DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The characters in this story have been made up. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions or attitudes. This is story is intended for adult entertainment only. All Rights Reserved © 2018 LITTLESALLY666.
STORY CODES: Cohesion, Corruption, Lolita, Pedophilia, Necrophilia, Black Magic, Satanism, Occult, Dark Themes, Blasphemy, Supernatural
AUTHORS NOTES: This story was originally posted back in 2013. Thought I would re-upload again for anyone who missed it the first time on ASSTR… This is an original story written by my friend Sandra. Have helped a little in the edit . . . but it’s 99% all Sandra! What prompted me to post this, was a recent email from Sandra… where she included the poem below… thank you Sandra for this, and thank you for the poem.
CREATED: (ORIGINALLY) 14.07.2013 / (UPDATED) 18.06.2018
POEM BY MARDUK
“Fist in the face for the time smothered Angel!
By Satan my scythe will shallow every hallow!
Open now, dear blood-soaked soil
By Satan I pour magma down Thy throat!
Come ghost-faced hungry shadows!
By Satan I drink the Darkness they drewl!
With Victorious Weapons!
I will melt every Angels wings!
Triumph of the WILL…
Striking to KILL…!!
Cloak the Earth with a Thousand Nights
And a billion dead!
And know, my brethren, my eyes are like knifes
To shred every fucking stream of Light!!”
YOUNG SANDRA Chapter One – JOURNEY INTO MARTYRDOM
“The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” Steve Green, The Faithful
I remember being sexually active even before I was eight years old, and at the age of eleven I was already masturbating every day. It was about that time too, that I started to have fantasies about being punished, humiliated and tortured.
I begun seriously punishing my sensitive nipples, though I was still totally flat chested . . . my nipples would call for my attention and caresses. I would pinch and squeeze them continuously in order to get them totally irritated . . . the feeling was deliciously painful all day long, whether at school or at home.
When I came back at home from school in the afternoons, my mother would be still at work. So I used to lock myself in my room, undressed completely, and punished my irritated nipples by beating them with a flat wood ruler. I also liked to beat my buttocks with a tennis table paddle. The punishment was always followed by serious masturbation and it was the combination of pleasure and pain that enabled me to obtain the very strongest of orgasms.
At this age, I started to experiment with strong fishing cords. I would tie a knot around each of my young nipples and tightening the knot until my nipples felt extremely painful. I would pass these transparent cords behind my back, and there, I would make a knot, leaving only one, almost invisible cord, at my waist level. I dressed up and then, carefully, I made a small hole in the back of my dress . . . the cord was almost imperceptible to the human eye.
I found that, if I put my hands behind my back that I could manage to pull the cord, torturing my poor nipples whenever I wanted to. I would do it standing up in front of my teacher (male or female) in front of the whole class and even in front of my own mother. Whenever I did this, I thought . . . ‘If you could see that I am torturing my poor sensitive nipples in front of you! Would you like to see it?’. . . . These delicious feelings added to the excitement and the danger of being caught.
At eleven I also discovered my new best friends… clothespins. In those days we were still living in Croatia, in a very old house. The entry was very dimly lit and had a very long central corridor. When young Sandra was left all alone . . . my heart would beat hard thinking about what I was about to do.
I was fascinated in reading about torture; especially how they had made a spectacle of the female saint martyrs before killing them in public shows. The fact that the majority went voluntarily to be tortured and executed excited me in a bad way. I used to imagine myself in front of my killers, ready to be tortured in a long and painful way; with drawn-out and shameful agony; and afterwards rewarded with a terrible death. The more terrible the death, the more exciting I found the whole fantasy.
I remembered that in the tortures of Saint Barbara, they amputated her nipples before killing her. I cannot remember how she actually died, but what caught my attention was the fact that the person who amputated her nipples with pliers was her own father. I did not have father, but it didn’t seem to really matter. I often imagined that some ugly unknown men, torturing me cruelly, with my own mother encouraging them to treat me cruelly . . . How delicious this fantasy was for this shy little eleven year old.
I sometimes imagined that it was my mother, that asked my torturers if they would like to cut my nipples off slowly. In my dream, I was completely naked and totally blushed with shame. When my torturers took some terrible pliers for cutting my nipples off, my mother gave them worse ones . . . that were even more terrible and rusty. She told them that I must suffer . . . and greater the pain, suffering and damage . . . the greater the sacrifice and martyrdom. She wanted to hear my screams! She seemed to enjoy my desperate yells of agony and pain . . . how I masturbated myself furiously imagining these atrocities.
