The commander presented a soft green bamboo cane to me and explained that he today would not use the hard and old bamboo but the young and green because its softness would inflict much more pain on me withour crushing my skin immediately. With that he flung the cane through the air and the hissing sound made me shiver. The first crack on my exposed and heavily bound udders made me whine. As soon as the cane had hit my flesh thre was a long red mark o be seen. The commander was eager to blow each stroke on different parts of my compressed tits so that the 10 marks on my left udder were cleraly tob e seen as much as the 10 blows on my right udder. Tears were rolling down my cheeks but hardly any sound cameform my mouth. I had sworn not to give all these blacks the joy of me breaking too early. That was the only pride that was left to me I assumed. After 20 hard blows the commander stopped, smiled at me, patted my face and said something like that this was just the start and I would not be able to control me any longer when his men had really begun to torture me.
Meanwhile, the other men gathered around the fire, over which they laid a large grill, and sat around the burning logs. Someone had a particularly sadistic idea that made the men howl, and a few minutes later a rather small soldier came to me with a short rope on which dozens, if not hundreds, of large red ants were crawling (the camera needed some time to capture this in a clearly visible way). He let the rope glide carefully over the insides of my thighs several times until he had rubbed most of the ants on my legs. Immediately I felt the bites and the stinging painful acid of the ants on the tender flesh of my legs. To make matters worse, another one smeared a sweet-smelling juice around my two holes and did not miss the opportunity to penetrate deeply into my cunt with his smeared fingers and also open my asshole, stick his fingers deep into it and smear the juice around my sphincter.
I was still standing bent over with my left leg spread and bent, my inflated milk udders hanging down heavily, while my legs began to teem and burn. The cameraman gave the thumbs up sign and went as close as possible to my holes. Neither could I close my legs, nor could I itch or otherwise repel or at least alleviate the ant invasion. I felt my leg harden and a dull deep pain forced me into a convulsive rigidity. And the burning of formic acid on my sphincter muscle was so hellish that I began to moan bitterly, contrary to my intentions. I had resolved not to cry, not to scream and to keep my voice as long as possible. But it was no use. I begged, I begged, I screamed, but apart from the two cameramen nobody paid any attention to me. Meanwhile the soldiers put potatoes on the fire, roasted thick pieces of meat on the grill and laughed and talked.
It felt like hours, which the nasty burning animals raged in and on my body. The skin on my legs (the only one I could see) was quickly covered with pustules. Everywhere the ants bit into it, small red blisters developed like small flat cakes, which at some point had changed the beautiful white of my skin into a disgustingly sore pink. But worst of all was the constant burning at my holes. Inside and outside. Judging by my pain, my tender asshole and my soft cunt flaps must have been transformed into a puter red swollen texture. My feeling was that some of the ants had worked their way up to the womb and burned everything inside of me. I shook myself, screamed, tore at the chains, begged, but the men didn’t even notice me.
After more than an hour – I was close to a nervous breakdown – the commander, laughing, gave one of the soldiers the order to free me from the ants. I cheered when I heard this and shouted my thanks. But that was premature.
The soldier put on a glove and pulled a burning log of wood out of the fire, which he wrapped in a cloth at the front by the embers. It must have been soaked with something, because the cloth immediately started to burn. Like a torch the man approached me and smiled. Now the men looked up from their meal. They seemed to know what was coming. At first the man held the torch to my legs and so drove the ants away from my thighs. They fled upstairs into my open holes. Then he approached my already bestially burning cunt with the flame. When the fire pain reached my head, I screamed like a pig on a spit. It hissed and burned until finally my cunt was set on fire as well. I smelled this peculiar stench of burnt flesh and shook my steel cuffs until my wrists bled. Long. And I screamed as loud as I could. I begged, I begged fervently, I tried to speak calmly, I called, I screamed until I was only a single shrill pain in a scream. As the flame scorched my asshole too, I hoped to pass out. But that was not granted to me. The man held the flame so close to my rose that I could feel the heat in my intestines. As I did so, my flesh hissed and burst open. I, however, remained screaming and fully conscious while the man with the torch shouted loughing that at least the ants were gone now, while the cameras continued to record everything.
