Mountain 3
by Jake Baker (claims to have written)

Jonny and I got dressed and sat in front of the fire a while,
wondering what we were going to do. Then, to our surprise, came a
knock at the door.

We opened it and three heavily dressed figures stumbled in. When they
removed their hoods and scarves, we found out they were women! Our
prayers had been answered.

We let them have dinner and get themselves warmed up into the fire. We
pretended we were nice people. Little did these walking tit-bags know
that they were about to spend their last few moments screaming and
dying for our amusement.

The first girl was a tall Scandinavian with a heavy accent. She had
long, flowing hair and a full figure. The second was a short, 5',
Asian with cropped black hair and a nice smile. The last was their
American tourist guide. She was the youngest - 17 she said - she was a
brunette with a slim figure.

We waited until they had fallen asleep. There were three rooms in the
cabin; the girls slept in the two bedrooms and left us in the living
room. Jonny and I had a short conversation. He was slightly upset that
he hadn't brought anything to torture them with. I commented I had
brought along a few gags and some rope, but I was sure we could make
do. We found a toolbox in the cabin, and decided it had to do. We were
fortunate to have gotten these three bitches to amuse ourselves with
for the next week.

The girls were too easy to capture. First, we got the Scandinavian,
for she was in a room all to herself. Strapping her down well, we then
captured the other two girls, and dragged them into the living room by
their hair. They fussed and yelled and us, calling us all sort of
names, but we just laughed at them.

We tied the Asian to a chair, strapping down her arms and legs and
body so she could only move her head. She had worn her clothes to bed.
They'd be fun to remove later.

The brunette was still wearing bra and panties, showing off her warm
flesh-meat. We admired her a moment, then hung by her tied hands to a
hook on the wall, her feet several inches off the ground. We didn't
even bother gagging them, and their bitchings and threats lulled us
off to sleep.

The next morning, we dragged out the blond. She kicked and yelled at
us. We gagged the other two to stop their complaining. They'd soon
have reason enough to make noise.

The blond had gone to bed naked. We could see from where she huddled
on the ground, looking up at us in fear, that her tits were large and
firm. They'd be fun to smack and whip. Wish I'd brought my taser.
Looks like they'd jiggle when tortured that way. We rolled her over,
and found that her ass was also shapely and firm. I ran my hand over
it, pushing two fingers into her pussy with some difficulty. She
struggled against my love, but Jonny sat on her head and held her
down.

"What first?" My son asked me, from his position ass-down on the
naked, squirming blond.

"Well, we still have a lot on time yet, so... Bring me over the pliers
from the toolkit." He did so.

I tied a 1' rope to the end of the blond's long beautiful hair, and
attached the rope firmly to the handle of the door, which was securely
locked. I tossed the pliers to her feet and doubled up another length
of hemp rope in one hand.

"OK, fucking whore, masturbate with the pliers or you'll get this!"
And I cruelly lashed her thigh. She jerked in surprise and tried to
run away, but only got a few feet before she was jerked back by her
hair. Again, I lashed out at her back and shapely ass, hearing
satisfying smacks of the improvised whip as it landed on her tan
flesh, accompanied by little yips of pain from her.

I chased her around the small space she was confined to for a while,
enjoying whipping her frightened body, before she slowly picked up to
pliers and placed them against her pussy. She hesitated, and I smacked
one of her large breasts. She yelled, but she slipped the pliers into
her pussy. She had a disgusted and embarrassed look on her face. My
son laughed.

We let her masturbate herself for a full hour and half before we told
her to stop. She looked up at us with moist eyes. We strapped her
securely to the table, and then ate some rations.

The blond, who was the only ungagged one, asked in piss-poor English,
"please ... I want food ... Give us food"

"Sorry, dear," I replied, "only got enough for me and my boy here. But
don't worry, hunger will be the least of your pains before too long."
Jonny and I laughed and ate.

Later, we turned our attentions to the American. I'd gagged her with
the bridle-gag; the Asian's mouth was full with the ball-gag -- it
stretched her jaw open nicely.

With a pocket knife, we cut off the American's bra and panties. Her
tits we medium-sized but not too shapely. She had curly brown pussy
hair the same color as her shoulder-length head hair.

The first task I happily assigned myself was removing the poor girls
pussy hair. Since I didn't feel like getting my razor blade bloody, I
resorted to pulling it out one strand at a time with my bare hands.
This couldn't have hurt a lot, but the 17 year old still screamed
shrilly through her gag. While I was doing this, Jonny taunted her,
"like that bitch? Like what we did to your cunt friend? Do you know
what we're gonna do to you? We're gonna hurt you so bad. And your
screams are gonna make me and my dad cum. Then we'll hurt you some
more. Why? Cause you need it, bitch. You're a fucking baby whore.
Bitch cunt slut fuck-doll pig. Do you like your breasts? I know I do.
Wonder how this feels..." And reaching out, he grabbed and twisted her
nipple a full 360 degrees around. The poor girl tried vainly to escape
and shrill moans of pain escaped her young lips. "Does it feel good?
How bout this..." And he yanked out her breast and much as he could,
still twisting it. She screamed in pain, and I glanced up. I laughed.
Her breast looked like a cork-screw. 'Fucking cunt whore dog cry for
me bitch make me cum from your pain...'