My favorite martyr was always Saint Agatha. I read how she was tortured… how the men were ordered to remove her breasts using only their crude farm tools. They pulled and twisted and burned her nipples viciously for hours, as she urged them on, until they gave up. They rolled her naked body over live coals mixed with broken pottery shards, and finally, they cut her breasts off from her body. When I first read about her, it made me wish that I lived in such times when it was possible to have that done to myself.
I would have done anything to be crucified on a cross, with nails through my hands and feet, exposed and hanging naked, so that all the public could see my shame . . . and torture me further with no limits. While I imagined all these delights I was standing up in front of a mirror, naked, caressing all my body, especially my most sensitive zones. Sometimes I rewarded myself with a spanking . . . I wanted these perverse moments to last longer . . . they soon became an important part of my daily masturbation routine.
YOUNG SANDRA Chapter Two – THE CORRIDOR OF SHAME
In that period I lived at home with my mother and a smaller brother. My mother had to work all day long and I had to watch my small brother. But when my small brother was in the neighborhood playing at some friend’s home, I stayed at home alone. Seldom I wanted to go to someone’s house. I liked much more to stay alone at home. I remember how I was preparing myself slowly, enjoying intimately the moments previous to my perverse session. When I already was excited enough I went out from my room slowly. But I was not totally naked. I wore a clothespin in each nipple… my heart beating hard.
I collected those clothespins. I remember classifying them from the softest to the hardest. How more excited I was, with the hardest of the clamps decorating my flat chest. I walked slowly, oscillating my nipple clamps in order to feel more sweet pain and pleasure. I would walk with my hands at my head or behind my back . . . slowly pushing out my chest, along the length of that long dark corridor.
On the left hand side of the corridor, there were the doors to the various rooms of the house. Most doors were closed and some even locked by key. At the right hand side there was a smooth wall, only interrupted by the presence of a low piece of furniture that held a big seashell. You could hear the sea if you brought your ear to its opening. When I reached the far end of the corridor I turned around slowly and started to walk back . . . I was in no hurry at all.
The long dark corridor had no windows. Its only illumination came from an electric light located in the high ceiling, placed exactly at half way along the corridor, was. Moreover, only it could be turned on and off from a switch placed only in an extreme of the corridor. This forced you to walk in almost complete darkness. That corridor was gloomy and, slowly, along the time, I learned to retrieve benefit. The darkness frightened me. The obscurity became panic to me. And slowly, instead of letting myself loose myself to this inner terror, I learned the way to convert terror in pleasure or, better said, to obtain sweet pleasure from fear. I started to find it exciting. The orgasms that I obtained in situations of panic were much stronger and delicious than those that I obtained in the safety of my bedroom.
Imagine me, young Sandra, walking naked through that long corridor near in the darkness. It is mid afternoon. The weather is hot. I am feeling hot. I feel safe, but in any moment I could hear a key in the lock and somebody can enter home. They could discover me! I feel excited by this idea. I close my eyes to feel more unprotected, more vulnerable, and continues walking, now totally in the dark. I imagine that, along the corridor, there are hidden monsters and ghosts that are spying me. In any moment they will attack me. When I feel excited enough, I face one of the places that terrorize me the most and masturbate myself.
I quickly have learned that I could sustain myself for much longer masturbation sessions by touching myself, but stopping short at the brink of orgasm. I would take myself to the edge over and over . . . always ready for orgasm, but not allowing myself to actually cum . . . every time I edged closer and closer, I would increase my eagerness to do wilder things.
Sometimes the only way I could calm down was to spanks my bottom. Sometimes this only excited me more, instead of calming me down. As I took the clothespins from my nipples and I pulled my tortured nipples offering the sweet pain and pleasure to the ghosts who surrounded me. I lay there with my back on the cold tiles with my arms and legs spread-eagled, begging to the sadistic hidden monsters that I must be raped . . . as I begged them, I kept masturbating . . . stopping . . . masturbating . . . stopping . . .
Other times, I would lay belly downwards on the tiles . . . and undulate like a snake to feel the exciting coolness on my body as I crept along the corridor. I would occasionally wet my body with water to feel more coolness and increase my excitement. In the meanwhile, my brain couldn’t stop thinking about delicious images of tortured girls.
Through the boldness of my experimentation, I learned that the pleasure of my orgasms could be greatly amplified if at the moment of cumming, I was to offend God . . . telling him to look at how I was sinning. I could also push the pleasure scale by using a well-lubricated carrot and introducing it into my delicate little rectum . . .
