The Librarian

She wouldn't stop screaming, so I hit her. Blood oozed from the gash on her forehead as she laid there on the ground, unconscious. It wasn't exactly the way I had planned this little get together, but it would have to do. At least until she woke up. Then I would be able to torment her with the various techniques I had learned. Who would've thought an old, dusty library would carry books about 19th century tortures?

This type of thing isn't the norm for me. No, not at all. You see this is my first time ever committing a crime against another person. Well, I suppose you could say it's more than just a crime. It's a killing. A slaying. Torture. I believe that to be worse than any crime, therefore it's not a crime at all. No, it's just a punishment this woman deserves.

I don't know her name. The only thing I know about this woman is that she's a prostitute. A filthy whore who lives on the streets, and sells herself to men and women alike. I've seen her many times since my move to this town, and every time she asks if I need her service. I always tell her no...until today.

It's not that I finally decided to give in to her advances, but more like I'm far too tired of them. Besides, why not punish a prostitute for her sinful deeds? Women like her were tortured and killed practically every day in the 19th century. Why should they be able to sell themselves without paying a price in today's century? They deserve nothing less than death.

So here she is, the first of many to come, sprawled out on the dirt covered forest ground. She begins to stir, and I look around me at the death dealing devices I have managed to replicate. I've already chose which one to use first. The lead sprinkler. A simple device, really. It's similar to a holy water sprinkler, but much more painful. Instead of it containing holy water it contains molten lead which will leave her skin with horrific burns.

Hoisting her up, I slam her against a tree trunk and begin wrapping a heavy duty rope around her body. She is almost completely awake now. Whimpers and moans escape her barely open mouth as she struggles to find a conscious state. Then, finally, her eyelids flutter open, and she's peering up at me with scared doe-like eyes. She begins to scream again, but I quickly put an end to it.

"I'm going to put this on your head," I tell her. "See this spike? It goes into your mouth, and if you try to talk or scream, it will put a gruesome hole through your tongue."

My words silence her. I gently put the brank over her head and shove the iron spike into her mouth. The brank is one of my favorite torture devices from the 19th century. It's an iron cage-like contraption that fits snugly over the entire head with an iron spike that rests on the tongue. It was often used on women who disagreed with their husbands or scolded a lot. I see it as a perfect device to use on a screaming whore.

I can tell that she is struggling to not cry or let out the slightest whimper as the freshly made metal bites at her tongue. Taking a hold of the flimsy piece of fabric that is barely covering her breasts I easily rip it down the front and expose them. The tiny, almost non-existent skirt proves to be even easier than the top despite rope that bounds her. She jerks her head this way and that as tears stream down her face. The filthy whore truly has no idea what horrors I have in store for her.

Her eyes grow round as I turn and pick up the glorious lead sprinkler from amongst all of the other magnificent instruments on the table. She begins to thrash violently against the tree as she watches me pour molten lead into the sprinkler from a heated pot. I know the prostitute has put two and two together now. She knows what I'm about to do.

I hold the lead sprinkler high in the air and with swift movements I begin splashing her with the hot contents. Involuntary muffled screams erupt from her throat as the lead sears her naked skin. It causes her skin to bubble and peel back, revealing bloody tissue and bones. She struggles against her restraints, trying desperately to free herself. Her legs kick out in front of her as she tries to strike me with them, but fails. I don't stop until the lead sprinkler is empty.

Her head hangs low and I can hear little whimpers coming from her. I know she must be in pain, but I do not care. I reach into my pocket and pull out a pair of surgical gloves. The last thing I want is to touch her bloody, diseased body with my bare hands.

The sound of my gloves snapping as I put them on make her flinch. I take in a deep breath as I stand there and take the damage I've inflicted so far. I place my palm on her forehead and force her head up. Her long blonde hair is streaked with her filthy blood and wet with sweat. Her left eye is swelled and bulging out of it's socket. Blood slowly trickles from the burns inflicted to her eyeball.

"Open your mouth wide and keep your tongue pressed down," I instruct her. She grimaces as she does this.

I unbuckle the brank and pull the spike out of her mouth as I lift the device from her head. I gently set it on the table, being careful to not damage it in anyway. After all, it is a work of art, and would be worth nothing if damaged.

She cringes when I begin to untie her. I know that the pain from the lead sprinkler and the brank has weakened her, so I don't have to worry about her trying to escape. Or at least getting away with it. Knowing this I let her drop down to the ground while I unwrap the rope from the tree. I smile at the thought of her already being so weak even though there's so much of the night left for her to experience.

She makes a sad attempt to crawl away, but I grab her by her hair and jerk her back to me. I pick up the next device with my spare hand. It's not a device from the 19th century, but one I made myself. I fit the contraption over the crown of her skull and pull her hair through an opening that is filled with tiny bristle-like teeth that will hold her hair tightly in place. I press down on the base of the apparatus which has tiny, jagged, slightly curved hooks. She screams when they pierce her skin and burrow deep into her scalp.

The last step is the short belt. Using it I lift her straight up off the ground. She screams and presses her hands to her scalp as blood begins to ooze from the wounds. She tries to fight me, but I'm much too strong for her. I punch her in the stomach and it makes her gasp for air. Wrapping the belt around a sturdy tree branch, I tie it securely then stand back and look at her. Her body slowly spins and rocks back and forth as she moans and whimpers from the pain.

