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Archive name: mrktwain.txt (MF, mc, v, tort)
Authors name: Hornster (Hornster@aol.com)
Story title : Connecticut Bitch in Torquemada's Court

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-= This work is copyrighted to the author © 2000. =-
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of
commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
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A Connecticut Bitch in Torquemada's Court (MF, nc, v, 
graphic torture)
By Hornster (Hornster@aol.com)

A beautiful, rich woman, who abuses men all her life, 
is transformed after meeting a stranger and undergoes 
the tortures of the Inquisition.


A CONNECTICUT BITCH IN TORQUEMADA'S COURT
(With apologies to Samuel L. Clemens)


CHAPTER ONE

Pamela was a bitch. Pure and simple. Rich, beautiful, 
sensuous, but a bitch pure and simple. Born wealthy in 
lower Connecticut, married to a wealthy man that she 
used up, then fucked royally in a nasty divorce, now 
single and on the prowl again. 

She liked bars. Fancy yuppie bars where she could meet 
a man, cock tease him into giving her the world, then 
leave him high and dry. Mostly for kicks, but deep 
inside, she knew she hated men. Oh, she wasn't gay. 
Maybe Bi, as she slept with a few friends in college, 
and licked a few slits. 

But she hated the way men, as she saw it, ruled the 
world. Her father, her ex-husband, so many of them. So 
when she could hurt them, she did. It was a mild early 
spring Saturday night. Joshua's, one of her favorite 
watering holes, was quiet. She had been there only 
about a half hour when he walked in. She almost inhaled 
her drink. 

Despite her feelings towards men, he was gorgeous. 
About six feet, slender, but well built. Not into 
weights, but more of a runner type. His hair was just 
ruffled enough so as not to look like the plastic, 
sprayed hair on so many others. His eyes were deep, 
penetrating, as he glanced her way. He smiled at her. A 
crooked sort of grin she immediately fell in love with. 
She knew she had to have him. In all ways, but right 
now, her crotch ached for him. 

This was highly unusual, since she usually sized them 
up first for what she thought she could get out of 
them, but this one she wanted between her legs. He 
walked to the bar, spoke to the bartender, then came 
directly to her table and sat down without a word. At 
first, her bitch side bristled, then she remembered how 
she wanted him. He looked at her for a moment then said 
"Hi. I'm Thomas." 


CHAPTER TWO

"Hello there. Do you always just help yourself to a 
seat?" 

He replied, "When I see what I like, I go for it. 
Life's too short. But, if I've offended you..."

"Not at all," she said, surprising herself.

Just then, the bartender came over with a bottle of 
champagne. Dom Perignon. Classy. "May I pour you a 
glass?"

"Please," she said, "and my name is Pamela."

They hit it off famously. And after two bottles of 
champagne, and some up close and personal dancing, she 
said, "My condo's not too far from here. Would you like 
to come for a nightcap?" 

Tom said, "I was hoping you'd ask."

She noticed a strange look in his eye as he said it, 
and hoped she wasn't making a big mistake, but 
remembered his words, "life's too short." 

They went outside and she got into the Porsche she had 
treated herself to after the divorce. She told him to 
follow her, and they left Joshua's, each with something 
quite different in mind.

They arrived at her condo five minutes later. Inside, 
she asked him to make them a drink, while she "slipped 
into something more comfortable." Had she really said 
that to him? What a tired old cliche. But, life WAS too 
short. 

She came out of the bedroom after a few minutes, 
wearing a black teddy and nothing more. She had 
considered the garter belt and stockings routine, but 
decided this was what Tom would like. He saw her and 
said "A little overdressed, aren't you?" She looked at 
him, took the drink from his hand, took a long swallow, 
and let the teddy drop to the floor. 

The last thing she heard him say was "That's better, 
much better." Then the room began to spin and go dark. 
She could feel herself falling into a void. Her last 
conscious thought was "I did make a big mistake."