When blasphemy wasn’t enough . . . I learned that the pleasure of my orgasms could be enhanced and multiplied if in the moment of cumming I declared my love to Satan and offer him my body and soul . . . yes, young Sandra, learned many things in those long sessions, in that long corridor.
One of the things that I made in that time was to decorate my body with many clothespins and then to keep on jumping along the corridor making them to fall one by one. When a clothespin leaves off your body, in the very last second the pinch is much stronger. Because of that it provides a distressing and exciting pleasure. If the clamps of my nipples were stronger that the others on my body, they would be the last ones in falling down and the pinches will be more painful and delicious. Sometimes I had to jump a lot and contorting my body, pushing out my breasts, until making those two last clamps to fall down.
The prize was to masturbate myself and cum in the same place where the last clothespin fell down. Many times I removed my clothespins pulling them out directly, without opening them at all, in order to torture myself still more. Sometimes I anoint my body, especially my nipples, with some moisturizing cream or ointment and then the clothespins would fall down more easily; on those occasions I used to decorate me with the hardest clothespins and the final pinches were deliciously brutal. I obtained a lot of orgasms in that way. In those afternoon sessions there were days that I obtained six or seven orgasms. And sometimes, I masturbated myself again by night, in my bed.
I remember that a night I was super-excited and very hot, and that I walked out of my room totally in the dark and with a pair of clothespins biting my nipples. It was later than midnight. My mother and my brother were sleeping and I could not make any noise even switch on any light for not awakening them. I had put myself ready for orgasm many times and I needed to end with a very strong orgasm in the middle of the corridor, well away from the safety of my chamber so that the excitation and the risk were bigger. Feeling the wall with my hands I kept on advancing and walking slowly in front of the doors of the rooms.
One was that of my brother. When I calculated that I was right in front of that ajar door I opened and closed my clothespins torturing my nipples while mentally I was saying: ‘look at me, look at me’. In the verge of my orgasm I stopped and resumed my walk. Afterwards was my mother doorway. While I was repeating the same torture facing her door, a clothespin slid between my fingers and fell down to the floor. The noise that it made, in the mid of the silence of the night, was very loud and I remained paralyzed.
My mother awakened and switched on the light. I had calculated it very badly! The near open door of my mother was still two meters more in my right and that light illuminated me totally! I ran to hide to my room while I heard her getting up and asking who was there. I did not have time for picking up the clothespin. I sheltered to under my sheets embarrassed and terrorized, but anything did not happen.
My mother did not come to my room. The following morning the clothespin was on the piece of furniture that there was in the middle of the corridor, hanging from a kind of mirror that had a discolored postcard, a thermometer with red liquid, and a little plate that said “Souvenir de Nice. France”. My clothespin was hanging from that plate. I retrieved it and my mother never spoke about that incident.
YOUNG SANDRA Chapter Three – LIES, FEAR & ORGASMS
Not all of my time was spend in self-torture. I would not have been able to endure it! It’s true that I masturbated every day and a lot of times, but my nipples were punished only from time to time. I would delay this pleasure some days, even for as long as a week between my self-torture sessions; this way the new pain would less expected and more anticipated.
Sometimes I lied, saying that I did not feel very well, so that I missed school. If I said it at the last moment, when my mother and my brother were already ready for going out, there was no time to phone the doctor and I could remain at home, alone, during all the day. In the evening, when my mother returned, I would say that I already felt better and that the next morning I would go back to the school.
I did that at least a dozen times. On those occasions, I had all day at home alone… with only me with many hours to play. This is when I committed the most perverse things. It excited me to imagine what I would do during days before. I remember once, that I forced myself to obtain twenty orgasms and I succeeded! I ended up extremely irritated and totally exhausted! But very proud of myself! Oh, If I could doing it now!
My mother’s room was the chamber where I spent more time when I stayed alone at home, apart from my own room. There were two things that I loved about her room. One was a big full-length mirror where I could see myself totally, from head to toes. In my room I had another mirror but It was not as big as that of my mother’s.
The other thing I liked very much in that room was the huge wardrobe that there was. There my mother saved every kind of dresses in all the possible ways, of different styles, and especially, mantillas, veils of those that women wore when they went to church. Also she kept bangles, gloves, ribbons, pendants, necklaces, ornaments, many shoes, the majority high heels, and also a pair of hats. I liked to try on every that, especially the half transparent veils and the necklaces of pearls, in front of that full-length mirror. It excited me a lot to dress myself a little, to decorate my body and to undress myself in front of the mirror. And also, naturally, masturbating myself looking me at the mirror.
