"So, Tomas, what approach would you use in this case?"

"Well, Master, I think the posterior approach is clearly the correct one. Not only will it be much safer and technically less difficult, it will allow for the anterior...attack which is to follow."

"Very good. Of course, there should be no question in a case like this, where survival is paramount: the posterior approach is so much easier technically, that it would be irresponsible to go anterior. Fortunately the Tribunal has not specified the anterior approach as they sometimes do..."

I think that the proselytizers for the insurgency had laid the groundwork well. Freedom, compassion, justice: heady stuff, and beginning to influence even me, a high-level official in the Torturer's Guild. But it was when I first saw the little girl that the dam burst in my own heart. I had long known that I was attracted to preteen girls. It had been some time since one had been delivered into my hands in my official capacity, and I had never performed my specialty on one so young. It is true that I had performed many similar...procedures on older prisoners, and regretfully not all the subjects survived, all though this had never been because of any technical problems; it was the will of the Tribunal that some of the subjects die after I had done my work. But this little one was so sweet, and slender, and fetching. And as I said, I've always found preteen girls sexually attractive. My heart went out to her. It was at that moment that I determined to save her, if I could, and help to bring down the Tribunal.

She was an orphan, about ten years old. Her parents had been prominent in the Struggle, both executed by the Tribunal years before. Thankfully I had been involved in neither case. She had been cared for by other revolutionaries, and was held in high regard for her parents' sake. Now she had been captured, and the Tribunal had sentenced her to a dreaded torture. Like all their actions, they had weighed this to a nicety in the scales of their malice, in arrogant cruelty and lust, hoping that the rebels would be drawn out to try and save her, to their downfall. However, just as her capture was the pebble that started the avalanche in my own heart, so her torture would be in the citizenry. The Tribunal had miscalculated.

When I first saw her, she was lying on the cot in her cell, trembling. At that moment I knew I would have to save her, and I knew what I would have to do to succeed. But she was under constant surveillance, recordings made to be replayed at the Tribunal's pleasure, for their twisted amusement, and I had no time to make the preparations necessary to thwart the cameras so that I could communicate freely with the girl. Without talking to her, there was no way to sugarcoat what I had to do. If I had refused to proceed, I would have been replaced by someone with nothing but ill intentions for her, so I had to play my part.

As I entered the cell she shrank back against the wall, shivering. She was dressed in a simple shift which barely sufficed to cover her nakedness. She was gorgeous, a preteen angel in despair. I was torn; part of me lusted after her, wanting to tear her clothes off, whip and molest her, then rape her sternly and thoroughly. Part of me was entranced by her slim, elfin beauty. Part of me wanted desperately to protect her, nurture her, comfort her, cherish her. And part of me continued to coldly calculate: I could do nothing to ameliorate her distress today, not yet. The best thing to do was to get today's session over with, put it 'in the can' for the Tribunal's twisted pleasure.

"Stand up," I commanded. When she did not immediately comply, I swung the crop I carried across her bare thighs. She yelped, and hurried to obey. "You have been sentenced to be punished every day. Part of your punishment is to be naked all the time. Take off your clothes." She simply gaped at me, tears in her eyes. I repeated myself, once more swinging the crop across her thighs.

She cried out again, saying, "Oh, please, please let me go! Please!"

In reply I simply grabbed the hem of her shift and pulled it over her head and off. She was a stunner: long silken hair, slim hips, sweet little nipples atop breastbuds that barely broke the plane of her chest, gleaming unfledged cleft...I grabbed her, sat on the cot, and pulled her across my lap. She tried to struggle, but I had long experience in handling recalcitrant prisoners much bigger and stronger than her. She might as well have been fighting a tree. "Today you are to be spanked," I intoned. I gave her a level 2 spanking, as specified by the Tribunal. It was just a taste of her punishment to come, but I'm sure she found it uncomfortable enough. I smacked her naked bottom again and again, making sure to leave the telltale red handprints, so there could be no suspicion of leniency on my part. She wailed and sobbed. Once I had her bottom sufficiently reddened to meet level 2 specifications I let her up. She sobbed and danced from foot to foot, rubbing her bottom with both hands, her little unfledged cleft jiggling hypnotizingly before my eyes. I spun on my heels and left her sniffling in her cell.