CHAPTER THREE

She woke up. Or more likely, she thought, regained 
consciousness. She knew right away that she wasn't in 
her condo. In fact, it felt like she was lying on 
stone. It was dark, and her eyes were not yet adjusted. 
As they slowly got used to the lighting, she realized 
she was in some sort of a cell. Like a prison cell. The 
place was cold, dank, and smelled of, of what? Piss? 
Sweat? But the other smell. She couldn't place it. What 
was it? 

Then her senses overtook her. It was the coppery smell 
of blood. Blood and sheer human terror. She screamed. 
Louder that she'd ever screamed before. She stood up 
and saw her prison was a small chamber, carved out of 
stone, only about six by eight feet. A solid wooden 
door marked the only way in or out. She tried it and it 
was locked. 

As she turned away from it, she heard voices, then the 
lock turned. Two huge, ugly men entered. They were 
wearing only a type of leather britches, worn and 
dirty. The rest of their bodies were hairy. She could 
see they were powerful. They looked like what you'd see 
in a movie about the medieval days, the jail keepers, 
the torturers, the executioners. 

Again, she let out a scream. One of the men slapped her 
hard across the face, knocking her to the ground. The 
other threw a dirty rag at her and said, "Put this on 
bitch." 

It was then she realized she was naked. The rag he 
threw her was smelly, tattered sackcloth of some kind. 
She slipped it on and it barely covered her nakedness. 
The man who slapped her then said, "Let's go you whore, 
the court is waiting." 

With that, the grabbed her arms, and tied her hands in 
front of her with thick coarse rope and led her out of 
the small cell, and up a long flight of stone steps, 
lighted only by foul smelling torches mounted on the 
walls, and finally into a large chamber. When they 
pulled her through the door into the chamber, her heart 
stopped. There were three figures dressed in ornate 
clerical garments sitting at a long table. Other 
figures stood and sat around the room. Some were 
writing, using quills and inkwells. There was a general 
feeling of total gloom and doom in the room. 

Then she looked closer at the three seated figures. The 
middle one had had his head down reading a document. He 
lifted his head and she almost fainted. It was Thomas. 
He looked at her and said, "You have been brought 
before this Tribunal charged with crimes against man. 
Many men. In your own way you are a heretic, a 
blasphemer. But not in a religious way. But we will 
treat you the same as all heretics and blasphemers. 
This is the Spanish Inquisition. And I am Torquemada. 
Thomas de Torquemada. The Grand Inquisitor."


CHAPTER FOUR

She thought to herself that this was all a big joke, 
probably cooked up by her prick ex-husband. But she 
didn't like the idea that she had been drugged and 
didn't like the way these two big assholes had treated 
her. 

Alright, she'd play along, but when it came time for 
payback, they'd all pay. Big time. She was lost in this 
thought when a hand struck her a stunning blow across 
the face. 

She reeled back and heard Thomas say "You had best pay 
attention and know what's in store for you. You have 
been brought here for the way you've treated men. Like 
a play toy. To be used for your whims. Then discarded. 
This is bad enough, but in the process you have 
destroyed lives. And this cannot, will not go 
unpunished. It is now your turn, and as you will now 
hear, the punishment will fit your crimes." He turned 
to one of the other men who handed him a rolled paper. 

"What a bunch of dramatic bullshit," she thought.

Thomas unrolled the paper, looked at it for a moment, 
then looked at her. He then put the paper scroll down 
and said to her, "I told you your sentence would be 
harsh. But it even surprises me what has been handed 
down by this panel of Men." He said the word 'men' as 
if he was rubbing her face in the fact that she was the 
only woman in the large chamber. 

