Every little bump jarred Bobby miserably. Every big one felt like it would kill him. By the time they finally approached the lake he was already long in unmitigated agony.
His face was galled raw against the bars and his wrists by the handcuffs. Yet this was trivial, no more distressing than the familiar torment in his balls and t**s. The way every joint in his body shrieked was truly intolerable: another culmination of a condition of his training.
All four limbs felt dislocated. Every vertebra in his spine seemed to have been crushed to fragments that lacerated the adjacent nerve and flesh.
It all made him think of the rack the Inquisitors broke heretics upon. Only by imagining that he was deep in Mistress Kimberly’s dungeon and being subjected to such a device (while she cooed appro