Either the pain or the insults caused her to cry. Poor baby. "Better
get used to it," I said, pulling out her last pussy-hair, "this is
just foreplay!"

We returned to the blond strapped on the table, her large breasts
pushing painfully down into the wood. John gagged her with the
tourist-guide's panties and started rubbing his throbbing cock all
over her face, humping her like she was giving him a blow-job. I took
the pliers and went to her stretched-open cunt. I fingered her a
little until she started to juice up. Then I found her large clit with
the pliers and squeezed.

"nnrrrggghhh!" She went as I started squeezing and twisting her clit
around. Her lovely back arched from the pain, so I took my belt and
whipped it. Then I started whipping her butt. I did twenty strokes
before Jonny came all over her face and hair, getting it up her nose
and in her eyes. Her head whipped back and forth, trying to deny that
she was getting sprayed by a strangers smelly cum. Jonny went back to
sleep, but I didn't stop snapping my leather belt against her sweet
ass cheeks for a moment with one hand, and cruelly twisting her clit
with the other. I played her like an instrument, withdrawing different
wails and screams from moment to moment. I lost count after 100 firm
lashes to her ass, but I know it must have been double that. When I
finished, her firm ass was red all over, blistered in many places and
bleeding from cuts at some.

I rubbed my prick over her ass cheeks, and the combination of smooth
flesh, made warm by a good whipping, and sticky blood felt nice. So
nice I decided to give her a present, and put a tight rubber-band over
the handles of the pliers, keeping them locked tight against her clit.
I smiled at her and smacked her face in thank you before taking a
rest.

We took out lunch and siesta in front of the warm fireplace.
Occasionally, one of the girls would moan or make some other sweet
sound, but we ignored them. We'd give them attention later.

Outside the cabin, the snow was still driving fiercely, and the wind
howled outside.

About two-ish, we went to the blond again. The cum had dried on her
face. Recall that this bitch was strapped spread-eagle to the table,
and could only really move her head.

When she had come in last night, happy to be out of the driving snow,
not suspecting that she and her friends were walking into the hands of
men who loved nothing more than hurting them and making their soft
bodies suffer never-ending pain, she had put her bag under the table.

I rooted through it and found a hair-brush. After passing it gently
through her hair for a minute, cooing to her, 'good girl; good girl;
just relax -- no one's going to hurt you..." I suddenly smacked her
face by it. As the stupid bitch had been lulled by my incredible lies,
the sting on her cheek caused her to wail out and twist around.

Thinking this a fun game, again I smacked her head with the brush, and
again, building up a tempo; Jonny got a block of wood from the stack,
and we played tether-ball with her wailing head.

Her head snapped toward me, and laughing I smacked her cheek hard so
it snapped back to Jonny; since this twisted her face toward him,
Jonny's blow, accompanied by a great whoop, smashed into her face; the
girl shrieked and her head came my way again. I hit it to Jonny, and
he snapped it back.

I laughed, "Isn't this fun, son!" I smacked the back of the blond's
head, and it cracked back to the left, her long flowing blond hair
flying up wildly.

My boy giggled as he held the blond's head still for a moment before
shoving it roughly back toward me. He said, "Yeah dad! I like playing
girly-is-a-tether-ball; it's way better than football! I'm so lucky to
have you as a father. I love you dad."

I was touched, and looked proudly at him, "I love you too son, with
all my heart." I underhanded the bitch's head back to him with the
loudest crack yet; she howled in unbearable pain and her head slumped
=96 I'd delivered the blow that had beaten her unconscious.

When we were done with our game, we sat back, smiling and laughing. It
had been a great game. We should play that one more often. The
Norwegian's soft tender face was now a mess of welts and cuts. She
cried softly into the gag. I sighed and lit a cigarette, happy and
content. Jonny asked me for one, but I told him no, he was still too
young.

"How can I burn this crazy bitch if you wont let me smoke?" He asked.

"I'll do it for you," I said, and casually reached out and snuffed the
cigarette out on the blonds bloody nose. A little bit of smoke wafted
up.

Night came and Jonny and I settled into sleep. We didn't leave a fire
lit to conserve wood, but bundled ourselves up in our sleeping bags
and added the sleeping-bags of the girls over them to keep ourselves
warm. It worked -- we were comfortable. And none of the gagged girls
complained.