What he said next made her blood turn to ice. "You have 
been found guilty of the crimes I have mentioned. And 
your sentence is death. You are to be taken into the 
plaza, stripped of your garment, tied to a stake and 
slowly burned. This will put an end to your tormenting 
men. But before the death sentence is carried out, you 
will be taken to the lower chambers where you will be 
tortured in anyway our torturers see fit, and for as 
long as they can continue without depriving you of your 
final trip to the plaza. You will suffer. Have no doubt 
about that. And in the end, you will welcome the sweet 
kiss of death. Take her away. And may God, a Man, have 
mercy on your soul." 

She felt her bladder empty and the warm yellow liquid 
run down her legs, just before her weakened knees 
stopped supporting her and she fell to the cold, 
stone floor.


CHAPTER FIVE

She became aware that she was being led back down the 
steps, about halfway down. The same two brutish men who 
had taken her up a short time ago were now leading her 
down. She decided she'd had enough and said "I think 
it's time to give up the charade assholes. I don't know 
who you are, or who foot the bill for this Hollywood 
attraction, but let me go now and maybe, just maybe, I 
won't include you two in my lawsuit." 

Before she could again open her mouth, the larger of 
the two drove her to her knees, which slammed into the 
stone steps. He looked at her and his foul smelling 
breath washed over her as he said, "It's not real smart 
to talk to the ones who are going to play with you for 
a while before you're cooked in front of the whole 
town. We'll give you a chance to be nice to us, and if 
you are, maybe we'll return the favor and snap your 
neck before the flames reach that cunt of yours." He 
then grabbed her by the hair and dragged her the rest 
of the way down the stairs. 

She began to think, no, to believe, that this wasn't a 
practical joke. She would soon see that it wasn't. They 
entered a large room and threw her to the floor. She 
slowly sat up and looked around. It was a torture 
chamber. Just like she'd seen in movies. The 
centerpiece was a well-worn wooden rack. An Iron Maiden 
stood in a corner. Various ropes, chains and shackles 
were mounted in the walls, and hanging from the high 
ceiling. A roughly made wooden chair, with spikes of 
wood on the seat, back and arms, with straps to secure 
it's occupant, sat next to the rack. 

And there were other things scattered about that she 
could only begin to guess at their sadistic use. She 
could smell a fire and saw a brazier near the rack, 
with the handles of God only knew what kind of 
instruments sticking out of it. One of the men again 
grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet. The rope 
around her wrists was tied to another rope that 
extended to the ceiling and was then pulled tight, 
lifting her to her toes. 

He said to her "We'll start with a good flogging. That 
always softens people up. But first we have some 
unfinished work. Maybe the bitch would like to see what 
we do to adulterers here." 

She saw a man and woman brought into the chamber. The 
man was white, the woman a very dark color. "This one 
was friggin' this Moor bitch. The court looks down on 
adultery. I think you'll find their punishment 
interesting."

The man, who looked beaten -- was hung from the ceiling 
like she was and his clothes savagely pulled from him, 
leaving him hanging naked. The woman, who was still on 
the ground, had her clothes pulled off her, and her 
feet were bound to the ends of an iron bar about three 
feet long, painfully spreading her legs. A rope from 
the ceiling was then tied to the center of the bar, and 
she was hoisted, spread legged, upside down, her hair 
just brushing the floor. 

"The court wants to make sure neither one of these two 
commit adultery again, said the same man who did all 
the talking." 

It occurred to her that the other was a mute.

"Watch how we make sure it doesn't happen again."

She watched in horror as a crude funnel was stuck 
between the poor woman's legs, the small end thrust 
between her vaginal lips. The mute, as she now thought 
of him, came from the fiery brazier with a ladle from 
which smoke rose. 

"We'll just close her up so no one else can stick his 
dick in her," he said, and then the mute began pouring 
the liquid into the funnel. The woman let out a scream 
that sounded as though it came from the very pit of 
hell. She convulsed, then went limp as the mute poured 
another ladle of what looked like a molten metal, into 
the funnel. She could smell the sick odor of burnt 
flesh, and suddenly threw up. 

