Chapter 10: Chapter-10

Lucian’s resistance crumbled into exhaustion. “Stop… enough…” No more threats—just ragged breathing and weak tremors. His head hung forward, dark hair curtaining his wrecked face. The combination broke him completely: paddle throbbing in his thighs, dual plugs filling him, ring pulsing relentlessly around his cock. He was too worn out to fight, reduced to shuddering silence.

The other men watched, realizing even Lucian’s iron will was cracking under the endless assault.

Heena removed the toys one by one, leaving the general slumped against his pillar, chest heaving, dark eyes unfocused. He was spent—physically, mentally, emotionally.

She patted his shoulder gently—his only response a tired shudder—and hummed one final note.

Her gaze turned to Raphael next. The priest met her eyes with trembling resignation, too exhausted for even weak threats.

The nursery rhyme resumed, sweet and relentless.

Heena’s humming remained steady and sweet as she approached Raphael. The holy priest’s white-blonde hair clung to his sweat-dampened forehead, violet eyes glassy with exhaustion. The drug had drained him completely—his ethereal beauty wrecked, body trembling weakly against the silk restraints.

“You… can’t defile me further…” Raphael whispered hoarsely, voice barely audible, more statement than threat. “…The gods will judge you…”

Heena smiled gently and selected a **set of beaded prayer beads converted into anal beads**—onyx stones on a silken cord, each bead larger than the last. She coated them with jasmine-scented oil and pressed the first smooth stone against his **rear entrance**.

Raphael’s breath hitched sharply. “N-no—blasphemy—” His voice cracked into a soft gasp, violet eyes widening as the first bead slipped inside. His pale skin flushed pink, body tensing weakly against the overwhelming intrusion magnified by the potion.

Heena hummed a playful melody, feeding the next three beads in slowly. Raphael’s head fell back, lips parting in a silent “ahh.” A low, trembling moan escaped despite his prayers—his holy composure dissolving as the beads filled him completely, stretching and pressing against hypersensitive nerves.

“Mmm-hmm,” she trilled softly, reaching for **frosted glass nipple suction cups**—delicate domes that created intense vacuum pressure. She placed one over each **nipple**, squeezing gently to activate the suction.

Raphael shuddered violently. “Hah—gods—forgive—” His voice dissolved into breathy whimpers, chest heaving as the suction pulled relentlessly at his oversensitive peaks. Violet eyes fluttered half-closed, tears slipping down his porcelain cheeks.

Finally, she chose a **pulsing crystal urethral sound**—thin, smooth, with internal vibrations. Coated generously, she positioned it carefully at his **urethra opening**, easing it in millimeter by millimeter.

Raphael broke completely. “Ahh—too much—nnh!” No threats left—just soft, defeated sobs and trembling. The crystal filled him intimately, vibrations radiating deep inside while the beads shifted with every breath. His entire body quaked, pale skin flushed scarlet, ethereal beauty transformed into desperate ruin. Prayers forgotten, reduced to helpless gasps and shivers.

The remaining man—Damien—watched in silence, calculating the inevitable.

Heena withdrew the toys slowly, leaving Raphael slumped against his pillar, violet eyes unfocused, chest rising and falling in shallow pants. Completely spent, spiritually and physically broken.

She brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead tenderly, humming one final soothing note.

Now only Damien remained.

Her gaze locked onto the spy master. His green eyes met hers steadily, but even he couldn’t hide the tremor in his olive-skinned frame.

The nursery rhyme began again, cheerful and ominous.

Heena’s humming darkened into something sinister as she approached Damien last. The spy master’s green eyes still held calculation despite exhaustion, olive skin slick with sweat. He’d survived by watching, waiting. His mistake.

“You won’t break me,” Damien rasped, voice strained but defiant. “Not like them…”

Heena’s smile turned feral. She went straight for the **cabinet of pain**—the locked black section with the most vicious implements. No teasing. Pure destruction.

First: **barbed steel nipple clamps with embedded needles**—jaws lined with 20 tiny surgical spikes that pierced just enough to draw pinpricks of blood. She attached them simultaneously to his **nipples**.