Day three came, and the storm outside showed no signs of stopping. A
well, at least we wouldn't be bored. We let the girls warm up after we
lit the fire -- they hadn't used any sense and were shivering cold
when Jonny and I woke up.

This day was spent preparing one thing - hanging the blond. First we
got some fishing line and bent and sharpened the hook. We prepared
two. Next, we had to whittle some of the wood down until we had four
foot long, 3" thick cylinders.

The next part was hardest: the blond struggled fiercely when we untied
her from the table and undid the gag. Jonny grabbed an arm and twisted
it cruelly behind her back. I punched her in the stomach hard and she
went "aammggghhh!!!". Jonny held her legs tight together so she'd stop
kicking me. We dragged the lamb to the center of the room, below one
of the rafters.

Next, I dug out the sharp lid from one of the cans of food we'd eaten
and tested it to make sure it was rough and cruel. It was.

I went over to the blond and said, "nice tits, bitch." And grabbed and
pulled at her left nipple. She moaned and groaned, but Jonny held her
still.

However, he had quite a bit of trouble holding her when I lifted up
her tit and placed the edge of the sharp can-lid against the very
underside of her breast. Slowly, I dragged it along the soft tender
surface, making a one inch deep cut, jagged at the edges. It bled
profusely, so I cauterized it with a hot poker from the fire as I
went.

The Norwegian was in so much pain, and her struggles so fierce, Jonny
had trouble keeping hold of her. Several times she slipped out of his
grasp and we had to chase her around. This preparing of her breasts
took two hours (it could've been shorter, but what's the point?)

At the end, I had put six half-circular cuts into each of her ripe
tits, burned so they wouldn't bleed. She had stopped struggling,, and
now lay pathetically in Jonny's arms. She still screamed with each new
laceration, but her voice was hoarse, and her body trembled violently
with pain. I had left her pink nipples untouched by this cruelty,
however.

I threw both fishing-lines over the overhead rafter, and gingerly took
the barbed hooks (didn't want to hurt myself). Squeezing the blond's
now hideously cut-up tits hard, I got the nipple to poke out just
enough to insert the fish-hook. This only caused her to wince,
however. I similarly baited her other nipple.

Then my son released her. She immediately slumped to the ground,
writhing in agony. But we put a stop to that: we each grabbed one of
the wired attach to her nipples and hauled.

She shrieked as each breast began to be pulled mercilessly skyward.
Jonny and I tugged and pulled, until her body started lifting off the
ground.

I thought that her weight might snap the line, or pull the hook
completely off her nipple. But neither happened, and slowly, the
shrieking girl was pulled painfully off the ground. We kept pulling
until only the tips of her toes touched the ground. Her hands were
bound behind her back.

Once like that, we took pleasure in watching her writhe and sway in
the air. Each twist pulled her tortured tits in new directions. She
never stopped screaming and howling. Since she seemed to be having so
much fun, abused face crunched into an anguished grimace, I again
flogged her back until that broke out in blisters.

Happy, we set about the final part of the plan. Each of the four
pieces of wood had a specific place to live in her body.

The first splintery log we shoved up her sweat snatch. I hadn't
believed she could howl any louder, but as I stretched out her
pussy-lips and hammered them against the board, she did.

Jonny inserted her asshole log, and nailed the small protruding part
to her ass cheeks. She howled even louder and the fish-hooks pulled at
her nipples.

Then we took a break, stopping to admire our handiwork.

"Just think, Jonny," I lectured my boy, staring at our bleeding,
abused, whipped, tortured toy hanging by distorted nipples from the
ceiling, "just 48 hours ago, this poor girl had a life, money,
happiness. Her flesh was unbroken and in no pain. I doubt she ever
imagined that things like what we just did to her could happen, less
that it would happen to someone as nice and pleasant as her. After
all, what reason did she give us to abuse her so?"

Jonny replied sagely, "her body is ours to use and abuse because she
is a woman. No other reason is needed. Her happiness is not our
concern, only that her suffering should give us pleasure."

Our last action of the day was to apply the final two logs. These we
nailed into the soles of her feet. Then, we light the logs in on her
feet, in her pussy and ass on fire.

The glow given off by the tortured woman was almost as pleasant as the
wails and tormented shrieks that lolled us to sleep that night.

But we had planned carefully, and when we awoke, she was not dead.
Burned, yes. Drooling, yes. But the logs in her pussy and ass had only
burned to far, and there was still stubs of them left up her, kept
inside by the charred flesh. Jonny and I closely examined her pussy
and ass. Any spot that wasn't burned but should've been, I burned with
the poker. Then we left this worthless piece of meat hanging by her
nipples while we went to play with the American...