The man said "There, once that lead hardens, ain't no 
one gonna fuck that cunt again." Pamela then realized 
that no matter how realistic things could be made to 
seem, this was no practical joke. This was real. How 
and where, she didn't know, but it was all too real and 
she couldn't imagine what they had in store for her. 

"Now we'll make sure he doesn't do any more adulterous 
fucking." He went over to the naked man, hanging 
painfully by the wrists, and to Pamela's surprise, 
started stroking and fondling the poor victim. She 
couldn't believe it when she saw his penis begin to 
stiffen, then swell to enormous proportions. The man 
moaned, but she knew he wasn't hanging there for his 
pleasure. 

When he was fully engorged, the mute, who had been 
standing by the hot brazier, walked over to him. In his 
hand he had what looked to be a long pair of pliers. 
Two long handles that were joined in such a way as to 
open and close the opposite end. 

Then she saw the business end, it was shaped like the 
head of an alligator. It was about eight inches long, 
and opened as closed as the mute worked the handles. It 
was evil looking, and, it was red hot. 

She gasped as she realized what awaited the man hanging 
there. The mute opened the alligators jaws placed it 
around the swollen cock and in one motion, closed the 
jaws, twisted and pulled. She didn't think it possible, 
but the man screamed more than the woman had, as his 
male member was first enveloped by the red-hot 
instrument, and then brutally torn from his body. She 
couldn't help but watch. 

She was surprised he didn't bleed to death. But the 
extreme heat of the instrument of torture had 
cauterized the blood vessels. The man, now unconscious, 
hung limply. Pamela began to cry as the man and the 
mute came over to her. The man said to her, "And now on 
to you bitch." He reached up and tore her garment off, 
leaving her hanging naked by the wrists. 

She watched as the mute grabbed a whip made of many 
long thongs from a table and walk over to her, with a 
strange grin on his face and spittle dripping from the 
corner of his mouth. He raised the whip and brought it 
crashing down on her naked flesh. Then again, and 
again. The pain was unbelievable. Why wouldn't she pass 
out. Again and again he striped her with the knout. Her 
body was covered with welts. Front and back. He whipped 
her breasts, her ass, her thighs. 

She screamed. She begged, she wished she could wake up 
from this nightmare. But the only response was the 
crack of the whip, and the guttural, almost inhuman 
laughing of the mute, as he tortured her naked body. 
Then as an answer to a prayer, she passed out and the 
pain stopped. For now.


CHAPTER SIX

She didn't know how long she had been unconscious, but 
she awoke to find herself stretched naked on what she 
knew was the rack. There was no one around. The man and 
the mute were gone. But in another far corner of the 
dungeon she could hear the hideous screams of other 
hapless victims of this sick dream, this nightmare, and 
knew that her tormentors weren't far away and would 
soon return to tend to her some more. Her body was 
racked by pain from the whipping she'd received. In 
fact she was surprised she lived through it. Then as 
the pain began to take hold, she closed her eyes and 
again passed out. 


CHAPTER SEVEN

She awoke once again, this time feeling rough hands 
caressing her body. Her first thought was "this is a 
dream, and that beautiful man I met at the bar is 
making love to me." Then her senses kicked in. She 
could hear far off moans. She could smell the brazier. 
She could feel the pain. 

She opened her eyes and they were back. The man said to 
her, "It's time to play again. We have all sorts of 
agonies for you, or... you can be nice to us and we can 
get it over with quickly. It's up to us, you know, as 
to when you go to the stake." 

At that, he unbuttoned the britches he had on and 
exposed a filthy, uncut cock. He moved closer to the 
rack and her face and said, "Now if you'll just suck on 
me and me friend here, I'm sure we can make your ordeal 
less painful."

She looked at his now swollen member just inches from 
her mouth. She couldn't possibly do what he wanted. She 
didn't do that to the men she had been involved with 
all her life. She looked at him, pleadingly, and he 
began to move closer to her lips, when, uncontrolled 
rage took over her and she spit at it. She knew 
immediately it was the wrong thing to do. 

