Goddess Torture

I think its important for everybody to have a hobby they enjoy, especially when you're like me and have to take long breaks from work to allow the male population to replenish itself and offer up a fresh crop of meat-heads for me to harvest. But its just not possible for me to stop killing altogether. Even a Goddess has a weakness and mine is an undeniable need to destroy men.

Before I took it over, this place was a rather splendid keep, so splendid that I decided to make it a home away from home after butchering all of its defenders. I used them to help refurnish the place, using their flesh and bones as decoration. But the absolute best part about it is the enormous dungeon that lies in the bowels of the castle. The petty lord who ruled here before I came must have been remarkably sadistic, for not only did he give me his life and his keep, he also left behind for me an assortment of torture tools and devices from around the world.

For the last few days, I've been a busy girl, refilling my torture chamber. Its a simple thing to find and claim victims, I can take them by brute force or seduce them in to following me. Poor, stupid, horny dogs. I am Death incarnate and they still can't resist my allure. They follow me like moths to the flame. But their deaths won't be nearly as quick.

The path to the chamber proper is lined with discarded toys. Dozens of impaled corpses line the hall, men who I found unfit even for torture. Soon, I'll have to dispose of the rotting carcasses, but for now I  enjoy the spectacle. Their poor faces are forever frozen in looks of sheer pain caused by the bloody stakes that exit out of their mouths. Further down the hallway are some wretches I've locked in metal coffins. The man-shaped cages make it nigh on impossible to move and even after just a few days, the boys in them are pleading for me to free them. I smile at each of them and carry on my way. Maybe tonight I'll come back before I rest, walk by them nude and tease them with my body. Seeing my bare flesh and being unable to take it has caused a whole lot of men to lose their minds.

Once in the dungeon, I waste no time in getting to work. The torture rack is such a simple instrument, but sometimes the greatest pleasures in life are simple, aren't they? I've had this hapless lad tied to it overnight, the small spikes on the rack have been digging in to his flesh for hours. I don't say anything to him at all, I just start slowly cranking the handle, pulling at his limbs. His screams are delightful, beautiful even. The fear in them is so thick I feel as though I could cut it with a knife. Before I brought him here, he was just a simple farmhand. He must have known that eventually I would take his life, but I doubt he ever fathomed it would be quite like this. The cracks of his bones dislocating echo in the chamber, causing the other men awaiting my tender ministrations to cry out in terror. The bastard on the rack isn't quiet either, shouting at the top of his lungs as every inch of him floods with pain. I stop turning the handle for a moment and lean in, getting close to him. Our lips are almost touching, so close that even through the mind-bending agony I can see the hope in his eyes as his feeble brain fills with thoughts of my lips upon his. Instead, I laugh full in his face and resume, turning the handle until the lad is torn apart, blood and pieces of broken bone pooling up on the floor.

I follow that up with another basic, albeit slightly less messy tool. There are dozens of men tied down on wooden tables, each one of them whimpering as I draw closer, horrified by what I hold in my hand. They call it the Pear of Anguish. In times past, it was used to punish blasphemers. I use it to much the same end, albeit my definition of blasphemy is a bit different. To be male is to blaspheme in my eyes, and I meet out the fitting punishment on the loudest of the pleading men before me. He pleads undying loyalty and worship to me right up until I shut up him up by shoving the Pear in his mouth. His begging becomes a pitiful, muffled noise as I start to expand the device. Almost immediately, the weakling begins to cry.

The simple little device works wonders, horribly disfiguring the lad in short order. I take little breaks to let him wallow in his agony, playfully massaging my wrist and commenting on what hard work this all is. Finally, his jaw is completely broken and I remove the Pear. Its a magnificent sight, blood and tears mingling as he tries to cry out with his obliterated mouth His jaw hangs limp and useless, so I decide to give him a hand and tear it off. I accidentally take off a bit too much and end up tearing out the boy's tongue as well. Shrugging, I bid him farewell and move on, leaving him to choke on his own blood, bone and shattered teeth. I idly throw the tongue on to one of the men I'm saving for later, giggling to myself as he begins to scream.

