Under the Floor

Story by Anonymous Writer


I think they’d let me run, just so they could do this. There was no way the witches, after everything I’d seen, had been careless enough to leave the knife within reach. Even so, it had taken me almost an hour, bound as I was in the writhing, living ropes they used here, to cut myself free. My heart had pounded as the last rope fell away, my limbs free for the first time in… god I don’t even know any more!

I was slow, slower than I thought I’d be, my body struggling with what my reflexes remembered. My joints ached, muscles fatigued past the point of endurance, but I was free. I made it down the stairs, blocking out the sights and sounds of all the other girls who I couldn’t help, selfish, when it came down to it, concerned only with my own skin.

The front door beckoned, and it wasn’t until my hand rested on it that I heard her voice.

“Where are you running to pet?” she asked, the sickly sweet tone belying an unimaginable cruelty…

I ignored her, wrestling with the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge, and though I knew then I was done for, I couldn’t give up. I turned and ran, heading for a window, preparing to jump through it when I heard her chuckle.

“Oh, those arms and legs of yours are getting you into so much trouble! Let me help you with that…”

I didn’t even feel it. One moment, I was running, arms pumping, the next I was falling, landing, scraping and bouncing on the floor in a jumble of limbs. But they weren’t attached, and as I skidded to a stop, I saw what had happened.

My arms and legs were severed, painlessly, and without any apparent damage, my skin smooth.

“I’ll store these in the closet for you” she laughed, and my limbs disappeared off with a flick her her wrist.

“Now, you know you must be punished for this” she moved slowly towards me, enjoying my pointless thrashing, barely able to rock myself from side to side, screaming in pure terror.

She’d taken my fucking arms and legs!

“Wait there a moment will you?” she tapped me on the belly, and walked back upstairs, disappearing, leaving me alone in the entrance-hall.

I had never felt more helpless, though I wasn’t even bound. Compared to some of the things they’d done to me, I was actually comfortable. I could move a little. But none of them made me feel as helpless as this, knowing that even if they left me alone, I couldn’t do anything.

By the time she returned back down the stairs, my cheeks were streaked with tears. I could see a collection of metal items in her hands, and could unfortunately guess what she had planned with them. I’d seen enough here to know my fate, though that didn’t prepare me for it.

“Please, you don’t need to do this” I begged, knowing it was futile, but unable to stop myself.

“You’re making quite a ruckus” she replied, kneeling down next to me, and working a large golden ring between my teeth, wide enough to make my jaw ache.

“Since you’re unable to do anything yourself, I figured I could help you display yourself” she reaches down, and holds a pair of something that looks like pliers, sliding one arm inside my mouth, and then closing them, driving a sharp point through my cheek.

Unlike the amputation, I felt this. The pain brought fresh tears to my eyes, which she ignored, holding my hair with her other hand, and repeating the process three more times, until she was able to start to screw the ring-gag physically into place through my cheeks. My tongue started to fiddle with the metal invader in my mouth, the pain of it distracting me enough that I didn’t realise her lower the tool down to my nipple until the last moment.

She lifted my head with her hand, forcing me to watch as she drove it slowly, agonisingly slowly through my nipple as I screamed into the gag, panting as the pain radiated out from my breast.

“Oh, did that hurt? Was that too slow?” she asks, and I weakly nod.

“Fine then. I’ll go faster” she replies, taking what looks like a nail, and holding it to my other nipple. I start to writhe, and scream, and she pushes it into my sensitive bud.

“if you move, and I do this wrong, I’m just going to have to try again” she giggles, bringing out a hammer.

I try to stay as still as I can, unable to look away as she brings the hammer down, and the nail sinks into the flesh of my nipple, piercing deep enough with the first strike that it held it’s position unaided.

“One more should do it” she brings the hammer down again, and I almost pass out from the pain.

“Oh, hush” she admonishes, grabbing and nail and reaching down between… no, not between my legs…just to the stump that was my bottom-half, and pulls my labia wide.

I can’t keep my eyes open as she brings the hammer down again, piercing the tender flesh, and holding me spread. I’m barely breathing as she holds a second nail in place, my eyes squeezed closed.

I kept my eyes open this time as she drove the second nail into my other lip, spreading me wide, my body reduced to tits, a ring-gagged mouth, and a spread-pussy.

“Now, remember that I’m doing this to help you present yourself, given you can’t. So say thank you” she asks, lowering the hammer and grabbing the piercing-tool again.

It takes everything I have in me to answer that “hh….han hooo” I mumble around the gag, and she seems satisfied.


“You’re welcome. Now hold still. This one should be fun” she leans forward, obviously enjoying herself, her hands reaching down and slowly rubbing ‘between my legs’, my body responding despite everything. What the fuck was wrong with me?

Her movements shift, and she grips my clit, holding it out, and then taking the tool, and holding one arm on either side of it. I shake my head feebly.

“Don’t” she says, and I feel pressure of a spike pressing into one side of my clit.

“Run” she slams the piercing home, through me, and I just about pass out, the pain all-consuming, radiating out from my pussy, almost enough to make me throw up.

I’m dimly aware of the floor suddenly disappearing beneath me.

“I’ll let you rest here, and think of what you’ve done” she says, and I’m lowered under the floor, the floorboards closing above me, though transparent, allowing me to see up.

And like that, she’s gone, off to torture someone else as I wait, helpless, displayed, five feet from escape.

Under the Floor1