I also remember a night in which I was especially hot; I dared to do a very strong thing. The fact that it was a very risked action made it very exciting. The thing was like this: I had to be awake until later than midnight, making me very hot imagining the act I was about to do, and becoming very ready many times of cumming. Then, when I already was ready to cum since more than two hours, I went out from my room without making any noise.
I went stark naked, naturally. I left switched on the small light of my bedside table, and the door of my chamber half opened so that the dark corridor received a little light that could not awaken anybody, but which it allowed me to orientate. I walked very slowly until the door of the chamber of my mother. When I arrived there, my eyes already were use to those shadows. Like every night, the door was half open. Very slowly I opened totally that door.
I already knew that the hinges did not make any noise because I had checked it out that same afternoon. With my heart hitting my ribs from inside and with a knot in my throat I entered into my mother’s bedroom. I approached the feet of her bed and I heard her calmed breath. I stood up, showing myself with my open legs and arms, very straight, in an indecent exhibition, during some seconds, looking at that body in shadow on that bed. Then I caressed my hard excited nipples and I got a wonderful and very powerful orgasm even without touching my clitoris. The situation of risk, the immense shame of being caught naked and masturbating myself in front of my own asleep mother, gave me one of the best orgasms of my life.
Instead, at the end of that corridor, there was another room that made a lot of respect to me. I, really, felt fear when I was near that room. It was always closed. When I was nearly I became with goose bumps, my nipples became stiff hard and erect, and my teeth trembled. My knees seemed made of butter and my legs refused to walk. It was a terrible sensation. It was the nuns’ room. We called it in this way because there, many years before, my family had hidden two nuns from the police or soldiers that had been searching for them to arrest.
In the nuns’ room, whilst I was still very small, a grandfather or great grandfather of mine had passed away. Though I did not remember him exactly, my mother had said that I had spent many hours with him, sitting on his lap, and that I liked that he made me ride the little horse on his knees. I must been only one or two years old at the time. He had been dead for more than ten years then.
In the proximity of this special place, I would feel a huge sense of anxiety . . . especially if I was naked. Actually at first, I could not approach the room, if I did not cover my breasts and my sex with my hands. Once I saw a cockroach enter, under the door, and for many nights I scared myself, imagining that the contained corpses and hundreds of filthy cockroaches.
Along those tender years, I learned the close connection between excitement and fear. The closer I came to the nuns’ room, the more powerful my orgasms became . . . in my mind the connection was very clear . . . I also called it the ‘fear room’.
One day, when I was feeling much braver than normal, while I masturbated myself, I dared to lower myself and to look through the keyhole of the nuns’ room. Logically, I knew there could not be anybody inside; but I swear I saw the eye of my dead grandfather looking back at me.
I yelped out loud in abject fright, cumming as I stood frozen in fear. From that day onwards, I couldn’t stop thinking about entering the room. To my childish mind, it seemed that as my grandfather liked to spy, watching me naked . . . what is I entered the room completely naked? Imagining this would make my heart beat faster and louder that anything else. Those were strong sensations, indeed. Even thinking about cockroaches made me wet and hot.
I would imagine myself standing outside the nun’s room. I would undress totally, entry and see myself closing the door behind me . . . other times I would imagine myself entering, still fully clothed and undress in the dark in front of the ghost of my dead grandfather . . . wantonly giving myself to these evil spirits.
Another time, I fantasized that I was wearing only black silk gloves . . . a two foot long snake, huge from my anus, its head and another foot of its body was already inside my rectum and colon; I would imagine opening and closing my sphincter around the snake, so that its tail whipped back and forth, like a tail, as I suffocated it . . . in each of my silk-covered hands I would hold a live cockroach, their little legs exciting my exposed nipples . . . I was sure that these evil spirits would be appeased by my perverted wickedness.
I imagined talking to my dead grandfather, saying . . . ‘Look at me, I am stark naked and want you to make me to ride the little horse . . . Grandpa, look at me, look how I have grown up since you are in the grave . . . do you like what you see? Do you want me to lay down naked with you? Are you looking at me from the other world? Are yours friends looking at me? Grandpa, I want you and the nuns to do disgusting things to me, touch me, molest me . . . rape me!’
