Saturday, November 22, 2008

The Inquisition - Strangulation



I have learned such important lessons about human nature during my work throughout the church, about fear and desire, pain and submission.


One of the most important lessons has been that torture and persuasion is as much in the mind as it is in the body. The key is to demonstrate the horror that awaits, to illustrate it and bring it close to the victim, so the victim can taste death in her mouth, the pain and humiliation and panic flooding her soul.


A very simple technique in persuasion, examination, and the implementation of a long and agonizing death if needed, is that of slow strangulation.


The use of a garrote, while interesting in many ways, seems too quick and mechanical to me. The victim suffers, yes, and dies, certainly, but never have I seen execution by garrote take more than an hour or so. The technique of slow strangulation is most satisfying on a number of levels - in the pain it causes, in the interesting effects on the victim’s body, and most particularly their mind. And of course, the control it gives the examiner.


Slow strangulation is perhaps most effective because the victim can indeed feel death approaching as their body suffers and tries to draw air, slowly losing its life, and then at the whim of the examiner, is allowed to recover for a while.


In Trieste, I employed this technique both to the benefit and delight of a number of dignitaries of the city. The witch was one that had cast spells on a number of men in the town. She was of extraordinary beauty, with dark hair and light smooth skin, perfect lips that formed a pout, and even features that had a distinctly Italian aristocratic look. She was held in a small prison outside of the city center.


When we arrived, we were admitted to her stone cell, where she had been placed with her ankles in stocks. The room had no windows and there were no torches inside, so it was pitch black when the door was closed. There were three women in the stocks with her, one of whom was naked, having been examined, tortured and returned. Our victim was fully clothed in her peasant dress, though I could immediately see by the hatred in her eyes that she was a witch that had been fully seduced by the devil. Encouraging her to speak would be a difficult task, though there was no doubt in my mind that it could and would be done.


She was removed from her stocks, and dragged from her cell by two guards. She spat at them and made a pretense of struggle, though it was useless. She was brought in to a large room where several tables had been set up, with chairs, candles, torches, and even wine, bread and cheese. I had arranged for these when I understood that the examination might take some time.


A leather strap was attached to a rope and flung over a beam above us. Such a simple device, and yet in the right hands, a work of agonizing art.


The woman’s hands were tied behind her, even as she tried to kick and bite us. I resolved that for this impertinence she would pay… before being strung up she was pulled over to a table, and pulled across it on her stomach. I positioned myself behind her, raised her skirt, and lowered my pants. I was ready, though she was not. Not that it mattered. I forced my stiff member in to her and pressed hard until it was all the way in. She was loose, perhaps from having intercourse with the devil in the past. She serviced me now, struggling and providing fine entertainment for me as I expended my lust on her… and inside her.


When I finished, she lay sobbing on the table. I pulled her off, and positioned her under the strap that was fashioned in to a noose. Before she realized what was happening, the noose slipped over her head and around her neck.


We stepped back to view the witch as she stood before us, the noose keeping her in place and her wrists tied behind her.


A basic principle of examining a prison and causing mental anguish is to humiliate. This is most easily accomplished by stripping them of their clothes, and we did this now to the woman that stood before us. Literally ripping her clothes off, destroying them in the process, we slowly removed the woman’s dignity and modesty. By ripping the clothes off in this manner, it is reinforced that the victim is helpless, that their former protections are being shredded never to return, and that they are subject to our mercy… or cruelty.


As her body was slowly exposed, I became more appreciative of what I had just pleasured myself with. It was a fine body, muscular but young, smooth and shapely with firm breasts that did not sag. As we removed the last of her clothing, red welts appeared on her skin from where we had jerked and yanked the cloth of her clothes. These enhanced her beauty, as they contrasted with her light smooth skin. The hair in her private area was dark and thick, but smooth and lay flat as the hair on her head.


We sat in chairs, and took some wine for a moment as she stood in front of us, struggling slightly and testing the ropes. Her struggles were lovely to observe in the flickering yellow light of the torches, which emphasized her womanly features.


When a little time had passed and her fear subsided some, I decided it was time to apply the beginning of the torture. With a slow steady movement, I pulled on the rope and the strap began to tighten on her neck. She followed the strap as it rose, straightening, straining, finally rising on her toes. Her breathing became slightly more labored as I stopped for a moment to allow her to understand and feel what was happening to her body. Her struggle to breathe was successful, but it was truly a struggle. With effort, she was able to take breaths, fill her lungs, raising her breasts up in such a lovely manner.


I pulled a few more inches, and the strap tightened further around her neck. Her head turned sideways, forced by the pressure of the strap as it began to lift her off her toes. I stopped just as her toes were about to leave the ground. They still touched the dirt below her, but were only able to provide a minimal amount of support. The vast majority of her weight was now straining against the strap that surrounded her neck.


A lovely gurgling noise was emitted from her mouth, which had opened wide for a moment. Her eyes squeeze shut, and I could tell she was attempting to scream, but could not. Her head was turning red, and then purple as the blood flow was restricted. Her toes reached and strained to press against the ground, sliding slightly in the dirt, looking for a way to support herself.


After a minute or so, I let her descend so that she could support more of her weight on her toes. Her breathing came in ragged, hoarse jerks which were accompanied by spams of her lovely stomach as her diaphragm worked to suck air in to her lungs.


I lowered her a bit more, and was rewarded by cries, tears and sobs from this unfortunate victim of the devil. The impact of this procedure on her mind now became clear. The restriction of breathing and the tight strangulation of the neck invoked severe panic and fear. It was an animal, primal reaction as she felt her life slipping away from her, unable to do anything to stop the blackness as her life’s blood was squeezed from her head.


The recovery was sufficient and she was raised again until she could no longer touch the ground. Her legs started thrashing as if looking for something to stand upon, but found nothing. Her entire body convulsed as the struggle to breathe made her stomach and chest heave, and her breasts moved with a subtle but enticing bounce. She lost control of her bladder, and fluid streamed down her leg and on to the ground below her.


Her tongue protruded from her mouth, slightly. I believe it was the pressure of the noose on her neck that forced this out. Her face was a dark purple, and was turning darker at each moment. In spite of her paniced attempts, she could not breath. Her eyes were large, no longer focused, and bulging slightly from her head.


I lowered her once again, until her feet were firmly planted on the ground. She breathed a loud rasping gasp, and shook violently.


As she had been kicking in the air, legs moving all about, I had noticed that I had become aroused once again. It suddenly struck me that this witch was casting a spell on me, and that my arousal was her attempt to seduce me and thus save herself. In fact, I realized my earlier violation of her body had been the result of her bewitching ways. I became angry at this attack, and decided to punish her further.


