Basement sauna of the country home of Åke Persson, Tuesday, 20 January, 17:51.

 

"Weren't you a little hard on Bertil there?" remarked Barbara as she set down her empty wine glass.

"Nah. It's fine. I just don't like him acting like a mother hen guarding her wayward chick," laughed Gun.

"He's just very fond of you."

"I know, Babs," admitted Gun softly and distractedly. She was looking at the sauna door, which had just swung open to reveal a nearly naked Åke Persson framed in the doorway.

"Thought I'd join you ladies. You don't mind, do you?" schmoozed their host.

"Don't you knock?" snapped Gun, reaching for a towel.

"Oh, don't bother to cover up," he grinned. "I've seen Barb in the all-together many times before ... and have imagined you in the nude too, Detective Sergeant."

"I'm sure you have, but I'll cover up anyway, if you don't mind ... and my name is Gun, remember?"

"I'll cover up too," said Barbara, wrapping and securing a towel around herself in a deliberate show of solidarity with Gun.

"Suit yourselves," quipped Åke amiably. "We can all sit here together and have a nice sweaty chat. That's what's best about group saunas. And, as a bonus, I can use the opportunity to get to know you better Detective ... uh ... sorry ... I mean ...Gun."

"Sure. For starters, how about telling Barb and me what's behind that heavy locked door at the other end of the cellar. We're curious."

Barbara shot her a warning look.

Åke shrugged, took a slug directly from the open bottle he had brought with him, and said, "Not much of anything, really ... just odds and ends."

"Never lie to a police detective," laughed Gun. "We know one when we hear one. If there are just random odds and ends behind that door why would you bother to keep it locked?"

He sat in silence for few moments, clearly mulling his answer over in his mind, "Okay. If you really must know, it's where I keep some valuable historical artifacts. Collecting them is a hobby of mine, you see. Given my professional interest and expertise in the means of political suppression through time ... I collect and preserve old instruments of torture. It sounds odd, I know. But by studying the design of these instruments, especially those that are intended to slowly and deliberately deliver desired results, one gains a window into the minds of those who designed them and put them to use."

"So, you're telling Babs and me that you have a private torture museum in your cellar? How charming."

"Make light of it if you will, but tell you what ... I can show you the collection, if you care to see it."

Barbara shot Gun a 'see, I told you so' look.

"Sure, why not? We'd love to see it, wouldn't we, Babs?" said Gun, with a grimace that belied the enthusiasm of her words.

Barb nodded agreeably.

"Alright then! I'd be happy to show it to you. No time like the present. I'll just sprint ahead and unlock the door. You two follow after."

"See. I think he's pleased that we're showing an interest," Barbara whispered to Gun as they left the sauna and stepped out into the cold dry cellar air.

"As only a Whacko would," sniffed Gun in reference to her earlier-stated assessment of their host. "But, let's hurry. I'm keen to see where he has the key hidden ... as he quite obviously doesn't have it on him."

Barb giggled at that. And they rushed ahead, catching up just in time to see him take the key from its resting place atop the door frame. After which, Barbara passed Gun a mocking 'and you thought it necessary to pick the lock?' look.

"Here we are ladies, kindly step inside and have a look around," invited Åke, executing an exaggerated theatrical bow. "My private collection, which I've built up over nearly a decade now, includes some of the best surviving examples of historical torture instruments in all of Europe, each one meticulously restored."

"Uh-huh," said Gun.

Barbara, in an effort to compensate for Gun's show of indifference, gushed, "Oh, would you look at that torture rack over there! It's so big and so absolutely ominous looking! I simply can't imagine the incredible pain and suffering those poor souls unfortunate enough to be laid out on such a thing were forced to endure. Just looking at it gives me the shivers!"

"That rack is actually the centerpiece of my collection. Dates from the early sixteenth century," responded Åke proudly. "And, you're quite right, Barb. The rack was one of the most fearsome and effective tools of intimidation, for it was uniquely designed to deliver a measured 'step-by-step' increase in a victim's discomfort ... moving inexorably, but slowly, towards one of the worst kinds of excruciating pain imaginable. It's said that in many cases, just a few small turns of the drum was all that was needed to extract the confession, or naming of names, demanded by the authorities. It's said that some gave in at the mere sight of the rack being prepared to receive them."