Next is a very special boy, seated upon a torture chair. His body is already broken, having been seated upon the spiked chair for over a day. But he is strong and hardy, still very much alive. This particular victim is so important because he was once the prince of a great kingdom until I slaughtered his guards while he was out traveling and took him. Now he is just another slab of meat for me to toy with. I ask him if his new throne is satisfactory for someone of his importance. The little prince is wonderfully defiant, however and manages to hurl a curse at me. As thrilled as I am by his willfulness, I allow my anger to get the better of me and backhand him, sending several of his teeth to the ground. Still furious, I grab a  hammer off of one of my work desks and assault him, shattering both of his kneecaps and crushing his hands. He passes out and I curse myself. Now I have to wait for him to regain consciousness before I can finish with him. I use the time to select the knife I want to use. Oh, I also whip a couple superbly muscled boys to death, but that's so mundane I don't think its worth mentioning too much.

Once the soon to be dead Prince Charming comes to, I get straight to work. I keep my knives in good condition and the flesh on his face peels off with ease. He thrashes around wildly, screaming like mad. But his restraints are quite secure and I hold his head still with my free hand, neatly flaying his face. The last ounce of defiance leaves him now, but I'm still not done. I skin his broken hands, then ask him if he is sorry for what he said before. His lipless mouth tries to apologize, but he just can't do it. Content with myself, I tell him that his apology isn't accepted and slice off his genitals. I stay there with him until he breaths his last. It seems like a terrible waste of good meat to just leave him like this, though. Such a well muscled body...I continue to flay his corpse, almost to the bone, leaving enormous piles of skin, muscle and viscera on the ground. Maybe later I'll stuff it all in a bag, along with his corpse and leave it somewhere for his people to find as a calling card. It won't be too much longer until I come to harvest their men, after all.

I flay a few more men before finally moving on to the saw. With some of the boys, I simply saw them apart while they're still tied to the table. For others, I tie them upside down on any number of the fixtures my predecessor left behind. These boys I saw neatly in two, starting with their groins. As always, I take little breaks to mock them, amused that even with their manhood having been reduced to a red ruin, they continue to stare mindlessly at my breasts and the rest of my curves. I ask them what they would do with them if they still had their loins. The pigs are in too much pain and too full of desire for me to lie. Their words disgust me and I resume sawing until they come apart.

Before long, only a few of them are left. For my last victim, I wheel out a gigantic, hollow copper bull. I cut one of the men loose. He feebly tries to flee, but I catch him and break one of his legs for good measure before stuffing him inside the bull. Piling up some firewood beneath the monstrosity, I again ask the occupant if hes comfortable. Not surprisingly, he isn't. Well, only one way to remedy that. I start the fire.

All the screams, shrieks and cries before this have been piddling compared to the noises this poor bastard makes as he burns alive. The smell of cooking meat fills the room as he dies. Its remarkable how long a man can stay alive in such awful conditions. When at last the cries stop, I put out the fire and cut the remaining men loose. I order them to pile up the bodies and clean up all the gore that I've left laying about the place. I tell them once they've done that, I will let them live. They set about their task, the desire to be free from my grasp so strong that they do the awful work despite having been tied up with nothing to eat or drink for days. Of course, I have no intention of letting them live. As they continue to clean up, I mill over the arrangement of weaponry I've hung on the wall. The blade I use in battle is upstairs in my bedchamber. I won't sully it with the blood of these worms. No...I finally decide on a rather nasty looking battleaxe, a trophy from some nation I destroyed centuries ago.

Don't think me cruel. After all, dying by my hand is the best thing that can happen to a man. I'm doing these boys a favor. Once I'm content with the job they've done. I give them their reward. One of them even gets a chance to scream before I butcher him.