This World is a commission series, created by Anon, along with the characters and the broad details of their adventures. Note that the illustrations here can become increasingly graphic. If this isn’t what you’re here for, just click back and can you check out some different Worlds 🙂
Tags you can expect in this World:
Grimecore | Torture | Guro | Watersports | Stories
My name is…Rebecca. I don’t even know my last name anymore, I haven’t heard it in so long, I’ve heard only abuse, and pain, and silence, and my own screams.
I was kidnapped, taken one day, to live here, in this place, alone, in pain, in agony, in the filth, the grime, the dirt, the dark. With nothing but pain. I don’t even know why they were doing this.
Well, I didn’t at first.
Latest Rebecca's Diary Art
Dear Diary
I was taken. I was left in the cell, tied up, helpless. I couldn’t move, my arms were burning behind me, and they closed the door. They left me.
They didn’t come back very often. I sat in the dark, my clothes still on, increasingly covered in my own piss, my own filth, a puddle developing under me, tormenting me with the smell, but never enough to distract me from the pain.
They didn’t come back very often. And when they did, it was just to hurt me in a different place.
I was tortured on that electrocution table for a whole month. Every day I was strapped down for twenty hours, and electrocuted for thirty seconds every minute.
I’d lose control of my body, my whole torso bucking, breasts shaking and limbs rigid. I’d pee in violent spurts and occasionally experience horrifically painful orgasms. In the half minute between each session I’d scream uncontrollably, absolutely terrified as the seconds quickly ticked down to the next agonising session.
I’d barely sleep in the four hours break I was allowed each day. Instead I’d lay naked on my cell floor, gasping and bucking my hips unable to convince my body the torture had stopped.
Now the month is over I wet myself several times every day. I’ve forgotten what it is like to wear clothes, even a filthy pair of panties would be a luxury. My pussy tingles constantly, the only relief is masturbation which I do excessively now. Its getting worse, initially I’d only do it in private in my cell, but now I do it everywhere and all the time, even in front of my Mistress. I would do anything, absolutely anything rather than endure that horrific nightmare again.
I complained about being thirsty too many times over the months. They didn’t give me very much to drink. Well, they did, but between constantly squirting and pissing and sweating in pain, I needed to drink a lot just to keep up.
They eventually decided that I could shut up and solve my own problems, and made it part of my regular routine to get extra hydration from myself, by strapping me folded over, so that I would be less wasteful with my fluids.
After months of seeing no one other than my tormentors, they pushed Ali into the room with me. I never even knew there were other people here, other girls, other victims.
I was bolted to the floor, and had a flutter of absolute relief, thinking maybe she would help! Well, she couldn’t help, I knew that. But having someone next to me, someone to suffer alongside, someone who was on my level, in the dirt, on the floor, someone who cared.
But no such luck. She was here to torture me. She was filthy and naked as well, just like me, she was clearly also a victim, I guess she was being made to do this. Is that what they do here, get us to torture each other, for some sick joke?
She seemed to enjoy it though. She took the jar of bugs and insects and wasted no time shoving it into me. I could see a twisted smile to her face. She might have been made to do this, but she wasn’t suffering.
A painful new position they came up with one day, would become a torture I suffered for a day at a time. Just being zapped, repeatedly, over and over, clamps on my pussy lips, zapping me in the dark, the only flashes of lights a signal of pain already happening, before returning to the pitch black. Alone I would wait and count those precious seconds in silence before the room flashed briefly, revealing the filth and dirt, and echoing my cries.
I didn’t know it yet, but today was the day that Lucy arrived in my cell, and became my new roommate.
Poor Lucy. She had no idea what was coming.
Neither did I.
I was told I would be getting some instructions tomorrow that might be difficult for me to obey. I had promised I would obey, but they didn’t believe me. It was new, they said, it would be difficult. They wanted to really give me a chance to stop and think about whether I would obey them, or cause problems.
So they put me back into the cell, in the complete darkness, with the electric clamps on my pussy again and left me in that horrible position. They said tomorrow they would come and get me and I could decide then if I wanted to obey.
I didn’t care what it was.
I would obey.
They introduced me to Lucy, and gave me my instructions.
Of course, it was about Lucy, and what I was going to do to her.
I had no choice.
I’m sorry, Lucy.
It was worse than I could have imagined.
And worse than Lucy could have imagined.
But just another day for them.
They wanted to make sure I’d never forget this day, and commemorated it with a photoshoot.
They left me in the dark. Just stuck, locked on this spiked dildo, unable to move, or pull myself free without tearing myself apart. They could free me from it, but I had no idea when they would, or if it would just be worse when they did. I was left in the dark, alone, with only the memories of Lucy’s crying and screams. It was smelly and filthy in here, but I couldn’t even really see anymore, I could just wait here, they said, until I meet my new friends…
When they put the trembling redhead sisters in front of me I was ready to refuse again. I wanted to say no, to say I wouldn’t do it, to say I wouldn’t be a part of their twisted, sadistic show.
But I couldn’t. I just didn’t have it in me to defy them, not after everything I’d been through. And after Lucy, I saw that no matter how bad things have been for me, they could actually be worse. They can always be worse.
I told the sisters to undress each other. They were going to be a part of my twisted, sadistic show.
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