"Hector, where should the exit into the abdominal cavity take place?"

"Where the rectum joins the sigmoid, at the point farthest from the anus, Master."

"Why?"

"Because we will have the best chance of avoiding the vascular supply there, Sir."

"Excellent. Tomas, what about insufflation?"

"It would make localization easier, Master, but we should avoid it because of the risk of peritonitis."

"Quite right. Despite meticulous preparation, insufflation poses too great a risk of introduction of colonic bacteria carried with the rush of gas from the viscera to the peritoneal cavity when it is entered. If this were a terminal application, it would make no difference. But in this case, safety is paramount. We shall have to limit ourselves to imaging guidance only. Hector, what are the considerations in negotiating the passage from the rectum to the peritoneum?"

"We will make an incision just large enough to allow passage of the instrument, Master, using the scalpel attachment at the tip. The cutting will cause no pain, as the viscera's afferent innervation do not respond to sharp pain, only to stretching. Without insufflation, this will be kept to a minimum. With luck, we will not have to apply any coagulant to the incision as the pressure of the instrument itself will compress the small vessels of the bowel wall."

"Very good. Now for the passage through the peritoneal cavity..."

She finally sobbed herself to sleep on her little cot. I wanted to work quickly, so I could get back to her as soon as possible. From conversations we had had lately, I suspected my assistants would be sympathetic, and I was correct. This was fortunate, as Tomas was an electronics whiz, and was able to quickly 'hack' into the monitoring system. Soon we had a loop of recording of the little girl after she fell asleep. Spliced in carefully, this gave me some time to talk with her unmonitored.

She was lying, curled up on the cot, facing the wall. Her little bottom was still red. I shook her awake. She gave a short scream and huddled back against the wall, vainly trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. I tried to calm her, mostly in vain. She remained deeply suspicious of me, but was willing to talk, a bit. I asked her if there was anything I could do to reassure her that I was trying to help her. Her face brightened a bit; "The code word!" she almost shouted. "If you're a friend, you'll know the code word! Do you know it?" She seemed earnestly hopeful by that point. Regrettably I had to tell her that I didn't know it, but I would try to learn it by contacting the Resistance and reassuring them as to my intentions. Saying this, followed by my quick retreat from her cell, seemed to mollify her. Before I left I reminded her that she was constantly monitored, so she should always act as if she had no idea I was trying to help her, unless I told her otherwise.

Providentially, Hector's brother was a Revolutionary. Although there was no way I could have gotten the girl out, as a senior member of the Torturer's Guild, having studied under the great Torvak, and the acknowledged master of my particular specialty, I was free to come and go myself with no one to question me. Within a few hours I was meeting with their Council, offering them my help. They had little choice. On the one hand, I could have been luring them somehow into a trap, but they already assumed the Tribunal was using the girl as bait. There was little additional risk in receiving assistance from me. I asked nothing in return except the code word.

I judged that I had just enough time to visit her once more before the loop would be noticed. She was awake when I entered her cell, watching me warily, her back against the wall. "*********," I simply said. Her face brightened, and she jumped off the cot, nearly dancing with excitement.

"Oh, you do know it! You are going to help me! Can we leave now, please??!" she begged. Regrettably I had to inform her that it was too risky. I might be able to come and go at will, but there was no way to sneak her out without detection. I told her that the Council and I had decided that the safest thing to do was to pretend to fall into the trap set by the Tribunal, hoping to rescue her during the battle.

