Her eyes dart from side to side in the dimly lit room, and she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Sharpened hooks pin her lips together, tips pushed through the inside of her top lip and the outside of the bottom—blood leeches from her swollen flesh.
She looks down.
Heels dangle from each foot.
She cranes her neck, looks up. She hangs, wrists strapped to a cross overlaid with the uncircumcised flesh of severed shafts taken during cock-and-ball torture sessions performed on greedy masochists.
The lights flash on, and she bears witness to the glory of this sadistic realm.
Her eyes widen, and arousal ripples through her body. Dead men lie in high piles around her, their penile flesh degloved and sewn back on with fish hooks. Their scrotums are absent.
The tension in the bindings on her wrists gives way, and her arms fall to her knees. She gets up and tears the hooks from her punctured lips, imagining the men’s suffering while also trembling with the thrill of their agony. She makes her way through the corpses littering the floor, feeling up the severed and skinned cocks. She raises her blood-dripping hands and runs them through her hair.
She bends over one of the corpses, holds her hair out of the way with one hand, and deep throats herself with the other until she pukes violently over the body. She continues to fuck her mouth until she’s spewing mostly blood, bile, and green sputum.
One of the males is still alive. She stands over his naked form, places a heel on his chest. He grins and opens his mouth wide. She bends over and vomits into his mouth. It splatters on his face and forms a puddle around his head.
She grabs his left ear and yanks his head toward her face. “Welcome to the monarchy of pain.”
He flicks his tongue over his lips as she takes her foot off his chest, pulls out a long threadlike chain from inside the heel and winds it tight around his throat twice, three times, and locks it in place.
She drags him through the terrain—all rock and sand—while he grasps at the truss that chokes his neck. They enter a dark, soundproof room, and she turns on the lights, revealing an extensive assortment of whips, chains, gags, and other sadism paraphernalia.
The hogtied man is placed almost delicately on a metal table, stomach down. His arms and legs hang just off the sides. She begins to push thin fish hooks into his back. As they slide through, thick dark blood—the redness has an elegance to it, she thinks—begins to seep from the punctured tissue. It drips down his sides like rain.
She connects the hooks to the pulley and raises him into the air. Then circles him slowly as blood pours now, thick and fast. She caresses his face with long nails that have been filed to points scraping against the masculine line of his jaw and the coarse skin of his cheeks.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ndt7qv/mistress_slave_an_excerpt_from_my_highly_sadistic