He stepped back, then came at her again and grabbed her 
face. He looked at her with total hatred and said, 
"Well, if your mouth is no good for that, maybe we can 
find a use for it. We'll see how you like the Pear." He 
walked to a table and re-turned with what actually 
looked like a pear. At least that was the general 
shape. It was made of metal, and out of the narrow end, 
where a pears stem would be, came a threaded rod, with 
a handle at the end. 

The man held it in front of her face and without saying 
a word, turned the threaded rod. She saw that the pear 
shape was made out of several sections and as he turned 
the rod, the pear opened up, becoming larger and 
larger. 

A grin came to his lips as he closed the pear again, 
then said to her, "Since you didn't want my root in 
your mouth, we'll fill it with this." 

She screamed, but as she opened her mouth to do so, he 
crammed the pear into her mouth and immediately started 
turning the screw. She could feel her mouth open, 
wider, wider, until it felt her jaw would snap. The 
pain was unbearable. 

Just as she thought her jaw would break, he stopped. 
Looking at her with an evil smile he help up another 
pear and said, "Your mouth isn't the only hole we can 
fill." 

With the mute spreading her knees wide apart, the man 
put the second pear into her vagina, slowly inserting 
it, until only the rod was sticking out. He then began 
to massage her clit with his rough thumb. 

To her disbelief, it felt good, but just as she thought 
she would actually have an orgasm, he began turning the 
rod and she could feel the pear opening inside of her, 
growing bigger and bigger, until cramps shot up through 
her stomach and into her chest. 

She wanted to scream but the pear in her mouth stopped 
her. The man looked at her, and holding another one of 
the evil devices said, "This next one goes up your 
sweet little ass, but later. Now I think we'll tickle 
you with the Cats Paw." 

She saw the mute from the corner of her eye, go to the 
end of the rack and begin to turn the wheel to which 
the ropes on her wrists were tied. She felt herself 
being stretched. Each click of the ratchet sent another 
spasm of pain through her already tortured body. When 
she thought the next turn of the wheel would finally 
kill her, he stopped. Then the man appeared holding an 
iron implement that looked like a talon. Three sinister 
black claws, each about three inches long, spaced two 
inches apart, with sharp points. It was attached to a 
wooden pole.

He said to her, "Let's see how you like the cat." He 
placed the claw just under her chin and began to drag 
it down across her breasts, and she knew what Thomas 
had said about welcoming the sweet kiss of death.


CHAPTER EIGHT

When she regained consciousness again, she felt herself 
lying on the floor and trussed up in such a way that 
her knees were pulled tightly to her chest, her head 
was pulled to her knees, and her arms were pinned pain-
fully to her sides. They were standing over her again. 
The man said, "Well my little bitch, how do you like 
the Scavengers Daughter?" 

All she knew was that her entire body was cramped and 
pained, and that she was locked in some kind of metal 
frame. She could hardly breathe. The she realized that 
the pears had been removed but her mouth and pussy were 
still sore. The man said to her, "You'll be glad to 
know that we're almost done. There's to be a mass 
execution in the plaza at noon and you are the main 
attraction. But the Count wants you to take his mark 
with you to Hell as a message to Satan not to send any 
more cunt like you back here to torment men."

They released her from the Scavengers Daughter, and 
tied her wrists to a rope, which led to the ceiling. 
She felt herself being hoisted until once again her 
feet just touched the floor. She thought that she was 
going to be whipped once again, until she saw the mute 
approach her with a pair of tongs, and the man with 
what looked like a red-hot branding iron. He said to 
her, "After you get the Masters mark, you'll be taken 
to the plaza where you'll feel the fire. We could have 
freed you from your misery right after we tied you to 
the stake, but since you wouldn't service us, you can 
burn slowly. But first the mark."

