I am Anna Schill (M/F) completed with chapter II

[Argentum]

I am Anna Schill (M/F)

The following story is not consensual and should be taken as pure fantasy. And, dear children, of course, don't imitate it.

The sun shone hot that July day, as it so often does when summer is at its peak. And she seemed hot for Claudia, who was struggling up the mountain, heavily loaded with her backpack, sweating, adapted to the summer weather despite her thin clothing. But she was already used to it. She has been on the road for 3 weeks now, with tent and sleeping bag, exploring the German low mountain range. She had wandered from village to village, from town to town, always following her motto of walking the path.

Step by step she climbed the climb that led up to Lauenstein Castle. She wanted to spend the night in its shade, on one of the meadows in front of the castle, set up her tent and surrender to her dreams and fantasies. And she had far too many of them. To that end, deep in her backpack lay a few rough ropes of sisal, pressed into a ball, waiting to give her fantasies the little kick of reality she could give herself.

She knew that Lauenstein Castle was the seat of the Lauenstein family, an ancient family of counts, enthroned high above the surrounding villages. The Counts of Lauenstein had raged badly here in the Middle Ages, dragging witches into their dark dungeons, cruelly questioning them under torture and finally setting fire to the pyre. But she didn't know much more about the castle, the little that the internet had given her, a few dates, numbers. Nevertheless, she was eager to see, to guess what might have happened in the past, to perhaps experience some of the dark hours in her mind. And the proximity of the place of terror would inspire them.

Everything seemed perfect, the weather, the mood, she hadn't met anyone on the dirt road for quite some time, it seemed lonely, remote. She wouldn't even set up her tent, enjoy the night under the twinkling stars, wrapped up in her sleeping bag, entwined with the ropes.

Of course nobody could know that, but the whole hike was actually just one with the aim of following her dark fantasies. They had always been there, had taken hold of her more and more over the years. And more and more did she feel compelled to follow them, to track them down, to one day surrender to them completely? No unthinkable. She would never surrender to what was happening in her mind. It was in good hands there, secretly, just for her. Yet that was the only reason she had enrolled in history and art history two years ago, in the faint hope of finding something new to fuel her dreams.

The mixture of dust and insects that belongs to particularly hot days whirled over the fields, only rarely in the distance the sound of a car. Far on the horizon a tractor slowly making its rounds, behind it the cloud of rising dust and earth. But her gaze was directed inward, at the night, how she wanted to spend it, how she wanted to build in the castle and wall, the Lauensteiners, on their inhuman hunt for new victims to populate them. How she herself would be a victim. For a moment she wanted to pause, surrender to her feelings, but she resisted. It was part of her to deny herself and thus give lust even more room.

In the meantime the path had plunged into a small forest, fir trees were thick, the light refracted through the spruce trees, throwing small patterns on the path in front of her, which wound further and further, now becoming curvy, even steeper. Empty hollows testified to the rivulets that ran down the mountain in the rain, now parched by summer. How they must have gotten up here. The Count leading the way on his horse, one of the unfortunate ones trailing behind him on foot, a rope around her neck, stumbling towards her cruel fate. Or were they in a cart? Pulled by a rickety mare? Sitting on straw and hay?

And then suddenly it was in front of her. High walls of rough stone, the defiant keep towered high before her. A narrow bridge, where the drawbridge must have been, a heavy double-leaf wooden gate, one half of which was open. Behind it the darkness of the gatehouse, eerily alluring her. She stopped, took a breath. Her head was red, sweat stood out on her forehead. The backpack was now pressing heavily on her shoulders. Then she stomped off toward the gate, into the shadows of the entrance.

She stopped in amazement. A small cabin, made of wood, an almost blind pane of glass. Behind it sat a man. dozing. 'Open from 11:00 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Adults 4 Euros, children 2 Euros'. She stoped. She hadn't found that you had to pay admission. She read on: 'Guided tour with knight's hall, dungeons and torture chamber: 2.50 Euros, groups 2 Euros per person. Last guided tour: 17:00'.

She looked at the clock. Four forty-five. Perfect. She would definitely do this tour, even if she wondered who should do it and who should take part in it, apart from her. No one was to be seen up here, only the dozing guy in his cubicle. She put down the heavy backpack and approached. The man looked up, tired, sleepy. He was around 50, red-faced. The heat was obviously bothering him. A light blue checked shirt stretched across his stomach, his very hairy arms sticking out from under the short sleeves. Rough, a little spongy, those were the attributes that came to mind when she saw him.

