Creative Torture Device

His scalp felt like it was being set on fire. Sweat was now dripping from every orifice imaginable. His throat was beginning to feel like sandpaper. How much longer was he going to have to endure this, he wondered.

“Please let me out of here… I’m begging you.” He said weakly.

His captor shook her head with a sadistic smile on her face.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Drevor. I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not until you tell me what I need to know.

“Please!” He cried, his voice rasping.

“Ladies, don’t let him out of there until he talks, got it?”

One of her henchmen nodded her head in understanding, and cranked up the heat on the hair drier to its maximum level.




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