The mute grabbed her right nipple in the tongs and 
lifted her breast, and the man jabbed the hot iron 
under her tit. The smoke rose and she could smell the 
burning flesh. The mute then crushed her nipple then 
grabbed the left one, and the procedure was repeated. 
Just before she passed into blissful unconsciousness 
again, she saw that the branding iron was a single "T", 
for Thomas de Torquemada.


CHAPTER NINE

She could see the crowd massed in the plaza. She could 
hear them cheer. It was a totally medieval scene. No 
practical joke, no Hollywood set could have recreated 
what she saw. There was a gallows with at least a dozen 
poor souls hanging from it. She saw a man, at least she 
thought it was a man, obviously all his bones broken, 
and woven through a large wagon wheel, which was set at 
the far end of the plaza. 

Then she realized that she was the next attraction. She 
was naked, and tightly bound to a stake. All around her 
were piles of wood coated with a thick black sub-stance 
she took to be tar. The man and the mute were standing 
at the edge of the woodpile, each holding lit torches. 
A hooded figure stood to the side with a parchment 
paper. 

The crowd hushed as he waved his hand. He spoke. "You 
see before you a woman. A bitch. A whore. You see 
before you a cunt who has all her life used men and 
made them suffer. You see before you a creature who in 
moments will never torment another man. She has already 
suffered in the Dungeon of the Inquisition. But now it 
is time for her to travel to hell, for, that is for 
sure where she will go. Her sentence is death at the 
stake. You may now carry out that sentence."

The man and the mute touched their torches to the 
woodpile and it started to flare up. She could feel the 
fire around her. It seemed strangely distant. It all 
still seemed like a dream. Did she deserve this? What 
they had said about her she couldn't deny, but this? If 
she only had treated her men better. If she only had 
another chance, she would serve men any way she could. 
Then she felt the fire reach her feet...


EPILOGUE:

Pamela awoke with a start. She was disoriented. Her 
mind in a fog. She felt like her feet were on fire, 
then realized she was lying naked, in front of the 
fireplace in her condo. She slowly sat up and looked 
around. She was alone. She moved her feet from near the 
roaring fire, and in a sudden panic moved away from the 
dancing flames. 

They reminded her of something, but what? It was like 
awakening from a dream. A dream that was so real while 
you were dreaming it, but as soon as you awoke, you 
couldn't remember a thing about it. She saw an empty 
champagne bottle on the coffee table, and two empty 
glasses. Dom Perignone. 

"I've never bought that before," she thought to 
herself. Then she saw a rose next to the champagne 
bottle. A black rose. She'd never seen anything like it 
before. A real rose, but black as a starless night. She 
picked it up and pricked her finger on a thorn, drawing 
a small drop of blood. She smelled the rose and it 
smelled damp, musty, not at all like a rose. More like 
a, a ... a cellar, a dungeon?

The dream started to come back to her, but just as 
quickly faded into the recesses of her subconscious. 
"Just as well," she thought, "I have a feeling I don't 
want to remember it."

She stood up, and after a sudden dizzy spell went away, 
she walked into the bathroom. She stood in front of the 
mirror. "God, I look like hell," she thought. As soon 
as she said the word hell, a strange feeling over came 
her. As she stood in front of the mirror, she knew what 
she had to do. 

The thought scared her more than anything else she'd 
ever experienced, but she knew she had to do it. She 
slowly raised her arms over her head and watched as her 
breasts rose with them. She leaned into the mirror and 
looked. Beneath each breast was a mark. Faded. Like a 
years old scar. But she could clearly make each one 
out. A letter "T". Just like she had been branded ages 
ago. She lowered her arms, and with tears in her eyes, 
went to her desk. 

She pulled out a piece of paper and began writing. 
"Single white female. Former Bitch. Submissive. Seeks 
Dominant male to put me in my place. Will serve you 
anyway I can. Call me at...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sun, not thinking about adult situations.  

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 6