The-Tickling-Master
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Hello! I'm a deviantart fetish writer.
I've decided to post all my stories here for your enjoyment.
I take commissions! If you want to commission me a story, please contact me THROUGH DA. My profile is: http://the-tickling-master.deviantart.com/gallery/
Feedback is greatly appreciated. If you liked (And especially if you disliked) the story, leave a comment!
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She screamed, her mighty mace descending upon the nearest Chaos face, her short white hair flailing around desperately. Marines or simple demons, she didn’t make a distinction – if it was heretic, it needed to be purged, it needed to die. Her name was Valeria. Sister Valeria. And she was a proud member of The Order of Our Martyred Lady, the sword and the shield of the Emperor, God of Mankind. They were the ones that led by example, inspiring the weak to be strong, and inspiring fear in the hearts of the wicked, heretic and unjust. Wherever there was a threat to the Imperium of Man, the Order, one of the many branches of the Adepta Sororitas, would be there.
Valeria was raised on these values. From birth, she was raised within the Order. She grew up hearing the legends of the great saints and sisters of the order, hearing the tales of their battles and lives. As she grew up, she wanted nothing more than becoming a, Adepta Sororitas, a Sister of Battle, a full-fledged member of the Order of Our Martyred Lady. She studied a lot, trained twice as hard as everybody else, and prayed thrice as hard, for the Emperor is always listening and watching, and he rewards those who devote themselves to him.
And rewarded she was. By age 16, she was promoted from an acolyte to a Sister. She was awarded her title and her power armor, the one she was wearing right now as she desperately struggled for her life. The armor made her look twice her true size, a mighty coalition of gears, pumps and fibers. Within one of those, a child could rip the head of a bear. It was felt surprisingly light – she didn’t need to move the metal with her strength, just point it where to move; the gears would do the rest, moving mechanical muscle of absurd strength. Which was good, because outside the armor, she was quite frail and petite. Just a tiny hint of freckles completed the “cute girl” look.
She struck again as a Chaos Marine approached for corporal combat. The skull cracked and his face was smashed in. He stepped back twice before falling in agony. Behind him, two others pointed their assault rifles and fired, but Valeria quickly covered her face with the mace. The bullets bounced at the mace and at the armor, leaving her unscathed. In the other hand, she had her bolt pistol. Two shots, two heretics killed.
Valeria, now 18, had dreamed of a chance to prove herself since becoming a Sister. She had joined minor skirmishes and operations, but not a true battle. Until now.
The Chaos Warmaster Abaddon the Despoiler had gathered the largest Chaos force since the days of Horus Heresy, the greatest civil war the galaxy ever heard of. With those forces, he launched what historians would one day call the 13th Black Crusade, on which the Chaos forces managed to destroy the planet of Cadia, before preparing themselves to launch an offensive on Terra, where the Emperor’s body was kept alive on his Golden Throne. The first part of this offensive would be remembered as The Fall of Cadia.
Valeria didn’t have that foresight, but she knew she was doomed. She had fought in the last days against the Chaos forces, and saw many of her sisters, amongst other Imperial forces, being killed and captured. She mourned for the losses, but she remained strong, because that’s what a Sister does. But then the heretic forces acted cowardly, dropping a piece of one of the Blackstone Fortress above the planet on it, like a meteorite. The explosion resulting from the impact nearly blinded her (And did many) and that was the end. The Eye of Terror spread through Cadia, and the planet started to tear itself apart. The planet was doomed, and would implode in a few hours.
When the higher officers announced there would be a retreat, Valeria volunteered to be on the backlines, covering the escape. It was a suicide mission, and she knew it, and she wanted it. She had failed on her first major battle. That was a clear sign that her devotion wasn’t enough – if it was, the Emperor would surely have blessed their campaign, and the Heretics would be dead. But that didn’t happen, and everything was lost, and she would die in a blaze of glory fit of a Sister of Battle. She would not live that failure down!
Her mace struck again, interrupting the charge of a daemon and sending it plummeting to the ground.
- Thou had saved me! – She sang, striking again as another marine approached. – Thou presence is a torch! ¬– Another approached from her left, and she quickly raised the mace, smashing his chin and sending him flying a meter upwards before falling, dead. – Grant me your salvation…! – She continued the hymn, firing to her right, hitting a demon that was about to kill a fellow companion, a member of the Grey Knights. – Beloved Father! – She concluded the first verse, striking down another heretic.
Around her, she heard the rest of the troops continue the hymn alongside her. She smiled, satisfied. That was the role of a Sister of Battle: To inspire!
- The universe is dark! – She chanted, accompanied by the imperial troops around her as a single voice, as they kept fighting. – And my soul is weak! – This time she was the one who was saved, when a demon caught her by surprise, but was gunned down by a member of the Adeptus Astartes, also known as The Space Marines. – Be my shield, be my torch! – She chanted, as her companions formed a wall around her. – Hail him on Terra! – They roared, and a volcano erupted in the background. A chunk of rock fell next to their skirmish as they took down waves upon waves of creatures. As they fought, they were able to hold back the demons and chaos servants, allowing the rest of the troops to evacuate. That was the death Valeria wanted!
The hymn had a third part, but the battle grew more intense, and she couldn’t catch her breath enough to chant. But by this time, their mission was already mostly successful. She had inspired enough. She could die in peace – but she was dragging down every last heretic bastard with her!
She struck and smacked and fought and killed but, in the end, even with the power armor doing most of the work, fatigue hit her. She was but human. When she realized she couldn’t fight anymore, when most of her companions were dead, she closed her eyes and started praying, striking blindly, letting the Emperor guide her last blows.
Surprisingly, she took a few more down with her, shining like a battle goddess in the middle of the field, but eventually, a Chaos Marine hit her with a blunt weapon and she fell. He was about to kill her when he thought better – capturing a live Sister of Battle would be a great gift for his masters. Thus, he put her over the shoulder, heavy armor and all, and started moving back – the battle was already over, he was sure he would be more useful bringing back that high-profile prisoner than he would by massacring the wounded and abandoned.
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The first thing Valeria noticed was that her head hurt a lot. The second was that she was alive. The third was that she was not in her powersuit anymore. Instead, she was wearing the black bodysuit that was standard in the Order and in most armored units throughout the galaxy. She looked around, realizing she was locked in a cell, metallic bars and metallic walls reddened by rust. The whole place looked decrepit and rotten. A fitting environment for heretics, since heresy rots the soul.
So that was it. Captured by the enemy. This was not a situation that the Sisters usually prepared for – it was either win or die fighting. But of course, capture was not unheard of. And it usually ended in…
Yeah, there it was. As her senses returned, she could now not only see but listen to the place, and all she could hear was screams of unending torment, of terrible tortures, of indescribable fates. Deep down, she felt something she didn’t want to feel: Fear. Not fear of death – death never scared her, for she was sure the Emperor would guard her – but fear of suffering, of torture. She closed her eyes, and remembered the stories she heard when she was growing up. Stories of saints and martyrs who died in torture, praying for the Emperor, unyielding in their fate. It was told that those would be in the Emperor highest graces, becoming the captains and generals of His Celestial Army. She kneeled and prayed, praying for strength to endure the task ahead, praying for protection, and praying for it to be quick. She didn’t pray to be saved – it was clearly not going to happen. The Emperor wanted her to go through this, and thus she would. Maybe it was atonement for failing to win the battle – even if she couldn’t do it for herself – or maybe it was a test of her faith. Wathever it was, she would succeed and, in death, would receive His praises.
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- So we have a Sister of Battle aboard – Commented the Chief Apothecary aboard the spaceship, Crucium, upon hearing the news. Apothecaries were usually the “combat medics” of a Space Marine squad, usually well-versed in medicine and science. However, amongst the Emperor’s Children, Apothecaries also employed their knowledge to refine the art of torture. The Emperor’s Children was one of the many traitorous Legions of Chaos who abandoned the Emperor to serve the Chaos Gods. The Children, specifically, worshipped and served Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. They were the greatest torturers amongst the Chaos servants, which is why most prisoners ended up in their hands – they were the ones that wanted to bring some bodies alive instead of just killing everything in the field. Their master fed on others’ suffering, and today’s harvest was nothing sort of a banquet. Especially now that he discovered they had one of the Sisters of Battle aboard. They are hard to break, but once they do, they fall much deeper into despair than any other subject.
Crucium licked his lips inside the helmet. He would take great fun in breaking her. He had recently devised new form of torture, and he wanted to try it out on a fitting subject.
- Get her to the dungeons! – He ordered, as he took his leave.
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It has been hours already. Valeria was laid on her back, with only the screams of agony to keep her company. She turned to the side, trying to get some peace, but the laments wouldn’t let her sleep. Bored, her mind naturally drifted for the upcoming ordeal. She shook her head, but the images always returned. The waiting for the torture can sometimes be worse that the torture itself.
Restless, she got up, looking outside her cell. She was not the only prisoner in that horrid complex. From within the cells, others – mostly civilians, but also some members of the Imperial Army – traded looks of despair, especially when someone screamed louder in the background. Valeria needed to calm them. To give them some hope.
- O Eternal Emperor… - The began to sing, remembering the hymn from her training days. Her voice was quite melodic – Who alone watches us, and rules the tides and storms… - She looked at the other prisoners, smiling. – Be compassionate to your servants… - The wardens in the corridor approached her cell, but didn’t do anything. It was merely a reminder to everyone that they were the ones with the power. – Perv us from the perils of wrap... That we may safeguard the domains of men! – She concluded with an exclamation.
She looked at the prisoners again, and while the faces were still somber, they were looking at her.
She was going to start again when she heard footsteps approaching. More of the Emperor’s Children approached – she had recognized their armor and sigils a few hours ago. The Children were one of the most hateful amongst the Traitorous Legions. They were once one of the mightiest legions in service of the Emperor. Now, they are less than worms, creatures whose sole purpose is to satisfy their hedonistic desires. Amongst all the traitors, they were the ones who fell the most. And the bastards dare to keep the name of the Emperor!
Three of them opened her cell, and grabbed her by the arms. She could do nothing to resist against the wardens using power armor, helpless as she was. But despite the fear building deep inside her, he chuckled defiantly.
- Oh wow, you need three just to grab a defenseless Sister? Maybe it’s because you heretical fucks know that those blessed by the Emperor are much stronger! – She challenged.
The guards said nothing, instead just dragging her out of her cell and through the corridor. The time was there. It was time to face her ordeal with her chin up, to suffer beyond her limits, to resist and to die as a martyr. As she was dragged, she begun to shout to the people in the cells.
- No matter what they do, they can’t break us! No matter how much the body suffers, our spirit is only hurt by heresy. Remain faithful to the Emperor, my brothers and sisters! When you die, you will re-encounter him, you will be judged by him, and none are more blessed than the martyrs. Stay strong my brothers, stay faithful in the Emperor, and go to your graves singing him praises! – She professed, until her voice died out as she was dragged deeper and deeper into the core of the metallic complex.
The ship was pretty much a fortress of rusted steel, with occasional spikes and sharp corners. It exhaled menace, intimidating even those with strong wills. She gulped, breathed hard, and restarted praying in silence as she was dragged further away from the cells, and further into the torture rooms. The screams intensified the closer she got, and the atmosphere was heavy with horror, with hopelessness, with despair. She tried to sing to calm the tortured, but one of her captors quickly blocked her mouth with their powerful metallic hands, and she gave up the attempt.
Finally, she was dragged into a room. In the center, there was a table. It had spikes on the top and on the bottom, as if it was a mouth, and its surface was reddish… It looked a lot like meat, to be quite honest. An organic table was the best description she could think. From the ceiling, a structure hanged, descending until very close to the table. It also had teeth and it almost complimentary – she guessed that one closed into the other, trapping the prisoner completely inside, isolated from the outside world. She took come comfort in the fact that the other prisoners would not hear her screaming. In the corner of the room, there was a computer – maybe to control the machine?
As they dragged her closer to the table, the structure hanging from the ceiling ascended, allowing them to comfortably put her on the table. They forced her arms and legs into the table, pinning her like an X. On touch, it felt even more like meat, as if she was laying in something alive.
Below her, the felt the table shifting, and she noticed the table created projections that trapped her wrists and ankles. It was a form of Biomancy, twisting the form of a living thing. She felt disgusted by the heresy, and wondered if the table was something alive and conscious before – of if it still is – or if it’s just matter able to shapeshift.
Nonetheless, it was absolutely heretical.
Her captors left, leaving her trapped in that table. She struggled, but it was no use – the meat could be stone for all it mattered. It would not move an inch.
