Monday, December 21, 2009

Inquisition: Bastinado

I love Madrid, the center of so much, the focus of so many. Spanish women have a fiery way about them, one that leads them to defy just authority and seek out evil paths for their own personal gain.

She was a young woman of about 18 or 19, adult but as yet unblemished by the ravages of childbirth. Long, wild, raven black hair hung in soft, large waves about her face and over her shoulders. Her legs were strong, breasts well formed and her waist thin. Her face reminded one of an angel, with smooth skin that curved over high cheekbones and dark eyes that flashed with light.

She cast a spell over me, for when I first saw her I could think of nothing but her. I wanted her, needed her as I had never needed another woman. She stood in chains before the magistrate, protesting her innocence with a pride that made her even more attractive to me. When she was remanded to my custody for interrogation, my heart beat faster knowing that the path to my possession of her was before me.

Resisting the pull of the guards, she fell to the ground and was dragged out of the hall by her chains. I followed, considering what technique I would use with her. I wanted her body to remain intact, her face in shape, her spirit and life to continue. A good choice – designed to extract the needed confession which would make her completely mine – the bastinado.

Deep in the bowels of the prison, she was dragged down a dark hall, lit only by torches positioned every 20 feet or so. Passing various heavy wood doors, I heard someone call out, whether in pain or in desperation I could not tell. Some other prisoner sensed our presence and begged for mercy which would never come. This was not the place for mercy, it could be smelled in the greasy, soot filled atmosphere and seen on the blackened stone walls.

A chamber at the end of the corridor was reached and as we dragged her inside the torchlight revealed simple stocks in the middle of the floor. As the woman began pleading rather than protesting innocence, the door was closed and I turned to tearing her clothes from her body, ripping material and exposing more and more flesh with each yank. She tried to hold on to the material as best she could but eventually there was a heap of cloth on the ground, and she stood naked before us, skin glistening with sweat in the red torchlight.

Grabbing her by legs and arms, she was lifted twisting and struggling into the air and then placed on the seat before the stocks; to call it a seat is perhaps an injustice, for it was actually a simple thin wooden board, set parallel to the stocks. The board would press into her buttock, causing increasing discomfort in a manner similar to the wooden pony, but less damaging.

Her legs were pulled in front of her and quickly locked in place. She wriggled and pulled, but there was no chance of escape. Yanking her legs back and trying to get free was amusing to watch for a while, for she had a truly beautiful body and was showing us its fine lines with every strain of muscle.

The poor victim’s feet extended out from the wooden stocks, held still and ready for the torture to begin. We gathered the remains of her clothing into a pile beneath her feet, and added some small kindling wood. A torch was removed from the wall, and the cloth began burning. The smoke was choking, and as the fire began to swell I left the room for a little open air in the corridor.

We stood outside as the flames from the cloth surrounded and caught the wood as well; and the woman began to cry out as she realized what was happening. The heat from the small fire was beginning to be painful, and it was time to return to observe, and enhance the pain until it became agony.

More wood was added until the flames licked at the soles of her feet. As the flames came close to her flesh, the girl began to scream in earnest. Her hands were chained behind her back, and her beautiful breasts were moving, up and down, bouncing with her panicked breathing, struggles and screams.

It was time to begin interrogation. I obtained a piece of heavy wood, and placed it between her feet and the flames of the fire below. The girl sobbed, unable to react at first but eventually returning to begging for mercy.

My response was clear. “You may have mercy; but it is in return for your complete confession.”

“NoooOOO! I am innocent, I can not confess that which I have not done!” The girl became defiant in a moment, the anger in her beautiful eyes flashing out at me. I felt the desire for her rise within my loins immediately. I caressed her black silky hair for a moment, placing it in order behind her shoulder so to expose her beautiful Spanish face.

A staff was brought in, and I considered it a moment before taking hold of it, positioning myself at her feet and then swinging it firmly against them. A loud cracking noise indicated a good solid blow had landed squarely on her soles, and she yelped in pain. A second stroke brought a subsequent yelp. I repeated the strokes, again and again.

Repeated strikes against flesh and muscles, penetrating to the bone beneath, builds pain. The pain from the strikes accumulates and becomes agony, and after twenty or thirty strokes of the staff, the condemned girl was screaming hysterically. The constant beating of her feet had produced huge red and black welts. I was certain I heard a bone crack during the last stroke. If she did not confess soon, more of her bones would be broken.

I was tired, and rather than hand the staff to one of the others, we added some fuel to the fire and removed the wooden shield so that the flames could lick her damaged and bleeding feet once again. Blood from her ankles, where her struggles had torn the flesh against the wood of the stocks, mixed with blood from her beaten soles. As the flames rose, this blood sizzled, bubbled and evaporated.

The smell was unmistakable. It began with the scent of the burning wood, but soon a pungent smell of boiling, burning blood was added. Finally, the smell of cooking flesh was added. The raven haired vixen that had enchanted me had grown hoarse from screaming, and as her flesh began to burn the searing pain overwhelmed her and she fainted, falling backward so that her head and upper body hung down behind the narrow board which dug into her buttocks. Her black hair hung down and brushed the floor below her.

I covered the fire once again with the wood shield, as there was no point in further damaging her as she was unconscious. Instead, water was brought, and poured over her naked form stretched and bent backwards behind the stocks. Twice, a bucket was dumped on her, and at the third time she regained consciousness. We assisted in raising her to a sitting position, and then gave her water to drink. She thanked us, foolishly believing we were extending some kindness (in fact, it does no good to have a prisoner faint or die before a confession is obtained, and I wanted her to remain healthy for my own purposes later).

Once again, I queried her, “Are you ready to confess? To accept that you have bewitched men, including the lord chancellor, and seducing him away from his wife? Will you confess that you are a witch of hell, a worshiper of the devil? Confess!”

Her fevered eyes looked at me with bewilderment, and she replied in a rasping voice “I can not confess, for I know not what I am accused, and can not confess to something that is a mystery to me!”

I could see she was no longer defiant, but was still unwilling to confess as she must. I could also tell that she was getting close, losing her will to resist and would soon give the confession that was required. Some additional persuasion would be required, but we would not be long.

The wood was removed, and the heat from the flames brought a gut wrenching scream from her that echoed down the corridor, coming back to us from the rounded stone walls and ceiling. Her naked body writhed with her involuntary spasms as she tried to pull her feet away from the stocks.

A metal poker was placed in the fire to heat and we sat watching the flames die down so they no longer directly touched her blackened and blistering flesh. The iron poker rested in the coals, and in a few minutes was glowing red.