"So, little princess, I will have to go through with the punishments the Tribunal has sentenced you to. Remember, if I don't, they'll get someone else. That would be...very bad. I'm not going to tell you all about how you are to be punished. It will be hard enough for you to act as if you don't know I'm a friend as it is. I will try to make your punishments a little less...uncomfortable. I will tell you, though: they will still be unpleasant at times, which is just as well; you'll need to react. The Tribunal will be watching." With that, I left her for the morrow.

In the morning, I strode briskly into her cell. "Get up," I commanded harshly. She came awake with a start, and tumbled off the cot, just ahead of a stroke from the crop. "Today you are to be bound, and thoroughly cropped." She fought some, as I seized her. I couldn't tell if she was faking or not; a good thing. Soon I had her naked and spreadeagled, wrists and ankles fastened with straps to the iron rings installed in the cell for just that purpose. She was already whimpering, obviously embarrassed to be only ten, yet so naked and exposed before a grown man. I swung the crop sternly against the backs of her thighs, leaving a red mark with each stroke. She cried out, tears springing to her eyes. I continued to whip her on the fronts of her thighs, then moved back around to her still-red bottom. Her cries increased in volume as the strap-end connected with her jiggling buttocks.

I hadn't told her, nor could it be told from observation, but I had replaced the strap of the crop with a different material, carefully cut and dyed to look like a typical crop, but designed to cause substantially less pain on contact.

I paused after I was done with her bottom. She sobbed, hanging in the straps. She was a fetching sight, her hair in disarray, her cheeks flushed, her little chest heaving; atop her tiny breastbuds, her nipples were erect. "Oh please, oh please, oh please," she moaned.

I tipped her chin up with the crop, looking her in the face. "We're not done yet," I intoned. Her little face screwed up in anticipation. Rightly so, for I then brought the crop down across her chest, whipping her little breast buds and nipples again and again as she wailed. Once I judged them sufficiently reddened, I shifted aim, now targeting her mons and puffy cleft lips as she shook and yelped with each stroke. I finished her punishment with one last stroke, bringing the crop up sharply between her legs to land full upon her cleftlips and clitoris. She was still wailing as I released her, and she stumbled onto the cot, shaking and rubbing her abused nakedness. I strode out without a word.

"Someone tell me how we will traverse the peritoneal cavity, hmm?" I inquired of my two assistants. They looked at each other, then Tomas said, "Well, Master, once we are in the peritoneal cavity, we could use insufflation. Any material forced by the air pressure will be traveling out of the peritoneum, into the bowel. There should be no risk of infection."

"Quite right, quite right, m'lad, but we must be careful. For comfort and...aesthetic reasons, if nothing else, I do not want the abdomen distended substantially. We will keep the insufflation to a minimum necessary to negotiate the passage. What are the structures we must navigate around, Hector?"

"The transverse colon, the loops of small bowel, the pancreas, the iliac arteries, the aorta, the mesenteric arteries, and the stomach, Master," he recited, eyes closed in concentration.

"Correct. Of course, there are smaller structures, nerves, arteries, and so forth, we must be careful of. But the instrument will be blunt at that point, and the risk of serious damage will be minimal, if we are careful..."

The next day I again entered her cell as she eyed me, seemingly warily. "Stand up," I commanded. She slowly clambered off her cot. "Today you are sentenced to be sexually molested and abused by a man, but not raped. You are also to be front-spanked," I announced. I'm not sure how much of that she understood. "I would prefer to administer this punishment without binding you, if you will submit. However, if you resist in the slightest, you will be bound. Will you submit?" I waited for her response. She seemed dazed, gaping at me, but then nodded, tears starting in her eyes.