When I had examined the prison facilities earlier, I had observed a rather ingenious and insidious device. They were metal shoes, which included spikes attached to the sole. Holes in the sole allowed the spike to intrude through the metal and in to the heels of the unfortunate wearer. The idea was that as long as the wearer stood upon their toes, their toes would smash against the metal shoe, providing some level of discomfort and strain. But, if the wearer released their stance and sank down upon their feet, their weight would press the spikes deep within their flesh, causing severe pain. As a simple torture device, it was interesting… but as an adjunct to the victims suffering while being slowly strangled, it was almost artistic in its presentation of pain, enhancement of agony, and destruction of the mind.


The metal shoes were brought, and I raised the noose, pulling the witch off the ground once again. The shoes were placed on her feet with some effort (they were too small), and then chained in place. As the woman’s gagging and struggles began to reach desperation once again, I lowered her down. Her stretched body looked lovely in the red glow of the torches, and her metal-clad feet reached the floor, providing some relief.


The witch was crying, probably to gain some sympathy which I was determined not to show. She had already seduced me once, and I was determined not to allow it to happen again.


As I lowered the rope further, her feet leveled and her heels came down to the ground. The spikes thrust up and in to her heels, and a scream echoed against the stone walls of the chamber. Her hold on me strengthened, my member erect and desiring her - she was trying to free herself by throwing her most powerful spell against me, and I could not resist stroking myself, so strong was her spell as she screamed and struggled back to her toes.


For the next two hours, she was raised up, strangling by the weight of her body, sometimes able to draw some breath, sometimes unable. Several times she fainted, ceasing all struggles. Lowering her down to the floor and throwing scalding water on her revived her quickly. During this time she alternated between various states of agony. She was either dangling, feeling death approach with the ligature digging in to her neck, or was standing on her toes, straining her legs and thighs to keep from lowering on to the spikes, or when her muscles exhausted, she sank down and accepted that agony of the heel spikes as they penetrated a full inch in to her foot.


After several hours of observing her agony and playing with her to maximize her pain, she began to grow listless, less able to struggle and support herself. The extended periods of strangulation were taking their toll on her, and she was loosing the will and energy to survive. Her body was limp, and shiny in the flickering light from the sweat that had poured from her. Her tongue was constantly protruding from her mouth and eyes had a dull look.


It was time.


Her metal torture shoes were removed, and I lowered her. Cold water was splashed on her. She was allowed to breathe through her damaged neck for several minutes. Finally, I pulled the rope up and she ascended several feet in the air. She kicked. Her chest and stomach flexed. Her breasts bounced. Her convulsions slowed, and became less violent. Her eyes stared at nothing.


Her struggles lessened until they were a simple twitch. After another minute or two, there was no movement.


I finished the wine to refresh myself, walked over to the witches body, and ejaculated on her, to symbolize that she could no longer seduce me, or any other innocent man. Her body slowly turned back and forth as I left the chamber, ready for a rest from my strenuous day of work.



Saturday, November 15, 2008

The Inquisition - Garrote



Our journeys took us to many different cities throughout Europe, and we were fortunate enough to become familiar with many types of examination and execution techniques. Because we traveled so much, we gathered significant information and knowledge of devices and techniques which served to loosen tongues and bring about adequate punishment for the guilty.

In the town of Rennes, we were pleased to find an expert in the operation of the garrote. Designed as an improvement on the method of strangulation for executing prisoners, it also serves as an excellent method of punishment for those that were designated to suffer for their crimes. As any good magistrate will agree, it is not simply enough to execute an evil doer or seditious influence. Such mercy is not deserved and should be accompanied by an agonizing death to serve as a warning to all, in addition to assuring proper punishment in this earthly realm.

I had seen men executed by strangulation a number of times. The simplest form of this technique was to place the victim against a post (tying them there to prevent undue struggling), and then wrap a rope around their neck. A stick or any other resilient object placed through the rope in the back can be twisted around, causing the rope to slowly tighten. As it tightens, the pressure of the rope around the neck cuts off the blood and air supply, and depending on how quickly and tightly the rope is applied, the victim can expire in as little as two or three minutes.

The garrote which was used in Rennes is similar to this process in principle, but allowed much more delicacy and control over the victim’s agony and how quickly death occurred. The victim was placed on a narrow bench, allowing their legs to be secured as they extended out in front of them. Behind was a single heavy beam that rose straight up. The victim typically had their hands tied behind them and around this post.

The garrote was a simple device that had one special innovation. The prisoner’s neck was secured to the upright post with a metal strap. The post had a screw hole in it, and a thick threaded screw about an inch wide which protruded into the back of the prisoner’s neck.

We observed the use of the garrote for the first time with a witch that had been convicted of bewitching a local landowner into selling some land at a reduced price to her husband. Once her witchery was discovered, she was arrested, and the land returned to its owner. During her examination in the local prison, she confessed to the crime and to being a witch. The husband was whipped publicly then released for his bad business dealings. But as a witch, her sentence was to be a painful death by garrote.

We met the executioner in the open yard of the prison. The garrote was there, as were a number of others who had gathered to watch the proceedings.

Once all was prepared, the prisoner was called for. The witch was a short woman with deceptively light hair color, but dark eyes that belied her evil. She was not very pretty, but had large breasts and a very sensual curve in her body. I shuddered to think what wiles and witchery she could perform if she was allowed. In fact, I began to feel the arousal of something inside me which I rejected as the witch’s evil influence. I focused on her punishment.

She struggled as she was dragged in to the yard, but could not free herself from the prison guards. They dragged her to the bench and forced her down on it. One guard spread her legs, one on each side of the bench, and then tied her ankles together underneath, thus preventing her from standing or moving away from the bench. The neck strap was placed around her neck, and then secured in place with a bolt.

Left on the bench, her last place of rest on this earth from which she would not leave alive, she struggled and bucked about horribly. Her hands were free and grabbed the metal neck strap, which allowed her some movement (though not very much). Her legs moved freely under the bench. But ingeniously, not matter how much she struggled she was unable to get free or make her position more comfortable.

Eventually she calmed herself, seeing that her struggles did not succeed in improving her situation. She began spitting out insults at anyone within sight, cursing and shouting that she was innocent and that we would all burn in hell. I felt amused at this, as she was surely to see hell before the day was out.

The executioner then stepped up to the struggling woman and grabbed her bodice, ripping the cloth and opening her breasts for all to see. They were large, heavy and swung in a bobbing motion as she moved on her death bench. She covered herself with her hands, embarrassed by her nakedness in front of the small crowd of observers, but her clothing was torn away, leaving her nothing but her hands to cover herself.

The law called for witches to be branded, to identify them as unholy to all. In conformance to this law, a brand was heated in a nearby brazier until the smell of the hot metal filled the open square. When the metal poker was sufficiently hot, it was removed from the fire and presented to the witch. She screamed in protest, again claiming innocence in spite of her previous confession. The slightly glowing poker smoked in front of her face, and then was brought down to her left breast, where with a sudden, decisive movement it was pressed against her soft flesh.

