As the tenth blow pulverized the man's belly, Queen Miscreantia and her entourage of six female attendants and four male guards descended the stairs. Balstok ordered all torture stopped as he and his men stood in deference to her.
She looked and listened. She saw Davidius horrendously stretched and heard the groaning and gasping of a tortured man. Circling the slab to inspect the heaving chest and belly of her prisoner, her gloriously defiant victim with his powerful muscles flexed to capacity, their skin covering bathed in manly sweat from his heroic efforts of resistance, the queen reached down with finger and scooped a sample of his liquid from out of his navel. She licked her finger. She tasted the man. Tasted his suffering, tasted his incredible strength, and she fought the temptation to admire Davidius, to pity him, to fling herself atop his racked body and comfort him, beg him to give in, plead with him to tell his story true or false just so he would suffer no more.
That, however, would defeat her purpose. After all, the man whose whereabouts she needed to know fully intended to kill her. The man stretched before her would do the same if given the chance, and so with a return to reality, a suppression of the tingling between her legs, and a renewed purpose to extract necessary information, the queen composed herself and reassumed her superiority.
"I finally heard screaming, Balstok. Has he talked?"
"No, your majesty."
"Well, ask him again."
In this story, Davidius suffers first the tortures of pain, and then tortures of the painfully erotic. The book is electronic. The author-read audio is free for the listening. Links to all can be found on my book page at Jardonn's Erotic Tales.
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