Victim of the Witchfinder

Victim of the Witchfinder (a Guys In Merciless Peril story)

This is a G.I.M.P. story – a Guys In Merciless Peril. These stories are mirrors to stories found on a site elsewhere, featuring Girls In Merciless Peril. I should warn you that none of my Guys In Merciless Peril are going to have happy endings – unless you consider males being tortured to death to be a happy ending. Maybe you do.

Victim of the Witchfinder

Sister Puritas – as she had renamed herself – was the one and only female witchfinder to hunt in England, during the time of the witch panic. A former nun, she claimed that her authority came directly from God, and nobody had dared gainsay her. In fact, the other nuns of her monastery had breathed a sigh of relief when she had left, as they had been terrified of her. She had brooked not a single sin, in the eyes of God.

It was the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and twenty three. The witch-fearing James I sat on the throne of the United Kingdom. Witches were hunted throughout the land; and bad occurrences were blamed on the activity of witches – not all of them who were considered to be old women. There were male witches as well, in league with the forces of darkness.

Sister Puritas hunted male witches exclusively. Her weapons were the Bible, the Malleus Maleficarum, and her personal collection of “implements of truth”, as she referred to her torture equipment. They had been crafted for her by a very skilled blacksmith, to her specific instructions.

Sister Puritas had come to a town in the Midlands, after the tortured testimony of her last victim had identified a young man as being a warlock – a male witch. It was funny, but all of the suspected male witches she hunted – and they were always male – were young, attractive men. This one was no different.

Sister Puritas had already found a cellar to use for her investigation. She had ordered the owners of the cellar – and their neighbours – to depart for the next day, lest the spells of this warlock affect their minds, and turn them into tools of Hell. She had explained that her faith would protect her. The fearful villagers had obeyed her. Nobody was close to hear the young man’s screams. And that was the way that Sister Puritas liked it. There could be no doubt but that she did the Lord’s work.

Matthew Beddington hung naked from a wooden beam in the cellar, his wrists tied together by leather strips. His legs were widespread, more leather strips binding his ankles to large spikes which had been hammered into the stone floor of this cellar. The cellar was lit by candles, and by the warm glow of a brazier, in which coals burned. Matthew’s toes did not quite reach to the stone floor. For the moment he was gagged by cloth.

Sister Puritas had explained that he needed to be naked so that she could look for the Devil’s mark, which might be hidden anywhere on his body. For such a search, in case somebody insisted on watching, she had an ivory handled bodkin. No one but her and a crafter knew that this Devil’s mark-seeking bodkin was fake, and that the blade would slide up into the handle, making it appear as though she was sliding it into his body, but that this “witch” did not feel its entry. But as they were alone in the cellar she would not need such trickery. She would not need such artifice.

Sister Puritas had already determined that Matthew Beddington was illiterate. That made things easier. She already had a signed confession that he was a witch, which he had delivered before expiring under the Question, as she would say. He had already identified more male witches – or, in reality, she had already seen several other attractive young men who would be identified as part of Beddinton’s Satanic coven. Everything was done. All that was needed was the torture.

Sister Puritas removed the attractive young man’s gag. She liked to hear them beg. She liked to hear them scream. No one would be coming to his aid.

“Please, I am not a witch.” Matthew said.

Sister Puritas smiled, but said nothing. Instead she began to take off her habit. She liked to work naked. Besides, if she had continued to wear her habit, then there was the danger of getting it covered with blood.

“What are you doing?” Matthew Beddington asked, as he stared at the naked nun, as she folded up her habit, placing it on the far side of the cellar. He was still a virgin, and he had not seen a naked woman before, although he had dreamt about seeing local girls without their dress. He had tried not to have such sinful thoughts. But he had not been able to help himself. And now there was a real, naked woman in front of him.

Matthew stared at her large, pendulous breasts. He stared at her erect nipples. He stared at her hairy crotch. His cock began to get erect.

Sister Puritas smiled on seeing his cock stiffen and rise. It made it so much easier for tortures when her victims became aroused. His cock would suffer the torments of the damned. But, first, she had to ensure that it did not become flaccid when the pain began.

Sister Puritas took a wet leather strip and tied it around his cock and balls. It was tight at the base of his cock, trapping the blood inside it, so that his member would not go soft. She wound the leather in a figure of eight around his testicles. It kept them standing out from his body, and separated them at the same time. They were defenceless. As the torture proceeded the leather would slowly dry out, becoming even tighter around his balls and cock.

“Please, it’s too tight.” Matthew said. But the former nun ignored him. The leather strip would soon be the least of his worries.

Sister Puritas went to her leather satchel, and unfolded it. It unrolled to reveal all of the items she used in her business as a witchfinder. She selected the scourge. It was time to begin.

