed as if from another lifetime.


 

She’d used a blade to cut the rear of his boiler suit, a tidy slit just over the area of his posterior. The bat, moistened with his mucus and tears and blood had been unceremoniously thrust in his anus without the rigmarole of actually removing his garment at all. Andrew Baker's mind had had plenty of time to adjust as he was penetrated with the instrument. His thoughts turned wiry, the rings around his eyes turned darker as he reluctantly succumbed to the realization that nobody was coming to his aid.

With Rose's slow, industrial, German porn music rudely keeping him from fainting, the sodomy had lasted over two hours.

The remaining Filipino slave had been attached to a leather garter on Rose's upper thigh with a length of chain that threatened to strangle him every single time she walked or merely moved. And every time he'd choked or made a sound, he was slapped.

Andrew awoke instantly and although he was still hazy and tired, a rush of adrenaline surged through his chest, a quickness no doubt incurred by his longing to be free. It seemed like time was running out. The imbalance of being both fatigued and energized was freakish and made him sick.

He widened his eyes and cursed himself on seeing he was still trapped in the same room. All the details of what she had done to him returned. The pain in his anus was like nothing he'd ever felt. He knew he felt different. Something was amiss, but at this point he wasn't aware of his being strapped to the outer rim of the wheel.

He tried his hardest to yell or shout to avert the remaining Filipino slave from being beaten. He wept tears at witnessing the cruelty.

More pain surged through Andrew's body when he learned of his new position. His chest ached and when he breathed inward it tightened, encouraging more layers of agony.

Suddenly, the room started to move downward. Or at least that is how it appeared.

The huge cylindrical mechanism to which he'd been strapped was engineered by a turbine manufacturer based in Russia. Hidden in storage beneath the Château, and regularly maintained, the terrible device was forged from steel and iron.

The revolution was slow as it rolled up. After a few turns of the wheel he began to feel dizzy.

I am sorry,” he screamed, “I said I was sorry!”

More music resounded. This time classical. He hated its relentless warbling and loud orchestral climaxes. Rose climbed into the seat that was positioned above the wheel, parallel, as the huge barrel-like mechanism turned it would pass under her chair.

She was silent as he rolled by and disappeared beneath her legs. The sensation arose in her, Rose was now in the throes of lustful excitement, brought on by the sight of him: helpless, scared and pathetic, all of which influenced her to smile delightedly.

She began lightly stroking him as he passed by. His face at first, but then she pulled at his penis, pulling a little harder with every revolution.

The masterful Sarabande blared out as Andrew quickly made attempts to shout. The music began to cause Rose to gush internally, her stomach swelled as hot passion and violence danced in her mind, enticing her senses. She licked her teeth and lips seductively with her tongue.

Strangely, in spite of his predicament, it was evident to Rose that Andrew was becoming harder. A slight indication, but a far cry from being a full blown erection, more of a malfunction, she diagnosed.

She produced a knife from her selection of tools which had been conveniently placed at the side of her seat. As he rolled by from underneath she held the knife in position, lightly slicing just below his throat down to his abdomen. The cut wasn't deep however, it didn't entice much fatality. He screamed and tried to spit at her.

I shall allow the shock to register within you, then I shall select my cat's paw.” she whispered.

Ultimately, she dragged the desired tool over his torso, lightly at first but after due time she applied more pressure, it's sharpened prongs scraping most of the flesh from his chest.

The pain incurred Andrew to go into his first period of shock, thus silencing him.

Oui, mon chérie, your caterwauling has decreased somewhat. Kindly keep it up.”

A brief respite. She touched at her horns, fingering them delicately while sipping at her glass of wine, a generous amount of which she poured on to his bloody body.

To soothe you, Andrew.” The cruel trick obviously failed to silence him as he began to wail again.

A third tool was selected.

Please stop! Fuck's sake... let me go, oh God, damn you.”

He saw the pair of long nosed pliers, she clutched them tightly, awaiting his next revolution, his screams were now almost nil, his vocal chords all but severed due to the hours of them working overtime. “Please, get me the hell out of here... please!”

Dear Andrew, think on this... why would I stop doing this that I adore?” She snipped at his face, missing intentionally. “You dislike, I am aware of this, I understand, I really do. Yet, I am aroused. I grow more enlivened and excited as you grow more terrified. Now, Andrew, tell me, what would you do if you found yourself in the same situation?"

His replies grew more incomprehensible. She missed again the third and fourth time. Fatally though, she caught his nose on their next meet, she remained her hold of the pliers tightly as he rolled further away from her and ultimately ripped it off. She smirked carelessly as blood poured from his face.

The next revolution Rose snipped at his eye and just nicked it. Instantly blinded, he emitted a high pitched blood curdling scream, literally. The noise of which made her ears rattle.

You poor thing.” she said, with a slight concerned look about her face. “But just remember darling, you are contributing to something about which you had always dismissed. . Or anyone's pleasure, for that matter. Anybody 's but yours, dear. Making you aware of selflessness. I am proud I have been able to teach you something that was incomprehensible within you. What a refreshing experience for you, dear, to actually taste retribution.”

Birgit Nilsson sang Liebestod. The drama of the song suite lent itself furiously to his torture.

Taking hold of his testicles and pulling so hard it made the wheel stop turning. The machinery strained against her resistance, the momentum was ultimately too much for his flesh as it tore and separated. As if like a broken raw egg, blood poured copiously. Andrew's testicles were still in Rose's hand as he went around again.

Ah, the beginning of the end.” she exclaimed, as she coolly inspected the bloody glands in the palm of her hand.

She placed them inside his mouth as he came around again, easily, Andrew was silent. Alive. But silent.

It would appear the fight has finally left you, Andrew darling.” The wheel was switched off.

Her wine was refreshing and had a crisp taste as she sipped another mouthful from her tall glass, she dismounted and stood before him. The man was now unrecognisable, no longer resembling the previously handsome man he was twenty hours before.

She had to dislocate his jaw to accommodate her final task. The baseball bat, inserted back inside his mouth, down his throat and pushed fully into the pit of his belly. Rose was wholly satisfied that, due to her expert positioning, Andrew was still holding onto life. She smiled at him as he struggled to breathe, grateful he was enduring this last terrible thing. She once more took his head in her hand and whispered the lyrics into what remained of his ear, accentuating her fine diction telling of Isolde's erotic final ode to love: “Softly and gently how he smiles, how his eyes fondly open, do you not see? How he shines even brighter, star haloed rising higher, do you not see?” She dropped his head and Inspected his torn body. Lightly touching at the severely deep gashes with her fingertips, she concluded the words to the song, rolling her tongue seductively over her teeth. “...to drown, to flounder, unconscious... utmost joy.

 


 



 


Submitted: June 27, 2022

© Copyright 2022 Jacqueline Vincent. All rights reserved.

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