I removed the poker and raised the glowing end to where the girl could observe it closely. She shrank back, and cried out “I will confess, I will confess! Please, in the name of mercy do not touch me with that, I will confess to all!”

I slowly moved the poker back to her feet and pressed it against them, where her flesh sizzled and smoked as her body jerked and convulsed in agony, screaming once again filling the room. Switching feet, I continued the torture, until the iron lost much of its heat.

Her hands were unchained from behind her back, and the document thrust in front of her. “Make your mark!”

She made a shaking scratch on the paper and slumped forward, sobbing and nearly fainting.

“Name the other witches!” I cried out to her. “Name the members of your coven, so that they can be brought to justice!”

“NO! I will not commit others to this hell!”

“Very well!” I yelled in her face, “Then your hell shall continue, until you die and descend to your demon master’s hell! But that may be a very, very long time!”

With this, I took up the rod and swung it at her feet again, producing a loud crack as more bones were broken. She screamed out, released the contents of her bowels over the floor below her, and began babbling names. With each stroke of the rod and crack of new broken bone, another name was revealed. I swung the rod down in her shin where it protruded from the stocks; more names were produced. The shin bone cracked and one last name came from her lips before she fainted once again.

Further attempts to revive her with water failed. She was released from the stocks, the pulp that was once her feet slowly sliding down to the floor, joining her inert body. She was dragged to a cell, where I instructed her feet should be wrapped with medicinal herbs. The jailer looked at me as if I were crazy, for as badly as her feet had been mangled, there was no way she would live without their being removed. However, I explained quickly that I had certain specific, private plans for her and wanted her healthy and intact for the next several days. After this time, they could remove whatever body parts they wished, as she was executed.

I went home, and rested well that night, dreaming of the young woman’s wet body, laying on the floor of the cell, ready for me to take in any way I pleased in the morning.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Inquisition: Disembowelment

While I have always practiced my skills in the effort to persuade reticent or evil persons to confess or provide information, my experiences took me to a number of places where I was able to observe executions. My personal preference is not to involve myself in the slow and painful executions of the condemned, but rather to persuade; though it is true that my methods sometimes result in the eventual death of the victim, it is not the primary purpose.

It is remarkable how much the human body can be damaged without causing immediate death. Death may result over time due to the deterioration and of the damaged area and failure to heal; but if certain areas of the body are left intact, the victim remains alive to deal with the agony inflicted on her for many days. If damage to the brain, the heart and lungs are avoided, and care is given to prevent the loss of too much blood, the victim is perfectly capable of surviving for long periods of time.

Such it the case of disembowelment, the process of cutting into the abdomen and removing the internal organs, especially the intestines.

My first case observing the slow torture of a victim condemned to death was the disembowelment of a young woman in Paris. The pretty dark haired girl was captured during a secret meeting of traitors, and in spite of her pleas of innocence, had been convicted of treason herself. The King was particularly concerned that the group of seditionists spent a long time suffering before their death.

Several guards were tasked with causing her slow death, and being a good acquaintance with the chief prison guard, I was invited to observe. I agreed willingly, hoping to learn new techniques that might be useful in my own work, and was admitted to the prison on the morning after the victim’s conviction and sentence. The torture was not to take place in the holding cell, where the girl was secured in stocks which had prevented any significant movement for the last several days. The guards took me to the cell first, where several women were held, chained or held in most uncomfortable restraints. The youngest of the lot, a young woman with long raven black hair and a pretty face, was released from her restraint and dragged from the room.

As we reached the torture chamber, the girl was thrown to the floor. She was wearing a typical bar maid’s dress, apron and bodice; all were stained and dirty from her work, and later from the stress of imprisonment. Two of the guards quickly relieved the girl of these clothes, tearing them from her as she struggled feebly to resist.

When she was standing naked before us at last, she revealed the most nubile, well formed and pleasant female form I had observed in many a year. As is clear from my writings, torture is best inflicted when the victim is naked, as the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability is enhanced; thus I had seen many women naked in my time as an interrogator. This woman was tall, thin, but with beautiful curved breasts, slight ripples from her ribs seen under the flesh of her sides, a thin waist and pleasingly round buttocks. The soft dark hair between her legs was straight, almost as if it had been combed, and her legs were strong and shapely.

It seemed almost a tragedy to tear and destroy this impressive girl, and I commented on this to the chief guard. He agreed, and suggested we use the girl, one last time, for such a body should not be wasted.

She was thus thrown upon her back on a table, and her legs pulled apart and tied against the legs of the table, exposing her private parts. Until this point, the girl had struggled some, but with no energy, and as she lay exposed before us she sobbed quietly, accepting this part of her fate.

I undid my trousers, and exposed my hard member. Moments later, my hard sensitive head was pressing against the softness between her legs. I strained, pushed and finally gained entrance, and felt the delight of the gorgeous woman surrounding my flesh. I thrust, observing how each of my thrusts made her breasts jiggle slightly, and how she occasionally gasped when my thrust was particularly hard and deep. Her flesh caressed my member, stroked it and pulled the lust from me as I moved and plunged into her body. Before long, I reached my climax, thrusting deep into the woman’s body to deposit my semen.

My own use of the victim’s body was duplicated by the other guards; repeatedly, they exposed themselves, entered her, thrust until satisfied, and withdrew. As the process continued, it was obviously easier for her to take the large members, as the semen which dripped from her added more lubrication. When we had all spent ourselves, she lay motionless on the table for a while, no longer crying, but simply staring at the wall. She remained as lovely as when she had first been stripped.

When they were ready and recovered from their pleasure, the guards lifted the girl from the table and dragged her to a large cross of wood that stood against the wall of the chamber. There the woman had her wrists securely tied to the upper beams, and then her ankles forced apart and tied to the lower beams. The ropes were pulled very tight, and she cried out as they were tightened, begging for mercy for the first time. No mercy was given, of course, and the ropes were tightened until there was no possibility that she could struggle free. They cut into her wrists sharply, causing some blood to seep out, and her hands and feet quickly turned purple as the blood circulation was cut off.

The beautiful shape of the young woman’s body was accentuated by her position: hanging from her arms, stretched to show her naked body to full advantage, legs spread and tied apart. Her breathing was quick, the pain of her bonds taking hold as her weight pulled her down. She writhed, attempting to gain freedom, or at the least to find a less painful position.

One guard produced several items to be used during the torture of the girl. A knife, a hook of sorts, and a bucket. The knife was like those that fishermen use for gutting a fish, short and curved back on itself, with the sharp of the blade facing to the inside of the curve.