"I'd like to take the tour." She said. He glanced sullenly at his watch, then at her. Apparently he was weighing whether he should let her in at all or not just call it a day. "That's 6.50," he finally said. She paid, excited. This promised to be better than anything she had expected. Tour of the torture chamber. Even more fuel for their thoughts. "Is there somewhere I can leave the backpack for so long?" she asked. "You can put it in the corner here. Nobody else is there and nobody else comes. Nothing comes away.” “Wonderful, thank you. So where does the tour start from?” “Right here,” he murmured.

She got the drinking bottle from the side pocket of the backpack and took a deep gulp. There was still time to cool off and recover a little, so she enjoyed the shade of the entrance. The gate was heavy, old wood, with a row of bolts inside to lock it against the enemy. A small door was set in, with a barred flap so the gatekeeper could see who was asking for, granting, or denying entry. How might the victims have felt as they closed the heavy wings behind them. There was no escape, at the mercy of the heartless minions.

"Well, come on then." The man left his booth, pulled his gray trousers over his stomach. In his hand he had a large bundle, equipped with a large number of old keys. He walked into the yard, she followed, and as he did he began to rattle off his lines. “This is the castle of the Counts of Lauenstein, built in 1312. The tower was added in 1423. In 1609 large parts of the complex were renovated and expanded, but some fell into disrepair after the Thirty Years' War. The complex was restored for the first time in 1812, and part of the moat was filled up. In 1962 the castle was again extensively restored by the then Count Konrad von Lauenstein and brought to its current state. Numerous conversions from the 19th century were removed and an attempt was made to restore the castle to a medieval state both inside and out. After the First World War, the Lauensteins had made a name for themselves as paper manufacturers and so the count at the time was able to finance this work out of his own pocket. Funds from the State Office for the Preservation of Monuments were not used.”

They had arrived at the main house, which he now unlocked with one of the dozen keys. A wide stone staircase awaited them, leading upstairs. He went on without a pause, period or comma, Gothic arches, master builder Kaspar Ruhsam, slug glasses, knightly life, cloister, modern heating. But her interest was elsewhere. She searched for the doors that might lead down into dark cellars and dungeons. In vain. In the knight's hall, paneled in wood, suits of armor were lined up, interspersed with portraits of the family that had owned the property for so long. So they went on, he feigned amusement, she feigned interest, both with their real goal in mind. He wanted to go home, she wanted to see the dungeons.

"This is the portrait of Count Jakob von Lauenstein, 1423 to 1478. The witch hunts in Lauenstein began under his aegis." She listened and looked at the picture. A plump man with a red head, depicted with a breastplate over a striped doublet. Small eyes that seemed to flash evilly.”

"Count Konrad von Lauenstein, his son. 1445 to 1501. The witch hunt probably had its peak under him. It is said that he, as well as the father and later his son where almost always present in person when a witch was being interrogated. The case of Anna Schill is famous. It is said that his son and successor, Count Jakob von Lauenstein the Younger, was not only present at the survey from 1478 to 1545, but actually conducted it personally. According to rumours, he then sent out the torturers and questioned the unfortunate Anna completely alone. Why he did it and what may have happened is left to the imagination. What is certain, however, is that Anna, for whatever reason, was not willing to confess and ultimately died under torture.”

A clear tingling drove down Claudia's back, wrapped her loins, settled in the stomach and between the legs. It was clear what had happened there. The Lauensteins were outspoken sadists and this younger one had probably misused the witch hunt to live out his own inclination unrestrainedly. She was torn between disgust at the historical facts and her own feelings, which were increasingly overpowering her. No question, the witch hunts were one of the darkest chapters in history, not justifiable and not excusable. On the other hand, there were these feelings, emotions, to put it in a nutshell, her horniness, just thinking about this time and these fates.

A few side rooms. Then he turned to her. “We now leave the castle through the side exit. Thank you for your interest and I wish you a safe journey home.” STOP! No, not like that. "What, does the tour end here?" He looked at his watch. "Yes, actually." "And what about the dungeon and the torture chamber?" "Hm, that's at the other end now." "Yes, but I wanted to see that too." Again he pulled up his pants and looked up again the clock, then on her. She put on her most adorable smile and after a moment he moaned, "Hurry up, please. Follow me."