"Unimaginably cruel" breathed Barbara.

"Actually not that unimaginable. If you'd really like to find out what it must have been like to be stretched on the rack, Barb, you're welcome to give it a whirl. It's in fine working order. Climb up on it and lie down, and I will attach your wrists and ankles to these cuffs and chains, and ratchet the drum around a few notches ... not too many, mind you ... just enough to give you a taste of what it might have been like. What do you say?"

"Alright, Åke. Why not? I'm feeling adventurous today."

"Babs! Are you sure about this?" warned Gun. "What's gotten into you? It's the Riesling, isn't it? You drank most of that bottle!"

"It's okay, Gun. It's just for fun," laughed Barb.

"Uh, hang on a second," cautioned Åke. "Before you get yourself up on that rack, Barb, let's keep in mind that if this were real, the inquisitors would have had you stripped naked beforehand."

"See, I knew there was a catch! Very clever of you! But, sure. Why not? I'll lose the towel, okay?"

"Right. That's perfect. Just toss the towel on the floor. Now, climb up and lie down on your back ... that's it ... head towards the roller drum ... good. Stretch out your legs ... arms above your head .. good ... now, hold still while I secure your wrists and ankles ... Alright, that does it ... Ready, Barb?"

"I'd say she's definitely ready," observed Gun, who was standing near the foot of the rack. "Look at her pussy. She's wet! This is a turn on for you, isn't it Babs?"

"So far, it is." admitted Barbara.

"Perhaps, I'll need to write this up," grinned Åke. "And see if I can't get it published somewhere."

"Very funny," laughed Barb. "Get on with it, will you, before I invite Gun up here to eat me!"

"Hah. Alright, all joking aside now because I'm going to start the process by rolling the drum, increasing the tension a few ratchet notches at a time," warned Åke. "Tell me when to stop."

And the stretching began, the ratchet making a loud clacking noise as Åke turned the wheel.

"Not too bad, so far ... I'm managing fine ... umm ... little more .... Arghhhh ...okay ...I said a little more! ... that's painful ... quite enough! Stop there!" gasped Barb.

 

"What? Can't take any more?" teased Åke. "You asked for a realistic taste of what it must have been like. But this is nothing so far. Let's do two more notches, okay?"

"Uh ... well ... I'm ... okay ... I think I can take it."

"Oh, but one more thing, Barb. If this were real, they'd probably ... at each stopping point ... be applying hot irons, claws, rippers, or pliers to some part or another of your lovely body ... or at the very least, you'd feel the kiss of the lash!"

"Well, I ...."

"Here, let me demonstrate," he said, reaching for a multi-thonged leather whip from a nearby tabletop.

"Alright, but very gently," gasped Barbara. "Just for effect, okay?"

"Of course," assured Åke as he laid a mildly-delivered stroke that brought the thongs of the whip down across her mounded breasts, and then a second stroke across her ribs, and then a third, returning to her breasts again ... just hard enough to leave marks and elicit a gasp and an anguished cry of pain.

"Okay, I'm calling a halt to this," intervened Gun. "It's gone far enough. She gets the idea ..."

"Gun is probably right. Let's not get carried away." agreed Åke, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

"Of course, I'm right," declared Gun.

"Then, one more crank of the drum and we call it quits. Okay, Barb?"

She screwed her eyes shut, and nodded assent.

"Okay, ready now. Here goes."

As the ratchet mechanism clicked once, then twice, she responded to the first with a grimace and the second with an anguished, "Owwww! Shit! Enough! Stop! Enough!"

Åke complied, quickly releasing the tension, and hastening to release Barbara's wrists and ankles.

"Whew! What an experience"! she gasped, sitting upright, rubbing her wrists and ruefully examining the whip marks on her chest.

"And I never got the chance to try the pincers out on those lovely erect nipples," teased Åke, before turning to Gun to say, "How about you Gun? Care to cast that towel aside and have a go on the rack too?"

"Not on your life!"