The knife was placed against the flat stomach of the girl, who looked down and saw the sharp point pressing against her flesh. A small trickle of blood marked deep red against the white smoothness of her flesh. As she saw what was about to happen, she screamed in panic, swearing that she was innocent, that she would do anything to avoid her fate, begging for mercy. The blood from the puncture wound in her stomach trickled down between her legs, where it mingled with the sperm seeping down her inner thigh.

With a sudden thrust, the knife was plunged deeper into her flesh, and then pulled hard to the side. The screams changed from panic to agony as her flesh was ripped apart, a gash about six or seven inches long opening up halfway between her belly button and her chest.

The knife was removed, and I observed that because of the curve in the blade, it had penetrated sufficiently to slice open the stomach, but not enter or tear the internal organs. Perfectly suited to the job, the knife had opened her up, ready for exploration, without doing any serious damage to her insides.

The poor girl’s screams had actually subsided some, as I suspect the shock of what was happening overwhelmed her. She looked down, saw the gash in her abdomen, and then tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling as she sobbed.

The bucket was placed below the girl, and just in front. There it waited for a while, as the executioner guard drank some wine and chatted with the rest of us about the crime the girl had committed. He estimated that she would live at least a day, and perhaps longer, before succumbing to infection and shock.

After being fortified with several goblets of wine, the guard took the strange hook in hand and approached the hanging girl. The hook had two sharp prongs at the end, pointed and hooked around on themselves in a most evil manner. Slowly, he worked it into the gaping wound in her abdomen, sliding it in and then around inside of her. At last he seemed satisfied and began slowly pulling it out. As the hook appeared once again, we could see it had penetrated and was pulling out a thin white tube of flesh. This tube was only about an inch in diameter, perhaps a little more, and while it was covered in red blood, the tissue looked more like a pale purple and gray.

The small intestine was pulled from the opening, slowly sliding out like an eel or wet worm. When a foot of it had been pulled out and lay hanging over the condemned stomach, the guard removed the hook from where it pierced the organ and re-inserted it deep within the girls stomach. Pushing in further, the iron rod which ended in the hook disappeared inside her.

The girl was sweating profusely, water gathering and trickling down her beautiful body, breasts wobbling as she struggled, chest rising and falling as she screamed. She looked down and saw how she was slowly being torn apart. The horror of it overwhelmed her and she slumped unconscious for a moment, though only for a moment. The rod was slowly being removed and as the hook appeared once again, it showed that more of the intestines had been grabbed and were being pulled out. Three feet of bowel now hung out of the wound and down the stomach of the girl.

Grabbing the bowel, the guard pulled slowly but surely, and the snake-like slimy mess slid easily out of the opening. The girl hung her head, watching her intestines being removed slowly. Enough had been removed that they now began to gather in the bucket below, wrapping around in a circular pattern, covered with blood and slime.

The woman was clearly in agony, but the greater part of the pain was in knowing, and actually seeing, how her body was being slowly violated and taken apart. She sobbed, cried, and screamed when strength allowed her, no longer begging for mercy. Her hands had turned a deep purple, fingers swollen and unmoving. Blood now covered the front of her flesh from her stomach downward, making a stark contrast to the beauty of her smooth skin above, the shapeliness of her breasts, neck, and the beauty of her face and hair.

As more of the bowels slid out and filled the bucket, I took the opportunity to come close to the victim and observer the operation more closely. The opening in her stomach was low enough so as not to damage her chest or diaphragm, which accounted for her continued ability to scream. Her stomach, which had been flat before, appeared to be becoming slightly concave. Somewhere around 10 or 12 feet of her bowels had been removed at this time.

While there was blood, most of it was from the initial gash to gain entrance to her insides. This was no longer bleeding, and the operation continued, removing her bowels without causing any immediate life threatening damage. An unfortunate side effect of this torture – she lost complete control of her bowels, and defecated on the floor below her, in violent, large bursts. The stench was rather oppressive for some time after.

When almost 25 feet of the thin, slightly lumpy gray tubing had been pulled from her, the guard stopped, and lifted a large handful up to the woman’s face. Intestines were smeared over the beautiful cheeks, lips and eyes… and then looped over her neck so that she wore her own bowels like a necklace.

No longer screaming with agony, the woman was still in great pain but lacked the strength to express it. Her body was shaking uncontrollably. And then, just as the guard moved to remove the last bit of intestine, she weakly vomited and then fainted.

A bucket of water was produced and splashed on her face and upper body. This cleaned some of the slime from her and restored some of her previous beauty. It also roused her from her faint, and she looked down at the remains of her stomach and screamed with renewed vigor.

Her bowels were still connected to her insides, and ran back up into the gash in her stomach. Pulling harder, the guard slid more of her entrails out, and quickly exposed a much larger, wider organ that was deep red in color. There was very little of this exposed before it stubbornly refused to yield more of its length.

The interior of the torture chamber had become saturated with terrible odors, and was almost breathable. At my suggestion, all of us decided to go wash and refresh ourselves at the local tavern, to return later and finish the task.

After a good meal and several bottles of wine, we returned to the prison and descended to the chamber. The offensive odors within struck us hard, as if it were a physical wall. The woman hung from the cross, breathing with a rasping labored effort. Flies had gathered around her entire body, infesting her extracted entrails, her open stomach, and her face.

As we had removed the most easily obtained intestines, any more disembowelment would require a larger opening. The gutting knife was produced once more, and inserted at the far edge of the existing wound. Pressing in and then down with much force, the flesh was opened up in a descending gouge. A large flap of the victim’s stomach opened up with a somewhat wet flopping noise. Her attempts at screaming were almost inaudible, as she was no longer able to use her stomach muscles.

With experienced hands, the knife sliced out her remaining large intestine, and her bowels fell free of her body, no longer hanging out. Blood pour freshly, mixing with the blackened dried blood from several hours before.

Pressing around inside the opened abdomen, the guard then applied the knife once again, cutting swiftly. He produced a lumpy glob of flesh and explained it was the internal part of her woman’s organs. This horrible visage actually made my stomach churn, seeing the woman’s internal organs removed and displayed in this manner as she looked on in a haze of agony, hanging from the cross.

After some time, it became clear the woman was slipping in and out of consciousness, but might live for some time. I suggested that we get the process over with, and help her to her final reward (or punishment, as the case was for this traitor). The oppressive stench of that room was very unpleasant, and I had no more wish to view the woman’s suffering.