Briskly and panting, he went back with her the way they had come before. At the foot of the wide front staircase, he turned right and used one of the keys to open a small but heavy wooden door that was under the stairs on the side. Behind it, a narrow staircase led steeply down into the dark. "You sure you really want to see this?" he asked. "Absolutely certain" said Claudia only. Sighing, he groped for the switch by the door, and the stairwell was bathed in a dim light. "Then this way please, I'll go first." He said and started to descend the narrow stairs. This wound in a tight arc, leading deeper and deeper. Musty cold hit her, making her shiver. She was greedy now. Really greedy. To see, to sense, to feel. In front of them was another narrow door with a Gothic pointed arch, heavy dark wood, iron fittings with 2 large locks. Again he fingered out the key, opened this door as well, and again a narrow corridor opened up. "We are now entering the area of the dungeons of the castle," he began. "This area hasn't been electrified, so we have to resort to these hand lamps." He bent down and placed what appeared to be a lantern in her hand, flipped a switch on the lamp, and light blazed on. He himself picked up another lamp and the hallway was bathed in eerie light.

Four or five meters away she could see another door, similar in weight and solidity to the one they had just come through. Those locked in here would have no way of escaping. Every sound would be stifled by walls and doors. And no witnesses would ever find out what devilish mischief the servants were up to.
"This," he explained, "is the lock. The door in front of us can only be opened if the one behind us is locked. This should prevent a victim from accidentally escaping. I may briefly.” He pushed past her, locked the door behind them, then went ahead again and opened the next door. In the light of the lanterns she could see a wide hallway, more doors to the right and left, as well as one that dominated the end of the hallway. There it has to be, she thought to herself.

"This here is the actual dungeon, on the right and left are two dungeon cells in which delinquents were held. The prisoners could be supplied with water and food from the outside through the flap at the bottom of the door.

The cells themselves are not furnished, the prisoners lay on straw. However, a whole series of rings are embedded in the walls, which also made it possible to chain the prisoners. Usually then in postures that weren't very comfortable.” He made no move to open one of the cells for her, instead he stopped in front of a narrow door between the cells on the right-hand side. It was locked by three large bolts which he pushed open one after the other. When the door swung open, Claudia could see a whole series of long, sharp thorns embedded on the inside of the door. Behind it was a small chamber, also covered with thorns. Even the bottom has small spikes worked into it.

"This, what at first glance looks like an iron maiden isn't one. Rather, it is a standing cell. The victim was put in here, and the door was then locked. The thorns are designed in such a way that they do not injure a victim. However, the victim was then forced to stand perfectly still. Particularly recalcitrant prisoners were simply locked up here for 2 or 3 days. Through this flap in the door you could, if necessary, talk to the victim or provide them with the essentials.”

Fascinated, she stared into the small shack, seeing herself standing there, hopelessly handed over to the henchmen. "If you want, you can try it out. People back then were much smaller than they are today, but it should just about be possible for them to still fit in. You're not very big either.” He said. For a moment she really toyed with the idea. She almost said yes. But she bit her lip, shaking her head. "And then afterwards they just let me in?" she said in a mixture of joking and hope. "Of course that could happen," he said, probably jokingly. But she wasn't quite sure. "This woman you reported about above, Agathe..." "Anna," he interrupted her. "Anna Schill" "Yes, just like her. Was she in here too?” “That is to be expected. But nobody was there. So you can only relate to the rumours.” She felt hot and cold. How it had to be, locked up with only themselves, alone, standing sleepless, in the darkness and silence, had to wait until the sadistic lord of the castle intended to reappear at some point in order to subject them to further tortures. Hour after hour, standing motionless, alone with her fear and terror. What had initially been a tingling sensation between her legs had turned into a violent throbbing. She carefully put both hands behind the waistband of the tight shorts and waited for him to turn away for a moment. He turned to the door at the end of the corridor and she used the moment to pull her panties deep into her column. It was only with difficulty that she managed to suppress a groan, even though she could feel her cheeks turning red and her head almost starting to glow. And for the moment she held her breath, enjoying the surge of excitement coursing through her petite body.

He turned around and of course she felt caught, trying not to let it show. "We are now entering the actual torture chamber," he says, and unlocks the wide door in front of him. This was also massive, with heavy fittings, secured several times. He held the door open for her and so she entered.

[Trickster]

Really love the set up here and the historical background. Looking forward to seeing how things progress. Very nicely done with the first part!

[Argentum]

Thx a lot. I am sorry about the language though, it me be a bit tricky sometimes, but its coming from google translate.