She was forced to wait for a few more minutes, in which she pondered what that table would do to her – it was far too elaborate to be just a restraining device. Her best bet was that it was a crushing device of some sort – the other half would descend and crush her repeatedly, giving her an agonizing death. She started praying again, refusing to let that annoying tear that wanted to fall get the best of her.
Finally, she heard someone else getting into the room. The man was also in power armor, but he didn’t have his helmet on. The armor was of the traditional color scheme of the Children – Purple with golden details. His face was bald and also purple, and had the appearance of something decayed. It was the face of something that was once human, but no longer.
- Good night, Sister Valeria. Welcome to my personal dungeon – He said. – I am the Chief Apothecary, Crucium, and I’ll be overseeing your treatment today.
- Go to hell, heretic scum! – She retorted. That made Crucium giggle.
- So feisty! You’re not the first Sister I’ve had, and you’re always the same. You bark a lot, but you all break. The last one I had on my hands squealed every last secret of the Order. – He said, raising his hands slightly. Valeria heard a metallic noise and his gauntlets detached. Crucium let them fall to the floor, the loud noise filling the room for an instant and making Valeria flinch. His hands were still huge and powerful, even outside the armor.
- You’ll never get anything from me! – Valeria retorted.
- We’ll see – Crucium replied. He then placed his hands on her thighs, and she struggled to get them away, repulsed by the touch in such an intimate region, but it was impossible to brush him off. – I’ll let this wonderful machine do its magic in a moment… First, I’d like to get personal. Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you, Sister? – He asked, smiling maniacally. Valeria gulped.
He answered his own question: He begun to lightly but decidedly squeeze her inner thighs. Valeria got confused at first, but her body understood before she did, and reacted before she could process the information. She quickly noticed that her upperbody was dancing frenetically in place, bouncing left and right trying to escape her torturer’s hands. She also noticed she was giggling, softly at first, then a bit more intensely.
Then she realized. She was being tickled.
- WhahahHAHAtt thHEHehehe FUHUhuckckck??!! – She exclaimed, the most natural of reactions. She was never tickled before – not seriously. Some of her colleagues teased her now and then with a few pokes to the sides, as it was usual, but nothing that lasted more than a few seconds – that kind of fun was forbidden at the Order, as it distracted from the devotion to the Emperor. And certainly not tickled when chained up, defenseless as she was. She was so stretched, bound so tightly, that she could only slightly bounce left and right, and trying to pull her feet back only allowed a modicum of movement.
- Didn’t expect that, Sister? Most don’t. Most underestimate how torturous tickling can be. After all, it’s child’s play, isn’t it? Most never got tickled for anything longer than a few minutes… Specially not you. – Crucium said, now raising his hands toward her ribs. He pressed his fat fingers there, and she realized she was more sensitive there. She buckled in place, trying to escape. – Once you have been tickled for something closer to an hour, you’ll start realizing how wonderfully terrible this treatment can be.
She didn’t fully grasp his words, still lost in the absurdity of the situation, in the confusion within her mind. Deep inside, she was thankful – she would much rather get tickled for hours than get burned, crushed or stabbed. Tickling was merely an annoyance, not a torture.
- YOOHOhuHUUH’lll NEHEHEHvvHEHEheheherrr BREHEHEHEHAHAHAHAKKK Mehehehehehehe!! – She shouted back, her giggling becoming laughter now. She didn’t know her ribs were this sensitive, but it didn’t matter. She could take it. The Emperor would give her strength.
Then, the man’s fingers dug into her armpits. She buckled forward violently, her eyes popping, her laughter erupting.
- KYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHHAHAHE!! NOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!! – That was MUCH worse. Now she was suffering a bit, she guessed. But she could still take it. The Emperor would give her strength. The Emperor would keep her safe. And when it was all over, he would welcome her into her army.
- Oh my, this looks like a sweetspot… - Crucium teased, bringing his hands down to somewhere else: Her hips. He squeezed the region and, once again, her laughter was titanic. Valeria couldn’t figure out what was worse – the armpits or the hips. She decided it was a technical stalemate.
- OHOHOHOHOHOHO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!! – She laughed and laughed, air leaving her lungs. She needed to use evert breach between the laughter to catch her breath back, in quick, short inspirations.
Finally, after a few more instants, Crucium stopped.
- Oh my! – He exclaimed joyfully. – I haven’t got someone this sensitive in a long time… - He teased. – It will be so fun breaking you…
Valeria panted for some instants to catch her breath, then replied.
- You will not… break me… For the Emperor is my ally… And he gives me strength! – She replied, with frenzied devotion. Crucium laughed.
- Oh you little stupid thing… You don’t have an idea of what I have in store for you… This isn’t even the warmup!
Saying that, he grabbed her bodysuit and pulled with strength, ripping it up, leaving it only from her shins down, and on her upper arms, exposing her body completely. Valeria blushed, ashamed of how exposed she was. She was always taught to never let a man see her naked form, for the desires of flesh could lead to temptation and distance her from the Emperor. But the Emperor would understand, she was being forced – and there was no pleasure from her part. The Emperor would understand.
Crucium pulled the suit until she was completely undressed, only her underwear allowing her some dignity. And, without teasing, without any other word, he immediately started tickling again, scribbling her sides. Now the sensations were different – before, her bodysuit blocked everything that was not deep squeezes, but now, her could poke, slide his fingers, and torment her in a multitude of new ways.
And so, he did, tickling her sides, her navel, her ribs, her armpits, her hips and her thighs, all over again, multiple times, in multiple manners. It was not the fast burst of sensations from the first wave, but a much more continuous torment. It also didn’t end after few seconds, but dragged on for minutes, Crucium smoothly changing from one spot into the other, never allowing her to het accostumed to the sensations.
Finally, after quite a lot of minutes, he stopped. He started going backwards, towards the lower end of the table.
- There is one spot I haven’t tried… - He said, ripping what was left of her bodysuit on her lowerbody, completely exposing her feet. Valeria buckled up.
Crucium started slowly. He slid a single finger down a single sole.
- EeeeeeEEeeeKKkk! – Exclaimed Valeria, shivers going up her spine. Then, he started doing the same on the other sole, making her squirm lightly. Then, it escalated, two, three, four fingers, and the speed of the stimulus ramped up proportionately. When he reached five, he was full-on scribbling her soles, and she was back to struggling strongly once again. Her feet were sensitive, but not as much as her armpits or hips – it was a solid third place.
She was starting to deeply despise that torture. Not because of how torturous it was – she wanted it to stop, but she was not even close to breaking. But that torture… Is was not dignified! She was ready to suffer and die honorably for her god, but this… tickling was just humiliating.
There would be no song about Sister Valeria, the One Who Was Tickled to Death. Her sacrifice would not be told to the new generation of children of the Order. If she was even remembered at all, it would be solely as a joke, as the foolish Sister that was tickle tortured to death. That’s what her martyrdom would be. A joke in the annals of history.
Even more if she gave in. Which is why she absolutely would not. If she was going to go through humiliation, than she would face it. She would not beg for it to stop, she would not divulge information, she would most surely not be broken.
Finally, Crucium got satisfied, and stopped. But not for long – he quickly returned, now holding a feather whose origins Valeria was not very sure.
- Some react better to stronger stimuli, while some react better to a lighter one. I wonder which one you will be, Sister Valeria.
The man in armor then begun to slide his feather through her body, starting straight with her armpits, which made her scream in laughter. The feather’s movements were slow, deliberate, and the stimulus lasted much longer, as the bristles slowly, very slowly, brushed her hollows.
And it was terrible. Not necessarily worse – it was different. It was a different kind of torment to a different kind of stimulation. The fingers, specially the deepest sequezes and clawings, made her jump and twitch. The feather made her squirm desperately and pull harder. It made her shudder.
He brought it down upon her navel, and sent the feather down her bellybutton. On that region, the feather was a lot worse, it’s unique flavor of suffering making her go wild. Her legs didn’t react as much, and finally he descended to her feet.
The feet was also terrible under the feather, especially the region below and between her toes. Crucium tried many techniques – between the first and second toe, he trapped the feather between them and furiously brushed up and down. Valeria screamed. Between the second and the third, he sloooooooowly dragged it down, and continued the movement down her soles until it hit the ball of her feet. She screamed, although in a lower pitch and in a higher duration. Between the third and the fourth, he swiped quickly down, once, then placed it back and swiped again. Once again, she screamed. He also turned the feather around, and used the tip on her sole. That made her jump a lot, and was one of the worst feelings, second only to the squeezes in her hips.
He continued teasing her whole body with the feather for a few more minutes, which dragged on for an eternity to Valeria. The minutes of incessant tickling were started to take a toll, and she was beginning to feel tired of squirming around so much.
Finally, she got a break, sighing in relief – until she felt her bra being torn off by the torturer’s mighty hands.
- What are you doing, you heretic pervert?! – She screamed in anger. Crucium grinned.
- You thought you would keep your dignity intact? Think again, Sister. – The sinister man said. Her breasts were of regular size, a standard C-cup, and the freckles were a bit more intense there. Her nipples were pink and perky. Topless like that, Valeria’s beauty shined more than ever.
She was deeply humiliated. No one – not even her Sisters – had ever seen her like that. She blushed and looked to the side, avoiding eye contact, but the powerful mechanical hands grabbed her chin and forced her to stare him.
- Don’t try to run away. You can’t. You are mine now. – He said, feathering her nipples, which caught her by surprise, eliciting first a shriek and then – and Valeria hated herself for it – a shy moan. – You don’t need this, either – He said, finally grabbing her panties and ripping it up as well. Now Valeria was completely exposed as she came to the world, and unable to defend herself against anything that sick man had in mind.
- The Emperor will remember this moment when you die, Heretic. He will remember the day you humiliated and tortured one of His servants. And He will not show you any mercy.
All Crucium did in response was laugh.
- You think the Emperor is this almighty God. He is not. The only true Gods are the Chaos Gods. They have true power. Your Emperor is just a corpse sitting on his throne in Terra. And the proof of that is the fact that he can’t save you.
Valeria did not reply. You are not supposed to discuss with heretics – just smite them. Crucium, however, continued the one-sided conversation.
- In fact, you hate heretics so much, but are you aware that you are partaking in heresy right now? – He taunted, and Valeria looked at him, puzzled. – The Emperor’s Children serves Slanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. He, and all the other Chaos Gods, feed on the suffering of others. Right now, the simple fact that you are suffering under my torture, the simple fact that you are giving me the sadistic pleasure of torturing you, makes you an altar of adoration to Slaanesh! – He said, triumphantly. Valeria’s eyes widened.
- The Emperor unders… - She started weekly, but was cut off.
- The Emperor has no tolerance with heretics and with those that partake in Heresy. – He said, and she knew it was true. She felt dirty deep down to her soul. – But that is not all. Not only you are an object of Heresy, but you will become an heretic yourself. You will renounce the Emperor and sing praises to Slaanesh until the end of the day. Not only that, but you will say that that heresy to every single prisoner in this ship. You will help me break their spirits. They will understand that if even a Sister of Battle couldn’t take it, what hopes do they have?
- Never!! – Valeria shouted, furiously. – I will never abandon my faith in the Emperor!
- We will see. I repeat: You are not the first Sister I break. – He said, grabbing the structure that hanged from the ceiling. He pulled it closer. At the same time, Valeria felt the table begin to shift below her and observed, with horror, as fleshy arms emerged from the surface of the table. – Now warmup is complete. It’s time to start the real torture – Crucium said, closing the machine by pulling the upper portion, trapping Valeria alone in the darkness.
---------- Part 2 ----------
She screamed, flailing around as a pair of hands goosed her sides. Her name was Valeria, Sister Valeria, and she was a captive member of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, undergoing… something under the clutches of the Emperor’s Children, one of the traitorous legions of the Chaos Marines. Naked in that thing, she suffered.
She refused to call it “torture”. She refused to be tortured with tickling. Locked inside that contraption, being tickled out of her mind, she was stripped of her dignity – both in the clothing sense and in the dignity of her death. She wanted an ending that would elevate her to martyrdom, that would write her name forever in the history of the Order.
There are no songs about Sisters tickled to death.
The table was starting slow with her, she could feel it. That heretic table, produced by the darkest kind of magic, a mixture of machine and flesh, with organic arms sprouting from nowhere, and from everywhere. It tickled with purpose, and despite no voice teasing her like before, she could almost feel the table taunting her. She wondered if it had a mind of its own, or if it was being controlled by that computer she saw in the corner of the screen. With the “ceiling” lowered, there was no way she could know – she couldn’t see anything outside of the table – there was a single creek that allowed light to enter, but she couldn’t turn her head enough to look at it.
