Loiral and Marcus - What Slaves Do - 5.iii
She shoos her creatures away from the crank so that she can work it herself. Loiral’s pleading gets less coherent and more frantic, higher pitched with panic as his limbs are pulled taut and the last of his wriggle room disappears. He’s seen what the rack can do, seen the broken, crippled creatures that result. “Please, please! I, I - aah - fuck--! Please no please I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”