[Trickster]

I had no trouble reading or understanding the story

[Xtc]

Hi [mention]Argentum[/mention], please gender tag this thread.
Thanks,
Xtc

[absolutist]

Hi @Argentum,

glad to read this story here again, I've first read it years ago on a (now defunct) German story page. If you're struggling with Google Translate, may I suggest you give deepl.com a spin? I've found that service to produce quite good results.

Cheers,
Absolutist

[Argentum]

Hi [mention]absolutist[/mention]

Nice seeing you here again. I remember you well, since you understood what kind of stories I was posting. Not for the Kids! Nothing to try at Home!

Always liked your stories a s well. I will give your tip a chance with the next story I might post. Thx a lot. and: Pst don't spoiler

[Caesar73]

I take it, this is the first chapter [mention]Argentum[/mention] ? Nice start - if so

[Argentum]

Yes it is [mention]Caesar73[/mention] But this is not an ongoing story. So there will be only a second one I post tomorrow.

[Argentum]

Part II (M/F)

Here is part II.

The room was spacious, much larger than she had expected. And high. Of course, it had to be high. How else could the unfortunate one have been pulled up here. The first thing that caught her eye was the mighty stretching rack that dominated the room. But it wasn't the only tool. Others stood there, scattered around the room, apparently aligned in such a way that the victim was accessible from all sides. There was the spiked chair, massively menacing, studded all over with spikes. A Spanish horse, sharp-edged, a narrow cage hanging from the ceiling, various pillory, chains, ropes on the walls and pulleys on the ceiling. Heavy weights could be seen lying on the ground waiting to be hung on the victim. Something like a fireplace was built against one wall, with a brick tub underneath, probably to heat the instruments to embers on coals. Pincers and whips, ropes and straps hung on the walls. This was a perfectly set up torture chamber. A real torture chamber. And it was by no means lapsed. The instruments made a well-kept impression, seemed not only to serve the decoration but were usable, cruel and merciless. She slowly entered the room, walking a little unsteadily. The atmosphere was incredible. Immediately she saw herself strapped to the instruments, bound immobile, at the mercy of her tormentor's desire, whatever it might be.

“The instruments you see here are replicas made during the restoration of the castle in the 1960s. The effort was made to adapt the instruments to the historical models as far as possible and to ensure their functionality. Everything you see here was already there in the Middle Ages, even if most of it was later lost. But based on the old files, Konrad von Lauenstein had a probably complete inventory drawn up and then every instrument rebuilt. Some things, like the old blacksmith's tongs, were bought antiquarian. But the thumbscrews that you see on the wall there are also replicas, for example.”

She tried to stand behind him, only with the aim of being able to touch herself through her pants at an unseen moment. She was just excitement, just lust and greed. Her heart was pounding so loud she thought he must hear it.

"This is the rack," he began as he approached the massive instrument. “The victim's ankles go into the designated openings on the footboard, the hands are then tied to this roller on the headboard, and the victim is then stretched over this winch. Bound in this way, it was completely at the mercy of further tortures. You could hit it, burn it, pinch it with pliers without it being able to do anything. As you can see, the planks of the support are also removable, so that if necessary you could reach the victim from below or replace them with others, I would say more uncomfortable ones.”

"More uncomfortable? You mean the ones with spikes and stuff?” she asked softly. "And from below? That the bottom was then free from below? Like placing hot coals under her bud?” He looked at her and nodded. 'Look away dude,' flashed through her mind. But his gaze stayed on her. "And this is there Anna Schill was," she said. "Well possibly. It is not known exactly where the stretching bench stood at that time. But one has guessed that she probably stood here, based on the remains of the ceiling hooks you see here. One of them must have been right over the rack. In this respect it is likely that Anna was lying here."

"Would you like to try it out?" Again this invitation. She was unsure. No, she had been for a long time, she was at a loss. If she said yes? What should he think of her? “In general, visitors want to try out the instruments. With us, that's possible because they aren't really antique.” She approached the stretching rack, touched it carefully. The wood was smooth, warm, dark. "Wait, I'll help you up," he said, holding out his arm to help. For a moment she hesitated, but then she accepted the offer. She sat on the rack, legs hanging down. "You'll have to take off your hiking boots, otherwise your feet won't fit in that pillory over there." She unlaced the boots and let them fall off. She straightened the thin socks and waited what would happen next. "I'd have to tie their hands together. One moment please.” He walked to the wall, came back with a rope and waited for her to hold out her hands to him. "Please say 'stop' immediately if it gets too tight or too much for you," he said.