Right now, the table was tickling her one spot at a time, lightly, without energy, just squeezing lightly or scribbling softly. Valeria was squirming, but not laughing. Not even giggling. Her eyes were closed, and while her body suffered, her mind was shielded, focused on prayers and chants and hymns. If her tormenters wanted to make her go through that humiliating ordeal, fine. She would not give them what they wanted. She would be Valeria, the One That Did Not Laugh. Maybe someone could make a song about that?
She doubted, but she was sure that the Emperor would understand.
Still, her will remained unbroken. She wondered if Crucium could see her now – she could not see any cameras, but heretical magic can do some wonderful stuff. Maybe that was what the computer was for.
Her focus broke for only an instant, as the hands switched from the sides to her hips. The goddamn hips, why were they so sensitive? She felt the hands squeeze and squeeze, and felt her lowerbody spinning around, dancing at the tune of the squeezing. Yet, she refused to laugh. She was in her own personal nirvana. Nothing could brHehahak her…!
She was caught by surprise as a new pair of hands joined the fray, working at her feet. She bit her lip, but stayed silent, cursing her sensitivity. She needed to pray. The Emperor would help.
O, God of Mahahankind. Protect me frohom this ordeal. For I ahaham a servant in thihihine name. Allow me to bhehehehe a Martyr in thine nhahame… AHAHand… And… And allow me in tihihine legions after Ihihihi die…
Cursed heretical machine… It was hard to concentrate… But she couldn’t gIHIHIHVHEHE OH GOHOOHHOD!
A third pair of hands joined the effort, catching her by surprise, tickling her ribs. She allowed a giggle to escape, but quickly shut her mouth, strongly. Her face contorted with the effort, her eyes were almost going into her skull with the strength she was using to keep them closed. That was a mistake – it effectively blindfolded her, and every touch was a surprise. But she was afraid that, if she opened the eyes, the mouth would soon follow – there is something in sight that highlights the sensation. Watching the torture don’t negate it, just allows you to appreciate it.
Torture. No, it was not torture. Torture is the kind of thing that breaks you. Tickling would not break her. Her mind wandered back to Crucium’s words: That she was partaking in heresy, and that he would make her renounce the Emperor until the end of the day.
She would not! Absolutely not! Tickling would never break her faith!
But it might break her will, at least for now. She could feel her strength fading. She was not sure how much longer she would be able to contain her laughter. Not with all three spots being stimulated at the same time. The only way this could turn any worse would be if…
- FUHUHUHUHUHUCCKCKK!! – She cursed, as the third pair of hands moved from her ribs to her armpits. Underarms, Feet and Hips, the trifecta of her bane. Her most ticklish spots, all equally terrible on their own way.
And the worst part is that she knew the hands were still only playing with her. The tickles were soft and slow. She knew they could do much worse. And she was afraid, and hated herself for it. She couldn’t cower in the face of peril, specially not such a silly peril. Everyone would judge them. She could feel the historians from the future watching this very moment in their books, and judging her.
But they are not the ones trapped in that infernal machine.
She squirmed around, and the hands started getting faster and faster. They wanted to break her now, and they would not stop. They dug deeper into her armpits, squeezed harder her hips, scribbled harder her soles.
Her lips remained sealed, but her mind was in flames.
IHIHinn the LhihiHIHIght of yoOHOHOHuhuhuHUUHUHrr Nahahahahmmeee….. OHOHOHOHO fahahaHAHAHAHAHtttHEHEHEHErrr… OOHOHOHOHff MAHAHHANnnnKkIHIHIhn…. MAHAHAHAHKihiIHIHIHIHNN…. MAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
She broke. She couldn’t take it anymore – her lungs would explode if she tried to keep her laughter back. Like a dam under the pressure of the entire ocean, she laughed in an almost explosive manner, emitting a high-pitched squeal when the hands pressed harder on her armpits. They changed from digging to scribbling, doing quick motions that made her go wild with laughter.
Things kept going like for minutes, during which her stamina went further and further down. She could feel tiredness starting to set in, and felt weak – she really shouldn’t be breaking in this soon against freaking tickling. And yet, she realized something, as her tor—her treatment continued:
She wanted it to stop. Badly. She felt ashamed and weak, unfit of the glorious heritage of the Sisters of Battle and the Order of Our Martyred Lady.
Heretical bastards… Why couldn’t they be burning her, strapping her to a rack, torturing her with lasers or magic? Why not give her a death worth being martyred for?
She wanted it to stop, but the price for that was renouncing the Emperor. And that she would never do.
She wondered though, for how long would they tickle her? How much tickling can the human body takes before it dies? Slowly she started realizing the situation – she was probably in for hour-long sessions, for multiple days…. She panicked a bit, but quickly got a grip. She couldn’t allow fear to nest within her heart. That would be how they win.
The hands went faster, making her yelp. She struggled, trying in vain to break free. Though, what would she even do if she managed? It’s not like she could overpower Crucium in his powerarmor.
- KYYAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHAHAHAH – She screamed, twirling left and right in her bonds. The tickling was starting to get intense. She was getting more and more tired by the minute. She needed a break…
No. She needed to be strong. She needed to…
Whatever she needed was lost in ticklish frenzy as a fourth pair of hands joined the tort – the tickling, now squeezing her thighs. She laughed and laughed, and yet the tickling never stopped – despite being partly organic, the table apparently did not need to rest.
But she needed it to. She would not be able to keep doing this much longer.
- STOTOHOHOHOHOHOHOHPPP – She found herself begging, and hating herself for it. But she was getting exhausted quite quickly, and she knew she was in for the long haul. Better trade a bit of pride for a chance at getting a little rest.
Of course, there was no answer. And no break, either. She took a little comfort in the fact that no one could see her right now – even if she was being humiliated, even if she was begging, no one would judge.
Then she remembered: The Emperor is always watching. But he would understand. She was sure of it.
- Heretic… - She heard a voice call, and she opened her eyes looking around confused while she squirmed and laughed. The voice was not from Crucium – it was masculine, but also sounded like many voices speaking as one.
- WHAHAHAHAHAHATTT – She retorted, unable to do much else.
- You are partaking in heresy… Your whole body is an altar to heresy… Your suffering feeds the Prince of Pleasure… Your failure made you an heretic! – The voice concluded, in an accusatory tone.
- I AHAHAHAHAHAHAMMMM NOHOHOHOHOHOTTT! – She answered, insulted. An heretic, she?! Fuck off with that. And who was talking? Probably the table taunting her.
- Your god is dead – The voice continued – He lives, but does not move, speak or hear. He can’t help you, and he will not care when you abandon him. – The voice continued.
- THEHEHEHEHE EHEHHEHEHEMMPPPEHEHEHEHRRRROHOHOHOHRRRR WILLL BLLEHEEHEHEHEHSSS MMHHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!! – She retorted, fanatically.
- If he is so mighty, why he doesn’t rescue you right now? – The voice taunted.
To this, she did not reply. Doubting the Emperor’s powers was heresy. A part of her mind wanted to agree – why was she, such a loyal and good servant, be forced to undergo humiliation and martyrdom?
But the more rational part of her brain knew there needed to be an explanation. The Emperor never intervened, so it was stupid of her to expect him to do it just because she was getting tor—a bit roughed up. Also, it was the ordeal to redeem herself from her failure – there was no point trying to avoid it. She would need to die in suffering in order to be glorious enough to ascend to the heavenly legions.
She wondered if tickling would be considered suffering enough to redeem her. She was in hell, but if someone came to her before all this and told her they were tortured with tickling, she would laugh them off.
But right now, it was hard to avoid the truth. She finally accepted it: It was torture. But would the Emperor agree? She never heard any tales about him getting tickle tortured in life – or anyone else, for that matter. Would he understand her ordeal?
She started to fear. What if all her suffering was for nothing? What if she died screaming in laughter, only to be denied a place in the celestial legion? No, this couldn’t be…. The Emperor was all-seeing. He was watching, and he would know that her suffering was real. He would understand. He would embrace her. He would forgive her.
The minutes dragged on, each one worse than the last, as she screamed and laughed and squirmed and suffered. Her muscles ached, her throat was sore, and her stomach hurt more than anything else. Her breath was erratic, as the laughter got in the way of the breathing, and she felt the whole time like she was about to suffocate. And yet, her body always found a way, despite she wishing it wouldn’t.
Usually, a victim of torture would just hope to survive the ordeal, which is what led to the divulging of information. But Valeria had no such hope. She knew she was not leaving that ship alive, and she accepted it. She just hoped death would come as soon as possible. Because, once again, she started pondering how long that ordeal could last. If you’re burning, slashing or electrocuting someone, you can only go for so long before their body collapses, but tickling was not the case. It was a torture that could be sustained for long periods of time with little to no pauses. And how long could the human body actually take it? She had no idea. Would she die, or just lose consciousness first? Because, if it was the first, she could end up locked in a cycle of torment that would last forever.
She gulped, and tried to pray for the Emperor to grant her a quick death, but the tickling was absurdly distracting, and she found herself stumbling in the hymns she knew since childhood.
And, finally, after a few more minutes, the machine stopped. Valeria panted, relieved – she was sure she had been tickled for at least half an hour already. She almost cried of relief, thanking the Emperor for the mercy, trying her best to catch her breath. However, her hopes of a break were thwarted as she saw, with the little light that managed to sneak into the closed table, the hands shape-shifting again, turning into… feather, apparently? They got a lot softer – did that thing had the ability to alter its consistency as well?
The answer didn’t come immediately. The feathers just stood there, connected to what previously was the arm of the hand, but now had turned much thinner, like a tentacle. They stayed there, waving around slowly, but not tickling her just yet. The anticipation was killing her – she knew it would restart at any instant, maybe the next one, and thus, was always on edge. She couldn’t take her break and rest, since the anticipation of torture prevented that. She should have used that moment to pray and restore her resolve, but the thought didn’t cross her mind.
Finally, after a few seconds, they went to work, tickling her entire body now, from neck to toes. They brushed lightly, teasing her entire skin. She quickly resumed giggling. It was a bizarre feeling the feathers still felt like flesh, and were warm to the touch, but were also as soft as you’d expect a feather to be. Slowly, some of the feathers started to tickle faster and faster and faster. After a few minutes, she was being furiously brushed with the feathers all over.
That was an entirely new stimulation, and one that Valeria was not quite ready. Even at the accelerated pace, the feathers were a much lighter touch than the hands. In fact, contrary to the hand tickling, the intensity of the feather-tickling was not proportional to the speed – the slow, methodical brushing was just as bad as the faster one, just in different ways.
She also found out in the worst manner possible that the tickling was worst at specific spots. The hands were a bit worse in the hips than everywhere else, in hindsight, because tickling the hips imply a need to squeeze. The faster feathering was certainly the worse way to tickle her armpits – it just drove her mad! And the light, slow, methodical pace of the lightest feather tickling was a killer on her soles and toes. She wasn’t sure why that was that – like most things in nature, it just was.
- GOHOHOHOHOHOHDDDAMAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAMMMIHIIHIHIHIHTTT !!! – She screamed, after a few minutes of this new treatment. It wasn’t so much that this was so worse than the hands – again, it was just different. But the short break meant she could not rest up properly, and exhaustion was again fucking her up. She couldn’t stand to struggle anymore, and yet, her body could not stop. She hated being controlled like that, especially by heretics. She felt like she had no control over her own body, her own self, anymore. It was deeply humiliating, and stroke hard against her pride.
They wanted to break her pride. She couldn’t allow it.
Then, the table took it to a new level as it started to randomly change things around – it would speed up or slow down the tickling on certain spots. At any given second, something was changing something along her body, inflicting a whole new kind of torment at every instant. It was maddening! She was never able to get used to the torture, never able to establish a pattern, never able to figure out what was the next stimuli going to be.
Finally, things got even worse as some of the feathers became hands again. Now, besides the speed of the tickling, the instrument begun to change randomly, turning into hands and back into feathers, multiple times over, in all spots.
- NNNOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! – She screamed, as the torture continued on. Tears started slowly rolling down her cheeks, as her body started to be pushed beyond her limit, beginning to break down. She needed that to stop! She couldn’t take it anymore! Please, Emperor…
- Your god has abandoned you… - The voice said again.
- STTOHOHOHOHOHOHPHPPP!! – She was not sure if she was demanding or begging.
- No one will save you – The voice said again.
- PLHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHSSSEHEHEHEHEH!!
- You will be here, serving Slaanesh… Forever – It said, and then the voice multipled inside the table, as if a legion of people with the same monotonous voice were speaking, coming from every possible and impossible direction, repeating: Forever, Forever, Heretic, Heretic, Abandoned You, Forever, Heretic, Abandoned you, Forever, Forever, The Emperor has abandoned you, The Emperor is Dead, Forever, Heretic…
- NNOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!! – She screamed.
