torn asunder by torture

July 23, 2017

In another little town not far from here, when a poor woman who had been imprisoned on suspicion of maleficium could not be induced by any torture to confess to some crime, a priest approached her with coaxing words, urging that she not allow herself any longer to be thus torn asunder by torture. She should just confess quietly to some failing, and he promised that would purify her from maleficium with holy water, and that he would restore her to God as good as new. Thus prompted by the priest and deceived by his blandishments, she admitted that she had perchance perpetrated some evils of this nature. She hoped that in this way she would escape as the priest had persuaded her. But on the grounds of such a confession, falsely and cunningly obtained by coaxing, she was sentenced to be sacrificed to Vulcan’s fires. Hearing the unexpected sentence, the poor woman admonished the unhearing judges: “See how you are killing me.”

Johann Weyer
De praestigiis daemonum

She could use her cigarette as a weapon. She would touch the glowing tip to the most sensitive, intimate parts of a naked body – male or female made no matter to her. Smiling as she tapped ash into an ashtray. She took such delight in her victims tears, their writhing as she touched the cigarette to smooth skin, and to the wildness she witnessed in their eyes. It was as if she inhabited a cave of forgotten wonder. Here, she saw restrained bodies in turmoil and pain, and could indulge herself for as long as she wished. Beyond the casement window a pale topaz sky above wind-swept moorland. The tip of her cigarette hovering, she could feel her own crises growing within – like a wave, a Tsunami of pleasure that would leave her ruined, broken. She crushed the cigarette against tender flesh, surrendering herself to the great tidal wave and the shrill scream of her victim –


“How bad will it hurt?” I ask suddenly as Cain pulls the car onto the road to head back to my house.

“How bad will what hurt?”

“The spankings, the torture, all the ways you want to punish me.”

“I’m not a sadist, Evan. I don’t get off on hurting women.”

“So it won’t hurt?”

“Oh, it will, but you’ll love the way it hurts,” he says, and as his words fall upon my ears in a harmony of exhilaration and foreboding, I think I’m beginning to understand.

Lilly Black
A Jade’s Trick

Oh Barbie, not again…

February 5, 2017



Pain enters the body. It is sharp at first. Then awful. Then contradictory. Like nothing else. Nothing: and it’s when the pain becomes unbearable that it begins to go away, changes, becomes something good to moan at, scream at, takes over all of your body, your head, all of the strength in your body, your head, and in your totally defeated ability to think. This can’t be called pain anymore, it might be called death.

Marguerite Duras
The North China Lover: A Novel


You don’t think I could bring myself to mark your lovely skin? I’ll take my knife to you, if that’s the case. I’ll carve my name in your breast so that every beat of your heart will remind you that you are mine — and mine alone. Because blood is binding, and because I would rather see you destroyed than see you free or in the possession of another, so I suggest you not try me, or you will suffer as no earthly creature has.” He slammed her back against the wall. “Or ever will. But that is a suggestion, and one you are free to disregard at your own peril. But you are are going to answer my question.”

Nenia Campbell


It’s often said that cowards make the best torturers. Cowards have good imaginations, imaginations that torment them with all the worst stuff of nightmare, all the horrors that could befall them. This provides an excellent arsenal when it comes to inflicting misery on others. And their final qualification is that they understand the fears of their victim better than the victim does himself.

Mark Lawrence
Prince of Fools

face your own wickedness…

September 17, 2016


“Back, devil! Return thee to Hell!”

The beast rolled its eyes. “I am not a devil, fool. Do you ever wonder why you seek the Devil with such vigour? I shall tell you. Because you cannot face your own wickedness. The truth is there is no Devil making you torture, rape, murder, and sodomize one another, or making you destroy the very land that feeds you. There is only you. So look at yourself, for you are the only devil in this room.”

Krampus: The Yule Lord

‘Witches’, by David Teniers.

I today tell a tale so horrid but true
No fairytale ending but myths that have grew
Of an 11 yr old girl who caught her maid stealing
And off to her parents she did run squealing

The maid so enraged cursed the devil himself
Then everyone worried of the young mistresses health
Stiff as a corpse then fitting begun
Was Katie a Witch should she be hung

The family sailed to the bestest quack
But he was baffled medical records did lack
No possible reason for the illness she has got
But was it Magic did the Witches all plot

The family tried everything in vain
To settle the girl but was she insane
Determined for justice for their daughter they’d fight
They would trial them as Witches but were they right

In 1697 did wealth rule the law
Did those poor souls bewitch the lassie Shaw
30 accused 7 tortured and executed
There innocent blood runs, Paisleys town now polluted

A horseshoe marks there resting place
But did paisleys people fall from grace
Lift the horseshoe let the spirits rise
Onto the heavens above the skies
The Witch hunt continues but the story must cease
To allow the 7 victims to finally rest in peace……

Moira Hamilton

One show not to miss…

February 16, 2016