The sizzling noise that the hot iron made was almost immediately covered by the screaming woman, who began bucking and jerking her body around. I believe these movements were involuntary, brought on by her natural reaction to try and avoid the searing pain. When it was removed, the iron left a blackened insignia that contrasted sharply with her white skin. There was a slight smell of cooked flesh that disappeared on the breeze.

Having prepared the prisoner properly, the executioner addressed the process of the actual execution.

He positioned himself behind the now sobbing prisoner, and inserted a handle to assist him in turning the screw at the neck. The screw was positioned at the point of the metal strap surrounding the neck, so as to achieve the greatest effect. The executioner turned the handle several times, and the screw began protruding behind the woman’s neck. Several more turned, and it was pressing her neck forward so that her throat felt the pressure of the metal band. Two more turns and the victim stopped her cries, for her neck was restricted and her breathing had turned in to a ragged rasp. Her hands reached up and began clawing at the metal band, the back of her neck, the post… anything she could, in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure. There was nothing she could do.

In spite of the pressure on her neck the victim could still breathe. We watched her struggles for a while, her face growing red with strain and her bosom heaving with the effort to breathe. The point of the screw behind her neck had driven securely in to her skin but had not penetrated deeply. A very small trickle of blood showed it was pressing firmly, but not in a deadly manner (yet).

After a few minutes of this, the executioner turned the screw, relieving pressure. The victims breathing became more regular, and her clawing less frantic. She rested, simply letting air flood her lungs and blood flood her head. Her breasts moved up and down in a regular manner, the brand still smoking slightly and developing a very red soreness around it.

When the victim had been allowed some recovery time, the screw was turned again, breathing became progressively more labored, and her face turned red, and then purple. Almost no air was being drawn, and the victims eyes had a wild, animal look as she flailed about. The executioner invited us to observe the screw more closely.

It had driven its way deeply in to the neck and was settled against the spine, separating the bones. There was still remarkably little blood, but the woman was jerking around so much that the screw was slowly digging an every widening hole in her flesh. The executioner proceeded to relieve pressure once again, allowing air and blood to return.

In this manner, the pressure of the garrote was applied, over and over again. Each time, the pressure became greater, and the woman’s clawing grasp more panicked. When the pressure was relieved, there was little screaming and her primary concern was to refill her body with air.

At one point, the screw turned, and we heard a clear cracking noise. A bone had been broken as her spine separated from the pressure of the screw. The woman’s eyes rolled back in her head, and the struggling ceased except for a small shaking of her limbs. Drool dripped from her tongue, which was protruding from blue lips surrounded by a dark purple face. The air was filled with a stench of a sewer as her bowels dumped their contents out on the bench and ground.

Even now, the executioner reversed the screw, and the woman breathed, slowly and with little strength, but enough to stay alive. It was explained that the bones were broken and separated in her neck, which caused some paralysis in her body. She was in excruciating pain, but unable to express it.

All the attendees gathered close to see the final pressure applied, and watch the witch expire on the bench of death.

The executioner turned the screw, and it pressed deep inside the spine. The neck bulged over the metal strap, which cut deep in to the flesh. Her tongue was pushed out of her mouth, and eyes bulged out as if they might pop out. No further struggle was seen, her arms hung limply at her sides, and her face turned from purple to almost black. Minutes later, the executioner withdrew the screw, and unfastened the metal noose from around her neck. Her body feel slowly to the side and did not move.

The whole process had taken about two hours. The witch was dead, and while the execution was relatively short, it had been a most educational experience.

The body was dragged away. It would be thrown in to a pit with the remains of others who had died while in the prisons of the city.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

The Inquisition - Pear of Agony (Vaginal Pear)

I take pride in my profession of inquisitor and examiner, and as such I am sometimes appalled at the useless energy, lack of style, and failure to produce results of many techniques used by so many. How many times have I seen a victim beaten or whipped? Yes, these may eventually produce the desired results, but with such effort, and with no class at all. So of ten much effort is expended on a victim, simply to produce a few minor welts, bruises and a weak confession.

Examination and punishment can be so much more effective, with the proper techniques and tools. I have illustrated in my writings how technique can be used when tools are not present. When the proper tools are present, they can be a delight to use, as was the case when we were in Bilbao.

The local magistrate informed us that there was a prisoner that had been convicted of sedition, and was to be punished with execution. However, the local governor had taken special interest in the case, and was desirous of a slow and painful death. We were requested to participated to help assure that this person took some time to die. The governor was likely to visit on occasion during the process, to observe the progress and suffering of the victim.

We had discovered several instruments of torture while examining some of the inmates in the dungeons of the government prison. One of these I had a particular desire to use, a most ingenious device. It was simple in concept, well made, and unique in its effects upon the victim.

The Pear of Agony (sometimes called the vaginal pear, anal pear or oral pear), is a simple device that inserted in to the victim through any orifice, and then through the turning of a central screw would open gradually wider. This spread and distended whatever orifice into which it was inserted well beyond its natural size, and in the process damaging the insides of the body. I enjoyed this concept especially - the elegance of inserting something inside the prisoner to damage their internals fascinated me, especially as the terror and mental agony was invoked.

We availed ourselves of a dungeon room in the depths of the prison, its lowest level, one that stunk worst than the rest. It was quiet here, as the few prisoners placed in various holes at this level were generally too weak to cry out. An occasional cry could be heard to echo down the passage, and perhaps a plaintive moaning from a wooden door in the ground which led to a simple dirt hole. Prisoners at this level didn’t leave, at least not alive.

It was from one such hole that our prisoner was extracted. An older woman, perhaps 35 or 40, thin and gaunt from several weeks of imprisonment. She had at one time been attractive, but the terrors of the dungeon showed their signs, with smears of blood, dirt, bruises and cuts, and a wild look in her eyes - the look of the condemned seeking any mercy, even that of death.

She was dragged to our chamber, and flung on a rack made of criss-crossed wooden beams, designed less for comfort that for the proper positioning and access to a victim. Her legs were spread wide and she was tied securely at her ankles and knees. Her wrists were tied tightly together, and then fastened above her head to the top of the rack. As I anticipated much struggling and jerking of her body, I also took a heavy leather strap and slid it through the bottom of the rack, up and over her waist, securing her hips in place to prevent too much motion. This would make the whole process easier for me, which was of course the main objective.

The woman’s clothes were in rags, hanging about her body. They were quickly torn to pieces and removed, revealing her once beautiful body. It was clear that she had proved the source of some amusement from guards who took advantage of her condemned status. I briefly considered enjoying her body myself, before it was mangled to the point where it would no longer be usable. I felt the stirrings of arousal, and realized I would be distracted if I did not relieve myself. For the sake of the ensuing session, I decided to use her now, rather than be frustrated later when she was writhing in agony and it was too late.