In response, a rope and short wooden rod was produced. I took it to the woman, who looked at me with glazed, red eyes as I wrapped the rope around her neck and then tied it to the wooden rod. Twisting the rod around tightened the rope, and as it tightened, the woman began gasping for air. Two more twists, and the gasping had stopped, her neck was compressed such that she could no longer breath. Three more twists and the pressure building up in her head turned her face purple, and the tongue protruded from her mouth. Several more twists, and her eyes looked as if they would pop from her head. There was no more movement in her, either in her face, or her body.

Remaining there for a moment to assure she was dead, I then removed the garrote, and left the chamber. As I left, the other guards were cutting the ropes from her wrists and ankles, and there was a heavy thump as her once beautiful lifeless form fell to the ground on top of the remains of her disemboweled organs.

It was a lesson for me, watching this woman’s death by torture. And while her fate was deserved as a treasonous wretch, I decided that my activities were to be restricted to the art of interrogation and persuasion from that time forward.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Miss Brown Pays Her Debt To Society

I could not believe my luck.

Yes, I had violated federal law; this time by overriding the climate control in my house to cool it to 75 instead of 80. It did not seem like such a big deal, but I was prosecuted for global vandalism and natural resource hoarding. I mean, what kind of horrible thing had I done? According to the prosecutor, it was the most serious of crimes. It wasn’t just a crime against people, it was a crime against the planet.

In spite of the seriousness of the charge, I was overjoyed when the judge announced the sentence. My lawyer seemed pretty happy as well.

“Miss Brown,” intoned the judge, “Considering that this is your first crime against the planet, I am going to go easy on you. However, an example must still be made of such wanton contribution to the serious problem of Global Contraction. I sentence you to Public Humiliation, while working to pay off the fines designated as standard for this crime.”

After the reading of the sentence the bailiff came over to the defendants table, asked me to turn my back to him as he wrapped and locked a chain around my waist. He then cuffed my wrists to the chain, and strapped my elbows behind my back (cinching the strap close until I grunted in pain), thus immobilizing my hands and arms. I could see my chest was pushed out in front of me in this painful position, my breasts straining against my silk blouse. Perhaps this is part of what they meant by public humiliation.

My worthless lawyer was already over at the prosecution’s table, discussing arrangements for golf that weekend. I shot a scowl at him as the bailiff led me away into the jail section of the courthouse. Pulled down the hall and shoved into a small holding cell with three other women awaiting some proceeding, I was left with the chains and strap still restraining my arms. I sat down on a bench next to one of the other women, a tall good looking woman who appeared visibly nervous.

“Hey, could you undo the strap on my elbows?” I asked politely.

“Um… I am not sure… I don’t want to get into trouble…”

I laughed. “If you are here, you are already in trouble. What else are they going to do to you? Slap your hand?”

I turned my back to her, so she could unstrap me, which she did.

I gasped with relief, and thanked her. “So, what are you here for? Trial?”

She smiled nervously and licked her lips. “Um, no. I was convicted already. I am here for sentencing. My lawyer says I can reduce my sentence quite a bit by opting for a level three facility, so I am hoping for that.”

A chill ran through my body when I heard her mention a level three facility. “Um… you might want to rethink that. I spent a little time…”

Sandra Bailey!” yelled a guard through the bars. “Your turn, lets get up and get going!”

The tall nervous woman stood, revealing beautifully shaped legs and ass, thin waist and pert breasts. The prison uniform somehow made her look good. I shuddered, wondering what kind of horror a 6 foot tall woman would go through, naked and trapped inside one of the level three cages for weeks…

I was housed in the central jail that evening. Three women per cell, bunk beds stacked three high, public toilet, uncomfortably tight orange jumpsuits and bad food. So far, it was the best of all my experiences being incarcerated. I could get used to this. In fact the girl in the bunk above me looked kind of nice, and I was thinking about getting to know her, and maybe letting her share my bunk sometime. Unfortunately, the next day I was discharged.

Discharged is probably the wrong term. More like transferred. Things went downhill fast. About 10am, I was fetched by a guard that took me roughly down to the basement of the jail facility where I was guided to a bare concrete windowless room about 20 feet square. There, with 10 other male guards watching, as well as the judge, court staff, prosecutor and my own lawyer (which ticked me off quite a bit), I was stripped. First the orange jumpsuit was unzipped and removed, revealing my bare skin covered only by a bra and panties. The guards murmured in approval. I was good looking and had a killer body; I knew this and was used to guys ogling.

This was a little much though, as my wrists were handcuffed and then hooked above my head so that I stood exposed before this crowd of guards and court workers. I felt more naked than I had in ages, hanging there exposed in front of these people, the intent and purpose being to provide them with a good view and entertainment.

More court workers entered the room, obviously notified about the spectacle which was about to take place.

I hung my head, my long brown hair covering my face. The hook above me was cranked higher, forcing my body to stretch out. My weight began to shift from my feet to my wrists, and I moaned slightly. The cuffs were hard and dug painfully into my wrists. At my moan a couple of the guards chuckled, and moved to different positions to observe me more closely.

A large pair of scissors was presented before my face. For a moment I was afraid they were going to cut off my hair, but instead, the point slid down my neck, between my breasts and finally to my bra, where the scissors snipped. The bra suddenly popped open and my breasts fell out. A murmur of approval came from the observers, who had gathered closer to look at my helpless body slowly being exposed.

A couple of more snips and the bra fell away. The scissors descended, dragging across my skin and leaving a very small, thin red line. Two more snips and my panties were gone, my bush exposed to the audience. By now, I was crying quietly, enduring what I knew was the beginning of my sentence of humiliation. My naked body hung exposed and straining in front of about 15 people, all leering at me and enjoying my nudity and discomfort.

I struggled on my tip toes, moving to try to stay up and push as much of my weight from my feet instead of my wrists. While I did this I felt two pairs of hands suddenly grab my ass, spreading the cheeks wide apart. I yelped a bit from surprise and fear, and yelped again when I felt something hard and long inserted into my anus. No lube was used, sheer force substituted as the cold hard plastic was shoved far up into my bowels, scraping as it went. I whimpered in pain.

Moments later I felt a strange sensation of cold spreading through my insides, down around my waist. The small crowd was cheering, making comments about how much of the enema I would take. Liquid gushed into me, and the cold feeling was quickly augmented by a feeling of fullness, and then of cramping. I wanted to bend over so badly, and cried out with pain, but could do nothing. I couldn’t tell when the flow stopped, I just knew I felt like I would burst and was cramping worse than I had ever felt before.

There was some activity behind me, as I moaned in pain and danced on my toes. I realized this combination of pain and dancing was being enjoyed by the court staff especially, they were talking excitedly between themselves about how I looked like a pitiful ballerina with a fat stomach. With a slow awareness of what was happening, a second bag of the enema fluid was released into my bowls.