"What..." she tries to speak for the first time.

"Shut up!" I shout at her. "You don't deserve to speak."

She doesn't say another word. She's much too frightened to. I pick up a whip from the table and give it a good snap at the ground to test it. The whore begins to cry again, but she does not thrash. She knows better than to move. It would only cause her severe pain.

I pull my arm back and swing the whip towards her. The sound of it snapping against her dirty skin fills my ears with delight. She wails out in agony as I slice her skin open time and time again with the leather whip. Giggles begin to come from me. It is then that I realize that not only do I believe this woman deserves this punishment, but I enjoy giving it to her. No, this isn't a crime at all. This is a punishment and a game all in one.

Despite her best efforts the desire to move takes hold and the prostitute begins to move around. The device attached to her scalp tugs violently to her skin and it causes her to scream out even louder than before with just the whip licking at her. With each snap she moves faster and harder and the apparatus on her head ever so slowly rips at her scalp.

Hours have past and I'm panting and sweating, but I do not let up on her yet. I make sure the whip leaves it's mark on every inch of her diseased body. Blood has pooled up beneath her on the ground, and I know that it won't take too much more to be done with her. It only takes one more lick with the whip for the device on her head to do it's job. With a sickening wet noise it rips her scalp away from her skull and allows her body to drop into the pool of blood below. She does not scream or move.

I drop the whip on the ground and quickly bend down to check her pulse. I'm scared that she is dead, but not for the reason most might think. It's too early for her to die. There's other punishments she must experience first.

I sigh when I find that she still has a pulse. The excruciating pain from her scalp removal mixed with being exhausted must have knocked her out. It's a good thing I came prepared for such a moment. I reach into my pocket and pull out a tiny vial that contains a strong incense. I hold it under her nose for a moment and she is instantly aware.

There's only a few hours left until it's dawn, and I still have two punishments to inflict upon her. Her eyes are darting around her surroundings, and her breathing is frantic. I grab her upper arm and force her to her knees. She tries to make a noise, but her tongue is far too swelled to allow anything other than a muffled whimper pass by her lips.

"Hold yourself up with your hands and knees. Spread your legs wide apart," I command her.

I smile as I watch her stumble from the heaviness of her own weight. She whimpers as she slowly moves her legs apart. I quickly become frustrated with her, and kicked them apart with my boot. This causes her to stumble once more, but she manages to catch herself.

I move towards the supply table and grab the last unused item on it - the pear. I walk around her and stop in front of her. She peers up at me with pleading eyes, but they do nothing for me. A whore can plead all she wants, but she'll never get anything she doesn't deserve.

"See this?" I ask her as I hold the shiny tool in front of her. "Let me show you how it works."

I begin to twist the screw-like knob of the device, and she watches as it's pear-shaped body slowly opens wide with two spikes sticking straight out on either end. I don't bother to explain to her what the pear is for or what it will do to her. It should be obvious to her. Instead I move so that I'm behind her again, and I get down on my knees, closing the pear as I do so.

The prostitute begins to squirm as I spread her buttocks apart to reveal her puckered hole. I press the spiked tip of the pear to her anus, and before she could even think about trying to squirm away I thrusted it as hard and deep as I could inside of her. A throaty, muffled cry accompanied with blood came from her mouth. She let her upper body fall onto the ground, and she buried her face into the grass as I slowly turned the screw-like knob.

I can hear the sound of her inner walls tearing and straining against the cold metal. Blood begins to poor from around the pear. The whore is now slamming her fists on the ground and clawing at the dirt. She slings her head this way and that, but never does she try to crawl away. She knows she's much too weak to. Her back arches in various angles as the pain courses throughout her entire body. She continues to try to scream, and continues to fail.

The pear is fully erect inside of her, and I give it a fierce jerk to make sure it's not loose. I can hear her muffled mumbling and it distracts me. I try to figure out what she's saying, but can't.. I notice that her tiny hands are clutched together in front of her face, and her eyes are closed. Her lips are moving quickly, and her brows are scrunched together. She's praying! The whore is praying!

"What could a whore pray for that would make God listen to her?" I ask her.

She opens her eyes and peers up at me. She doesn't try to speak. Instead she places her finger in the dirt in front of her and spells out one simple word. Death.

I laugh. "God is going to be generous to you tonight. He is going to answer your prayer."

Tears begin streaming from her eyes and down her face. She attempts to hide her face in the earth once more, but I stop her. I grab her and force her to stand up which proves to be difficult for her, so I bend down and lift her by her ankles. I carry her by her ankles over to her next and last form of punishment - the brazen bull.

The brazen bull is a clever torture device. It was the hardest for me to make due to it being made entirely out of brass, having a complex system of tubing to mask screams, and having a system so the smoke smells like incense instead of burning human flesh. Clever, so very clever.

Since I had lit a fire under it earlier the bull was already fire hot. The whore doesn't kick or squirm as I open the door on the bull. I grab her with both hands and toss her inside. A hair raising screeching sound comes from her and she tries to escape, but I manage to slam the door shut just in time.

The complex tubing system in the brazen bull's head immediately begins to work. I sit down in front of it and listen to the wondrous sounds of a bellowing bull. Spice scented incense rises into the air and tickles my nose. I lay down on my back and watch as the sun rises while listening to the wild bull before me - it's bellowing like a frantic lullaby. I smile to myself and close my eyes. This is only the beginning, I tell myself.