To make her more visually pleasing, I ordered several buckets of water thrown over her body, washing away the dried blood and dirt. Thus a very impressive woman, with fine breasts, firm hips and strong legs was revealed. In order to assure she did not faint or expire too quickly, I also made sure she was given water to drink. She gulped eagerly. It was clear she had not had water in some time.

When all preparation was complete, I exposed my member and mounted her. She had been loosened by the guards and I penetrated easily. She did not struggle, but as I thrust I felt the moistening of her insides. This woman was reacting to me, aroused by me. My eventual climax was most enjoyable, and when I withdrew I knew that I would be able to concentrate and enjoy the upcoming session with this remarkable woman.

As I prepared for the next phase of her torture, the door opened and the Governor entered the room. He seemed truly disgusted by his surroundings, but at the sight of the woman stretch out awaiting her doom, he smiled broadly. He apparently had significant animosity toward her. After speaking briefly with me, he indicated that I should continue with my work.

My tool was the Pear of Agony. The one I now produced was a long, thing device, made of a heavy metal. The end was bulbous but not overly so, tapering to a thin long neck. The end of each petal of the bulb protruded in to a sharp point, designed to tear and shred the internal tissues of the victim.

As I held the pear up to the torchlight, the woman saw the device and began crying, begging for mercy, pleading with me to kill her. In response, I stroked her straggling hair back from her pretty but sweaty face, and demonstrated its operation to her. By turning the key at the end of the device it slowly but surely spread out, wider and wider, until it was six inches or more in diameter. Her eyes were huge as she stared at the instrument, and I turned to close it back down in to its pear shape.

I positioned myself between her spread legs, and knelt to get a good position and view of her entry, which I had just moments before been thrusting. It was lubricated somewhat by my own body fluids, which would make insertion easier. As I examined the area, I could see it pulsing, protruding slightly as her stomach worked at screaming.

The pear was placed against her flesh, and pressed slightly. Her flesh gave way somewhat, but not enough to allow entry. I pushed harder as her screams turned to moans. Her flesh began to spread, but there was still significant resistance. Even closed as it was, the pear was too large for her.

I put more of my weight behind my effort, and the pear spread her flesh wide and slowly entered her. She cried out, feeling her flesh stretching, and a small tear appeared with a trickle of blood. Once firmly inside, the pear slid in well, the narrow neck accommodated well. I pushed until the sharp points at the end of the pear pierced the subjects internal organs, as indicated by her sudden scream. I took the opportunity to wiggle the device around inside her body, making sure it was in as far as reasonable, and described what was happening inside of the victim to the Governor, who looked on with a greedy fascination.

After letting the woman rest for a moment, I began the true torture by turning the screw on the instrument. I could feel the device slowly becoming less mobile and loose, as the petals spread wider and wider inside of her. The points were slowly dragging and tearing her inside tissues, and blood began to seep out, running down from her opening, over her anus, and on to the table.

The screams of the victim had changed, they were less fearful now and more urgent, reflecting the true agony that was slowly growing inside of her. Her eyes were wild, looking from side to side, and sometimes closing shut tightly. Her head cast back and forth, and her hips bucked as little as they could against the straps that held her. As the petals spread wider inside of her, and her movements became more frantic, I was glad I had secured her properly before we began. Her stomach heaved, and arms strained against her bonds.

With the joy of a small child with a new toy, the Governor came over to me, inspected her orifice, and asked if he could turn the pear further. I assured him it was simple, and showed him the operation of the device. He then began the turning, and the external evidence of the pear’s width began to show. The flesh of her orifice was stretching with the expanding neck of the pear, and I could see that her abdomen was distending slightly. At the same moment, the blood flow from inside increased as the spikes tore through the walls of her womb and began cutting through intestines.

Her pleas had died out, replaced by the animal cries that showed she had lost her senses, at least temporarily. The pear was completely expanded inside of her. I knew that while it was not actively tearing any new tissues, that the mere act of breathing created movement inside of her that was agony.

The Governor slid his hands over her body, feeling the hardness of the pear inside of her stomach, pushing the skin up to bumps which could be felt by his fingers.

We withdrew from the room to get some fresh air for a while, as the chamber had become hot, thick with smoke that made breathing difficult, and smelled with the stench of pain and blood. We obtained wine, and drank together for a while before returning for the next phase of the woman’s torture.

Upon our return, it was clear the woman had fainted. I instructed water to be brought, and dumped on her. She was given more water to drink.

She had been in the chamber a total of 6 hours so far.

I began turning the screw on the pear, slowly bringing it back to its closed position. This led to further lacerations inside, and pain due to the distended walls of her flesh collapsing back down. She resumed her cries, begging for death.

The pear was eventually removed. It slid out easily, as it was lubricated well with her blood and other internal juices.

Moving between her legs, but lower this time, I found the entrance to her bowels, her anus puckered and pulsing in and out as she struggled. The spikes at the end of the pear fit nicely in to the hole with no effort. A subsequent hard push spread her anus wide, causing a shocked scream, and the pear was deep inside her once again.

This time, turning the screw and widening the petals produced blood almost immediately. after about 20 minutes of slowly widening the device, wiggling and moving it to different positions to assure maximum pain, the petals seemed to run against something hard. At first I was uncertain what had happened, but then I realized. My solid knowledge of anatomy served me well.

One of the spikes of the pear had torn through her intestines and had lodged itself in her spine.

I could only imagine the pure agony she felt during this treatment. Her voice was hoarse from screaming, and she fainted frequently, causing halts in our treatment until she recovered. Whenever she was able, we continued, turning the screw and expanding the pear until it once again distended her insides in a hideous parody of pregnancy. Blood poured from her and she writhed in agony.

The process of torturing this victim had continued for the entire day, and the Governor had become tired and wanted to get out of the oppressive, vomitous environs of the dungeon. He left as I slowly cranked the screw, closing the pear back down to its smallest diameter. When complete, I removed the device from the woman. She had fainted once again, and I called for the guards to untie her and take her back to her cell, which was really just a hole dug in to the wall with a heavy door sealing it. When the door opened the stink of decay almost overwhelmed me. She was thrown in and left naked and bleeding in a heap as the door thudded shut.

The next day we returned, and the unfortunate woman was dragged out of her cell back to the dungeon chamber. She looked as if she might not survive much longer. She was shuddering and her skin had an unhealthy white pallor, with a red flush that came and went.

We made sure she was given water, and then tied to the table once more. She was too weak from loss of blood to struggle, but she was secured well. This time I strapped her head down to the table.

