He screams. Like they all do.
Sharp, short, piercing and full of terror. Echoing and bouncing off each stone wall.
I strike again, putting all of my energy into the blow of the whip. He screams again.
The funny thing about a scream of pain, is that its an involuntary action. It gives the body a false sensation of relief. No actual relief is found though and all it achieves, is to tell me more than my victim was willing to share.
This guy for instance.
His scream reveals much about him. His body is reacting, but the shortness of his scream tells me that he's trying hard to control his outburst. Hes trying to control any sound that passes his mouth.
The piercing sound that echos, tells me of his pain. I am giving him more pain than he has ever been inflicted with.
The terror he is trying so hard to physically hide is apparent in his scream. Its laced into the atmosphere and around him also.
If i could see his eyes, i am certain they would be begging me to stop. Pleading with me to let him rest. He can feel his breaking point approaching, as can i.
That isn't to say he is weak. Quiet the opposite.
With everything i can feel about him, i can also tell that his suffering isn't the reason for his fear. It's how long this could last. He knows that sooner, rather than later, he is going to crumple and tell me anything i want to know.
If my torture were simply physical he would never break, his body is to strong for that.
His mind though, is mine to manipulate.
I lash him again, hearing the same short, fear laced scream, that I'm coming to enjoy.
He was initially standing. His arms bonded, with chains, to the metal frame and his legs chained to the floor. But come the 19th lash, his back torn and bloodied with strips of flesh missing, he succumb to the pain. Kneeling with his arms at full extension. His knuckles white as he desperately clings onto the chains he hangs from.
I whip again, for the 34th time.
"This is the last one." I soothingly state. But by now he knows I'm lying. He pants as he waits.
At the beginning i told him he would receive ten lashes. At ten, i continued onto eleven.
I told him he would receive, only nine more. On the nineteenth, i assured him he had done well and only one more was coming.
I continued on to 25, telling him then, he would only receive five more.
At thirty i comforted him, telling him i didn't want to continue. I let those words linger, before soothingly stating, only five more.
Now were at 34.
Why do i continue to do this?
Because, when the body is in pain, time feels like it is going slower than it is. Like an eternity is passing with each surge of pain and the body tries to cling onto any feeling that isn't pain. And the mind clings onto what the person is fighting for. It holds tight onto the reason that their suffering. Whether its a person their protecting or information their holding or even a punishment their receiving. That's their strength, that's why they fight on.
That's physical torture.
When i tell him that i will stop after ten lashes; the body reacts in the same way, but the mind does something different all together. Even though there is little reason for him to believe what i am telling him is the truth, his mind clings to the expectation of only ten lashes. He probably is repeating a mantra in his head. What ever the case, he forces himself to endure till all ten lashes are complete. He only focuses on the determination to endure, knowing there is a limit set for his suffering.
Once i continue onto eleven. His mind would go into overdrive. First thinking of how i lied, then praying that i would keep my word this time and stick to the new set limit. The pain will still be present and, as pain does, it would become unbearable. But he still holds the hope that i will stop at the number i have told him.
As i continue on, ignoring the number i have assured him on, i keep assuring him. This is because his mind, no matter whether he believes me or not, will be desperately hoping i do stop at the point i told him i would.
Me telling him, I'm not enjoying it or that i don't wish to continue, further cements the hope and the feeling of helplessness that comes as i continue.
That is mental torture.
He is holding strong with the reason i am giving him as opposed to his initial reasons for being defiant. Because of this, his mind will succumb to the feeling of helplessness quicker. His mind will be ready to break at the same him his body does.
I strike again. He screams again, sounding dry-throat-ed. I give him a few moments of silence. No doubt he is silently praying for it to be finished.
"Only five more," i say letting the sentence hang there, feeling unfinished.
He lets out a grunted whimper. That's the first sound he has made other than screams and pants. I know whats coming next.
"Please stop" he says in a defeated whisper.
"I will" i say letting my voice sound sympathetic "only five more, okay?"
He nods barely.
His body goes limp. He hangs his head, and he lets go of the chains.
His back is hardly recognizable. Its mostly shredded. His blood covers the floor and its still is pouring down his back. His kneeled legs are covered in lightly dried blood and his pants are soaked in it also. Slowly he has lost color, due to the blood loss.
I bring the cattle whip down again. He screams, but his scream is now singing the tune i was waiting for.
Instead of short and piercing, its now a lasting scream. Instead of fear laced into the echos, its now the sound of despair.
Hes stopped guarding himself. Hes moaning and grunting and panting, waiting for my next blow.
