They stand around, smoking cigarettes and joking about how skinny I am. It's true, of course: they don't feed me much. I've lost twenty or thirty pounds in my time here, and I'm now dangerously underweight. They tell me I could be a supermodel. They're probably right: somehow I've kept my breasts, as my thighs and hips and belly have withered and shrunk.

One of them turns the shower on. It's agonizingly cold, and I gasp again. Gooseflesh ripples up and down my thin, taut body as the icy water cascades over me. I'm wearing a short white satin slip and panties--all that's left of the outfit I wore to the Ambassador's ball, so many weeks ago, back when I was a human being. The wet satin clings greedily to my firm, supple breasts and to my hollow tummy. My nipples press hard against the thin, wet cloth. The men look at me hungrily.

I wait for the torture to begin. It will be electrical, I'm sure. In my weeks here I've learned, among other things, that these men have a fondness for cattle prods. And this place is perfect for that: my wet body chained to the pipe, my feet resting on the steel grating.

I'm partly right, as it turns out. It's electrical, but not the prod. One of them goes to the wall, throws a switch, turns a knob. It hits me hard and everywhere. It's different from the prod, less localized. This is all over my body. I can't even tell where it's coming from--the pipe behind me? The steel grate beneath my feet? It doesn't matter, of course. My emaciated body begins to jump and dance in a way which delights them.

Their thick rubber soles protect them from the shocks. The man at the wall turns the knob, playing my body like a marionette. I am utterly powerless to resist. My response is automatic, unthinking. I twitch and convulse in an inhuman way. They are very good at making me into what they think I am: a beast, an animal.

I usually try not to scream, because I know it delights them when I do, but this is different. This session is much worse than the others; I'm sure it will be my last. The shocks are brutal, relentless. Although they vary in intensity, I am given no respite. The torture continues unabated for...minutes? hours? lifetimes?

I raise my heels, trying in vain to distance myself from the metal grate. It's hopeless. The ice-cold water continues to rain down upon me, turning my body into a perfect conductor. I'm part of a circuit now, and nothing more.

At last it stops, and I allow myself to sob with relief. But that relief is short lived. They shut off the water, leaving me gasping for breath, dripping, shivering, pathetic. But then they turn another knob. The water returns, scalding hot this time. Again I scream. I've always been extremely sensitive to heat.

The burning, searing water ravages me, running over the contours of my body in awful rivulets. The shocks resume, and this double pain is almost more than I can bear. Wracked with spasms, my tortured body suffers for their pleasure. I pray for a quick end, but I know that this is unrealistic: because of who I am, because of who they are, they will make this last as long as possible.

The hot shocks go on forever. I lose all track of time. There is only a single unending now, and a starving tortured body which hardly even seems like mine anymore, twitching in a shower stall in the basement of a nameless building.

When the torture pauses again, I know that they are going to use me. I'm almost grateful. Rape won't hurt nearly as much as what they've been doing to me. In any case, I'm accustomed to it by now. I've been raped several times daily since I arrived here. The first time is hard. After that...

They take me right there, up against the steel pipe. The first one pushes my slip up over my bony hips, pulls my panties down around my knees and enters me roughly. I hardly even feel it. He rapes me quickly, professionally. Then the others, one at a time. They enjoy my slender supermodel's body, the body they have deliberately carved over the past weeks. I take them all, and when they are done, their collective semen drips out of me and runs through the holes in the grate beneath my feet.

I know that they will finish me now, for I have served my final purpose. I prepare myself for a lethal shock. But in the end, they manage to surprise me. There is another knob, and they turn it. I howl in agony as hot acid cascades down over my helpless body. I close my eyes, but not in time: I'm blinded, my vision destroyed. I see only a red blur. I realize that my mouth is open; I'm screaming. I try to close it, but I'm too late again. I have a mouthful of acid, burning my tongue, my throat. The horrible liquid descends down my convulsing body, running over my pert, proud breasts and hard nipples. Where it touches me I feel my flesh begin to dissolve. I thrash about wildly in my bonds, astonished that they have actually found an effective way to hurt me, even now. Layers of skin liquefy and run off my skeletal frame, sluicing down through the grate. My slip dissolves as well. They can see me now, naked, exposed, my rib cage jutting out through my tight skin, my hip joints poking through flesh that is thin and getting thinner.

They add the shocks, of course. Why not make my final moments as painful as possible, after all? I hardly even feel the electricity...that's how agonizing the acid shower is. I can barely breathe, I hurt so much. How is it possible that one girl can suffer so much anguish? How can this continue?