The a different pear was produced this time, one with only three petals instead of four. It was shorter and wider, and had no spikes on the end, though it opened in much the same way. This it was time inserted in to her mouth. She resisted at first, but I inserted a knife between her teeth, and pried her mouth open. The pear was quickly inserted.

The Governor was very pleased with the woman’s punishment the day before, and was there for the final phase of her agony. The screw was once again slowly twisted, opening the pear slowly inside the victim’s mouth slowly wider. At first, there was no effect, but as the pear widened her jaw open further and further, she began crying piteously.

In moments her jaw made a loud cracking noise, and blood flowed from it. The teeth and bone on the left side of her mouth had given way to pressure, and torn open.

We continued to open the device, stretching her mouth open in a hideous, unnatural way. She no longer looked completely human with her jaw opened, torn in to a permanent gape is it was.

She fainted once again. I removed the pear from her mouth. The water was splashed on her repeatedly. She finally awoke, but had difficulty breathing.

I informed the Governor that she would die soon. Sufficient damage had been done to her body that she would not survive more than a day or so, if that. He commanded that she be dragged above and hung in the town square as an example, and that her body be left there as an example to all.

The guards came, and dragged her above, and out in to the central square. There, they tied her hands above her, and threw the rope above to a large beam, lifting her there for all to see. Her jaw hung loose, blood continued to seep from her internal wounds between her legs. She was a fearsome sight to behold.

She died by that evening, and her body was left in the square for the birds to peck and eat for the next two weeks.

Saturday, November 8, 2008

The Inquisition - Rack

Properly equipped examination rooms, dungeons or jails are sometimes difficult to find throughout France. Considering the difficulty in keeping the faithful parishioners safe from evil, debauchery, witchcraft, heresy and sedition, I sometimes wonder how the Church maintains its authority at all at times. It seems there are examples of horrible evil lying hidden in every town I visited.

Such was the town of Lyon. My patron and I visited here at the request of the Bishop, as there had been some problems with the jail. The primary complaint was that there had been rumors that two heretics had been executed without proper confessions. Our investigation showed that the jailer hired by the church was new, and not versed in the proper techniques of interrogation. Thus, several prisoners had been released for lack of evidence, and indeed, two men had been hung as heretics when no confession had been obtained.

This situation was made more unacceptable for we found, secreted in a basement room under the jail, a perfectly good, working rack. We contacted the jailer and the Bishop, and resolved to demonstrate proper techniques of interrogation to the jailer. The Bishop was invited to observe but declined.

The prisoner selected for our interrogation was a woman that was known to be the leader of a local heretic sect, who held meetings in her home with others, and blasphemed the Church of Rome by positioning herself as a religious leader in contradiction to all Church teachings and authority.

The room was perfect for the examination, as it was deep in the back of the jail, underground except for several small windows high in the walls that let in bits of air and light and allowed escape for the smoke from the torches prepared for us to make sure the area was well lighted. We caused other preparations to be made, which would be used later as the interrogation progressed.

When we were ready, the woman was brought to us. She was tall, perhaps six feet in height, with long black hair that looked to be very beautiful though it was much disturbed and dirty because of the time she had spent in prison. Her face was long, smooth and light skinned, and was beautiful in the dim torchlight. Though tall, she was very thin, perhaps because of a prolonged time in prison though her body appeared very healthy.

Her clothing was stripped from her body, and as she stood naked before us her head bowed down in shame. One arm covered her breasts as best it could, the other extended down to the dark patch of silky hair between her legs. Her light skin was smooth and unblemished with small breasts, a thin waist and good hips. My patron smiled at me, knowing how I felt about the examination of heretic women.

We gave her one chance to confess fully before examination began. She responded in a quiet husky voice that she did not and could not confess to something which she did not understand. A nod from my patron, and the guards dragged her over to the table, pulling her lengthwise on top of it. She began begging, crying piteously for mercy as her wrists were tied to the ropes and her ankles were placed in the stocks at the bottom of the rack.

I checked the bonds securely, taking time to observe and touch the young woman’s body carefully, for I wished to have a good sense of how it was at rest, so I could compare it when it was stretched to its fullest and taut on the rack. She was smooth, and her curves were lovely. I became aroused, though I hid it well. It would not do to become affected by a heretic and possible witch.

Positioning myself at the head of the rack, I took hold of the spokes which afforded leverage in turning the wheel to which her wrists were tied. A good turn and the ropes tightened, pulling her body toward the wheel. A further turn and her ankles reached their limit and strain was put on her body. More turning of the wheel brought the first true cry of pain from the woman, as the muscles of her body felt the stretching power of the rack.

The woman’s torture was just beginning, and I stopped to observe her closely. Her buttocks were still supported reclining on the table, though her shoulders were now slightly raised off the table as her arms were pulled to the top of the stretching wheel. Little movement was possible for her, though she breathed well, as indicated by her cries. Most of the tension was on her arms and shoulders, and I examined these with my hands, feeling the tight muscles and distended joints. My hands wandered from her shoulders to her breasts, perhaps the one place in her body safe from the torture which had begun.

One more goodly turn and her entire body became tight and stretched like rope holding a sail in full wind. Her buttocks rose in to the air, and she was suspended completely by the pulling of the ropes and anchors holding her ankles. Sliding my hands under her I felt her back, stretched and raised above the table, and felt each rib that was covered by the stretching skin. Her hip bones protruded in the pointed, sharp look of someone stretched in torture, as her legs moved one way, and her upper body moved the other.

I sat with my patron and the two jailers who assisted us and listened to the heretic woman’s moans and cries for mercy. They were annoying, she was behaving as if some great pain was upon her but had yet to experience the full effect of the rack. We sat and ignored her for a while, instead playing a simple game of dice, in which I had very bad luck. Finally, we turned back to her, and I rose to increase the pressure on her body.

A goodly turn on the wheel took some effort, I pressed down on the spokes with strength and was rewarded by a scream from the girl. My efforts had the desired effect, and as I watched carefully, one of her shoulders slowly shifted oddly and then suddenly popped out of place, dislocating and causing another agonized scream. Anticipating the same with the other shoulder, I gave the wheel a slight tightening turn and then kneeled to observe the dislocation which came moments later. We were gratified by not only two disjointed shoulders, but her elbows soon came apart as well.

Her screams took on a more panicked tone, a horrible, frightened, hysterical note that heralded a breakdown in her will to resist. Afraid she might succumb and confess before I had the opportunity to fully rack this lovely creature, I pressed hard on the spokes with the assistance of one of the guards, and her body was literally torn in several more places as her hips and back cracked loudly with breaking bones and joints.

Silence suddenly possessed the interrogation room. The dark hard woman had fainted, her head limply hanging back from her stretched position above the table. Water was brought, though it was water that was scalding hot having been boiling on a fire. It splashed over the unconscious form, and roused her to another round of screaming as the burning water created even more agony in her pain wracked body.