"Keep your arms at your sides," I ordered. Then I seized her shoulders, and kissed her firmly, lasciviously, forcing my tongue between her lips, invading her mouth. After the prescribed interval I broke off, leaving her swaying on her feet, eyes half closed. Facing her, I ran my hands down her back and seized her buttocks, pulling her against me so that she could feel the hard rod in my pants against her chest. I squeezed, kneaded, and worked her bottom, pulling the cheeks apart to expose her anus to the air, pressing them together again, as she whimpered. I moved around to her belly, then up her chest, grasping her breastbuds and nipples, pinching and twisting, pulling them out and letting them snap back, as she gasped and moaned. Finally I ran my hands down, down, to the core of her being, spending some time caressing her mons, then diving between her legs to heft and molest her cleftlips and clitoris. I ran my fingers back and forth in her cleft, massaging her vulva, rubbing her clitoris against her pubic bone, pressing against her hymen as she cried out.

As I molested her, she began to noticeably respond, cleft moistening, breathing ragged, eyes closed. As she reached her peak I front-spanked her, level 2 as ordered. She nearly shrieked as she felt the sting on her girlhood. She didn't try to move away, though, and soon the motion of her body was becoming more rhythmic, her cries rising passionately, her little hips rocking back and forth as she noisily came even as I left red handprints on her mons and cleftlips.

A part of me wished I could stop there, but my orders were clear. I deposited her on the bed, ordering her to lie back with her knees apart. She hid her face in her hands, still sobbing. I fastened my lips on her unfledged cleft, sucking, nibbling, rasping my tongue over her underdeveloped sex as she arched, nearly screaming from the intensity of the sensation, the embarrassment, and the discomfort of having to submit to sexual stimulation so soon after orgasm. I thrust my tongue against her hymen, making her cry out, then concentrated on her clitoris, catching it in long bites between tongue and teeth, pulling it out and letting it snap back as she writhed. In a surprisingly short time for such a young girl so recently brought to orgasm, she was coming again, chest heaving, crying out hoarsely as her hips bucked on the cot. I stood up, and finished her off with one sharp smack to her vulva, making her shriek, curling up on the bed, rubbing her abused cleft.

I hated to do it, but I was required to complete her punishment. "So now it is revealed that you are truly a sex slave, since you have responded so sexually to your punishment. Perhaps you will be given to a Master for further...treatment." I spun on my heels and left her cell as she continued to sob out the last of her orgasms.

"Hector, tell me how we should handle the passage through the diaphragm."

"Master, I must admit I am uncertain. We have usually used the esophageal hiatus, but I am not sure..."

"Your caution is commendable. It is true that the hiatus is technically the simplest route. But it has a much higher risk of long-term complications of reflux at the least, if not outright incompetence. Naturally this would not be of concern in a terminal application. Even in nonterminal applications it perhaps does not cause much concern, especially in older subjects, whose comfort is not paramount. But this case is different. We will use a parahiatal approach, incising the diaphragm approximately 2 centimeters from the hiatus. We will need to be very careful not to damage the lungs, of course..."

It was the penultimate day of her punishment. "Today your anus is to be the focus of punishment." This was clearly outside her experience; she didn't know enough to be alarmed. "You will first receive a series of enemas. I would prefer you to receive these unbound. Will you submit?" I didn't have to add the customary threat; she nodded with some alacrity, desiring to avoid bondage. I wished that I could fully satisfy that hope, but deviating from the prescribed punishment would bring severe consequences to her, let alone me.

The toilet facilities in the cell were designed especially to facilitate the administration of enemas. The seat had a back rest, and both could be elevated and tilted to afford easy access to the anus. As ordered, I used the #3 nozzle, which is a medium-thick, moderately ridged tool. After lubricating it, I plunged it unceremoniously into her anus, working it in and out for the prescribed number of repetitions, as she yipped and yelped. The standard three-enema treatment was applied, first cleansing, then rinsing with an antiseptic, then rinsing with a deodorizing solution. I hated to have to do it, but I coerced her into holding each volume in her rectum for the full amount of time, smacking her thighs with the crop at each premature squirt from her anus, finally allowing her to release each dose. I rinsed her externally with the needle-sprayed bidet, using freezing cold water, making her shriek and nearly jump off the seat, only fully submitting to it after receiving a stern whipping on her breastbuds.