YOUNG SANDRA Chapter Four – EVIL PRAYERS
It was quite by accident that I had arrived home from playing outside, when, from the front door of our house, I saw my mother exiting from the usually sealed nun’s room. I slid the door closed as quietly as I could and hide from her line of sight . . . from the darkness of the nearest room, I watched through the crack in the door.
She nervously glanced around, as if checking that she was still alone in the house. My mother’s face was flushed and she acted unusually agitated . . . her dress slipping from her shoulder revealing her nakedness beneath, as if she had dressed in a hurry.
In haste, she quickly retrieved a key and locked the door behind her, as she immediately headed back towards her own chamber. The clandestine way she was acting seemed completely out of character for my mother . . . it intrigued me. I tiptoed up to the edge of her room and just caught a glimpse of her placing the key inside the bottom draw of her bedside table.
I made my way back to the front door, opened it and shut it again loudly, as if I had just arrived in.
‘Sandra? Is that you?’
‘Yes mother.’ I answered back, trying to sound distant.
‘Have you been home long?’ I knew why she asked. She was checking to make sure I hadn’t seen anything.
‘No. Been outside in the yard.’
My mother didn’t reply and I slipped back into the safety of my own room. I felt like a cat on a hot tin roof. I could not think of anything else, except getting hold of the key to the fear room. I paced back and forth impatiently, as my inner demons teased me with all manner of sexual temptations. I breathed deeply and trying to calm myself down, but it was no use . . . my heart continued to race and the lump in my throat would not subside.
It was already getting dark outside, when I heard my younger brother come home and I composed myself. My sniffed by fingers, they smelt of my pussy that was still extremely itchy, hot and demanding of more attention. My mind kept skipping back to get the key . . . get the key . . . get the key to the fear room. I had to think of something else. Anything . . .
‘Where’s mum?’ Asked my brother.
‘She’s not feeling very well.’ I lied. I disappeared back into my room. Pushing the door closed to make sure that I would not be interrupted.
The stories of the two nuns came into my head . . . trapped and waiting their unknown fate. What went through the minds before the final moment before their capture? Or did they escape those who hunted them? Had they shared carnal knowledge together and molested little girls like me? I hoped so. I pictured the two dominant nuns, still in their wimples but otherwise completely naked as the masturbated furiously with their wooden crucifixes. Their mouths were twisted in obscene blasphemy as they prayed together, not to god, but to the perverted demons that I loved.
My slit was slick with juices, as I slid my finger up and down the entry to my vagina. Then bringing my thumb and forefinger to twist my eager clit, a spasm of exquisite pleasure shot through me as I imagined them both fornicating with a young girl, my age . . . a sacrifice for the love of Satan.
Or was it me that they forced themselves upon? One of the nuns, sat astride my face, drawing her impossibly wet cunt to smother my open mouth, while the other lay between my open legs, my hairless pussy rubbing against hers, as she frantically crushed her enlarged clit, that resembled a small penis, against my virgin slit.
I sucked my juices from my fingers to taste myself. Delicious.
My fantasy skipped back to my favorite female martyrs, those whose blood had been spilt for the love of their god. I could see their angelic faces turned upwards towards heaven, as they lay stretched between floor and ceiling; tortured not by men . . . but by evil and perverse demons, all naked and erect. I could hear the screams of the faithful, as the demons took turns in raping their virginal mouths, pussies and anuses . . . while other demons looked on as they shot their slimy evil seed over their bodies.
The key . . . I imagined it, like an evil pray that I made to Satan himself . . . give me the key oh evil god . . . and I will masturbate for you forever!
I couldn’t actually remember falling asleep. I could remember if I had finally cum the night before either . . . it all seemed a little hazy.
I had awaken with a plan and as soon as I heard my family preparing to leave for the day of work and school, I did, as I had done a dozen times before. I didn’t leave my mother any options, as she was about to step out the door with the two of us, bound for school . . . I faked nausea and stomach cramps and ran to the toilet. She bought it, as she had to leave, or else would have been late for my brother’s schooling.
I sat waiting in the toilet for what felt like an eternity, as I listened for the front door to close behind them. My mind was filled with sexuality. It was tantalizing, but scaring me at the same time . . . get the key . . . get the key to the fear room. I put one hand inside my pants and found that I was already drenched in my juices, while the other up my top and squeezed my nipples, teasing them and then painfully twisting them alternatively.
They were gone. Why was I not rushing to get the key? Why was I suddenly very calm? No, that was not true. I was not calm at all. Actually I was trembling with a new excitement that I had never felt so intensely before. My legs were like jelly as my stomach was all butterflies, as it turned somersaults . . . but I wanted to make this feeling last. After all, I was in no rush. I had all day to explore this weirdness that filled me.