Another bucket of scalding water was thrown on her, followed by a cold one. Each caused refreshed screams. The woman was unable to talk, so hysterical were her screams.

My hand felt her hot skin, heated and burned from the water. It slid down between her legs, playing with her delicate folds of skin. I pressed down gently on her bare stomach, which pulled her joint bones further apart, and then returned to the table. She had been on the rack for barely an hour, but my patron said that he was sure she would break very soon.

He was correct, as she began babbling between sobs, confessing, and I began writing her words quickly. Her confession was long and rambling, interspersed with cries for mercy and screams, and because of her hysteria I had to reorganize and make clear her thoughts and words in the confession document. Just as I completed it, she fainted once again.

Water was applied to her body three more times before she revived, and we slowly released the tension from the rack. Her ankles and wrists bled freely, and the release of tension did not relieve the agony, as many of her joints had been torn apart. With the slow movement which showed his age, my patron pressed and pulled her arms and legs until the joints were back in place. It was no certainty that they would be usable again, but in case she was interrogated later by the clergy, she needed to be presentable. She was half unconscious with pain when she signed her confession, and the jailers dragged her from the room, still naked, back to her cell.

Once again, my patron and I had served the Church well, providing the proper evidence it needed to root out and destroy the evil within our midst. We returned to our apartments where we dined on cold turkey, cheese and grapes.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

The Inquisition - Wooden Pony

It was late spring when we arrived at the city of Bilbao. Spain had seen much upheaval in the recent months, and a stern discipline was required to bring the populace back in order. We visited on behalf of the church, but our expertise was requested by the local governor. Eager to help, we met with him in the late afternoon. I recall this clearly, he served a most delightful red wine with cheese and grapes as we discussed his needs.

There were several prisoners held in a jail in the central city, a single stone fortress which had cells buried deep within the ground, in which prisoners could be thrown and left, forgotten until their remains were removed for the next unfortunate occupant. But some of these prisoners needed to be broken, information needed to be obtained and the fear of their King severely impressed on them. The special circumstance was that these prisoners needed to be broken and punished without significant damage to their bodies. They were to be allowed to recover, and then returned to their communities as examples.

My mentor and I discussed the possibilities, and concluded that the simplest and easiest method was the use of the wooden pony. The following day we entered the prison, through heavy ragged wood doors which thumped shut behind us, and a guard guided us down through a dirt-floored passage to a stone stairwell which descended in to darkness.

The cries and sobs of several prisoners echoed in the stairwell during this descent, and I was reminded of my visions of hell. The air stank of despair and pain.

We were led to a room behind a heavy oak door with a small barred opening. The door was unlocked and torches were placed around the room at our direction. We wanted the room as bright as possible, and more torches were brought in until the room was thick with smoke, but almost as bright as day.

In the center of the room stood a simple carpenter’s saw horse. A wooden beam set on two sets of legs which held it sturdy about 4 feet above the ground. A rope was flung over a beam above us and hung down directly above the wooden horse. I tied it in to a noose, and left it hanging. Several weights stood in the corner, which had been brought at our request the evening before. All was in readiness, and we called for the prisoner.

The guards returned with a young woman of perhaps 18 or 19, who once might have been very pretty. Her long dark hair looked like rats had been making nests in it (which for all I know, they might have). Her face was filthy, covered with dirt turned to mud from mixing with tears, though fine features were still obvious. She had piercing dark eyes, which looked at us with a mixture of defiance and fear.

The woman was thrown to the floor in front of us, landing on her hands and then falling forward in to the dirt. Blood seeped from scrapes in her hands where she had stopped her fall. She lay for a moment until we jerked her to her feet, took hold of her bodice firmly, and pulled, tearing quickly. Her upper body, breasts, shoulders, and stomach were exposed. She covered her fine mounds with her arms. A useless gesture, as we then tore her skirt from her, and in moments she stood naked before us, shaking as if with cold, though it was extremely hot in the dungeons.

I directed that the guards lean her over the wooden horse, and as she was held in position, both wrists were pulled back and tied behind her. She stood up, straightened and looked around, wondering what was to happen to her. She found out moments later.

At my command, the guards lifted the victim on to the thin beam of the horse, one leg on each side. As they did so, I slipped the rope over her neck, letting it hang loosely with some slack. Her bound wrists prevented her from removing the noose, and the noose prevented her from sliding off the horse. As the victim felt the wooden beam dig painfully between her legs, her eyes showed that she finally understood what her torture was to be, and she cried out for mercy.

Instead of mercy, my mentor instructed the guards to drag two of the weights under the horse. He and I bent down, securely fastening a rope to each ankle, and then slipping the rope to each of the two weights. Pulling hard, we managed to get each weight off the ground, tied securely to her ankles. Once tied securely, we released the weights, which pulled painfully down on the woman’s legs, adding to the pressure cutting deep against her womanhood.

As the weights dropped, the girl screamed loudly. The sound echoed through the chamber, amplifying the scream. She struggled, and as she slipped to one side, the noose tightened against her neck. She righted herself, and tried lifting her legs - an experiment doomed to failure. The weights were heavy enough that she could raise each leg no more than a few inches before letting them drop back in place.

Sweat poured down her body, trickling through the dirt and creating strange patterns on her flesh. She was breathing heavily, no longer screaming but moaning and crying.

I took this opportunity to observe the young woman’s body more closely, stretched as it was. Her legs were thin, but muscular. Sitting on the pony enhanced their look, defining the muscles of her legs and curves of her buttocks. Her thin waist was expanding and contracting with her panting, and fine breasts hung before us like fine fruits. She was a remarkable young woman, made more remarkable by the agony she was experiencing.

After observing her for some time, we told the guards to keep watch on her, but to leave her to her suffering. We left, and sought a good inn in which to dine for our lunch.

Our lunch lasted quite some time and I spent the afternoon in the company of a young lady that provided much comfort to me. Late that evening, when the air became cooler and I was refreshed, I ventured out to check on our prisoner. Entering the prison was like moving to another world, out of cool quiet and in to heat and dirt and stench and raucous noise from the cries of prisoners. I descended the stairs, again listening to the echos of various unfortunate souls begging for release either from prison, or in some cases, from life itself.

Entering the chamber in which our young lady rode her steed, I observed that the hours had worn on her. The torches had burned down and the lighting was poor, though there was enough smoke in the room to choke a horse. In fact, the smoke had caused the girl problems and her breathing was now raspy and strained. The noose was tight around her neck, her face bright red. She had apparently slipped and righted herself, tightening the noose.

I examined her closely. I loosened the noose (I did not want her to have a scar around the neck if I could help it), and examined her legs. The weights were digging in to her ankles, causing some bleeding, but this was normal and expected in any prison. I also checked between her legs, where her private parts ground down upon the narrow wooden board. She was turning various shades of red and purple in this area, and I knew that she was experiencing an interesting combination of numbness and penetrating, deep pain.