------------------
Two minutes had passed outside the table, more or less, as Crucium observed the readings on the computer. He smirked, satisfied – progress was being made.
The table had a lot of good features to made someone go completely mad, but one was by far the more useful: Time dilatation, a process that mixed the Chaos God’s magic with the Children’s superior technology. With tickle torture, you need to win by tiring your victim out, and that requires a lot of time – but if you can make time goes different for the torturer and for the victim, the process becomes much more manageable.
She was approaching the 50 minutes mark already. He input some commands, telling the table what to do next. It was time to truly shatter the little Sister for good.
---------------------
Inside the table, Valeria had lost count of time. She could no longer move – her body was completely exhausted, empty of any energy. But she still laughed, as she was still being tickled everywhere.
Finally, she started feeling something strange, the ticklish sensations fading, despite the fact that the hands and feathers never stopped. Her vision got clouded. She recognized the sensation: She was about to faint from exhaustion (Something that happened with her many times during her training days). She welcomed the sensation, as it would grant her freedom, however temporary. She almost expected the machine to stop her somehow, and feared it would happen… But it didn’t. She never realized when she lost consciousness.
She did, however, realize when she was hit with cold water, abruptly being brought back to reality. She wondered how much she was allowed to sleep – she concluded it must have been at least an hour, because she was feeling a bit rested up. However, she was also feeling the aftermath of intense activity – her muscles, from her entire body, ached horribly. Moving them was an agony. She felt like she would after doing extreme exercise.
And yet, nothing. She waited for the tickling to come, and she could see the hands and feathers around her, laying down as if they, too, were resting. But a minute passed, and then the other, and nothing. Once again, the frustrating feeling that the torture could start at any minute, keeping her at edge… But nothing.
After a few minutes, finally something happened, but it wasn’t tickling – it was the Voices in the Table, whispering a multitude of things. Some told her the Emperor had abandoned her. Some called her a heretic, a weakling, and told her to worship Slaanesh. Some taunted her for breaking up under tickling, and some suggested she was enjoying it. Fragilized as she was, the words hurt her – on top of being a goddamn nuisance. She wanted to close her ears, but tied up as she was, it was impossible.
- Stop… - She pleaded, but they didn’t. At least not for a while – but after some minutes, they halted for just one instant, and all asked in a single voice.
- Do you want the tickling to continue?
- What? No! – She exclaimed, confused.
The voices got silent for another instant, as if they were nodding in agreement – and restarted the teasing, the accusations and the humiliation all over again. And they grew louder – they were not whispering, but outright stating.
And she hurt because she knew they were speaking the truth. She was weak. She was breaking under something as stupid and harmless as tickling. The Emperor would not understand. The Emperor was not forgive.
Because he was watching. She was sure of that. And he was ashamed.
She closed her eyes as if that would close her ears too. All it did was make the voices get louder – but after a few instants she realized that it was because they were actually speaking louder, and not merely a sensorial thing. They were almost shouting at hear ear already, the voices now speaking full of anger. Heretic! Weakling! Pussy! Gonna Cry? Little Bitch! Abandoned by The Emperor!
- LEAVE ME ALONE! – She screamed back, in tears. Why was that happening with her? Why did she volunteer to cover the evacuation? Why didn’t she die in the battle? She wanted to go home, she wanted to go back to the Order. She wanted to die, and plead for the Emperor to accept her, for, at least, she died loyal and faithful.
Slowly, she understood: They wanted her to beg to be tickled. The voices would not stop until she pleaded. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.
- Okay, stop! Tickle me, do wathever you want, but STOP TALKING!! – She screamed, and the voices grew silent. Immediately, the hands and feathers came to life, and went back to tickling her.
She immediately regretted it, for two reasons. One: Because the tools now assumed optimal formation. Two feathers furiously scrubbing each armpit. Hands scribbling her ribs. Two feathers slowly teasing her sides. Two god-forsaken hands squeezing her cursed hips, and two on her legs. And another pair of feathers for each foot, working slowly. It was absolutely the worst tickling she could get.
And two: Because the voices did not stop. They grew louder, in order to rise above her desperate laughter, still humiliating her and accusing her.
- Slaanesh will be pleased! – One praised.
- You break so easily!! – Another said.
- Look at the stupid sister squirm!
And squirm she did. She squirmed and wriggled and struggled desperately, and yet she could not escape. She wanted it to end. She needed it to end!
But it didn’t. Things kept going for hours upon end, the table never tiring, never allowing her any breaks, and the voices never relenting either – alternating between insulting and humiliating her to chanting in unison: Renounce the Emperor! Renounce the Emperor!
And she pleaded and begged for mercy, her mind starting to losing from the constant torture and the voices that never, ever shut up. Things kept going like that for hours on end, making her completely lose track of time. Now and then the tickling would change up a bit, just to keep her on edge, but they mostly kept tickling her on the optimal way. It was peak torture performance.
And yet, she would not relent on the one thing they wanted – to renounce the Emperor. She was ready to do anything else – but she refused to do that, doing her best to keep her mind focused on him. She was pretty sure that, without her devotion, she would have already gone insane.
Finally, after what felt like 4 or 5 hours – during which she fainted a few times, only to be awakened with water after a few minutes and tortured again – something changed. The ceiling of the table rose. Crucium was opening up the thing to check on her.
- Please… - She pleaded, staring at him, crying. – Make this stop… - Her breath was hardened, gasping and panting nervously.
Crucium grinned.
- Are you ready to become a servent of Slaanesh? – He asked. – Otherwise, I’m keeping you there for a whole day.
- Please… I can tell you anything you want… About the Sisters… The Empire… Any information… Just please…
- Renounce the emperor! – Crucium ordered, with a hint of irritation. She looked away, crying again.
- Please, I can’t! I beg you, stop this!
His only answer was to close the machine again, silencing her desperate scream. She screamed harder as the hands and feathers started moving again, ready for them to strike at any moment – but they didn’t. This time, they turned into something else: some sort of rod with a metallic ball on is tip. She looked at them, puzzled and terrified, breathing hard and crying. She was a broken mess.
Finally, a sound filled the inside of the table – a soft buzz. Those things were vibrating. She screamed again – and then harder when they made contact.
- OHOHOHOHOHOHO MMYYYY GOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHDDDD
This was intensity incarnate. It didn’t have the intricacies of the previous torture – it was just raw, brutal torture, setting her nerves ablaze. She struggled violently, madly, her body refusing to accept that torment, trying with all its might to find an escape.
But there was none. There was just the torture, and the voices: Renounce the Emperor! Praise Slaanesh! Renounce the Emperor! Praise Slaanesh!
- MEHEHEHEHEHEHERRRCYCYCYHYHYHYHYHY!!! – She begged, her pride completely shattered. That tickled beyond the limits of the bearable. She would do anything to make that stop. She would become Crucium’s own personal sex slave if that meant that horrible vibrating thing would get away from her.
In her torment, she failed to realize a few extra vibrating rods that were not tickling her. Slowly, they positioned into key places, and she only noticed, in horror, when it was too late. They started vibrating against her nipples and between her legs, close, but not at, her nether regions.
That was a new sensation. Pleasure amongst the torment. She had never experienced that – a Sister of Battle is never taught the joys of sex, and never learn to know their own bodies. Thus, guilt overcame her as she felt herself enjoying those touches. She tried to suppress a moan, but her laughter stopped her from preventing anything. And thus, one escaped, and then another and another.
But that pleasure had a symbiotic relation with the torment – the more those regions were stimulated – the ones between her legs getting closer and closer to their destination – the worst the tickling got. She howled with tormented laughter, and then moaned in fervent pleasure. She was confused, and the interplay of sensations were deteriorating her will fast.
She wanted it to stop, and she wanted it to go on. And finally, she didn’t know what she wanted anymore. She felt something building inside her, her moaning got stronger and more frequent, and she started to really wish the vibrations would not stop. But the tickling! That infernal tickling, it fought against whatever that pleasure building was, it distracted, it made her lose focus.
She tried to get a grip. That was heresy! Sex and sexual pleasure were impure, sensations unfit for a Sister of Battle, a servant of the Emperor. And for a moment, a single instant, a thought crossed her mind – and she was not sure if it was her, or if one voice whispered it: Screw the emperor… I want that pleasure…
No! She couldn’t! She would not… Oh my god… It was getting more and more intense. She closed her eyes, getting ready for something good, though she was unsure of what…
And the pleasurable vibrations stopped. Only the tickling remained. Her eyes popped, her back arched, she screamed in torment and frustration. And now, the sensation was highlighted so much, and the tickling was so intense….
The treatment continued like this for a long time. Longer than she could know. She would faint, and be allowed to rest a bit, before getting tickled – with a mixture of hands, feathers and the vibrating rods, slowly escalating until only the rods made her scream in mad laughter. Occasionally, the rods would do that to her again, bringing her close to that desirable explosion of pleasure, getting each time closer and closer…. But pulling out at the very last moment, taking away her hope. She would faint… And the cycle would continue. Never-ending. She quickly realized that would be her life, until she died of starvation – not dehydration, as the table forced her to drink the water once, the same water that was used to wake her up.
That would take a week. She could not take a week. And that’s if Crucium didn’t open the table and forced her to eat, too. She was not allowed to truly sleep – just faint and rest a bit, never enough.
She couldn’t take a week of this torture. She couldn’t take another second of this torture. The voices, too, never stopped, always talking about how she was already an heretic. The voices were awfully persuasive, though that was, perhaps, the influence of being persuaded under torture. But they were right. She found herself enjoying, even wishing, when the rods teased those regions. She would give almost anything for them to finish it…. And she felt dirty. She was looking forward to a portion of a heretic ritual.
The voices were right. She was partaking in heresy. She was an heretic…
And, slowly, she realized she didn’t care. Being loyal to the Emperor only brought her suffering. A lifetime without knowing pleasure, only battles and pain and tiredness, and now this, torture. Screw the saints of the past – they never underwent what she was going through. They suffered pain, not this unholy combination of sensations.
It took over a day of non-stop torture, but finally, she broke. It was simply not worth it to go through this for days and days with no end in sight. No mortal could take that. And the Emperor didn’t save her, neither gave her the strength to endure.
The Voices were right The Emperor abandoned her. And maybe he didn’t even have that much power.
She was a heretic. Might as well embrace it.
- ENOHOHOHOHOHUHUHUGG!! IHIHIHI YYHEHEHEHEHEAAAAALLDDD! PRRHAHAHAHAHHAAIIIHIHIHISSEHEHEHEH SLAHAHAHAHANNHEHEHEHEHEEHSSSHH!!!
And just like that, all rods stopped – except the ones she didn’t want to. A minute later, her eyes rolled into her skull, as the most powerful sensation she had ever experienced took over her.
She wanted that. She wanted more of that. She wanted that forever.
------------------
A few hours later, Valeria was back in her powersuit, in front of cameras. Those cameras broadcasted to the entire station, specially towards the cells where the other prisoners awaited their tortures.
She was in armor because everyone needed to know she was a Sister of Battle. Crucium stood by her side, grinning, satisfied. Valeria herself had a grin of her own.
- Listen, my brothers and sisters! I have finally understood the truth. The Emperor is a false god! All he does is sit on his throne, and leave us to fend for ourselves! The Chaos Gods, on the other hand, they give power! Power and pleasure beyond any measure. This spaceship is a temple to Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. Renounce the Emperor and accept Slaanesh as your master, and you will quickly realize torment will turn into pleasure. Abandon all hope! The Emperor has abandoned you! But you can find new purpose by feeding Slaanesh – by either torment or pleasure… or both. – She concluded, grinning. – Down with the Emperor! All Hail Lord Slaanesh! All hail the Chaos Gods!
The Chaos Gods rejoiced, feeding upon the despair that ship exhaled. Every prisoner had the same idea: If they did that with the proud Sister of Battle… what chance do I stand? Many, indeed, renounced the Emperor, pleading to praise the Prince of Pleasure.
The cameras were turned off. Valeria turned to Crucium by her side, as her powersuit armor opened and she, naked, stepped out of it.
- I’ve done my part. Now you do yours – she said, with a tone that somehow mixed demanding with pleading. Crucium just grinned wickedly, satisfied with his creation. He guided her towards what she desired.
He strapped her to the table, Valeria, the ex-Sister, getting excited and wet just at the thought.
Crucium gave her a kiss to the lips. – Have fun – He said, closing the ceiling, trapping her inside the machine for a programmed session of a few hours.
She absolutely would, she thought, as she heard the buzzing of the rods, and saw the feathers and hands emerged – after all, now she understood, there was no pleasure without suffering, and pleasure was all that mattered in the world.