Once fully cleansed, I bound her in knee-chest position on the cot, ankles to wrists, using the appropriate cuffs hung in the cell for just such a purpose. She trembled, whimpering, "Pleaseopleaseoplease!" Her trepidation was justified. I swung the crop down onto her tender, delicate anus again and again, each stroke causing her anus to visibly clench, as she cried out wildly, "AAA-AAAA-AAAA!"

Sexual molestation is optional during anal punishment. I had pondered whether to subject her to it or not, but, given her response the previous day, I judged that it would be kinder to force her to orgasm. Perhaps it would distract her...

Her cleft seized in my hand, her clitoris pinched and twisted, the occasional smack on her cleftlips, combined with the continued stern discipline of her anus, brought her surprisingly quickly to a bucking, screaming orgasm that left her spent, soaked, sobbing, and still crying out with each stroke, as I had not yet completed the prescribed number.

Once I was done I hung the crop up. If she had thought I was done with her, she was sadly mistaken. I lubricated the fingers of my left hand, and pierced, penetrated, and probed her anus, with first one, then two, and finally forcing three fingers into her, working them in and out, as she panted and cried out. With my right hand I again seized her cleft and clitoris, and, although she did not achieve orgasm, she clearly responded, her little hips rocking as much as her bonds afforded.

I very much wished I didn't have to say what I was ordered to; as I undid her bonds and she rolled onto her side, sobbing and clutching her buttocks, I told her, "In a few days you will receive your final punishment. You are to be impaled alive, whipped, and raped." With that I left, for the time being. Fortunately, I don't think she really understood what I had said.

Once it was possible to run the concealing tape loop, I returned to her cell. Naturally she was distraught. I tried to comfort her, taking her in my arms and rocking her. She was so slender, so sweet, so dear to me now. Surprisingly, but gratifyingly, she seemed not only intellectually, but emotionally not to hold me responsible for what was being done to her; at least, not for the unpleasant parts.

"Try not to worry about tomorrow's punishment too much, little princess," I told her. "I'm not going to try and describe it all tonight; it will be better if it's mostly a surprise, and a pretty scary one at that; you need to look like you are reacting appropriately too it. No matter how scary it looks, remember: I'm an expert at it, and you should come through it in good shape. If all goes according to plan, you will be free by tomorrow night.

"By the way, I think you should know: I discussed it with the Council, and we all agreed that, under the circumstances, you and I should be married. So they gave their permission, and since you're underage, just signing the papers is all we need. You are now my wife." And I took her in my arms and kissed her, tenderly, passionately, her little body melting against mine. A part of me wished that I could take her home right then. But a different part of me looked forward to the morrow...

"Of course, if we were using the hiatal route, we would, as usual, enter the esophagus as we traversed the diaphragm, since the diaphragm provides the optimal stability for entry. Using the parahiatal route will necessitate entry at a higher level. Where would you propose, Tomas?"

"Just below the pharynx, Master. The rest of the esophagus is unfixed. Close to the pharynx it will be relatively more stable."

"Very good. Of course, we will need to be careful not to get too close. We mustn't damage the larynx or the epiglottis..."

"At withdrawal, what is standard procedure?" I asked my assistants.

"It depends on the application, Master," Tomas astutely replied. "If it is terminal, no special procedures are needed; simply pulling the instrument out suffices. In this case, however..."

"Yes, this case is definitely not terminal. However, I am hoping that we will not need to use laser coagulation, or staple closed anything but the wall of the rectum. What post-procedure medications are indicated?"

Hector handled this one. "Again, Master, if it is a terminal application, nothing need be done. For nonterminal cases, a cephalosporin with activity against enterococci, given as one dose intravenously, is indicated."

"Bravo, Hector, you obviously have memorized the text well. Strange, isn't it, to be discussing the procedure, as we always have, but knowing that this one, so special as it is, is to be our last..."