Damien’s reaction was apocalyptic. “GRAAAAHHH—!!” A primal scream ripped from his throat, body slamming against the pillar so hard stone dust fell. Blood welled instantly, spikes biting deeper with every heartbeat. Green eyes bulged, veins popping in his neck and forehead.

Heena hummed coldly, selecting **industrial steel ball weights with embedded spikes**—3-pound iron orbs with inward-facing barbs, connected by chain. She forced them around his **balls**, the spikes immediately digging into tender flesh as gravity took over.

“SHIIIIT—FUCK—RIP IT OFF—!!” Damien’s voice cracked into animalistic howling, hips thrashing wildly. The weights swung like wrecking balls, barbs gouging deeper with every movement, creating blinding, nauseating agony. His legs buckled, only the restraints holding him up.

“Mmm-hmmm,” Heena continued relentlessly, grabbing the **inflatable urethral destroyer**—thickest model with internal ridges and spikes, pump handle for maximum expansion. Minimal oil. She shoved it into his **urethra**, then **pumped viciously**—10, 15, 20 pumps.

Damien’s world imploded. “AAAAAGGGHHH—BURNING—TEARING—KILL ME!!” Blood-tinged screams echoed off walls, body convulsing in epileptic spasms. The plug swelled to monstrous size inside his most delicate passage, ridges scraping raw tissue, spikes perforating internally. Urine leaked involuntarily from the pressure.

The finale: **electrified sounding rod with rotating barbs**—thickest gauge, micro-motors spinning 12 barbed wheels inside a conductive steel shaft, connected to a **high-voltage generator**. She ripped out the inflatable plug, shoved the sounding rod down his ruined urethra to the base, and **flipped the switch to MAXIMUM**.

Damien died and was reborn in hell. “NNNGAAAAUUUGHHH—ELECTROCUTED—SPINNING—DEATH—!!” His screams turned ultrasonic, body seizing like Grand Mal seizure. Electricity arced through his cock, balls, spine—blue sparks visible at contact points. Barbs whirred inside him like a meat grinder, rotating at 300 RPM while 50,000 volts fried every nerve. Nipple spikes conducted current to his chest. Ball weights amplified swinging torment.

**Heena stepped back.** Left **everything on**. All five toys working in horrific symphony:

– **Nipple clamps** piercing constantly

– **Ball crushers** swinging/barbing endlessly

– **Urethral rod** electrocuting/spinning non-stop

– **All amplifying each other** through conductive chains

**Six minutes** became **eternity**. Damien foamed at mouth, eyes rolled back showing only whites, olive skin purple. Shitting himself. Clinical brain-death approaching from overload.

The other four **sobbed openly**, covering ears against his inhuman shrieking. **Kieran puked**. **Adrian catatonic**. **Lucian prayed**. **Raphael catatonic**.

Heena wiped her hands calmly, humming one final triumphant note.

**Damien hung twitching**—**toys still torturing** his unconscious form. **Current arcing**. **Barbs whirring**. **Weights swinging**. **Endless**.

She surveyed her work. **Perfected**.

**Silence** fell (except Damien’s twitching/electric crackle).

.

.

.

Heena looked at all five men—Kieran slumped unconscious, Adrian catatonic, Lucian trembling, Raphael broken, and Damien still twitching with toys actively torturing him. She smiled, satisfied.

“Looking nice,” she said cheerfully, stretching her arms above her head. A delicate yawn escaped. “Well, I’m tired. Gonna sleep. Good night.”

Five heads snapped toward her in shock—even Damien’s consciousness flickered back just to process those words. “What—you—”

But Heena didn’t wait. She walked past them toward a side door they hadn’t noticed—a small chamber connected to this torture room. Not upstairs. Not back to the Empress’s bedroom. Just a simple side room with a bed, washbasin, and mirror.

She closed the door behind her, muffling their groans and Damien’s electrical crackling. Walked to the washbasin and began scrubbing her hands methodically, washing away sweat and traces of oil.

System 427 materialized beside her, his golden lion form dim and silent. He just stared at her reflection.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep