Was it an hour? Or more?

Whatever it was, it felt like an entire eternity and more. The two young men remained in their spot, smarting badly from the pain spurted upon them by that blast of hot water.

This had to be what hell felt like, with all those fantasies they had been told. Every nerve ending and cell in their body was wailing with anguish, with no proper ending in sight. This was the stuff of nightmares.

So badly taken out by that boiling bath, they had no energy to try and free themselves. Not that it was going to be of any use; those chains had not lost their strength.

One of them, who had long, raven-black hair, winced as he tried to move his left arm. Not only were the metal chains biting into his skin, but that burning feel pierced through his very bones. As much as he tried to force himself to ignore the pain, it was impossible. Those nerve endings just could not pretend like he hadn’t just been assaulted in one of the most twisted ways possible.

He glanced over at the other captive, a taller, broader-shouldered man with short-cropped black hair. He could see his outline shaking uncontrollably and could hear his teeth chattering as he fought to stifle his sobs.

He shook his head, the pain of regret now wracking his soul as he began to join his compatriot in breaking down.

Why, oh why did they make the error of passing by this place? This was definitely the basement of this insidious man’s house. Why did they think it was a good idea to come around here? Why didn’t the fact that this house’s location was eerie spell out enough of a message for them? Didn’t it send a message that a man this twisted and psychopathic occupied this place, and that he would have no qualms whatsoever with-

Suddenly, the bulb in the middle of the dungeon flashed to life, rudely interrupting his thoughts and sobs. His heart pounded fiercely against his chest in terror as he and his fellow prisoner looked up.

The door opened.

Indeed, the crazy man had come back like he promised.

The long-haired captive and his comrade looked at the stairs, overcome with trepidation extreme as the evil gentleman made his way down the staircase, that sinister smile still on his face.

What in the world was he going to do next?

He approached them slowly, a cockiness in each slow step. He stood before them, observing as they shook with terror and fright, unsure of what he was going to do to them.

He placed a finger on his lip for a moment, looking as if he had forgotten something. Then he snapped his fingers. “Aha! Gimme a second. I forgot something.”

He then rushed back up the stairs and disappeared.

The two captives stared at each other. What in the world was this man up to? He had already shown them a dose of horrendous wickedness. What next was up his sleeve, and how painful was it going to be?

The door opened a minute or two later, and the man stepped in, carrying a bucket about a quarter full of some liquid. It seemed like water, but they couldn’t be too sure about that. He placed it nearby, turned to them and winked, then went back up the stairs.

Another minute passed, and he reentered, carrying another bucket of whatever liquid it was. He placed it next to the other bucket, then turned to the captives, slowly walking towards them…

… before stopping. “Oh, wait. One more thing.”

He rushed out of the basement yet again.

Their bodies may still have ached with a searing passion, but these actions were serving as quite the assault on their psychological senses. They knew this man had something despicable up his sleeve, and they knew he was also prolonging their anxiety with these claims of forgetting things. This was not comfortable in any way, shape or form.

He entered once more, a big grin on his face as he walked down the stairs.

As he drew closer, they saw what he held in his hand.

And immediately, their pupils dilated.

It was a black, rough-looking and terrifyingly thick bullwhip.

The short-haired guy began to hyperventilate, while his comrade began to scream through his gag.

This was sick. Just plain sick. After subjecting them to such a painful bath, he was now looking to lash them with a whip that would make the toughest cattle crumble? What in the world was this level of evil?

Through the pain they already had to endure, they struggled, hoping against hope that some miraculous act would happen and they could break free.

As he took his place in front of them, however, it was sadly obvious that whatever they were wishing for would remain just that. A wish.

He stretched it out, took a few steps backward. He narrowed his eyes, as if to gauge his aim.

He drew back.

Then he let fly.

The agonizing crack of the whip on the long-haired guy’s arm had him wailing in muffled agony. His comrade shrieked in fright, terrified at what was about to befall him.

The wicked man drew back… then let fly again.

The short-haired guy felt the sting of thick leather slap him right across the face.

If there truly was a hell, this was definitely what it felt like. Pain excruciating enough to shut down all your bodily functions.

For the next few moments, hellish torment and otherworldly anguish was all these young men could comprehend, as this cruel human being whipped them with an unrelenting savagery. Anyone who would have been in the room with them would be absolutely mortified with the level of callousness and insensitivity shown by their tormentor.

With each crack of the whip, with each opening of a fresh wound releasing blood out of their bodies… he felt more and more satisfied.

After what felt like a century, he stopped.

Nodding at the scene before him, he walked over to the buckets. Picking one up, he stepped towards them.

They flinched. Whatever the contents of that bucket were, they knew it was definitely not any soothing balm he was about to douse them with.

He threw its contents on the short-haired guy, who immediately began to spasm uncontrollably and wail in pain. His comrade trembled as his nose caught a whiff of the bucket’s contents.

It was rubbing alcohol.

No wonder! With all the nasty wounds he had just inflicted on them extremely fresh and open, that thing was gonna burn and sting harder than a bee army the size of India’s population!

It wasn’t long before the long-haired dude got his bath and began writhing like a disturbed jumping worm himself, letting out a guttural cry of agony as the rubbing alcohol seared his wounds.

The man stood there, that same old insidious grin never leaving his face as he observed the results of his bloodthirsty mission. Seeing these young men in torment brought him so much joy.

He turned, picked up both buckets and the bullwhip, and walked towards the exit.

At the top of the staircase, he turned to the young men, who were still feeling the biting effects of the alcohol.

He called out calmly to them.

“Marinate in it for a while, boys. I’ll be back.”

The door shut.

He flicked the light switch.  

And darkness reigned once again.

Oh, dear Lord, this is sickening! What kind of twisted man is this, and why is doing this to them? What did they do to deserve this?