I had waited long enough to know that my mother was not going to turn around, if something had been forgotten . . . they were gone and I was completely alone, alone with the key to the fear room. I stepped out of the toilet and went straight to my mother’s chamber. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, still dressed in my school uniform, as if I had intended to go with my mother and brother. I removed my underwear and lifted my skirt as I gazed back at my naughty reflection, touching herself for Satan . . . I remembered my prayer the night before as I sank my middle finger into my wetness.
I couldn’t wait a second more. I half expected some disappointment . . . but with one hand still touching myself, I quickly went to my mother’s bedside cabinet and opened the bottom draw. It was there. The key was there. My hand shook as I retrieved it from its hiding place. It was heavy, cold and much larger than any other key in the house.
Again, I stood in front of the mirror and rubbed the key against my sore nipples, then inserted into my vagina. It felt perverted to do this. As I draw it out again, I could see that the key was coated in my pussy juices . . . I sucked it in my mouth tasting myself on its smooth length. Then I pushed it up my anus and left it there while I stripped completely naked and began to thrust my pelvis back and forth, fucking my imaginary demonic lover and squeezing my sphincter around the metal object.
I dressed myself in my mother’s most shear black petty coat. I donned her heavy beads and black silk gloves. And after giving myself one last look in the full length mirror, I was no longer young Sandra, but instead an evil goddess who was ready to enter the temple of her most perverse fantasies.
My heart felt like it was going to explode as it pounded inside my chest. Usually I took great care not to get my mother’s clothes soiled for fear of being caught out . . . but today was very different . . . the fingers of my mother’s silk gloves were already saturated in my vaginal fluids as I rubbed myself frantically through my mother’s shear petticoat. I could smell my own arousal as I stood in front of the door to the fear room.
Taking the key from my anus, I imagined placing it in the lock, as I had done a thousand of times before. What would it really be like? With just the thought alone, my excitation was incredible and my heart was beating like crazy. At lightning speed, a thousand concentrated thoughts, feeling, ideas and fantasies passed through my mind . . . the build up to this moment had been intense and the feeling of being completely overwhelmed was making me light headed . . . I fell to the floor in front of the mirror . . . blackness . . . complete blackness . . .
It could have been seconds or hours, I wasn’t sure . . . but finally I awoke and stood up and looked at my reflection in the full-length mirror of my mother’s chamber. My dark hair seemed to glow with the illumination of the low yellow light behind me. The rest of my mother’s chamber seemed dark. Outside her window, the sky looked ominous as thunder clouds rolled across the horizon. The quietness was broken with the perpetual sound of rain hitting the panes and howl of the wind, like the sound of of tortured souls. From time to time the darkness was abruptly broken by the electric whiteness of lightning and the echo of distant thunder.
My eyes dreamily slipped back to my reflection. I was naked and horny. I was still dressed in my mother’s rosary, high heels and silk gloves. As I touched myself, macabre thoughts brought me quickly back to the edge of a new orgasm. Every night for the past two years, since I reached puberty, I had entertained myself like this for hours with these wicked fantasies . . . but tonight I was more excited than usual and as I edged for over an hour imagining myself, naked and tortured by evil demons . . . demons that would torture me until my orgasmic death . . .
Just the idea of voluntarily surrendered to the forces of Hell, to be tortured forever, was what excited me most. I frantically rubbed my hard nipples with my fingernails, irritating them to increase their sensitivity to pain, then stretching them hard and digging my nails into my flesh, pinching and torturing them to keep myself at the brink of orgasm. Over and over, again and again, I repeated this self-abuse, constantly imagining ever-increasingly cruel tortures that drove me crazy of pleasure as I watched myself in the mirror.
From nowhere came a voice. I accepted it, like a voice in a dream. It came from my reflection.
‘Come closer to the mirror . . .’ said a voice.
I hesitantly stepped closer to the mirror’s surface. I could clearly see my reflection . . . it was me . . . but a completely different me . . . I blinked in disbelief.
The Sandra in the mirror was just like me, twelve years old. She was covered with bleeding wounds. Her dark hair was stained with blood and her eyes showed terrible suffering. Her naked body showed multiple lacerations and wounds still flowed recent trickles of blood. She had evidently been tortured in a myriad of horrible ways. She silently smiled back at me with blood stained teeth. It was more like a grimace that a smile… full of dark pain and even darker desires… her face had been beaten and blood tricked across her forehead from her open wounds.