I don't disappoint. I swing again. He screams, the same lasting scream.
I swing again.
This time he doesn't conclude his scream, instead it morphs into a chorus of begs.
"....stop, please stop, stop, please, please" his begs are desperate and defeated. None of them are forceful or demanding. He is simply pleading his desires.
I ignore his begs and lash him again, throwing my body into the motion. His scream this time is just begging.
" stop....please.... i cant take it anymore..please...."
The magic words i was waiting for.
"Can i do one more?" I ask as if i want his approval. This will show if he truly is my broken plaything.
He nods. A smirk of victory covers my face.
I strike the final blow. He barely makes any noise this time. He just lets out a groan, that morphs into moaned pants.
I take the whip and coil it up, before placing it on the hooks on the wall. I walk over to the other side of the small stone-walled cell and pick up a rag.
I walk over to my victim, kneeling between him and the wall he's bound to. He's bigger than me, so i have to look up to his face. I wipe his forehead with the rag, removing the sweat, tears and dirt. I run the cloth down his face, cleaning up his cheeks and jaw.
He has chiseled facial features with blue, stunning eyes. He wouldn't be over Twenty seven. He is a good looking man. But most all Werewolves are.
"You did well" i breathy assure him stoking his cheek. "Whats your name?"
"Mitchell" he craokily replies, keeping his eye down on the ground.
Since bringing him in here, i haven't asked him anything and i haven't told him anything, except what i already explained.
He may be broken and mine to control, but i still need to be careful with how i ask him things. The problem with wolves is that even when broken they can still be defiant, because of their instinctive loyalty to their Alpha and pack. Enough pain and torture and that can be over come though.
"Mitchell, if i ask you some things, will you answer me, please?" I ask.
"Yes" he whisper's in replies.
"What pack are you from?" I already know the answer to this, its just a courtesy question. I was asked to find out several things from this guy.
The names of his Alpha, Beta and Luna. What specific ground their territory covers. How many wolves in his pack and what alliances his pack has.
If he has any further information of course i will get that too, but seeing as he is just a pack wolf those are the main question he would be able to answer.
"The Maydeen pack" he quietly replies. I nod in response.
"Okay thank you." I can feel his wolf inside him stirring. I need to be careful.
I step away from him and go to the supplies i brought into the cell with me. I take hold of a device i crafted. I place it hanging from the roof, directly over Mitchell.
To explain this device, it is a glass jar with a tiny hole in the bottom. From the hole a small tube leads out. Attached onto the bottom of the jar is an electronic clamp. It opens with the press of a button. I can set to a cycle though. Every 5 seconds it would let out 4mls of liquid in a steady continuous fashion. Its an extremely simple creation. In the jar i have put pure lemon juice.
After i set it up and explain what it is to Mitchell. He almost looks confused. I demonstrate, letting 4mls of lemon juice fall onto the ripped, open flesh on his back.
His scream is tremendous. This time his scream shows only pain and the fear of that pain.
His back is basically an open nerve at the moment. He writhes in pain. Gripping the chains and pulling on them. Obviously trying to find any relief to the seething.
He stops moving and only whimpers, pain still carrying out through his body.
I kneel down in front of him and caress his cheek again. Fresh sweat and tears cover his face.
"Mitchell, if i ask you some things will you answer me, please?" I re-ask.
"Yes" he whimpers and shudders.
I let another 4 mls of lemon juice fall into his cuts. He screams and lowers his head, looking down. He huffs and pants in reaction, it seems like his body is almost convulsing, trying to shake the hurt.
"What is your alphas name?" I ask as another 4mls drops into his cuts.
He screams , his scream turning into a reply. "Tate!..." his voice cry's out.
He breaths a few agonized breaths, shaking and trembling while doing so.
"Alpha Tate Maydeen." He whimpers.
"Thank you. Mitchell I'm going to stop the pain now.... but you need to still to answer me, understand?"
"Yes" he weakly says, slowly nodding.
I go through finding all the information i wanted. He only replays to what i ask him and he quickly responds as if he is compelled to answer.
Once i know everything i want to know and i am convinced he knows nothing more of interest, i release him from the wall. I still keep the silver cuff on him though. I don't want him regaining his Werewolf strength and healing. He collapses on the floor.
I even go as far a balling up a towel and placing it under his head. He doesn't move because i didn't say he could move. The power i now hold over this man is indescribable.
I leave him alone in the cell, the heavy door pounding as i shut it. The last noise i hear is Mitchell whimpering in pain.