She screamed and moaned, as the tools started their work, and embraced her new life.
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She screamed, her mighty mace descending upon the nearest Chaos face, her short white hair flailing around desperately. Marines or simple demons, she didn’t make a distinction – if it was heretic, it needed to be purged, it needed to die. Her name was Valeria. Sister Valeria. And she was a proud member of The Order of Our Martyred Lady, the sword and the shield of the Emperor, God of Mankind. They were the ones that led by example, inspiring the weak to be strong, and inspiring fear in the hearts of the wicked, heretic and unjust. Wherever there was a threat to the Imperium of Man, the Order, one of the many branches of the Adepta Sororitas, would be there.
Valeria was raised on these values. From birth, she was raised within the Order. She grew up hearing the legends of the great saints and sisters of the order, hearing the tales of their battles and lives. As she grew up, she wanted nothing more than becoming a, Adepta Sororitas, a Sister of Battle, a full-fledged member of the Order of Our Martyred Lady. She studied a lot, trained twice as hard as everybody else, and prayed thrice as hard, for the Emperor is always listening and watching, and he rewards those who devote themselves to him.
And rewarded she was. By age 16, she was promoted from an acolyte to a Sister. She was awarded her title and her power armor, the one she was wearing right now as she desperately struggled for her life. The armor made her look twice her true size, a mighty coalition of gears, pumps and fibers. Within one of those, a child could rip the head of a bear. It was felt surprisingly light – she didn’t need to move the metal with her strength, just point it where to move; the gears would do the rest, moving mechanical muscle of absurd strength. Which was good, because outside the armor, she was quite frail and petite. Just a tiny hint of freckles completed the “cute girl” look.
She struck again as a Chaos Marine approached for corporal combat. The skull cracked and his face was smashed in. He stepped back twice before falling in agony. Behind him, two others pointed their assault rifles and fired, but Valeria quickly covered her face with the mace. The bullets bounced at the mace and at the armor, leaving her unscathed. In the other hand, she had her bolt pistol. Two shots, two heretics killed.
Valeria, now 18, had dreamed of a chance to prove herself since becoming a Sister. She had joined minor skirmishes and operations, but not a true battle. Until now.
The Chaos Warmaster Abaddon the Despoiler had gathered the largest Chaos force since the days of Horus Heresy, the greatest civil war the galaxy ever heard of. With those forces, he launched what historians would one day call the 13th Black Crusade, on which the Chaos forces managed to destroy the planet of Cadia, before preparing themselves to launch an offensive on Terra, where the Emperor’s body was kept alive on his Golden Throne. The first part of this offensive would be remembered as The Fall of Cadia.
Valeria didn’t have that foresight, but she knew she was doomed. She had fought in the last days against the Chaos forces, and saw many of her sisters, amongst other Imperial forces, being killed and captured. She mourned for the losses, but she remained strong, because that’s what a Sister does. But then the heretic forces acted cowardly, dropping a piece of one of the Blackstone Fortress above the planet on it, like a meteorite. The explosion resulting from the impact nearly blinded her (And did many) and that was the end. The Eye of Terror spread through Cadia, and the planet started to tear itself apart. The planet was doomed, and would implode in a few hours.
When the higher officers announced there would be a retreat, Valeria volunteered to be on the backlines, covering the escape. It was a suicide mission, and she knew it, and she wanted it. She had failed on her first major battle. That was a clear sign that her devotion wasn’t enough – if it was, the Emperor would surely have blessed their campaign, and the Heretics would be dead. But that didn’t happen, and everything was lost, and she would die in a blaze of glory fit of a Sister of Battle. She would not live that failure down!
Her mace struck again, interrupting the charge of a daemon and sending it plummeting to the ground.
- Thou had saved me! – She sang, striking again as another marine approached. – Thou presence is a torch! ¬– Another approached from her left, and she quickly raised the mace, smashing his chin and sending him flying a meter upwards before falling, dead. – Grant me your salvation…! – She continued the hymn, firing to her right, hitting a demon that was about to kill a fellow companion, a member of the Grey Knights. – Beloved Father! – She concluded the first verse, striking down another heretic.
Around her, she heard the rest of the troops continue the hymn alongside her. She smiled, satisfied. That was the role of a Sister of Battle: To inspire!
- The universe is dark! – She chanted, accompanied by the imperial troops around her as a single voice, as they kept fighting. – And my soul is weak! – This time she was the one who was saved, when a demon caught her by surprise, but was gunned down by a member of the Adeptus Astartes, also known as The Space Marines. – Be my shield, be my torch! – She chanted, as her companions formed a wall around her. – Hail him on Terra! – They roared, and a volcano erupted in the background. A chunk of rock fell next to their skirmish as they took down waves upon waves of creatures. As they fought, they were able to hold back the demons and chaos servants, allowing the rest of the troops to evacuate. That was the death Valeria wanted!
The hymn had a third part, but the battle grew more intense, and she couldn’t catch her breath enough to chant. But by this time, their mission was already mostly successful. She had inspired enough. She could die in peace – but she was dragging down every last heretic bastard with her!
She struck and smacked and fought and killed but, in the end, even with the power armor doing most of the work, fatigue hit her. She was but human. When she realized she couldn’t fight anymore, when most of her companions were dead, she closed her eyes and started praying, striking blindly, letting the Emperor guide her last blows.
Surprisingly, she took a few more down with her, shining like a battle goddess in the middle of the field, but eventually, a Chaos Marine hit her with a blunt weapon and she fell. He was about to kill her when he thought better – capturing a live Sister of Battle would be a great gift for his masters. Thus, he put her over the shoulder, heavy armor and all, and started moving back – the battle was already over, he was sure he would be more useful bringing back that high-profile prisoner than he would by massacring the wounded and abandoned.
--------------------/////----------------
The first thing Valeria noticed was that her head hurt a lot. The second was that she was alive. The third was that she was not in her powersuit anymore. Instead, she was wearing the black bodysuit that was standard in the Order and in most armored units throughout the galaxy. She looked around, realizing she was locked in a cell, metallic bars and metallic walls reddened by rust. The whole place looked decrepit and rotten. A fitting environment for heretics, since heresy rots the soul.
So that was it. Captured by the enemy. This was not a situation that the Sisters usually prepared for – it was either win or die fighting. But of course, capture was not unheard of. And it usually ended in…
Yeah, there it was. As her senses returned, she could now not only see but listen to the place, and all she could hear was screams of unending torment, of terrible tortures, of indescribable fates. Deep down, she felt something she didn’t want to feel: Fear. Not fear of death – death never scared her, for she was sure the Emperor would guard her – but fear of suffering, of torture. She closed her eyes, and remembered the stories she heard when she was growing up. Stories of saints and martyrs who died in torture, praying for the Emperor, unyielding in their fate. It was told that those would be in the Emperor highest graces, becoming the captains and generals of His Celestial Army. She kneeled and prayed, praying for strength to endure the task ahead, praying for protection, and praying for it to be quick. She didn’t pray to be saved – it was clearly not going to happen. The Emperor wanted her to go through this, and thus she would. Maybe it was atonement for failing to win the battle – even if she couldn’t do it for herself – or maybe it was a test of her faith. Wathever it was, she would succeed and, in death, would receive His praises.
---------------///---------------
- So we have a Sister of Battle aboard – Commented the Chief Apothecary aboard the spaceship, Crucium, upon hearing the news. Apothecaries were usually the “combat medics” of a Space Marine squad, usually well-versed in medicine and science. However, amongst the Emperor’s Children, Apothecaries also employed their knowledge to refine the art of torture. The Emperor’s Children was one of the many traitorous Legions of Chaos who abandoned the Emperor to serve the Chaos Gods. The Children, specifically, worshipped and served Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. They were the greatest torturers amongst the Chaos servants, which is why most prisoners ended up in their hands – they were the ones that wanted to bring some bodies alive instead of just killing everything in the field. Their master fed on others’ suffering, and today’s harvest was nothing sort of a banquet. Especially now that he discovered they had one of the Sisters of Battle aboard. They are hard to break, but once they do, they fall much deeper into despair than any other subject.
Crucium licked his lips inside the helmet. He would take great fun in breaking her. He had recently devised new form of torture, and he wanted to try it out on a fitting subject.
- Get her to the dungeons! – He ordered, as he took his leave.
-------------------///-----------------
It has been hours already. Valeria was laid on her back, with only the screams of agony to keep her company. She turned to the side, trying to get some peace, but the laments wouldn’t let her sleep. Bored, her mind naturally drifted for the upcoming ordeal. She shook her head, but the images always returned. The waiting for the torture can sometimes be worse that the torture itself.
Restless, she got up, looking outside her cell. She was not the only prisoner in that horrid complex. From within the cells, others – mostly civilians, but also some members of the Imperial Army – traded looks of despair, especially when someone screamed louder in the background. Valeria needed to calm them. To give them some hope.
- O Eternal Emperor… - The began to sing, remembering the hymn from her training days. Her voice was quite melodic – Who alone watches us, and rules the tides and storms… - She looked at the other prisoners, smiling. – Be compassionate to your servants… - The wardens in the corridor approached her cell, but didn’t do anything. It was merely a reminder to everyone that they were the ones with the power. – Perv us from the perils of wrap... That we may safeguard the domains of men! – She concluded with an exclamation.
She looked at the prisoners again, and while the faces were still somber, they were looking at her.
She was going to start again when she heard footsteps approaching. More of the Emperor’s Children approached – she had recognized their armor and sigils a few hours ago. The Children were one of the most hateful amongst the Traitorous Legions. They were once one of the mightiest legions in service of the Emperor. Now, they are less than worms, creatures whose sole purpose is to satisfy their hedonistic desires. Amongst all the traitors, they were the ones who fell the most. And the bastards dare to keep the name of the Emperor!
Three of them opened her cell, and grabbed her by the arms. She could do nothing to resist against the wardens using power armor, helpless as she was. But despite the fear building deep inside her, he chuckled defiantly.
- Oh wow, you need three just to grab a defenseless Sister? Maybe it’s because you heretical fucks know that those blessed by the Emperor are much stronger! – She challenged.
The guards said nothing, instead just dragging her out of her cell and through the corridor. The time was there. It was time to face her ordeal with her chin up, to suffer beyond her limits, to resist and to die as a martyr. As she was dragged, she begun to shout to the people in the cells.
- No matter what they do, they can’t break us! No matter how much the body suffers, our spirit is only hurt by heresy. Remain faithful to the Emperor, my brothers and sisters! When you die, you will re-encounter him, you will be judged by him, and none are more blessed than the martyrs. Stay strong my brothers, stay faithful in the Emperor, and go to your graves singing him praises! – She professed, until her voice died out as she was dragged deeper and deeper into the core of the metallic complex.
The ship was pretty much a fortress of rusted steel, with occasional spikes and sharp corners. It exhaled menace, intimidating even those with strong wills. She gulped, breathed hard, and restarted praying in silence as she was dragged further away from the cells, and further into the torture rooms. The screams intensified the closer she got, and the atmosphere was heavy with horror, with hopelessness, with despair. She tried to sing to calm the tortured, but one of her captors quickly blocked her mouth with their powerful metallic hands, and she gave up the attempt.
Finally, she was dragged into a room. In the center, there was a table. It had spikes on the top and on the bottom, as if it was a mouth, and its surface was reddish… It looked a lot like meat, to be quite honest. An organic table was the best description she could think. From the ceiling, a structure hanged, descending until very close to the table. It also had teeth and it almost complimentary – she guessed that one closed into the other, trapping the prisoner completely inside, isolated from the outside world. She took come comfort in the fact that the other prisoners would not hear her screaming. In the corner of the room, there was a computer – maybe to control the machine?
As they dragged her closer to the table, the structure hanging from the ceiling ascended, allowing them to comfortably put her on the table. They forced her arms and legs into the table, pinning her like an X. On touch, it felt even more like meat, as if she was laying in something alive.
Below her, the felt the table shifting, and she noticed the table created projections that trapped her wrists and ankles. It was a form of Biomancy, twisting the form of a living thing. She felt disgusted by the heresy, and wondered if the table was something alive and conscious before – of if it still is – or if it’s just matter able to shapeshift.
Nonetheless, it was absolutely heretical.
Her captors left, leaving her trapped in that table. She struggled, but it was no use – the meat could be stone for all it mattered. It would not move an inch.
She was forced to wait for a few more minutes, in which she pondered what that table would do to her – it was far too elaborate to be just a restraining device. Her best bet was that it was a crushing device of some sort – the other half would descend and crush her repeatedly, giving her an agonizing death. She started praying again, refusing to let that annoying tear that wanted to fall get the best of her.