She extended her had towards me beyond the surface of the mirror. Impossible I thought as she beckoning me to join her. My erect nipples pricked with anxiety and excitement. I extended my gloved hand to touch hers and she pulled me through the surface of the mirror into the darkness of my reflection… the feeling was like passing through water, but once across I felt no wetness, only the wetness of my itching cunt.
We stood side-by-side. The ground below us was soaked in blood. The air was humid and hot. And smelly. It smelled of putrefaction. It was dark and cries of pain were all around me. They were groans of tortured women. And crazy laughter. The mad laughter of demons as they tortured their prey.
Everywhere I looked, I could see human remains. Dead bodies everywhere… there were dozens of corpses . . . maybe, hundreds of corpses . . . No, thousands. And I was standing between them. I had never been so excited. My reflection stood by me and watched. She smiled as she held my hand, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the fires on the horizon.
‘Come with me Sandra. We have much to do and too little time to do it. I am your supreme desire . . . everything you have imagined . . . everything that you have desired… is right her Sandra. Come with me.’
Scared, but excited, I followed my double, as she twisted through a barren field full of death and desolation. We walked between the putrefied corpses, skeletons and the bodies of girls, some still in beautiful agony or in full throes of death, after being tortured for days. I literally drank it all in . . . I had entered Hell itself.
‘Look around you, sweet Sandra. This is the Kingdom of Death. Here are the fallen angels, the souls, the ghosts of all our desires . . . the culmination of all our evil perversions. This is our place, Sandra. This is our heaven. This is our Paradise. Here, you are the beautiful dark angel, the Seraphim of Perversion, and through our veins runs the blood of Satan himself. This is our place. Satan’s reward for us will be the most extreme suffering… the most extreme pain… the most extreme torture. Come with me and lets meet our fate.’
I was in a state of indescribable anxiety. My palpitations were preventing me from breathing properly as I gasped and drunk in the foul stench of hell. Looking into the eyes of my persecuted twin, I touched her beautifully face.
‘Oh, please, I do not ever want to leave this place. I have dreamt of this moment and of what awaits me’ I excitedly responded. The two us, both naked and holding hands, continued to walk among the dead. Satan’s presence was palpable in the putrid and hot air.
Across the mountain of bodies, we had traveled, until we came to the site put aside for female crucifixion. There must have been over a hundred naked girls and women, some nailed, some hanging from all types of crosses. Some tortured victims were still screaming and crying, immersed in a terrible agony. Others, already dead, hung peacefully.
I approach a girl who was about to die. She looked about my own age, no more than twelve years old. She looked splendid in her nudity. She had been nailed to the cross and writhing in pain. Her torture had been exquisite. She looked so beautiful and I wished I had been her.
‘Oh, Satan! I curse you for not having done this to me! Reward me now with a debauched suffering that would equal to this girl!’ I prayed out loud.
I drank the beauty of the dying body in front of me and I pinched my nipples with my fingernails, standing on the edge of orgasm and I moved a little closer to the girl nailed to the cross. I took her nipples, which were about the only thing sticking out of her almost flat chest, and pinched them with anger, clawing and making her suffer even further before death. I took her delicate nipple into my wanton mouth and bit down hard on the dying girl, tasting her blood as it sprayed into my open mouth. My twin watched with interest at my obvious and indifferent cruelty. She could see that I could be as cruel as any demon.
Placing my mouth over the dying girl’s open lips . . . in the kiss of death, I drew in her last breath, as my eyes drunk in her precious nakedness.
A few meters away was yet another crucified girl, who was as young as the first. But this one was already dead. Her body was magnificent in its incipient decomposition. I walked over and hugged her corpse, then kissed the dead girl on her mouth. My necrophiliac kissing lasted quite a while as my hungry tongue explored her lifeless mouth. I wanted to taste her sweet tongue and mix her saliva with mine, as I sucked in the cold air from her dead lungs. I was completely drunk with lust.
As my twin and I walked on, there were victims of all ages from twelve year-old girls to much older women. Without exception, each of their bodies excited me. Some still alive, some already dead, and others still hanging from crosses. I cried out aloud for my crucifixion. Finally as we came to the edge of the area filled with the crucified women, by reflection turned and talked to me.
‘Yes Sandra . . . it’s now your turn, Sandra. Come with me.’