The scourge was a small whip, not dissimilar to a cat o’ nine tails. Bound into the ends of the leather strips were sharp little pieces of metal. This scourge had seen much use, beginning back when Sister Puritas had been a nun. She had liked to assist the others in their devotion by flagellating them. But she much preferred to scourge helpless young men.

“No, please, I’m not a witch… AAAAARGH!” the young man screamed, as the former nun swung the scourge at his back. The little bits of metal scratched and bit into his flesh, causing the blood to flow. Sister Puritas’s eyes glimmered in the dim light of the cellar. She loved to see blood. She loved to see it flow.

She swung the scourge time and time again, Matthew’s imprecations to stop and his screams only spurring her on, only causing her to whip harder. She was aroused, her pussy wet with her sadistic lust.

“Aaaaaaargh.” the victim screamed, as she worked her way down his back, little gobbets of flesh flying off his back, blood spraying onto her naked body. She laughed like a maniac as she began whipping his buttocks, over and over, until there was not an inch which was not red and bloody.

She threw the whip aside, her sharp fingernails digging into his wounds as he screamed and begged, and begged and screamed. One hand parted her labia, her fingers seeking the softness within, as her other hand, painted with the victim’s blood, held her breast. Enough of the whip, she decided. More of the lash and he might faint, and there were so many other things which she wanted to do. Oh, she might use the scourge again, later, to finish this supposed witch. She would flog him to death, if he did not die from her other implements. But she sensed that this was a strong one. He would be a lot of sport.

It was time for her favourite activity, the torture of a victim’s cock and balls. She went over to her tools, and selected an ivory-handled corkscrew. The end of the corkscrew was blunt, however, and this had never opened a bottle of wine.

“No, please…” Matthew begged. She liked it when they begged. She grabbed his cock – still erect, thanks to the leather band – and pulled back his foreskin, revealing the dark purple glans in all its glory. She loved cock torture. It was a shame that such mortal flesh was so fragile.

She pushed the blunt end of the corkscrew into his urethra. He screamed – but he screamed even more when she slowly turned the corkscrew into his cock, burying the entire length of the spiral metal in his cock, forcing it to be deformed. She slowly, ever so slowly, twisted the ivory handle, bringing incredible agony to the inside of the victim’s cock. He screamed and screamed. But he did not faint.

The nun, eventually, had enough of this game. She withdrew the corkscrew, and wiped the blood of the spiral metal. She put it back with her other tools. Her fingers lingered lovingly on her torture tools, wondering which to use next. Yes, the pliers, she thought, it was time to bring a little pain to his nipples, before returning to his cock and balls.

He screamed so sweetly when she crushed his nipples with the pliers. She had two pairs, so that she could squeeze both nipples at the same time. One and on she squeezed, flattening the nipple flesh. She twisted and pulled, causing agony that was sweet for her, if not for her victim. Then, she decided, it was time for more torture of his sinful cock and balls.

All of the while that Sister Puritas had been torturing Matthew some of her tools had been heating up over the brazier. It was time to excoriate him with heated metal. The former nun put on thick, leather gloves, and picked up the first of the glowing metal needles.

“No, no, please.” Matthew begged, as he saw the glowing needles in the crepuscular gloom of the cellar. The former nun grinned. She loved it when they begged. Her pussy was wet at the thought of the agony which she was about to inflict.

Matthew’s separated testicles could not avoid the torture. Sister Puritas slowly slid the glowing needle deep into Matthew’s right ball. He screamed and screamed, beyond words. But he did not faint. The witchfinder’s pleasure was not denied.

The former nun fetched another needle, and slowly slid it into his other ball. The flesh could not resist. All that Matthew could do was to suffer such pain as he had never imagined. He screamed and screamed as, over the next half an hour, Sister Puritas slowly thrust glowing needle after glowing needle into his balls, destroying the inside of the testicles. Eventually he had a dozen needles in each ball.

It was now time to hurt his cock. For that the former nun had a special tool, a six inch long metal spike protruding from a wooden handle. The spike was now glowing orange. She picked it up and returned to her victim.

One hand gripped his still erect cock, the blood trapped by a lace now dry. The spike touched Matthew’s pisshole, and he screamed. But he screamed even louder as the glowing metal slowly pushed down into the depths of his cock, until the wooden end touched his glans. He jerked in his bondage with a red hot metal spike buried in his cock.

Then the witchfinder began fucking his cock with the spike, up and down, as her victim screamed. She kept going until the spike was cold.

She had to slap Matthew back to consciousness. He was almost spent. It was time for an ending. But, first, his sinful organs had to be destroyed. She fetched a pair of shears. She sheared of his balls, first, and then his cock, leaving his severed organs on the floor of the cellar. She picked up the scourge and whipped the front of his body until he breathed no more.

One more witch had been destroyed. But there were plenty more, awaiting the gentle ministrations of Sister Puritas…

The End.