I began to cry in earnest now. The amount of fluid inside me was more than I could take. It was literally painfully distending my abdomen outward stretching my internal organs and stomach. I cried out for mercy, but the flow continued, pressing into me, filling me, making me nauseous.

The nausea became so bad from the pain and distention of my bowels that I choked on bile, trying to keep the contents of my stomach down. It didn’t work. After a minute, I puked, spewing my vomit all over the floor and the front of my body. As the water flowed in, my vomit flowed out, constantly, until I though I would be unable to breath and would die.

The vomiting stopped at about the same time the enema stopped. I was hanging by my wrists now, no longer able to do the dance. The judge was laughing, and I briefly saw him massaging himself through his pants.

With the enema nozzle still plugging my anus and preventing me from expelling the liquid, another nozzle was introduced. It was pressed into my vagina, sliding up, tearing some of the flesh as it went. I screamed from the pain, which just seemed to encourage the guard to shove it in harder and deeper. It passed my vagina, uterus, cervix. It felt like it was penetrating all the way into my heart. I screamed again and begged for mercy.

No mercy was to be had in this cold basement room. A flow of water was turned on, and my internal genitalia were flooded with ice cold. I hung from my wrists, sobbing in pain as the water gushed from my pussy, down my legs and onto the floor where it pooled and finally ran to a drain in the middle of the floor. The painful douching went on for 5 minutes or more, and it felt like my guts would be torn out at any moment. I vomited again, not as much this time, though I gagged hard on the acid of the bile.

The vomiting increased the pain of my distended bowls, which in turn increase the nausea and vomiting. I was in a cold sweat, dizzy and almost fainting as the men in the room gathered close by to observe my suffering. I felt hands feeling my stomach, pushing on its tightness, feeling down to where the water gushed from between my legs, playing with the nozzle in my anus. I vomited again and two of the guards jumped out of the way just in time.

The massive douche was removed and I hung motionless by my wrists for a moment, still cramping horribly. Finally, my wish was granted. The nozzle was removed from my anus, and was followed by a sudden stream of chunky liquid that spewed from my ass. I had no control over my bowels, the pressure from my distended flesh drove the fluid from me in a high pressure stream.

Along with the relief from the pressure was renewed cramping; it struck with an unexpected force. I cried out, begging for mercy, begging to be let down so that I could curl up into a ball and protect my stomach. Instead I just hung there, stretched out and rapidly expelling the enema all over the floor.

When it was over, and all the fluid had been coerced from my intestines, the hook was raised another foot. This lifted me off the ground, my toes swinging about 8 or 9 inches above the concrete. I couldn’t help but move my legs some in an attempt to find something to stand on. I finally grew quiet and simply hung in front of the judge, court staff and guards.

Without warning, a strong blast of water hit me. It was ice cold, and the pressure pushed me to the side. I began a steady swinging back and forth, as the high pressure water spray covered my body, chasing it as I swung involuntarily back and forth. It wasn’t exactly painful, but it stung and the cold water was miserable.

The water shifted from cold to hot. Scalding, I would say, though it probably just felt scalding in comparison to the coldness of the water before it. I screamed again as the steaming water pushed me all about, forcing my body to swing in new directions. It burned my breasts, beating them up and around with its pulses. It burned between my legs, on my inside thighs, and even up inside my vagina once again. It burned my back, my sides, and the pressure shoved water between my buttocks and into my bowels.

Then cold again. The same treatment. Then hot. Back and forth it went, until I was barely conscious. The beating water, shifting from hot to cold, was too much for me in my weakened state. I simply hung there, seeing black spots before my eyes that threatened to expand and take over the world.

The next thing I knew, my soaking body was laying on the hard concrete floor. The handcuffs were removed, and I was dragged, limp, to a wire cage which stood in the corner. I was shoved inside, and the door closed and locked with a small padlock. I lay motionless and watched as the key was given to a tall thin man in jeans. The cage was lifted onto a wheeled dolly and began moving. I lost consciousness.

I awakened, still in the cage, in a small dimly lighted room. My guts hurt, but I had survived. Mostly, I was hungry and very thirsty. In my cage I found two dog bowls, one containing water, the other containing some sort of mush that smelled vaguely like spoiled food. I ate and drank eagerly.

The sound of water came to me and a smell of salt air made me realize I was near, or at, the beach. I lay at the bottom of my cage, resting, hoping this was as bad as it was going to get.

I was wearing a collar. A dog collar, but heavy leather, small spikes protruding from it. I tried taking it off but it was locked in place with a small padlock.

Something told me it was morning. I had been unconscious (or slept) through the night.

There were sounds of people outside, many people, children and adults. Sounds of bells, whistles, and other strange things were barely audible. I strained to hear. Suddenly, it came to me. I was at the fun zone, down by the pier! What was I doing here? I found out soon enough.

A door in the back of the room, and the tall skinny man from the jail entered. Opening some blinds first and letting in the blinding light of morning to my unaccustomed eyes, he turned to me and introduced himself.

“Hey there, Miss Brown I think it is? My name is Walter. I sure hope we are going to get along here, because believe it or not, you and I have the same objectives. We want to earn as much money as we can, in as short time as possible.”

He had a slightly slimy quality to him, and was leering at my naked body as I lay in the cage. I composed myself as best I could, rose up on all fours (as much as the cage would allow) and answered him.

“Well, Walter, I don’t know what you mean about us having the same objectives. I am naked inside the cage and you are outside. Doesn’t sound like we have that much in common. What did you have in mind?”

Walter smirked, and walked over to a large box on the other side of the room. He removed a long stick, painted red, with a box at one end where their was a handle, and a small fork at the other end. He sauntered over to my cage with the object in his hands, twiddling with some controls, and then casually but quickly stuck the forked end of the stick through the cage wires where it contacted the naked side of my body, just at the ribs.

The world exploded for a moment. A searing pain shot through my side, I exhaled suddenly with a grunt and dropped to the ground. The pain had only lasted a moment, but it left a sort of residue, a throbbing tingle that said my brain was still reverberating from whatever horrible had just happened.

I lay panting, and began to cry. It had happened so suddenly, and without warning, I had no time to prepare my mind. Not that it would have probably mattered. The object he held in his hand was a cattle prod, charged and ready to deliver a significant high voltage jolt to my naked flesh, where ever he pleased.

There was little I could think of except how to keep from getting shocked again. At that point in time, I would have done anything for him, just to convince him not to touch me with that object again. Instead, he squatted down and spoke to me.