Finally, she heard someone else getting into the room. The man was also in power armor, but he didn’t have his helmet on. The armor was of the traditional color scheme of the Children – Purple with golden details. His face was bald and also purple, and had the appearance of something decayed. It was the face of something that was once human, but no longer.
- Good night, Sister Valeria. Welcome to my personal dungeon – He said. – I am the Chief Apothecary, Crucium, and I’ll be overseeing your treatment today.
- Go to hell, heretic scum! – She retorted. That made Crucium giggle.
- So feisty! You’re not the first Sister I’ve had, and you’re always the same. You bark a lot, but you all break. The last one I had on my hands squealed every last secret of the Order. – He said, raising his hands slightly. Valeria heard a metallic noise and his gauntlets detached. Crucium let them fall to the floor, the loud noise filling the room for an instant and making Valeria flinch. His hands were still huge and powerful, even outside the armor.
- You’ll never get anything from me! – Valeria retorted.
- We’ll see – Crucium replied. He then placed his hands on her thighs, and she struggled to get them away, repulsed by the touch in such an intimate region, but it was impossible to brush him off. – I’ll let this wonderful machine do its magic in a moment… First, I’d like to get personal. Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you, Sister? – He asked, smiling maniacally. Valeria gulped.
He answered his own question: He begun to lightly but decidedly squeeze her inner thighs. Valeria got confused at first, but her body understood before she did, and reacted before she could process the information. She quickly noticed that her upperbody was dancing frenetically in place, bouncing left and right trying to escape her torturer’s hands. She also noticed she was giggling, softly at first, then a bit more intensely.
Then she realized. She was being tickled.
- WhahahHAHAtt thHEHehehe FUHUhuckckck??!! – She exclaimed, the most natural of reactions. She was never tickled before – not seriously. Some of her colleagues teased her now and then with a few pokes to the sides, as it was usual, but nothing that lasted more than a few seconds – that kind of fun was forbidden at the Order, as it distracted from the devotion to the Emperor. And certainly not tickled when chained up, defenseless as she was. She was so stretched, bound so tightly, that she could only slightly bounce left and right, and trying to pull her feet back only allowed a modicum of movement.
- Didn’t expect that, Sister? Most don’t. Most underestimate how torturous tickling can be. After all, it’s child’s play, isn’t it? Most never got tickled for anything longer than a few minutes… Specially not you. – Crucium said, now raising his hands toward her ribs. He pressed his fat fingers there, and she realized she was more sensitive there. She buckled in place, trying to escape. – Once you have been tickled for something closer to an hour, you’ll start realizing how wonderfully terrible this treatment can be.
She didn’t fully grasp his words, still lost in the absurdity of the situation, in the confusion within her mind. Deep inside, she was thankful – she would much rather get tickled for hours than get burned, crushed or stabbed. Tickling was merely an annoyance, not a torture.
- YOOHOhuHUUH’lll NEHEHEHvvHEHEheheherrr BREHEHEHEHAHAHAHAKKK Mehehehehehehe!! – She shouted back, her giggling becoming laughter now. She didn’t know her ribs were this sensitive, but it didn’t matter. She could take it. The Emperor would give her strength.
Then, the man’s fingers dug into her armpits. She buckled forward violently, her eyes popping, her laughter erupting.
- KYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHEHEHHAHAHE!! NOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!! – That was MUCH worse. Now she was suffering a bit, she guessed. But she could still take it. The Emperor would give her strength. The Emperor would keep her safe. And when it was all over, he would welcome her into her army.
- Oh my, this looks like a sweetspot… - Crucium teased, bringing his hands down to somewhere else: Her hips. He squeezed the region and, once again, her laughter was titanic. Valeria couldn’t figure out what was worse – the armpits or the hips. She decided it was a technical stalemate.
- OHOHOHOHOHOHO HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!! – She laughed and laughed, air leaving her lungs. She needed to use evert breach between the laughter to catch her breath back, in quick, short inspirations.
Finally, after a few more instants, Crucium stopped.
- Oh my! – He exclaimed joyfully. – I haven’t got someone this sensitive in a long time… - He teased. – It will be so fun breaking you…
Valeria panted for some instants to catch her breath, then replied.
- You will not… break me… For the Emperor is my ally… And he gives me strength! – She replied, with frenzied devotion. Crucium laughed.
- Oh you little stupid thing… You don’t have an idea of what I have in store for you… This isn’t even the warmup!
Saying that, he grabbed her bodysuit and pulled with strength, ripping it up, leaving it only from her shins down, and on her upper arms, exposing her body completely. Valeria blushed, ashamed of how exposed she was. She was always taught to never let a man see her naked form, for the desires of flesh could lead to temptation and distance her from the Emperor. But the Emperor would understand, she was being forced – and there was no pleasure from her part. The Emperor would understand.
Crucium pulled the suit until she was completely undressed, only her underwear allowing her some dignity. And, without teasing, without any other word, he immediately started tickling again, scribbling her sides. Now the sensations were different – before, her bodysuit blocked everything that was not deep squeezes, but now, her could poke, slide his fingers, and torment her in a multitude of new ways.
And so, he did, tickling her sides, her navel, her ribs, her armpits, her hips and her thighs, all over again, multiple times, in multiple manners. It was not the fast burst of sensations from the first wave, but a much more continuous torment. It also didn’t end after few seconds, but dragged on for minutes, Crucium smoothly changing from one spot into the other, never allowing her to het accostumed to the sensations.
Finally, after quite a lot of minutes, he stopped. He started going backwards, towards the lower end of the table.
- There is one spot I haven’t tried… - He said, ripping what was left of her bodysuit on her lowerbody, completely exposing her feet. Valeria buckled up.
Crucium started slowly. He slid a single finger down a single sole.
- EeeeeeEEeeeKKkk! – Exclaimed Valeria, shivers going up her spine. Then, he started doing the same on the other sole, making her squirm lightly. Then, it escalated, two, three, four fingers, and the speed of the stimulus ramped up proportionately. When he reached five, he was full-on scribbling her soles, and she was back to struggling strongly once again. Her feet were sensitive, but not as much as her armpits or hips – it was a solid third place.
She was starting to deeply despise that torture. Not because of how torturous it was – she wanted it to stop, but she was not even close to breaking. But that torture… Is was not dignified! She was ready to suffer and die honorably for her god, but this… tickling was just humiliating.
There would be no song about Sister Valeria, the One Who Was Tickled to Death. Her sacrifice would not be told to the new generation of children of the Order. If she was even remembered at all, it would be solely as a joke, as the foolish Sister that was tickle tortured to death. That’s what her martyrdom would be. A joke in the annals of history.
Even more if she gave in. Which is why she absolutely would not. If she was going to go through humiliation, than she would face it. She would not beg for it to stop, she would not divulge information, she would most surely not be broken.
Finally, Crucium got satisfied, and stopped. But not for long – he quickly returned, now holding a feather whose origins Valeria was not very sure.
- Some react better to stronger stimuli, while some react better to a lighter one. I wonder which one you will be, Sister Valeria.
The man in armor then begun to slide his feather through her body, starting straight with her armpits, which made her scream in laughter. The feather’s movements were slow, deliberate, and the stimulus lasted much longer, as the bristles slowly, very slowly, brushed her hollows.
And it was terrible. Not necessarily worse – it was different. It was a different kind of torment to a different kind of stimulation. The fingers, specially the deepest sequezes and clawings, made her jump and twitch. The feather made her squirm desperately and pull harder. It made her shudder.
He brought it down upon her navel, and sent the feather down her bellybutton. On that region, the feather was a lot worse, it’s unique flavor of suffering making her go wild. Her legs didn’t react as much, and finally he descended to her feet.
The feet was also terrible under the feather, especially the region below and between her toes. Crucium tried many techniques – between the first and second toe, he trapped the feather between them and furiously brushed up and down. Valeria screamed. Between the second and the third, he sloooooooowly dragged it down, and continued the movement down her soles until it hit the ball of her feet. She screamed, although in a lower pitch and in a higher duration. Between the third and the fourth, he swiped quickly down, once, then placed it back and swiped again. Once again, she screamed. He also turned the feather around, and used the tip on her sole. That made her jump a lot, and was one of the worst feelings, second only to the squeezes in her hips.
He continued teasing her whole body with the feather for a few more minutes, which dragged on for an eternity to Valeria. The minutes of incessant tickling were started to take a toll, and she was beginning to feel tired of squirming around so much.
Finally, she got a break, sighing in relief – until she felt her bra being torn off by the torturer’s mighty hands.
- What are you doing, you heretic pervert?! – She screamed in anger. Crucium grinned.
- You thought you would keep your dignity intact? Think again, Sister. – The sinister man said. Her breasts were of regular size, a standard C-cup, and the freckles were a bit more intense there. Her nipples were pink and perky. Topless like that, Valeria’s beauty shined more than ever.
She was deeply humiliated. No one – not even her Sisters – had ever seen her like that. She blushed and looked to the side, avoiding eye contact, but the powerful mechanical hands grabbed her chin and forced her to stare him.
- Don’t try to run away. You can’t. You are mine now. – He said, feathering her nipples, which caught her by surprise, eliciting first a shriek and then – and Valeria hated herself for it – a shy moan. – You don’t need this, either – He said, finally grabbing her panties and ripping it up as well. Now Valeria was completely exposed as she came to the world, and unable to defend herself against anything that sick man had in mind.
- The Emperor will remember this moment when you die, Heretic. He will remember the day you humiliated and tortured one of His servants. And He will not show you any mercy.
All Crucium did in response was laugh.
- You think the Emperor is this almighty God. He is not. The only true Gods are the Chaos Gods. They have true power. Your Emperor is just a corpse sitting on his throne in Terra. And the proof of that is the fact that he can’t save you.
Valeria did not reply. You are not supposed to discuss with heretics – just smite them. Crucium, however, continued the one-sided conversation.
- In fact, you hate heretics so much, but are you aware that you are partaking in heresy right now? – He taunted, and Valeria looked at him, puzzled. – The Emperor’s Children serves Slanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. He, and all the other Chaos Gods, feed on the suffering of others. Right now, the simple fact that you are suffering under my torture, the simple fact that you are giving me the sadistic pleasure of torturing you, makes you an altar of adoration to Slaanesh! – He said, triumphantly. Valeria’s eyes widened.
- The Emperor unders… - She started weekly, but was cut off.
- The Emperor has no tolerance with heretics and with those that partake in Heresy. – He said, and she knew it was true. She felt dirty deep down to her soul. – But that is not all. Not only you are an object of Heresy, but you will become an heretic yourself. You will renounce the Emperor and sing praises to Slaanesh until the end of the day. Not only that, but you will say that that heresy to every single prisoner in this ship. You will help me break their spirits. They will understand that if even a Sister of Battle couldn’t take it, what hopes do they have?
- Never!! – Valeria shouted, furiously. – I will never abandon my faith in the Emperor!
- We will see. I repeat: You are not the first Sister I break. – He said, grabbing the structure that hanged from the ceiling. He pulled it closer. At the same time, Valeria felt the table begin to shift below her and observed, with horror, as fleshy arms emerged from the surface of the table. – Now warmup is complete. It’s time to start the real torture – Crucium said, closing the machine by pulling the upper portion, trapping Valeria alone in the darkness.
---------- Part 2 ----------
She screamed, flailing around as a pair of hands goosed her sides. Her name was Valeria, Sister Valeria, and she was a captive member of the Order of Our Martyred Lady, undergoing… something under the clutches of the Emperor’s Children, one of the traitorous legions of the Chaos Marines. Naked in that thing, she suffered.
She refused to call it “torture”. She refused to be tortured with tickling. Locked inside that contraption, being tickled out of her mind, she was stripped of her dignity – both in the clothing sense and in the dignity of her death. She wanted an ending that would elevate her to martyrdom, that would write her name forever in the history of the Order.
There are no songs about Sisters tickled to death.
The table was starting slow with her, she could feel it. That heretic table, produced by the darkest kind of magic, a mixture of machine and flesh, with organic arms sprouting from nowhere, and from everywhere. It tickled with purpose, and despite no voice teasing her like before, she could almost feel the table taunting her. She wondered if it had a mind of its own, or if it was being controlled by that computer she saw in the corner of the screen. With the “ceiling” lowered, there was no way she could know – she couldn’t see anything outside of the table – there was a single creek that allowed light to enter, but she couldn’t turn her head enough to look at it.
Right now, the table was tickling her one spot at a time, lightly, without energy, just squeezing lightly or scribbling softly. Valeria was squirming, but not laughing. Not even giggling. Her eyes were closed, and while her body suffered, her mind was shielded, focused on prayers and chants and hymns. If her tormenters wanted to make her go through that humiliating ordeal, fine. She would not give them what they wanted. She would be Valeria, the One That Did Not Laugh. Maybe someone could make a song about that?