She held out her hands to him and he asked her to take off the watch, otherwise she would push through the bonds, then he tied heir hands together. He wasn't particularly careful, but secretly she was enjoying this moment beyond measure. "But of course the witches didn't have the option to say stop before," she remarked. "Well," he said, "on the one hand, they probably didn't speak English, and on the other hand, she could certainly have said it, but it wouldn't have helped them. If you would like to lie down now.” She carefully lay down on the bench and slid down so far that her feet were level with the pillory. He took her feet and placed them on the right and left in the holes intended for this purpose, which were about half a meter apart. Then he lowered the top of the pillory and she could feel her ankles being gripped surprisingly tight. Wriggling out of here, she knew immediately, wasn't going to be an option. He latched the top, shook it to test it. For a moment his hands ran over her soles and immediately she screamed "Stop, tabu, tabu!!!" He looked confused. "Excuse me, you want me to untie you?" "No, but don't touch my feet. I'm so sensitive that every touch is an absolute taboo." "Oh," he murmured, "Sorry again, I couldn't know that," he said and then went to the headboard.

"Now if you would please stretch your arms up," he asked her, and she stretched her arms high above her head. She could feel how he connected the rope that led over the drum to her tied hands. "Please say stop immediately if it gets too strong," he said again, then began turning the drum. It took a moment for the rope to be taut, accompanied by the metallic click of a gear preventing the drum from turning back, then the pull on her body began. She tried to follow the train from her hips so that the stretch could go through her whole body. But then her legs were stretched out and she felt the real pull of the bench on her shoulders and back. "Stop" she said as the first real pain hit her shoulders. He immediately stopped spinning. "Shall I untie them again?" he asked. "No, not yet. It'll be fine for a moment.” She wanted to enjoy this moment as long as possible. He took a step back, leaving her alone with her thoughts for the moment. She felt vulnerable, vulnerable, an incredible situation. So that was the feeling when a fantasy comes true.

"If I were Anna Schill now? What would happen then?” He laughed. "I don't think you want to be Anna," he said. "Because if that were the case, I would now have to heat up the coals and, no matter how many times they yell stop, torture and abuse you." She groaned briefly, and she immediately realized that this couldn't have remained hidden from him anymore . He promptly stepped closer. "If you were Anna Schill, I would pull the wheel here a bit and leave you here until tomorrow." He said now. “But you are not Anna Schill. If you were Anna Schill, tomorrow I would abuse you and torment you to my heart's content, rape you. Torture you no matter how much you plead and beg,” he continued. "But you're not Anna Schill." "No, I'm not Anna Schill," she repeated. There was a long pause. Only his and her breathing stood in space. He slowly bent over her. His voice was low, urgent. "But you would like to be Anna Schill right now, right?"

Her head was pounding, she felt caught. What should she say? Admit it? Or just tell him to untie her? What if she said yes, what if she said no. Her mind was racing like crazy. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe calmly. "And what if I really would like to be her?" “But be warned, then there's no turning back.” “Meaning what?” “That means there's no stopping, no letting go if it hurts. That means you no longer have to secretly rub your little slit, but actually experience what you apparently dream of. This means that you will be tortured by me for the next few hours and days, as long and hard as I like. That means that you are the one who despairs in the dungeon, who feels the spikes of the chair, the heat of the coals and the merciless pull of the bench, the pinching of the tongs, the sticks and rods swooping down on your battered body. That's what it means.” No, she didn't want that. Not real. Yes, in the imagination, it was incredibly exciting. But real. No. "Stop!"

He straightens up again, goes to the winch at the head end. But instead of releasing it, she hears the clicking of the gear wheel again, feels the pull that is now going through her whole body. Merciless, painful. “Are you Anna Schill?” comes his voice. "Stop, stop stop!!!!" Another click, she is completely tensed now, pains in the shoulders and back, feet pressing against the pillory. "Are you Anna Schill?" Again the question. She shakes her head wildly. Another click, a first loud scream, she can't breathe. “Are you Anna Schill?” “Yes, yes, yes! I'm Anna Schill! Please, please stop, please!”.