“That’s what I have in mind Miss Brown. By order of the court, you are to provide yourself as a carnival attraction, accepting a portion of the proceeds you bring in, until you have paid off your fine. Because I get another portion of the proceeds, we both want to pull in as much money as possible, for our own reasons. Cooperate, and we can get this going and rake in some cash.”

I was recovering, and looked at him with disbelief, though I knew he was telling the truth.

“What sort of attraction?” I asked, slowly regaining my composure.

“Well, here’s how it works. Just outside this door, on the main beach walk, is a stake. You get chained to it, and then I sell shots at you with this here prod,” here he waved the cattle prod in his hand,” and the more people pony up the bucks to knock you silly with it, the more money we make. You really don’t have to do much, I do most of the work, hawking the amusement, pulling in the customers, taking in the money. You just grovel and take it.”

I looked at him in disbelief. I was going to be sold as a torture toy on the beach sidewalk at the fun zone. I curled up and began crying.

“Might was well get started now, you really don’t have to do much except stay awake, don’t faint, give a nice strong reaction when somebody shoots you one.” He was grinning evilly as he said this.

Walter opened the cage door, and attached a short leash to the collar around my neck. I crawled out of the cage as he pulled, yanked in the direction of the front door. He pulled hard and fast enough I could not get up, and scrambled on all fours, my hair hanging down, breasts wobbling below me, knees scuffed on the ground. The front door opened, and I was pulled down a short sidewalk on the side of a plain blue stucco building until we reached the main sidewalk.

We crossed the sidewalk, sand on its surface digging and scraping my hands and knees. People walking by stopped and stared at me, a nude 26 year old woman with a great body, nice looking, being dragged over to the edge of the walkway. There my collar was quickly attached to a short but heavy chain, which was in turn welded to a metal stake that extended about a foot up out of the ground.

In this position, I could raise my head no higher than two feet off the ground, effectively keeping me on all fours, bent over and exposed to the public that walked by. It felt like I was a dog, and not a well treated one at that.

The concrete surrounding the stake was discolored to a mottled brown. This discoloring seemed to extend in a semicircle around the stake, for about three or four feet. I wondered what this was, until with a sudden shock I realized it was probably dried blood. This stake had been here for some time, and I was undoubtedly not the first person to be humiliated and tortured publicly at this spot. I tried not to think what might have caused the discoloration, how and why others had lost body fluids here.

Walter took a hose that lay nearby and turned it on, pointing it at me. The cold water felt refreshing, and he sprayed my whole body down, making sure I was wet all over. He then turned the hose off, and began hawking… talking, chattering, selling the opportunity to torture my exposed body.

“Step right up ladies, step right up gentlemen! Here we have a true treat for you, a young woman convicted of crimes against the planet. Help us save the planet! Help us repair the damage she has done! Only $25 for one shot, one slug, one jolt with this 20,000 volt prod! Step right up, see her beauty, see her nudity, see her cringe and crawl before you as you wield the mighty sword of judicial justice! Make her pay! Only $25, step right up…”

The patter of his speech continued as I knelt next to him, curious people coming up to see the naked woman, to marvel and try to get a glimpse of my breasts and pussy. My skin was glistening wet, which I knew made me look even more enticing as I covered my naked breasts with my arms as best I could. Soon, there must have been 25 or 30 people standing around, looking at me as I knelt and hung my head, terror running through my body.

“Hey, let me try. Here you go,” said a man’s voice. I looked up. A squat, round man was counting out the $25 and giving it to Walter. Walter in turn took the red stick and handed it to the man, explaining that he had to hold the button down, and then touch the other end anywhere on my body that he wished.

I shrank back, trying to get away. I knew now what would happen, and the squat man approached with a little uncertainty mixed with anticipation. I pulled the chain as far as I could but it gave me no room to avoid the prod as it was extended toward me. It touched my shoulder, just below and next to the neck.

Once again, my upper body exploded in pain, and I dropped to the ground, emitting a loud “ooomppphh”, followed by a gasp and a sob. The pain only lasted a moment, but it was so sudden, so severe, it lingered and echoed across my shoulders and chest. I scampered and crawled away from the horrible prod, sobbing, tears rolling down my cheeks.

The crowd was fascinated by the spectacle. They reacted in wonderment, and even with a small cheer. The squat man had a delighted look on his face, and quickly paid another $25 for another jolt. Walter had to push the crowds back, they had begun to press in to get a better look at the wild fear in my face as I crawled around, trying to avoid the prod.

Zssnnaapp! The prod hit my side this time, the pain jolting through my ribs and stomach. I screech just a bit, and the crowd actually applauded. My arms shook, the muscles not cooperating with me.

Walter had several interested takers, all wanting to pay $25 for the privilege of electrocuting the crap out of me. Two more men and a tall woman. I noticed the woman, feeling betrayed that my own sex would take advantage of me. I squirmed around, trying to get away from the prod which waved around, trying to find an opening.

Zssnnaapp! The prod had slid past my shoulder and hit my left breast, just an inch away from the nipple. It felt as if my entire breast had lit on fire, and I screamed as I rolled onto my back, legs up and arms around my breasts. Protection was not possible, however, and before I was able to get my breath or move to avoid it, the fire exploded in the soft flesh of my pussy. I hadn’t noticed the next person taking the forked instrument of torture and rounding my body to position below my agonized form. I was too busy rolling around on the ground, trying to recover from the last shock.

And so it went. I stopped crying after a while, there were no more tears in me, and the constant flow of shocks was more than I could deal with. I tried to get out of the way, move to present less vulnerable areas of my body such as a shoulder, or arm. But at times, it was simply too much. The crowd ooooed and awwwwed when some lucky soul got the prod when I was writhing on the concrete, unable to recover, and the prod struck me on a breast, my pussy, even sliding into my anus.

The only real rest I had was when Walter would hose me down. While this process was a wonderful and needed respite, it became clear that the purpose was to keep me wet and glistening. It attracted onlookers, as well as providing a good conduit for the shocks, ensuring maximum effect. Nevertheless I desperately needed the breaks and enjoyed the momentary pleasure of the cool water.

About halfway through the day, I noticed the smell. The constant shocks were occupying almost all my awareness, my body was almost completely exhausted, and then I noticed this horrible smell. It smelled like a badly maintained toilet had backed up.

It was me. I had lost control of my own body functions without even realizing it. I was wallowing in my own shit, my own piss. Each shock had gotten me closer and closer to the point where I could not only not stand, run, support myself, but I could no longer retain control of my basic body functions. There was shit on my breasts, urine covering my stomach, and blood on my legs and arms.

