Corrine winds the crank slowly - pulleys screech, ropes tighten - the rack distributes its pain unrelentingly. A passion project crafted solely by her own two hands. It was her favorite toy.
Stirrings from her groggy associate - star of the show on this full moon night. The more awake he became, the more guttural his sounds. Another half turn ought to do.
“Argh!”
“Welcome back.” she cheers before flogging his chest with a wet three-foot length of rubber hose.
The man of the hour - stripped and stretched taut as a violin string - offers a series of pitiful whimpers between his louder cries set into motion by the ropes and pulleys.
“Stop, please!” he begs.
One more turn - the click of both shoulders popping out of socket. He wails in agony, face contorted, body trembling.
Corrine secures the straps around his thighs and ankles.
“Now the hips.”
Three more spins of the wheel - this time, a tearing sound.
“Argh, argh!” the man howls.
He gasps for breath, Corrine leans close to his right ear.
“You’re doing so well.” she purrs.
He struggles through a short bout of dry heaves, she glides down to his feet to face him.
“I know you can’t go anywhere completely disjointed but I’m still chaining you to the wall - because fuck you.”
She releases all restraints and drags his sweaty, limp body across the room. Chain cuffs and shackles in place, she stands eye to eye with her guest of honor - gently tracing her finger in a zig-zag down his torso.
“Which bone do I break to make a wish?” she quietly taunts, then slams a large wooden paddle across his face.
A bright scarlet stream spurts from his now badly broken nose.
The next half hour is spent pummeling his genitals with a small hardwood baton and sinking a quarter inch drill bit several times into both kneecaps. His voice a gravelly wheeze, he hangs on the wall like a blood-soaked rag.
Corrine darts from the room and re-enters with two syringes in hand, her naked body adorned in splashes of red.
“I brought enough for both of us!” she declares, beaming.
She wipes the sanguine fluid from her face, ties off and injects the liquid preparation of methamphetamine into her left arm. Bracing for impact - the hit is unbridled, orgasmic.
“Jesus fucking Christ I’m gonna ruin you!” she roars in a frightening union of fury and psychotic laughter.
Kneeling in front of the throttled man, she plunges the needle between his toes and leaps to her feet. He immediately surges forward, shrieking through scorched vocal cords.
Corrine wields a small scalpel, making worthy incisions over both shoulders and across his entire chest just above each clavicle. Time was of the essence - if she were to be successful in skinning him alive before the drug effects diminished.
She locks eyes with her victim - his fitful panic as urine cascades down his leg. In a stray moment of serenity, she lightly strokes the side of his face -
“Stay with me now.” her whisper soft and sincere.
The dead still room pulses a sinister chill, then catches fire with an orgy of bestial madness.
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