Torture Twists Novels & Stories

He pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a call. The world recedes as I stand staring down at my abuser's bleeding face. He lies on the ground, eyes staring at nothing. He's not dead—I watch his chest rise and fall—but he looks so weak, so small, crumpled up like that at my feet. All this time, I was so afraid of this man. This lump of meat. This worthless nothing. Christopher was my torturer. He was the monster that came for me in the night. Now, he's nothing. Tears wrench themselves from my chest as I sob quietly into my hands.

I know I was feeling something for his nerd brother, but at the same time, I was spreading my legs wide for the evil brother. Fuck... Screwed... I can't... I shouldn't... How do people deal with this kind of torture?

"How many fucking times did Myla beg and plead with you to do the same shit?" Finally, I find what I'm looking for, but I'm stuck between two methods of torture. Fire or cutting. His eyes bulge when I produce the blowtorch and the hand saw, the grin on my face growing wider. I step up to him again and hold each item out in front of me. "Today's method will be up to you. I'll let you have that, at least." "No. I'm not fucking picking one of those. Are you fucking crazy?" "Very. And yes you are picking one of them. If you don't, then I'll use both of them on you, and I can't tell you now that you don't want that to fucking happen."

She even has the rarest collection of knives! Howard sometimes wonders, what torture she doesn't know! He thinks she should be named the Torture Queen for her exclusive and weird torture methods. She knows all kind of physical tortures starting from blinding with light, boiling, bone-breaking, branding, castor oil, castration, Chinese water torture, and cold cell torture.

That was why she was growling while breathing because at that moment she should actually be in her wolf form but her wolf was incapable of turning due to the wolfsbane in her system. The whole plan would however have failed due to the fact that her recovery rate was slow and even harsh. However, Abbot really helped her when he decided to launch into the story of mistletoe as a part of a psychological breakdown. People who torture say this a lot. The best way to torture someone is to let them keep feeling how good it is to exist without the pain. So taking one's time to mentally and emotionally break down their victims was actually the best approach, the cherry on top was the physical pain.

For that, I don’t give a damn care about anyone in this world. I knocked him out and tied him up. I took the machine and repaired it by myself. Iam a science teacher. It took me many months to make it work again. I didn’t do it alone. Malcolm, that boy, helped me. I mean, I compelled him to do so. I did it when he resisted. I tortured him by electric shock and many other ways I know.”

Even after six months I still smell the cow dung. My eyes grow hot as tears threaten to spill out of my eyes. I fight to keep them at bay because I know from experience that crying never makes anything better. While some torturers like to see their victims in tears, wailing on the floor and begging for mercy; mine… they like to see me try to control the pain. They like it when my jaw is clenched, my teeth are grinding and the veins in my neck pop out so hard it looks like they’re ready to pop.

How I always valued her. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t see Tiffany stroll into my office. No knock or introduction. She walks so confidently towards me and around my desk and stood in front of me. I looked at her with pure disgust. She drops to her knees and her hands grabbing onto my thighs. Trying to run her hands up to my shaft, and it tries to go to my belt. I grabbed her wrists with one hand and yank her up and I stood tall. “What the fuck do you think your doing?” Pyro lacing my voice. Tiffany starts to shake terrified.

She sprinted into the woods, her bare feet bleeding, her clothes torn. Branches whipped her face, rain blinded her, but she didn’t stop. She couldn't. Freedom was just ahead. She could feel it. Taste it. --- But Mason was faster. He tackled her from behind, slamming her into the ground. Claire screamed, thrashing wildly. Mason’s hand closed around her throat, squeezing. "You stupid little—" he hissed. Claire clawed at his arm, desperate. Black spots danced in her vision. She couldn’t breathe.

Slowly—too slowly—he looked back at her. His eyes had the dangerous flicker in them shifting into something far more sinister. And then— He smiled. Not a smirk. Not amusement but a slow, lethal curve of his lips. The kind of smile that sent a chill down her spine. And in that moment,she knew she had fucked up.