Over the next two days she was subjected to the standard prep for a nonterminal impalement: an osmotic agent to empty the bowels, clear liquids only until the night before, then nothing by mouth. She received multiple cleansing and antiseptic enemas, as well as neomycin and erythromycin by mouth to sterilize the gut as much as possible.

The day arrived. I led her into the arena, slave collar around her neck with a thin chain attached which I held the end of, her wrists cuffed behind her back. The crowd was mixed; many were supporters of the Revolution, I knew, but many were just the typical onlookers, and some were cruel, jeering and hooting at the little girl's nakedness. As I put her in position, I managed to catch her eye, and closed one of mine in a half-wink, trying to discreetly reassure her. To my astonishment and delight, she half-winked back!

She was placed on the padded platform, bound again in knee-chest position, her anus and unfledged cleft exposed for all to see. My assistants handed me the instrument, which appeared to be a simple pole about 5 feet in length. In reality it was a complex piece of machinery, designed mostly by Torvak himself. The blunt end, ridged and thick, was all ready lubricated.

Following protocol, I held the implement aloft for public viewing, then thrust it into her anus. She screamed once, shortly, then panted and moaned as I worked it in and out of her, raping her with it as with a dildo, for the prescribed ten thrusts. Then my assistants and I went to work in earnest...

The procedure went without a hitch. She moaned throughout, but seemingly more in distress at the whole affair than discomfort with any particular part of it. Finally the end of the rod was forced between her teeth from within, protruding from her mouth, and she was fully impaled.

She was lifted up, and the end of the pole was placed in its receptacle on the platform, the crossbars installed for the purpose folded open to support her buttocks. Now she was officially impaled, upright, moaning around the pole, her hips and knees flexed, abducted, and bound, her wrists still cuffed behind her back. I suppose the crowd was roaring at this point; I couldn't hear it. I was struck by the sight of her, a slender preteen girl, naked, bound, and impaled, her unfledged girlcleft offered for further punishment.

She was scheduled to be caned. Fortunately, I was able to replace the standard model with a more satisfactory one. She might have a few 'train tracks', and it would still be painful, but much less so. As usual, I swung the cane in the air a few times, producing the telltale 'swish' as her eyes widened. Then I whipped her on her flexed thighs as she inarticulately yelled. Then she yelled louder and louder as I progressed next to her buttocks, then even her breastbuds and nipples, leaving red lines across her chest as she nearly screamed. Then ten strokes full upon her cleft as she gyrated to the limited extent granted her by the pole she was impaled upon.

A wooden strap-on dildo is standard equipment for the Torturer; sometimes a scheduled rape must be administered quickly, especially in terminal cases, with no time to...prepare. It goes without saying that I did not need it this time. I opened my breeches, exposing my rod, fully rampant in expectation. Quickly dropping a bit of lubricant on it, I placed myself between her unfledged cleftlips and thrust once, deeply, raping her of her maidenhead, driving for her cervix, feeling the impaling rod in her rectum through the thin intervening tissues. She screamed one long scream. I would have liked to wait until she had gotten more used to the violation of her underdeveloped vagina, but I did not have this luxury; I had to proceed with her rape. So I pistoned in and out of her as she wailed. I had wisely relieved myself multiple times the day before, and once that morning, so I was able to carry on for the prescribed ten minutes of full rape.

She didn't come. I really didn't expect her to, under the circumstances. But I do think, despite her continued wailing, that she was getting used to it by the end, and even enjoying it partly, judging by the continued presence of lubrication. For my part, except for my concern for her, I was in Nirvana. At the height of my craft, I had impaled alive a pretty preteen girl, whipped her, then raped her, emptying myself at her cervix as she shook and moaned.

There's not much else to tell. Even as my assistants and I were carefully and gently removing the pole, comforting her tenderly throughout, the forces of the Revolution were taking the palace, capturing the Tribunal, setting the nation free. The people were jubilant. And I? I now had a pretty preteen slave-wife, mine to love and cherish, and strip, spank, whip and rape as long as we both should live.

The End

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