The man took a step back and looked at his work. He seemed to like it. Even better, however, he seemed to like my tied up udders, which had turned blue in the meantime. He held the torch under my right nipple until the skin was tanned and burst open. I shook myself in the steel chains, screamed, tugged at my bloody wrists, swayed my upper body to the side, to the front, to the back, but it was of no use. The flame ate into my right nipple first, before the man took my left one with relish. I begged him, I offered him everything: my body, my breasts, every hole, every perversion. I asked him to fuck me bloody, to tear my ass off, to spray me, to shit on me, if only he could please, please, please stop burning me. But also on my left udder the areola burst open and my nipple hissed like fat in the sun. I was just a scream. A totally baffled surprised scream. Because at some point I had understood, that the men did not want to break me. But kill me. And I only realized this now, when both udders had been turned into one single aching and stinking blister. Then the man wordlessly turned around and threw the torch back into the fire, while I was broken, sobbing and sweating, hanging in the wooden scaffolding, longing for death.
Then, while the men were ignoring me, talking excitedly and continuing to eat and drink, I remembered a story I had read a long time ago, in which it was described that a Chinese soldier in the great war against the Japanese had trained some skill in skinning captured soldiers alive. He had a simple large knife, but he kept it so sharp that it penetrated all flesh and tissue with ease. Never, however, did he injure the men deeper than just under the first layer of skin and he literally peeled them off until the fat and muscle tissue was exposed. Each time his victims fainted, he paused and waited until their consciousness had half developed again before continuing his work. This procedure dragged on for days and nights, and at some point, when the pulsating tissue of the human body was exposed and all the tendons and muscle strands were exposed, the prisoners died of respiratory distress, as the encrusted blood that had replaced the skin prevented oxygen from entering the body. The scalp was then the last thing the Chinese cut off his prisoner, so as not to give it back as a trophy. This story quickly made the rounds among the Japanese soldiers, causing considerable unrest until panic and a hunt for the killer began. When he was finally caught and shot, several hundred scalps were found in his tent.
After the men had finished eating and thrown all the leftovers into the fire, they set up two large spotlights and illuminated my ordeal for the spectators but also the cameras, which the commander now took over. With the thin and flexible bamboo stick he worked on my splayed foot until the skin of the sole of my foot hung down in shreds. Then the foot was freed and the right foot was pulled up instead. With equal force and force he too was bloodily whipped with the bamboo stick until the sole was completely shredded. The commander took his time for this, and my voice was nothing more than a quiet, pleading rattle.
When the right leg was then lowered and I stood on both legs again, my agony was far from over. The soldier, who had already burned me, now took two thick carpenter’s nails in the light of the spotlights and nailed my feet to the wooden plank, leaving me wide-legged and immobile. When the bone of the first foot splintered, I reared up once more. When the nail was hammered through my second foot, I just babbled softly. Even as the men slowly and laughingly pressed needles under each of my toenails and made sure that the needles penetrated deep into the flesh of my nail bed, I tried to scream again, but my voice had failed long ago. My babbling had become a whisper. Even the glowing spits through my udders, the long needles directly into my already singed nipples did not manage to raise my voice to a tremolo once more. Only when the commander very slowly lifted the nail of my big toe from the bed of the nail with pliers, turned it around at the bed with relish, splintered at the ingrown end and finally pulled it out with force, I begged for mercy one last time. At the second big toe, I shook myself so violently in my chains, simply to counter the pain with my weight, that I dislocated my right shoulder, twisted my joint away and nipped any further resistance in the bud. After that my voice and my resistance had dried up.
I let it happen in uncomplaining agony and in a trance, when my hands were also nailed to the wooden scaffolding. I made no sound when every single fingernail was intentionally split open under full force of hammer blows and my fingernails were also slowly broken out in a procedure that lasted for hours.
Only at dawn, when I was already completely destroyed, did the flogging begin. In the prisoners’ barracks the lights had come on again and the prisoners had started for the morning chapel, when the Commandant himself hurried the flexible bamboo stick onto my back. He carried out the whipping with such force that my skin immediately burst open and blood ran down my back. Before the prisoners were taken to the fields to work, the commander insisted that they line up in front of me so that they could take a look at my udders, which had been wounded by spikes and nails. After two helpers had torn out everything with which my udders had been speared and pierced in an unspeakably crude manner, the prisoners witnessed the destruction of my bloody breasts.
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