The blood was from the concrete scraping against my body as I wallowed and crawled away from the line of people that came up to me, one by one, to take their turn adding to my torture.

Thank goodness, Walter washed me off, thoroughly. The water sprayed over my body, and I lay on my back, spreading my arms and legs wide for all to see, all dignity gone. He carefully sprayed away my filth, and pushed it away to a nearby drain. When I was clean, he continued hawking… selling my pain to others.

By the end of the day I was no longer able to avoid the prod. I lay on the concrete, curled into a ball. Interest had dropped off significantly, and while there was a still steady stream of onlookers and people willing to prolong my agony for the sake of the planet, there was time to recover between each of the shocks. In between them, lay and stared at the darkening sky, breathing heavily, my breasts rising and falling in the breeze, legs spread and exposing myself. I had no dignity left, no privacy. I was nothing but an organism of pain, waiting for the next dose of agony.

At the end of the day, I remember a short, cute teenage girl paying for the prod, and then coming up to me with a glimmer of sadism in her eyes. She wielded the prod before me, swung it around as if to say “You don’t know when, or where this will hit… fear it…” The last thing I remember was her darting forward with the prod aimed at my face….

I awoke in the cage, back in the room behind the beach walk. My head was pounding, and my body felt as if it had been run over by a truck. I didn’t move. I had been there a while, as I was clean and dry. There was food and water in bowls inside my cage, where I could eat like a dog when I gained strength. For the time being, I didn’t move.

Eventually, I ate. The food in the dog dish was disgusting, but there was a lot of it and I was hungry. I drank the entire bowl of water, as well, lapping it up like a dog. My entire body was tingling and burning, small cramps rippling through the muscles as I moved. When I finished eating, I fell down and slept.

“How much money did we take in yesterday?” It was the next morning, and I knew that the more money we took in, the faster my debt would be paid and I could get out of there.

“Um… about $6,000. You get 20% of that, so you have about $1200. I am going to raise the price today though, I think we can do that and still have a steady stream of customers. We were backed up several times yesterday, which means we are losing money. You are doing well, by the way. Very active, very healthy. You scream and writhe a lot, which really helps draw the crowds. Keep it up.”

Fuck. Of course I was screaming and writhing, I was being tortured with a cattle prod. After a few hours of that it felt like my entire body was on fire. There was little choice except to scream and writhe.

“Say, Miss Brown… I am going to cut you a deal. You have one of the best bodies I have seen on this job, really good. Good muscles, good breasts, nice shape. And you are pretty cute, too. Tell you what. You fuck me, and I raise you from 20% to 25%. What do you say?” Walter was nonchalant, but I could tell he wanted it.

“Walter, what are you talking about? I should be getting 30%. Plus, fucking you would be almost as bad as the damn prod! And top it all off, I am no whore. I don’t fuck for money.” Actually, at that point, I was willing to do just about anything to get out of there, but I still had my wits about me. I could play this guy.

“OK. Tell you what. 27% and you don’t just let me fuck you, you sleep with me and really make it worth my while.”

“28%,” I countered.

“Done.” Walter grinned big, and unzipped his pants. “First payment due.”

His penis was big. Not the biggest I have ever had, but still large. He lubed it up. I waited for him to unlock the cage, but instead he simply went around to the back, stuck himself through the wire and waited. I backed up against him, and felt him enter me. It actually felt good to have someone as large as him entering me, and I ground and pushed against him as he thrust. He came quickly, spasms and jerks announcing his orgasm.

When he was done, he zipped back up, got my leash and opened the cage. As I crawled out of the room and onto the sidewalk in front of the building I could feel his sperm trickling down my thigh. I was sure anyone who came up close would see it as well.

This time Walter chained my right ankle to the short post. I thought for a moment that I would be able to move about more easily, and perhaps avoid some of the more painful shocks. It was not to be. After locking my right leg to the post, he quickly roped my left ankle behind me, pulled back and then grabbed my right wrist. The rope went around my wrist so that my left ankle was tied to my right wrist, both tight behind my back. I was going to have a really hard time moving around. My left arm was free, but otherwise I was spread out on the concrete sidewalk like a trussed up chicken.

A crowd was already gathering, and Walter began hawking the opportunity to help an eco-criminal pay her debt to society. It was only a minute or two before the first prod sent a knife-like slice of pain through my leg. I rolled over, and screamed, laying and panting as the next customer came up to me with the prod, looking for just the right place…. and I emitted a choked scream as he stuck it into my exposed neck.

The day went much as before, though because Walter was charging $50 instead of $25, the flow of takers was slower. Still, I was exhausted from the day before, my muscles began cramping, and I was writhing on the ground in pain between jolts. My hair was a horrible mess, my body a mass of bruises and scrapes from the concrete. I lost bladder control earlier that day, after barely an hour. I vomited around midday. Walter kept me hosed off, but it was miserable.

That evening I slept with Walter. He wasn’t a bad guy; a little sadistic but all in all he was just doing a job. If it wasn’t him, it would have been someone else. He had me secured to the bed with a lock and chain, but otherwise I was free to ride him, suck him, fuck him and do whatever we pleased. Though he was rather ugly, he wasn’t a bad lover. And of course, sleeping in a real bed instead of the cage made a huge difference to me.

Four days I spent on the sidewalk at the fun zone. Four days of naked exposure to the public, being prodded by random passers by. Four days being a public spectacle, writing in pain in my own filth, no longer caring that I was exposed for anyone to see.

On the fifth day I was packed up in the cage and driven back to the courthouse. I made a final appearance before the judge before being released. Part of the sentence of humiliation was to stand before the court, naked and chained, as he lectured me on the importance of saving the planet from Global Expansion.

I pointed out that I had been convicted of contributing to Global Contraction, not Global Expansion. At this, I was forced to kneel before the judge with my head bowed as he explained that because the evidence for Global Contraction was still unclear, that the crime had been commuted to one of contributing to Global Volume Change, whether it was Global Expansion, or Global Contraction. He further informed me that questioning him or any other official concerning Global Volume Change was cause for time assigned to the Attitude Adjustment and Correct Thought Clinic.

In lieu of receiving time in the AACT Clinic, the judge kindly allowed me to complete my sentence of humiliation by giving him a public blow job in his court room, in full view of all spectators. When he was done spewing his semen over my face and hair, I was told to remain kneeling and naked in the center of the courtroom, allowing his sperm to dry, as an example to all other defendants and scofflaws that had hearings that day.