She doubted, but she was sure that the Emperor would understand.
Still, her will remained unbroken. She wondered if Crucium could see her now – she could not see any cameras, but heretical magic can do some wonderful stuff. Maybe that was what the computer was for.
Her focus broke for only an instant, as the hands switched from the sides to her hips. The goddamn hips, why were they so sensitive? She felt the hands squeeze and squeeze, and felt her lowerbody spinning around, dancing at the tune of the squeezing. Yet, she refused to laugh. She was in her own personal nirvana. Nothing could brHehahak her…!
She was caught by surprise as a new pair of hands joined the fray, working at her feet. She bit her lip, but stayed silent, cursing her sensitivity. She needed to pray. The Emperor would help.
O, God of Mahahankind. Protect me frohom this ordeal. For I ahaham a servant in thihihine name. Allow me to bhehehehe a Martyr in thine nhahame… AHAHand… And… And allow me in tihihine legions after Ihihihi die…
Cursed heretical machine… It was hard to concentrate… But she couldn’t gIHIHIHVHEHE OH GOHOOHHOD!
A third pair of hands joined the effort, catching her by surprise, tickling her ribs. She allowed a giggle to escape, but quickly shut her mouth, strongly. Her face contorted with the effort, her eyes were almost going into her skull with the strength she was using to keep them closed. That was a mistake – it effectively blindfolded her, and every touch was a surprise. But she was afraid that, if she opened the eyes, the mouth would soon follow – there is something in sight that highlights the sensation. Watching the torture don’t negate it, just allows you to appreciate it.
Torture. No, it was not torture. Torture is the kind of thing that breaks you. Tickling would not break her. Her mind wandered back to Crucium’s words: That she was partaking in heresy, and that he would make her renounce the Emperor until the end of the day.
She would not! Absolutely not! Tickling would never break her faith!
But it might break her will, at least for now. She could feel her strength fading. She was not sure how much longer she would be able to contain her laughter. Not with all three spots being stimulated at the same time. The only way this could turn any worse would be if…
- FUHUHUHUHUHUCCKCKK!! – She cursed, as the third pair of hands moved from her ribs to her armpits. Underarms, Feet and Hips, the trifecta of her bane. Her most ticklish spots, all equally terrible on their own way.
And the worst part is that she knew the hands were still only playing with her. The tickles were soft and slow. She knew they could do much worse. And she was afraid, and hated herself for it. She couldn’t cower in the face of peril, specially not such a silly peril. Everyone would judge them. She could feel the historians from the future watching this very moment in their books, and judging her.
But they are not the ones trapped in that infernal machine.
She squirmed around, and the hands started getting faster and faster. They wanted to break her now, and they would not stop. They dug deeper into her armpits, squeezed harder her hips, scribbled harder her soles.
Her lips remained sealed, but her mind was in flames.
IHIHinn the LhihiHIHIght of yoOHOHOHuhuhuHUUHUHrr Nahahahahmmeee….. OHOHOHOHO fahahaHAHAHAHAHtttHEHEHEHErrr… OOHOHOHOHff MAHAHHANnnnKkIHIHIhn…. MAHAHAHAHKihiIHIHIHIHNN…. MAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
She broke. She couldn’t take it anymore – her lungs would explode if she tried to keep her laughter back. Like a dam under the pressure of the entire ocean, she laughed in an almost explosive manner, emitting a high-pitched squeal when the hands pressed harder on her armpits. They changed from digging to scribbling, doing quick motions that made her go wild with laughter.
Things kept going like for minutes, during which her stamina went further and further down. She could feel tiredness starting to set in, and felt weak – she really shouldn’t be breaking in this soon against freaking tickling. And yet, she realized something, as her tor—her treatment continued:
She wanted it to stop. Badly. She felt ashamed and weak, unfit of the glorious heritage of the Sisters of Battle and the Order of Our Martyred Lady.
Heretical bastards… Why couldn’t they be burning her, strapping her to a rack, torturing her with lasers or magic? Why not give her a death worth being martyred for?
She wanted it to stop, but the price for that was renouncing the Emperor. And that she would never do.
She wondered though, for how long would they tickle her? How much tickling can the human body takes before it dies? Slowly she started realizing the situation – she was probably in for hour-long sessions, for multiple days…. She panicked a bit, but quickly got a grip. She couldn’t allow fear to nest within her heart. That would be how they win.
The hands went faster, making her yelp. She struggled, trying in vain to break free. Though, what would she even do if she managed? It’s not like she could overpower Crucium in his powerarmor.
- KYYAHAHAHAHAHEHEHEHAHAHAH – She screamed, twirling left and right in her bonds. The tickling was starting to get intense. She was getting more and more tired by the minute. She needed a break…
No. She needed to be strong. She needed to…
Whatever she needed was lost in ticklish frenzy as a fourth pair of hands joined the tort – the tickling, now squeezing her thighs. She laughed and laughed, and yet the tickling never stopped – despite being partly organic, the table apparently did not need to rest.
But she needed it to. She would not be able to keep doing this much longer.
- STOTOHOHOHOHOHOHOHPPP – She found herself begging, and hating herself for it. But she was getting exhausted quite quickly, and she knew she was in for the long haul. Better trade a bit of pride for a chance at getting a little rest.
Of course, there was no answer. And no break, either. She took a little comfort in the fact that no one could see her right now – even if she was being humiliated, even if she was begging, no one would judge.
Then she remembered: The Emperor is always watching. But he would understand. She was sure of it.
- Heretic… - She heard a voice call, and she opened her eyes looking around confused while she squirmed and laughed. The voice was not from Crucium – it was masculine, but also sounded like many voices speaking as one.
- WHAHAHAHAHAHATTT – She retorted, unable to do much else.
- You are partaking in heresy… Your whole body is an altar to heresy… Your suffering feeds the Prince of Pleasure… Your failure made you an heretic! – The voice concluded, in an accusatory tone.
- I AHAHAHAHAHAHAMMMM NOHOHOHOHOHOTTT! – She answered, insulted. An heretic, she?! Fuck off with that. And who was talking? Probably the table taunting her.
- Your god is dead – The voice continued – He lives, but does not move, speak or hear. He can’t help you, and he will not care when you abandon him. – The voice continued.
- THEHEHEHEHE EHEHHEHEHEMMPPPEHEHEHEHRRRROHOHOHOHRRRR WILLL BLLEHEEHEHEHEHSSS MMHHEHEHEHEHEHEH!!! – She retorted, fanatically.
- If he is so mighty, why he doesn’t rescue you right now? – The voice taunted.
To this, she did not reply. Doubting the Emperor’s powers was heresy. A part of her mind wanted to agree – why was she, such a loyal and good servant, be forced to undergo humiliation and martyrdom?
But the more rational part of her brain knew there needed to be an explanation. The Emperor never intervened, so it was stupid of her to expect him to do it just because she was getting tor—a bit roughed up. Also, it was the ordeal to redeem herself from her failure – there was no point trying to avoid it. She would need to die in suffering in order to be glorious enough to ascend to the heavenly legions.
She wondered if tickling would be considered suffering enough to redeem her. She was in hell, but if someone came to her before all this and told her they were tortured with tickling, she would laugh them off.
But right now, it was hard to avoid the truth. She finally accepted it: It was torture. But would the Emperor agree? She never heard any tales about him getting tickle tortured in life – or anyone else, for that matter. Would he understand her ordeal?
She started to fear. What if all her suffering was for nothing? What if she died screaming in laughter, only to be denied a place in the celestial legion? No, this couldn’t be…. The Emperor was all-seeing. He was watching, and he would know that her suffering was real. He would understand. He would embrace her. He would forgive her.
The minutes dragged on, each one worse than the last, as she screamed and laughed and squirmed and suffered. Her muscles ached, her throat was sore, and her stomach hurt more than anything else. Her breath was erratic, as the laughter got in the way of the breathing, and she felt the whole time like she was about to suffocate. And yet, her body always found a way, despite she wishing it wouldn’t.
Usually, a victim of torture would just hope to survive the ordeal, which is what led to the divulging of information. But Valeria had no such hope. She knew she was not leaving that ship alive, and she accepted it. She just hoped death would come as soon as possible. Because, once again, she started pondering how long that ordeal could last. If you’re burning, slashing or electrocuting someone, you can only go for so long before their body collapses, but tickling was not the case. It was a torture that could be sustained for long periods of time with little to no pauses. And how long could the human body actually take it? She had no idea. Would she die, or just lose consciousness first? Because, if it was the first, she could end up locked in a cycle of torment that would last forever.
She gulped, and tried to pray for the Emperor to grant her a quick death, but the tickling was absurdly distracting, and she found herself stumbling in the hymns she knew since childhood.
And, finally, after a few more minutes, the machine stopped. Valeria panted, relieved – she was sure she had been tickled for at least half an hour already. She almost cried of relief, thanking the Emperor for the mercy, trying her best to catch her breath. However, her hopes of a break were thwarted as she saw, with the little light that managed to sneak into the closed table, the hands shape-shifting again, turning into… feather, apparently? They got a lot softer – did that thing had the ability to alter its consistency as well?
The answer didn’t come immediately. The feathers just stood there, connected to what previously was the arm of the hand, but now had turned much thinner, like a tentacle. They stayed there, waving around slowly, but not tickling her just yet. The anticipation was killing her – she knew it would restart at any instant, maybe the next one, and thus, was always on edge. She couldn’t take her break and rest, since the anticipation of torture prevented that. She should have used that moment to pray and restore her resolve, but the thought didn’t cross her mind.
Finally, after a few seconds, they went to work, tickling her entire body now, from neck to toes. They brushed lightly, teasing her entire skin. She quickly resumed giggling. It was a bizarre feeling the feathers still felt like flesh, and were warm to the touch, but were also as soft as you’d expect a feather to be. Slowly, some of the feathers started to tickle faster and faster and faster. After a few minutes, she was being furiously brushed with the feathers all over.
That was an entirely new stimulation, and one that Valeria was not quite ready. Even at the accelerated pace, the feathers were a much lighter touch than the hands. In fact, contrary to the hand tickling, the intensity of the feather-tickling was not proportional to the speed – the slow, methodical brushing was just as bad as the faster one, just in different ways.
She also found out in the worst manner possible that the tickling was worst at specific spots. The hands were a bit worse in the hips than everywhere else, in hindsight, because tickling the hips imply a need to squeeze. The faster feathering was certainly the worse way to tickle her armpits – it just drove her mad! And the light, slow, methodical pace of the lightest feather tickling was a killer on her soles and toes. She wasn’t sure why that was that – like most things in nature, it just was.
- GOHOHOHOHOHOHDDDAMAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAMMMIHIIHIHIHIHTTT !!! – She screamed, after a few minutes of this new treatment. It wasn’t so much that this was so worse than the hands – again, it was just different. But the short break meant she could not rest up properly, and exhaustion was again fucking her up. She couldn’t stand to struggle anymore, and yet, her body could not stop. She hated being controlled like that, especially by heretics. She felt like she had no control over her own body, her own self, anymore. It was deeply humiliating, and stroke hard against her pride.
They wanted to break her pride. She couldn’t allow it.
Then, the table took it to a new level as it started to randomly change things around – it would speed up or slow down the tickling on certain spots. At any given second, something was changing something along her body, inflicting a whole new kind of torment at every instant. It was maddening! She was never able to get used to the torture, never able to establish a pattern, never able to figure out what was the next stimuli going to be.
Finally, things got even worse as some of the feathers became hands again. Now, besides the speed of the tickling, the instrument begun to change randomly, turning into hands and back into feathers, multiple times over, in all spots.
- NNNOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! – She screamed, as the torture continued on. Tears started slowly rolling down her cheeks, as her body started to be pushed beyond her limit, beginning to break down. She needed that to stop! She couldn’t take it anymore! Please, Emperor…
- Your god has abandoned you… - The voice said again.
- STTOHOHOHOHOHOHPHPPP!! – She was not sure if she was demanding or begging.
- No one will save you – The voice said again.
- PLHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHSSSEHEHEHEHEH!!
- You will be here, serving Slaanesh… Forever – It said, and then the voice multipled inside the table, as if a legion of people with the same monotonous voice were speaking, coming from every possible and impossible direction, repeating: Forever, Forever, Heretic, Heretic, Abandoned You, Forever, Heretic, Abandoned you, Forever, Forever, The Emperor has abandoned you, The Emperor is Dead, Forever, Heretic…
- NNOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!! – She screamed.