He pauses. Doesn't stretch her any further, but doesn't ease her pain either. Tears run down her cheeks. He fetches a few things from the depths of the room, returns with large scissors and a gag harness. He brutally pushes the huge ball into her mouth and fastens the harness straps tightly around her head. "I would now like to have your full attention." He explains. He picks up the scissors and starts peeling her tight T-shirt off her body. "First of all, let me introduce myself. Konrad Jakob von Lauenstein. A direct descendant of the Lauenstein who spent many nights here with said Anna. And not just with her.” In the meantime he had completely cut the t-shirt off her body and pulled the rags out from under her. She tried to tear at the shackles, unsuccessfully, the pull is too great, the tension too great. "Jakob," he continued while slicing open the sides of the shorts, "was not only a totally perverted sadist, no, he was also a very meticulous sadist. Good great-uncle Jakob, as I sometimes call him, kept a very extensive and explicit diary of all his activities. For understandable reasons, however, his notes were withheld from the public and have become one of the secret treasures of the family.” He pulled the cut pants out from under her. Now she was almost naked, still wearing the panties that were still buried deep in her column, a skimpy bra and the socks. He sauntered on to the footboard, took a sock on each big toe and pulled both off at the same time with pointed fingers. He looked at her delicate feet with pleasure, let his hands tickle along them and enjoyed the violent reaction. So, taboo. He smiled.

“I now had the pleasure of studying the said notes in peace and had to realize that my uncle and I have a lot in common. Very much. Incidentally, Anna wasn't the only case of this kind. Uncle had many maids whom he accused of witchcraft, only these cases never became public.” He leaves her feet, his hand now running down the inside of her leg as he slowly returns to her walks along the bank. With two quick cuts, he cuts through the panties at the hips and slowly pulls them between her legs. It too, like the rest of her clothes, goes to the floor. “By the way, Anna confessed after just a few hours, like most of the others. Only nobody heard it except Uncle. He didn't care if they confessed or not. He just wanted to live out his urges.” With three snips, the bra is now loosened and she is now completely naked in front of him. "And I do the same," he continues. He fetches a stool and places it by the bench, sitting by her like that, his head resting on his clasped hands resting on her armpits so that his mouth is now almost to her ear.
He whispers on, quietly, only interrupted by a desperate sob that comes from her every now and then. "I usually take a few days off, drive the van north or south, and look for a victim worthy of those spaces. When I spot one, I take it with me and it disappears into the dungeons down here. We then have fun together for a while, try this and that. And when the fun ends, she finds a place in the castle's catacombs, framed by her predecessors, right down to Uncle's unfortunate victims."

He plays with one of her light blonde locks of hair with his index finger and twists it up. “Of course the young ladies will be missed. Of course they are wanted. Just not here. And so they are never found. Hmm and you? One will possibly understand that you were here. I will be asked and I will say that you have visited the castle. And then you just left. And so they will be looking for you, first here, then later hundreds of kilometers away, maybe in Holland? Or in Poland? We'll see, depending on where your backpack shows up.” She looks at him in horror. If there had ever been excitement in her, now every feeling of that kind had blown away. The sheer terror remained.

"Now I have to take care of a few things. I have to close the castle for today, your backpack should go away, turn off your cell phone and stuff like that. Should you freeze tonight, comfort yourself with the thought that tomorrow will be quite some heat in there for you. Unfortunately, I can't give you anything more to eat or drink today due to the gag, but tomorrow evening there will at least be more to drink. Jakob had a couple of excellent ideas along his lines. The main role is played by a funnel and a few liters of water. You get the Idea? But now I have to.” He gets up, grabs the two lanterns. "I wish you a good night and sweet dreams." Then he leaves the room, leaving her in complete darkness. She can hear him closing the heavy door, then she is alone, with herself, her thoughts, the panic, the pain, stretched taut, helplessly at the mercy of a madman who obviously intends to torture her to the bitter end. A scream escapes, a scream of fear, of despair, of anger. But no one hears the screams of Anna Schill.

[GreyLord]

Very interesting, [mention]Argentum[/mention]. If I might make a suggestion, your story would be easier to read if you would put a blank line between your paragraphs.

[Argentum]

Sorry about that. Word has the lines but they didn't showed up here.

[absolutist]

A chilling tale, creating just the right amount of goosebumps for me. I like that the horror is mostly implied rather than spelled out. Thanks for sharing it here!

[The G-Man]

This was a cool story, with a nice buildup. I will agree, its nice to see the horror hear isn't spelled out and blatant, as that tends to ruin it for the reader otherwise.

[Argentum]

This was a cool story, with a nice buildup. I will agree, its nice to see the horror hear isn't spelled out and blatant, as that tends to ruin it for the reader otherwise.

Thank you very much. For me fear is an important part of my bondage universe. So I try to implement this in my writing.