She was crying to me, begging me, in her raspy and almost inaudible voice. It was a delight, and I reached out and let my fingers touch her skin, stroking flesh from her breasts, stomach, and down to where she rested on the wooden pony. She continued to beg, asking for mercy.

I spoke to her for the first time, and explained that mercy was simply not an option at this point. She was being punished for her crimes against the king, and there was nothing that could be done. I promised to return the next day, and check on her again. As I turned to leave her sobs increased and she called out, almost screamed for mercy, not to leave her there. The door shut behind me and her voice slowly diminished as I climbed the stairs out of the dungeon.

The evening was spent with my mentor, sampling and discussing wines from the area. I slept well in my bed chamber, glad for the comfort of the bed and rest after a hard day of work.

One of the effects of the pony is that it robs the rider of sleep. I have seen victims ride the pony for three days, and one actually died on the pony. Such a long period of treatment is not normally required, for the combination of pain and exhaustion will break most within a day or so. Such would be the case with our dear young lady, I knew, for in addition to her weaker constitution the heat of the dungeon would suck the fluids from her body, increasing the strain on her body and mind.

This proved the case, for on my return to the dungeon the next morning, I observed the prisoner was just barely able to keep herself upright. There were no more tears or cries, just her rasping breathing, laboring for each lungful of air.

I reviewed the details of her body, the red and purple marks on her neck where she had been strangled by the noose when she lost strength; there was significant bruising and blood seeping from wounds in her womanhood and upper thighs. Her hips showed signs of strain, as if the muscles were beginning to separate from the bone from having weights distending them for so long.

I stroked her hair gently, pulling it away from her sweaty face, and then held her face in my hands. Pain showed plainly in her eyes as she looked at me.

She uttered just one word. “Please.”

I called a scribe to write down the information she would give me. She begged to be removed from the pony, that should would confess anything, tell me anything… I told her that she would remain on the pony until I was satisfied that she had told me all.

It took several hours, but the unfortunate girl provided much information about her seditious activities and those that were acting with her. I caused water to be brought, and gave some to her as she continued to ride. She drank deeply, regained some strength and began begging me for mercy again.

When she was done telling us all we wished to know, I told her she would ride the pony a little longer, as a reminder of her duty to her King. At this she began babbling wildly, and showed evidence that her mind had left her.

My mentor and I returned that afternoon, and personally removed her from her wooden steed. It was impossible for her to walk, as all muscled from her waist down had been stretched horribly by the weights. In addition, it would be several days before the bruising and pain from the wooden pony would heal in her private place between her legs. We took time to examine this area closely to assure that proper healing would take place.

Our last view of this lovely prisoner was as she was dragged down the stone hallway to her cell.

I returned to my young lady of the afternoon before, and spent some time in the exploration of her anatomy, and as I penetrated and rode her, I wondered how she would look riding the wooden pony.

Perhaps one day.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

The Inquisition - Strappado and Squasation

The following pages are translated from a manuscript discovered in a basement archive of York Minster, England. They appear to be the autobiographical experiences of an assistant to various torturers for the church in rome during the late 16th century, though the exact dates of the experiences are unknown. There is some debate of how accurate these writings really are, as there are passages that appear self-agrandizing and narcissistic to an extreme. In addition, it is clear that even though the manuscript was written as an assistant, this person had detailed knowledge and directly participated in many of the torture sessions. His exact role within the church is not known.

The text is faithfully translated from the original French of the time. There appear to be some parts missing including an introduction, probably lost during transport from Spain or France to England. It is not known when or why the document was brought to England or how it ended up in York, though it was probably inherited or discovered by a convert from the Roman Church to the Church of England and kept as evidence of the horrors imposed by the Roman Church on its own parishioners.

Strappado

My journeys had taken me across Spain and in to that region of France called the Languedoc, and to the great town of Montpellier. I was greeted warmly there by the church, and made to feel welcome. My fortunes had not been great in the past few weeks, and I had little to pay, but the priests provided me with a room and food.

To my great advantage, I was able to dine with the Monsenieur on my third night there, and discussion soon turned to the rampant apostasy in the surrounding area. They were able to deal with problems when found, but the poor clergyman knew there was a black disease that was festering and spreading under the outer beauty and peace of the town. He described how he in fact had recently arrested an infamous witch, and had even extracted a confession from her, but was unable to obtain a list of the members of her coven.

At this point I did suggest to him that any proper interrogation should pry this woman's lips open quickly, and asked what methods had been used. My poor patron was at a loss, unaware of what methods might have been used, or even whether a good interrogation had taken place. He begged me to see if I could assist, and I assured him that I would see what I could do.

The next day I was brought to the town jail, and was able to observe the witch directly. It was clear she had suffered no thorough interrogation, and that the town was greatly in need of assistance. I asked where there was a place that was private, with a high ceiling and beams supporting the roof. The basement of the cathedral afforded just such a place, though it was somewhat dark and lighted by many torches. I caused the young witch to be brought to me there, along with a priest to assist with taking down any confessions as might be obtained, and a guard. The priest and I sat at a table prepared for us to use during the interrogation.

My first act was to have the witch stripped. The priest with me appeared shocked, but I explained that this witch should not be considered fully human, and that such techniques might actually spare her further pain as the humiliation of her nakedness might assist in bringing a confession from her more quickly. The guard then proceeded to tear her bodice from her, exposing her breasts, which were well shaped and large, hanging down only a little as she was still very young.

The witch cried out in protest and began to shake in fear as the guard continued tearing the clothes from her body. The skirt and undergarments were removed, revealing the woman's smooth light skin and patch of dark hair between the thighs. The priest and I carried out a thorough examination, looking for the witches mark which we knew would be upon her body. After examination of much of her body, probing with our hands and eyes, we found it. Two small brown scars on her left thigh, just under her buttocks, where the devil had undoubtedly branded her as his own.

Her hands, which were tied before her, were upon my instruction retied behind her back. My own personal examination assured the bindings were tight and secure. The witch was shaking at this time, fearful of what might befall her. This was as it should be, the ripping of her clothes and her nakedness had the purpose of increasing her sense of vulnerability and helplessness. She knew not what might be in store for her but was clearly afraid. Her breasts were bobbing up and down, and legs rose up and down, one at a time in nervous contractions and some useless attempt at modesty. Tears streamed down her cheeks, making her face and breasts glisten in the firelight of the torches.

As I sat to begin the interrogation, she said loudly that she had already confessed, that there was no reason to cause her harm or pain and that she had done all she could. She protested that she was penitent and that she would be a good member of the church.