------------------
Two minutes had passed outside the table, more or less, as Crucium observed the readings on the computer. He smirked, satisfied – progress was being made.
The table had a lot of good features to made someone go completely mad, but one was by far the more useful: Time dilatation, a process that mixed the Chaos God’s magic with the Children’s superior technology. With tickle torture, you need to win by tiring your victim out, and that requires a lot of time – but if you can make time goes different for the torturer and for the victim, the process becomes much more manageable.
She was approaching the 50 minutes mark already. He input some commands, telling the table what to do next. It was time to truly shatter the little Sister for good.
---------------------
Inside the table, Valeria had lost count of time. She could no longer move – her body was completely exhausted, empty of any energy. But she still laughed, as she was still being tickled everywhere.
Finally, she started feeling something strange, the ticklish sensations fading, despite the fact that the hands and feathers never stopped. Her vision got clouded. She recognized the sensation: She was about to faint from exhaustion (Something that happened with her many times during her training days). She welcomed the sensation, as it would grant her freedom, however temporary. She almost expected the machine to stop her somehow, and feared it would happen… But it didn’t. She never realized when she lost consciousness.
She did, however, realize when she was hit with cold water, abruptly being brought back to reality. She wondered how much she was allowed to sleep – she concluded it must have been at least an hour, because she was feeling a bit rested up. However, she was also feeling the aftermath of intense activity – her muscles, from her entire body, ached horribly. Moving them was an agony. She felt like she would after doing extreme exercise.
And yet, nothing. She waited for the tickling to come, and she could see the hands and feathers around her, laying down as if they, too, were resting. But a minute passed, and then the other, and nothing. Once again, the frustrating feeling that the torture could start at any minute, keeping her at edge… But nothing.
After a few minutes, finally something happened, but it wasn’t tickling – it was the Voices in the Table, whispering a multitude of things. Some told her the Emperor had abandoned her. Some called her a heretic, a weakling, and told her to worship Slaanesh. Some taunted her for breaking up under tickling, and some suggested she was enjoying it. Fragilized as she was, the words hurt her – on top of being a goddamn nuisance. She wanted to close her ears, but tied up as she was, it was impossible.
- Stop… - She pleaded, but they didn’t. At least not for a while – but after some minutes, they halted for just one instant, and all asked in a single voice.
- Do you want the tickling to continue?
- What? No! – She exclaimed, confused.
The voices got silent for another instant, as if they were nodding in agreement – and restarted the teasing, the accusations and the humiliation all over again. And they grew louder – they were not whispering, but outright stating.
And she hurt because she knew they were speaking the truth. She was weak. She was breaking under something as stupid and harmless as tickling. The Emperor would not understand. The Emperor was not forgive.
Because he was watching. She was sure of that. And he was ashamed.
She closed her eyes as if that would close her ears too. All it did was make the voices get louder – but after a few instants she realized that it was because they were actually speaking louder, and not merely a sensorial thing. They were almost shouting at hear ear already, the voices now speaking full of anger. Heretic! Weakling! Pussy! Gonna Cry? Little Bitch! Abandoned by The Emperor!
- LEAVE ME ALONE! – She screamed back, in tears. Why was that happening with her? Why did she volunteer to cover the evacuation? Why didn’t she die in the battle? She wanted to go home, she wanted to go back to the Order. She wanted to die, and plead for the Emperor to accept her, for, at least, she died loyal and faithful.
Slowly, she understood: They wanted her to beg to be tickled. The voices would not stop until she pleaded. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.
- Okay, stop! Tickle me, do wathever you want, but STOP TALKING!! – She screamed, and the voices grew silent. Immediately, the hands and feathers came to life, and went back to tickling her.
She immediately regretted it, for two reasons. One: Because the tools now assumed optimal formation. Two feathers furiously scrubbing each armpit. Hands scribbling her ribs. Two feathers slowly teasing her sides. Two god-forsaken hands squeezing her cursed hips, and two on her legs. And another pair of feathers for each foot, working slowly. It was absolutely the worst tickling she could get.
And two: Because the voices did not stop. They grew louder, in order to rise above her desperate laughter, still humiliating her and accusing her.
- Slaanesh will be pleased! – One praised.
- You break so easily!! – Another said.
- Look at the stupid sister squirm!
And squirm she did. She squirmed and wriggled and struggled desperately, and yet she could not escape. She wanted it to end. She needed it to end!
But it didn’t. Things kept going for hours upon end, the table never tiring, never allowing her any breaks, and the voices never relenting either – alternating between insulting and humiliating her to chanting in unison: Renounce the Emperor! Renounce the Emperor!
And she pleaded and begged for mercy, her mind starting to losing from the constant torture and the voices that never, ever shut up. Things kept going like that for hours on end, making her completely lose track of time. Now and then the tickling would change up a bit, just to keep her on edge, but they mostly kept tickling her on the optimal way. It was peak torture performance.
And yet, she would not relent on the one thing they wanted – to renounce the Emperor. She was ready to do anything else – but she refused to do that, doing her best to keep her mind focused on him. She was pretty sure that, without her devotion, she would have already gone insane.
Finally, after what felt like 4 or 5 hours – during which she fainted a few times, only to be awakened with water after a few minutes and tortured again – something changed. The ceiling of the table rose. Crucium was opening up the thing to check on her.
- Please… - She pleaded, staring at him, crying. – Make this stop… - Her breath was hardened, gasping and panting nervously.
Crucium grinned.
- Are you ready to become a servent of Slaanesh? – He asked. – Otherwise, I’m keeping you there for a whole day.
- Please… I can tell you anything you want… About the Sisters… The Empire… Any information… Just please…
- Renounce the emperor! – Crucium ordered, with a hint of irritation. She looked away, crying again.
- Please, I can’t! I beg you, stop this!
His only answer was to close the machine again, silencing her desperate scream. She screamed harder as the hands and feathers started moving again, ready for them to strike at any moment – but they didn’t. This time, they turned into something else: some sort of rod with a metallic ball on is tip. She looked at them, puzzled and terrified, breathing hard and crying. She was a broken mess.
Finally, a sound filled the inside of the table – a soft buzz. Those things were vibrating. She screamed again – and then harder when they made contact.
- OHOHOHOHOHOHO MMYYYY GOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHDDDD
This was intensity incarnate. It didn’t have the intricacies of the previous torture – it was just raw, brutal torture, setting her nerves ablaze. She struggled violently, madly, her body refusing to accept that torment, trying with all its might to find an escape.
But there was none. There was just the torture, and the voices: Renounce the Emperor! Praise Slaanesh! Renounce the Emperor! Praise Slaanesh!
- MEHEHEHEHEHEHERRRCYCYCYHYHYHYHYHY!!! – She begged, her pride completely shattered. That tickled beyond the limits of the bearable. She would do anything to make that stop. She would become Crucium’s own personal sex slave if that meant that horrible vibrating thing would get away from her.
In her torment, she failed to realize a few extra vibrating rods that were not tickling her. Slowly, they positioned into key places, and she only noticed, in horror, when it was too late. They started vibrating against her nipples and between her legs, close, but not at, her nether regions.
That was a new sensation. Pleasure amongst the torment. She had never experienced that – a Sister of Battle is never taught the joys of sex, and never learn to know their own bodies. Thus, guilt overcame her as she felt herself enjoying those touches. She tried to suppress a moan, but her laughter stopped her from preventing anything. And thus, one escaped, and then another and another.
But that pleasure had a symbiotic relation with the torment – the more those regions were stimulated – the ones between her legs getting closer and closer to their destination – the worst the tickling got. She howled with tormented laughter, and then moaned in fervent pleasure. She was confused, and the interplay of sensations were deteriorating her will fast.
She wanted it to stop, and she wanted it to go on. And finally, she didn’t know what she wanted anymore. She felt something building inside her, her moaning got stronger and more frequent, and she started to really wish the vibrations would not stop. But the tickling! That infernal tickling, it fought against whatever that pleasure building was, it distracted, it made her lose focus.
She tried to get a grip. That was heresy! Sex and sexual pleasure were impure, sensations unfit for a Sister of Battle, a servant of the Emperor. And for a moment, a single instant, a thought crossed her mind – and she was not sure if it was her, or if one voice whispered it: Screw the emperor… I want that pleasure…
No! She couldn’t! She would not… Oh my god… It was getting more and more intense. She closed her eyes, getting ready for something good, though she was unsure of what…
And the pleasurable vibrations stopped. Only the tickling remained. Her eyes popped, her back arched, she screamed in torment and frustration. And now, the sensation was highlighted so much, and the tickling was so intense….
The treatment continued like this for a long time. Longer than she could know. She would faint, and be allowed to rest a bit, before getting tickled – with a mixture of hands, feathers and the vibrating rods, slowly escalating until only the rods made her scream in mad laughter. Occasionally, the rods would do that to her again, bringing her close to that desirable explosion of pleasure, getting each time closer and closer…. But pulling out at the very last moment, taking away her hope. She would faint… And the cycle would continue. Never-ending. She quickly realized that would be her life, until she died of starvation – not dehydration, as the table forced her to drink the water once, the same water that was used to wake her up.
That would take a week. She could not take a week. And that’s if Crucium didn’t open the table and forced her to eat, too. She was not allowed to truly sleep – just faint and rest a bit, never enough.
She couldn’t take a week of this torture. She couldn’t take another second of this torture. The voices, too, never stopped, always talking about how she was already an heretic. The voices were awfully persuasive, though that was, perhaps, the influence of being persuaded under torture. But they were right. She found herself enjoying, even wishing, when the rods teased those regions. She would give almost anything for them to finish it…. And she felt dirty. She was looking forward to a portion of a heretic ritual.
The voices were right. She was partaking in heresy. She was an heretic…
And, slowly, she realized she didn’t care. Being loyal to the Emperor only brought her suffering. A lifetime without knowing pleasure, only battles and pain and tiredness, and now this, torture. Screw the saints of the past – they never underwent what she was going through. They suffered pain, not this unholy combination of sensations.
It took over a day of non-stop torture, but finally, she broke. It was simply not worth it to go through this for days and days with no end in sight. No mortal could take that. And the Emperor didn’t save her, neither gave her the strength to endure.
The Voices were right The Emperor abandoned her. And maybe he didn’t even have that much power.
She was a heretic. Might as well embrace it.
- ENOHOHOHOHOHUHUHUGG!! IHIHIHI YYHEHEHEHEHEAAAAALLDDD! PRRHAHAHAHAHHAAIIIHIHIHISSEHEHEHEH SLAHAHAHAHANNHEHEHEHEHEEHSSSHH!!!
And just like that, all rods stopped – except the ones she didn’t want to. A minute later, her eyes rolled into her skull, as the most powerful sensation she had ever experienced took over her.
She wanted that. She wanted more of that. She wanted that forever.
------------------
A few hours later, Valeria was back in her powersuit, in front of cameras. Those cameras broadcasted to the entire station, specially towards the cells where the other prisoners awaited their tortures.
She was in armor because everyone needed to know she was a Sister of Battle. Crucium stood by her side, grinning, satisfied. Valeria herself had a grin of her own.
- Listen, my brothers and sisters! I have finally understood the truth. The Emperor is a false god! All he does is sit on his throne, and leave us to fend for ourselves! The Chaos Gods, on the other hand, they give power! Power and pleasure beyond any measure. This spaceship is a temple to Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure. Renounce the Emperor and accept Slaanesh as your master, and you will quickly realize torment will turn into pleasure. Abandon all hope! The Emperor has abandoned you! But you can find new purpose by feeding Slaanesh – by either torment or pleasure… or both. – She concluded, grinning. – Down with the Emperor! All Hail Lord Slaanesh! All hail the Chaos Gods!
The Chaos Gods rejoiced, feeding upon the despair that ship exhaled. Every prisoner had the same idea: If they did that with the proud Sister of Battle… what chance do I stand? Many, indeed, renounced the Emperor, pleading to praise the Prince of Pleasure.
The cameras were turned off. Valeria turned to Crucium by her side, as her powersuit armor opened and she, naked, stepped out of it.
- I’ve done my part. Now you do yours – she said, with a tone that somehow mixed demanding with pleading. Crucium just grinned wickedly, satisfied with his creation. He guided her towards what she desired.
He strapped her to the table, Valeria, the ex-Sister, getting excited and wet just at the thought.
Crucium gave her a kiss to the lips. – Have fun – He said, closing the ceiling, trapping her inside the machine for a programmed session of a few hours.
She absolutely would, she thought, as she heard the buzzing of the rods, and saw the feathers and hands emerged – after all, now she understood, there was no pleasure without suffering, and pleasure was all that mattered in the world.
She screamed and moaned, as the tools started their work, and embraced her new life.