The mixture of fear and excitement was almost too much for me to bear. She led me to a dark metal cross that stood vertically out from the ground. Its surface was heavily stained with the blood of others that had died upon it . . . none more willing than I.
It was now my turn. I anxiously placed my delicate wrists and ankles through the four heavy metal rings that would prevent me from changing my mind… there would be no turning back . . . there was be no escape from the torturous death that this path had led me towards. The helplessness brought me to the brink of orgasm . . . I was about to cum and had to make an enormous effort to stop myself from going over the edge too soon.
‘Will by body be discarded with all the other corpses?’ I asked.
‘Is that what you want? While you’re still alive?’ She answered.
‘Oh, yes, yes! I want to be living, but die among other corpses. But first I desire to suffer. I want to be cruelly tortured. I want absolute agony, excruciating pain. I give my soul and body to Satan, my beloved Lord of Hell. I want to be here forever, to serve my beloved Lord Satan and all his horny demons.’
Pain shot through my wrists and ankles, as my soft flesh was pierced by a hundred thousand fine needles. At the same time, from the four corners where I was held, four barbed wire snakes began to curl at their tips, their spikes dug deep making me writhe in pain and pleasure. These long metal snakes were progressing steadily toward my naked torso. I arched in ecstasy, offering my breasts to the exquisite torture. I was bleeding from hundred wounds and I drank my pain as my most desired torture.
My skin was torn and an unbearable pain was transmitting from every my nerves of my body. I was in ecstasy. The barbed wire were coiled with superhuman strength and I lifted my head to breathe deep as the unknown force that the torture gave me my dearest of wishes
With my arms and legs fully constrained by the four barbed-wire snakes, another began to curl my torso, making me howl in pain, fear, panic and pleasure. My waist, belly, breasts, were pierced by hundreds of barbs. I also felt them in my head. They curled around my forehead like a crown of thorns. The blood from my forehead ran into my eyes, blinding me. The intense delight was more than I could stand. Blood from my head wounds began trickled into my mouth and I drank it. I drank my own blood as if it were a new life that would prolong my bliss, extending my suffering towards my long awaited death.
Another barbed-wire snake, much thinker than the others, began to penetrate my vagina, its spikes tore irretrievably at my sensitive inner walls of my dripping cunt. The pain was delightful. The violation was complete. And upon reaching my womb was sublime pleasure. I was offering my body to the spikes that tormented me.
All the time my mirrored twin continued to smiling and picking up on the intensity of my happiness. In her hands she carried a whip adorned with thousands pieces of cut glass. I offered her my nakedness to torture. A thorn gripped my mouth and prevented me from speaking… but she looked into my bloody eyes and could read my mind…
‘Whip me, please, as I pray to Satan to give you strength to make me suffer for His pleasure . . . I want this for my Lord Satan . . . Please, give me my wish Death . . .’
She gritted her teeth, masturbating herself as she began to flog me, tearing chunks of my flesh from my body with every lash. The pain was extreme and my blood began to soak the ground beneath me. Soon my body was covered with open wounds as the whip was targeted at my tiny twelve-year-old breasts.
My life was slipping and I moved between absolute agony and a state bliss. I stared back at my tormentor and encouraged her for more. The whiplash tore half of one of my cheek away and began to orgasm as the barbed wire snaked raped my tiny vagina. I wanted death and nothing would have changed my mind.
The ecstasy of my torture gave me a continuous chain of strong orgasms, each more powerful than the next. I felt my release from the metal cross, as my body was thrown on a pile of dead and putrid bodies.
My Lord Satan . . . I was ready for death in Hell. As I lay there, I saw that one of the naked corpses lying beneath me was my own dead mother! She was very old and still beautiful in death! Her blind empty eyes were filled with cockroaches. In my dying moments, I placed my sweet lips and mouth over her, to bring my life to her. I could smell the putrid breath from her dead lungs as it filled my own soul.
I came over and over as I prayed . . . My Lord Satan! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Please, Satan, make room for me at your side in Hell, please, my Lord, with hundreds of corpses to have fun . . .
A clap of thunder from beyond the windows of my mother’s room brought me back to reality . . . I lay on the floor soaking in sweat and sexual fluids. Outside it was still raining. The air inside my mother’s chamber was hot.
I stood up before the mirror. I placed a strong clothespin on each of my nipples and masturbated slowly, praying Satan to give me the nerve to finally enter the nun’s room.
If you have enjoyed this story or would like to offer praise to the author (Written by Sandra in Hell, edited by XP), please email to firstname.lastname@example.org