Page 12 of Maison De Fous

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Pretty Girls Haunt Me - Savage Ga$p, Ugovhb

Fuck, tonight is already going better than I ever expected.

As I stand in the center of the stage, surveying the gleaming instruments of destruction, I can’t help but take a moment to savor their twisted beauty. These are not mere devices of torture; they are relics, ancient tools crafted for cruelty, designed to break both body and mind. And tonight, they will serve their true purpose. They’re the real stars of the little act I’ve put together. Fulfilling the dark and depraved fantasies of those who crave more than the average night of pain and pleasure.

It’s what all these thirsty fucks came for.

TheRack—a simple but effective device. Its origins date back to the medieval period, a time when pain was an art and the human body a canvas. Used primarily for extracting confessions, it stretches the victim’s limbs, slowly pulling joints from sockets, snapping ligaments, and tearing muscles. Most would pass out long before the breaking point. Others—like the eager volunteer strapped to it now—beg for the agony to continue.

It clicks louder, tightening, as the gears pull his limbs taut.

“More,” he groans, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I need more.” His body glistens with sweat under the red lighting. Wearing no more than his boxers, the crowd is given a clear view of the rack at work.

Giselle, the cirkie working the controls, smirks. Her blond pigtails swaying as she leans in close. “You sure, big guy? Old Agatha here might just tear you apart.”

His nod is frantic behind his mask. “Please.”

“Well alright then, your fucked up wish, is my command,” she adds with a devious smile.

With a brutal twist, the gears scream as they grind together, metal on metal, pulling the man’s body to its breaking point. His breath hitches, a guttural groan rising from his throat as the tension mounts. And then, with a sickeningcrack, his left leg snaps—bone ripping through muscle, skin tearing apart like wet paper. The sharp white of his femur juts out, gleaming under flickering lights, slick with blood. His eyes roll back, body convulsing, but not with fear or pain—no, it’s pleasure that has this sick fuck moaning.

That twisted primal need to be broken.

The crowd erupts in cheers, their faces contorted in sick delight. The scent of sweat and lust thickens the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood. A woman, her eyes wide and wild with adrenaline behind her mask, pushes through the crowd. Her short, dark hair slicked back and tangled in the chaos of sweat and blood, as she steps forward with confidence that cuts through the sea of writhing bodies.

She’s dressed as a slutty witch wearing a black tattered dress barely clinging to her curvy frame, with thigh-high fishnets and a plunging neckline that leaves little to the imagination. Her huge saggy tits practically spill out as she leans over the man strapped to the rack.

She runs her fingers down his bare, blood splattered chest, licking her lips, her voice low and sultry. “You like that, don’t you?” she whispers, her breath hot against his skin. Her free hand grips the jagged bone sticking from his leg. He winces, but the groan that escapes his lips is anything but pained—it’s desperate, needy.

“Yes… God, yes… do it…” the man gasps, his voice raw, his body trembling as she touches him. His head lolls to the side, his eyes hazy with lust and agony.

She grins wickedly as her grip tightens around the bone and she slowly starts to stroke it. “Such a good boy. You want me to ride this rock hard bone of yours, don’t you?” She gives a wicked laugh. “You sick little fuck.”

He nods frantically, unable to form words, his eyes rolling back as he groans. “Please… please…”

She doesn’t waste any more time. Hiking her short dress up, she positions herself over him, pressing the jagged bone against her pussy as she teases herself with it. The crowd around us watches as she savors every inch of the sharp, ragged protrusion as she slowly sinks herself down on it. Her head tilts back, and a carnal moan escapes her lips as she takes him in.

“Fucking hell!” Blood dips down her inner thighs, mixing with the slickness as she grinds against him, her movements are primal, deliberate.

Behind her, Giselle watches from the side of the stage, her eyes wide with delirious excitement. She’s dressed in a shimmering red corset, her lips painted black to match the dark glitter that coats her eyelids. Every inch of her screams madness, her lips parted in a smile too wide to be sane.

“Ohhh, fuck yeah! I love this shit!” Giselle purrs, her voice a high-pitched squeal of excitement as she claps her hands. “Look at her go! She’sfuckingthat bone like she wasbornfor it!” She laughs, a maniacal, breathy sound that turns the heads ofthe cirkies nearby. “She’s like some twisted little slutty witch riding a broomstick made of blood and pain! That’s it, baby, ride that broken bastard into the ground! This is what hepaidfor! It’s what hewants!” Her hand rests on her chest as if she’s overwhelmed by the performance. “Ohhhh, yes, this is the contentment we all crave. This is the sick shit you fuckers paid to bear witness to. The fulfillment of your depraved desires that only Cirque Du Desir can give you! It’s… perfect.”

The woman on the rack throws her head back, her nails digging into the man’s shoulders now, drawing blood as she grinds harder against the jagged bone. Her moans mix with his groans, and their bodies move together in a sick, twisted rhythm of pleasure and pain.

“Harder…” she growls, her voice breathless and wild. “Break for me… just fucking break…”

The man on the rack chokes out a gasp, his leg twitching under the pressure of her weight. His eyes are glazed over, his mind trapped in that sick delirium of agony and ecstasy. “I’m… I’m already broken…”

“Not enough,” she whispers, licking some of the blood from her fingers as she rides him harder. Her free hand reaches into his boxers and pulls out his hard cock. With blood coating her palm she stokes him aggressively, mimicking her movements on his bone as she pumps him. “Yeah, you like that don’t you. Look how fucking hard you are, fucking pig.” Her body tenses, her movements becoming more frantic, more needy. “Now fucking break for me. I want you toshatterfor me you piece of shit.”

The crowd around them roars in approval, some touching themselves, others egging her on, their voices merging into one heaving, depraved mass of sound. Giselle’s eyes flick between the woman and the man, her body vibrating with excitement.

“Yes, let him shatter!” Giselle screams, throwing her arms wide, her voice shrill with delight. “This is the fucked up shit Ilive for! The insanity, the blood, the pain! Rip him apart, sweet girl! Fucking use him like the trash he is!”

She continues pumping him, until jets of white come shoot from the head of his cock, coating her saggy cleavage and his chest. The man lets out a pleasure filled groan as she works him for every drop.

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