My smile was slow and slight as I looked at her and struck her with fear. I simply explained that she had confessed to being a witch, and that it was well known that witches were always part of a coven with other witches. Her failure to provide those names was therefore considered evidence that she was not truly penitent, and that we would be working to assure that she provided the names of the other witches quickly.

With this declaration I tied a rope around her tied wrists, and threw it over a beam above her head. As I did so she sobbed hysterically, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, repeating her confession, begging for mercy and repeating that there were no other witches. Her crying had caused her nose to run, and saliva was dripping from her mouth to the floor as she begged. I could almost feel her fear as I stood close to her.

The first pull of the rope over the beam pulled her arms up behind her back, bending her body over to compensate. Her breasts hung down in front of her, and she spread her legs slightly to maintain herself from falling to the side or forward. She was thus exposed for all to see, and I noted that the priest crossed himself and looked with shock at the spectacle. I reached momentarily between her firm thighs and placed my hand on her womanhood, feeling and stroking it. This had the desired effect, the witch renewed her sobs and pleas for mercy as I explored the soft folds of flesh.

The second pull of the rope raised the woman's arms above her head substantially. No longer able to compensate by bending over, her body righted itself slightly and she stood on her toes. It was clear from the constrained scream that the first muscles had begun to pull in her upper arms and across her shoulders. She was feeling her first taste of real pain, the pain that would soon purge her soul and obtain for us the names we desired.

The third pull required the effort of both myself and the guard, as it rotated the young witch's arms vertically toward the ceiling behind her, and lifted her off the ground. Her feet began kicking with toes down, searching for any contact with the stone floor, but missed it by inches. Her weight was now fully on her arms, tearing her shoulder muscles and compressing her chest. Her struggles quickly ceased as it became clear to her that movement simply made the pain worse. She hung there, slowly turning back and forth, swinging on the rope before us.

I returned to the table and sat with the priest who was looking at the pretty girl hanging naked before him with wide eyes. While she did not struggle, it was very obvious she was in significant pain. Her breathing had become shallow, almost a pant, as expansion of her chest was painful and she compensated by taking small quick breaths. While the pain must have been terrible, she did not make much noise, but instead uttered a repeated low cry or whimper, almost as if she were a sick sheep or some other small animal. In order to scream, she would have needed to take a deep breath, which was not possible for her.

To break down the witch's resolve, I decided to perform various humiliating acts upon her body. It is well known that such humiliation assists in obtaining confessions by increasing the mental agony of the victim. My technique was to alternate pain and pleasure, so that in her mind she might begin to confuse the two and not be able to retain her mind within her. Slapping her face strongly several times caused her body to swing back and forth, increasing the twisting movement in her shoulders. I stopped the swinging with a hand on her breats, which I fondled, especially about the nipples. I whispered to her that her nipples had become hard. She tried to turn away, but I simply reached down to her womanhood and played there for a while, exploring her private areas with my hand.

While standing next to her I observed her arms and shoulders closely, as the human anatomy is a study of much fascination to me. I could see her muscles and tendons clearly outlined under the skin, which was stretched tightly. Under her breasts, the ribs showed clearly, and I was able to see joint and bend, and felt them as I ran my hand over her stomach and chest. As I say, I take opportunities to gather personal knowledge of human anatomy whenever possible.

We called for wine, as we were prepared to allow the witch to hang from her ropes a bit longer. It arrived and the three of us each took a cup, drinking well and heartily. We did need to keep our strength as I have found that interrogations such as this can be very tiring when faced with a recalcitrant subject.

Finally, I decided to ask once again if she was prepared to give us the names of her fellow witches. She replied in a gasp that she had no fellows, that she was alone and there was no one else to name. At this I decided rather than let time take its course, to improve the technique used with her and encourage her confession more quickly.

Squassation

The guard and I found a large block of stone which had been stacked in the corner, probably as repair material for the cathedral walls. It took both of us to lift it and bring it over to the woman's feet. As it was slid under, she was able to push up slightly as her toes gained support. She gasped out and cried a thank you for the mercy we showed. Little did she understand that this support was about to become terrible instruments of pain itself.

A rope tied her ankles together, and then was wrapped around the large stone, securing this extra weight to the poor victims body. She was crying louder now, expressing her suffering more freely as some of the strain on her chest had been relieved. Protests began to resume as she reiterated that she babbled that she was innocent, that she was guilty, that she had no cohorts, and babbled on...

I knew the weight would be too much for myself and the guard, and we pulled the relucantpriest in to help. All three of us pulled on the rope, lifting the twisted body of the girl up in to the air. The renewed pressure to her chest must have been a searing pain, with the added weight of the stone tied to her ankles. In addition to the tearing muscles in her shoulers, her legs and hips were now being strained and pulled out of shape, causing her entire body to shudder in agony.

We continued to pull, higher and higher until her hands, now black and fixed in a permanent claw shape from lack of blood flow, reached the beam above. Her feet were about 6 feet above the ground. I caused the rope to be looped around a stone piller once, and then told the guard to release the rope.

The hapless young but beautiful witch plunged down from above, until the length of rope suddenly jerked her to a halt. The sudden halt and weight from the stone stretched her entire body, tearing sinew and tendon, muscle and bone separated apart from her shoulders, elbows and hips. The sudden horrible pain created an inhuman gurgling scream to rise from her throat, and was followed by silence as she feel in to unconsciousness.

A bucket of water was brought, and several splashes on the naked body left her glistening in the torchlight, and regaining awareness of the pain that wracked her entire body. She babbled again, speaking in some langauge not familiar to me. I observed her closely, touching her arms to feel the twisted and torn muscle within, sliding my hand down to the woman's shoulders and breasts that still hung heavily before her. As I played with her nipples, I saw the priest writing furiously at the table.

I inquired what he was writing, as the young witch appeared to be babbling incoherently from pain. The priest informed me that she was naming the names of other women in the village, and that he now had what we wanted, the list of the other members of her coven. Her mind had broken, just as we had broken her body.

I spent a few more minutes stroking the soft skin covering the painfully torn muscles inside, feeling her hips and between her legs where her hips were torn out of their sockets. It was good to learn more of the female anatomy, especially as it was modified during these sessions of interrogation. She stopped babbling and simply hung, panting and whimpering as she had before.

The priest and I sat for a bit, admiring the most excellent example of the feminine body that hung before us, stretched and broken and yet still quite beautiful. She glistened in sweat from the heat and agony she experienced, and the light of the torches appeared to envelope her motionless body in a redish softness and shadow that accented her curves.

Finally, she was brought down from her position of examination and her body collapsed on the floor. The guard was instructed to load her on a cart and return her to the jail. With time, she might heal, though it was of no consequence. She had completed her job, provided us with the names of others which needed to be arrested and examined, and was no longer of interest.

The priest and I ascended to the apartments of the Monseigneur, where we took wine and food and celebrated the success of the Church in rooting out evil in its midst, once again.