It was a really long day.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Inquisition: Burning at the Stake

While my role in purifying our church from the influence and evil of witches and heretics has been limited to persuasion and retribution, I have been present to see many executions of the condemned. Such executions can be swift and merciful, but traditionally, executions are an agonizing public display and warning to others. The most common form of execution for condemned witches, and sometimes heretics, is burning at the stake.

Such was the case with a young woman arrested for witchery in Avignon. Marie Roget was accused by her neighbor of cavorting with demons, and using their power to sour her milk, destroy her garden and seduce the man that was courting her. Marie was arrested and held for two days prior to her examination by the magistrate. There was significant evidence that she was a witch, as she had clearly had sexual intercourse with a demon, such were her private parts torn and bleeding.

We examined her naked body for further signs of the devil, and found it. She was hung by her wrists to provide us access to her bare flesh in all places, however private, and we examined her body in great detail with an examining probe (a sharp iron knife capable of pricking the flesh easily). A brown mark, the mark of satan, was found on her inner thigh. This mark was numb, as proven when we plunged the sharp examining probe into her flesh. Thus equipped with confirmation of her witchery, she was condemned to the rack to extract a confession.

During the examination, Marie Roget attempted to deceive us by offering to confess to whatever we wished. No such confession can be admitted, as only a true confession of true crimes can be accepted. It is well known that witches will not truly confess without the use of torture which breaks their will and dedication to their demon masters, and lets the truth pour out in a torrent which purges the soul.

An interesting observation of how the rack effects the body of the victim; in virtually every other form of restraint or torture, the victim has some freedom of movement. They may be tied, chained or otherwise restrained, but there is always room for them to struggle, wriggle, strain and pull against their bonds, as the pain is applied. But with the rack, the extreme pressures on the limbs and body creates a form of peaceful stillness on the body.

Marie hovered in the rack, several inches above the table as her limbs were stretched beyond their capacity to withstand. Even when her joints slowly gave way to the unrelenting pull and separated, there was almost no movement in her body. Her head, yes... it struggled and moved from side to side, face showing the agony she was enduring. But no other part of her body moved even a half inch.

Placing my hand on her body, starting with her shoulders (which were by then torn asunder), I remember stroking her chest, breasts, ribs, stomach, and down to her hips, feeling her naked flesh stretched taught and unmoving under my hand. I marveled at the beauty of the rack, and how it inevitably brought such heretics to confess, unburden their souls, and renounce their evil.

Marie's execution was set for Saturday. I ordered that she be pulled out of the hole into which she had been flung in the prison dungeon. She would have died there within a day, and she needed to survive and be strong so she would not immediately succumb to the smoke and flames. She was placed in a warm cell and given food, water, and other simple items to help her recover, in anticipation of her execution several days hence.

The day came, and I decided to attend the execution. The ritual was to include more than one witch. Two others had been convicted and were to be burned that day.

The execution place was a large square in the center of the town, in front of the castle. It was ideal because of its size and central location. Most people do not realize that the human body does not catch fire, or keep burning easily at all. In fact, the human body does not burn at all; the process of burning a witch is actually more the act of applying intense heat and flames to the body to roast and burn the flesh. This takes a large quantity of wood, stacked high and packed well so that the flames are large, hot and cover the witch completely. Too little fuel and the witch's body is burned in some locations but the flames recede before the job is done. The witch continues to live in agony from her burned flesh for some time unless she has her head cut off or is hanged.

Three wood stakes, with three wooden ladders to hold the witch above the fuel and flames. Wood had been gathered and stored to the side of the square, in readiness. Crowds from the town were arriving to see the spectacle. As a visiting dignitary I was able to procure a seat in the front of the crowds, where all could be seen easily.

When Marie was brought in, she was still naked. Her clothes had long since been torn into rags, and used elsewhere in the prison. Her skin showed only minor scratches from being held in the prison, but there was much bruising and redness about her joints, the lingering effects her ordeal on the rack. She was completely unable to walk, though it appeared she had some movement in her arms. As with many witches about to be purified in the flames, she declared her innocence loudly as she was pulled toward the pire.

A heavy rope went around her waist, her arms tied above her, and she was attached to the rough wooden ladder that would hold her in place while she was burned alive. Her well shaped body hung from the ladder, legs dangling uselessly, ropes digging cruelly into her abdomen.

The crowd cheered as the ladder was moved into place - her naked form hanging above the heads of the crowd.

She was quiet, calm, almost accepting. I had seen this before, once a witch had been put through the trials they realize that they have been discovered and that there is no life left for them, they actually desire an end to their ordeal.

Bales of sticks were piled below her, in a circle. The bales were tied with twine, about two or three feet across. The sticks were no thicker than a finger or thumb. This was the inner core of the pire which would catch fire best and easiest, and would give life to the larger bundles of wood that were brought out to lay on top.

There were about 20 large bundles of wood placed below Marie. She hung naked above the activity, hardly noticing the wood being stacked below her. The pile of wood, when completed, was perhaps 5 feet high and 7 or 8 feet across.

A slight breeze rippled across the square, and blew the Marie's long hair slightly. The crowd was waiting now, anticipating, watching, observing her every reaction. She was sweating in the direct sunlight, her beautiful body slightly shiny from the moisture. Her bare breasts rose and feel in a slight jerks, as she appeared to be sobbing quietly to herself.

The prison master came forward with a torch, stood at the edge of the wood pire and looked at the condemned for a moment. With a single swift movement, he pitched the torch into the wood, where it lodged and slipped down. A small wisp of smoke curled up where the first sticks began to catch flame, and there was a collective murmur from the crowd as the execution began.

It took a few minutes for the flames to catch, during which Marie simply hung from her bonds, not reacting at all. Once the inner pile of sticks caught flame, smoke began rising and evoked a coughing fit. A ripple of heat could be seen rising, distorting the image of the smoke and her naked body as the flames from the kindling caught on for earnest.

Her naked body began to writhe at last, as the heat from below rose and enveloped her. She was sweating profusely, water trickling down all corners and surfaces of her body. Her breathing was rapid, and low moans were emitted from her lips. She struggled instinctively, the increasing heat demanding that she at least attempt to free herself. Her lower body could not move, paralyzed from the rack, but her arms pulled and shoulders yanked in attempt to free herself.

The flames from the kindling were not sufficient to reach her body. If that were all that was below her, she would roast to death in time, but the kindling was there to light the main bundles of wood. For about five minutes, she writhed and called out, crying for mercy as the heat began cooking her flesh. Her skin took on an angry red color, reflecting the tremendous increasing heat which rose from below.

At last the main piles of wood began to flame. This wood burned hotter, and higher. It also did not create as much smoke. I have seen witch burnings were the victim died of suffocation from the smoke long before the flames reached the body. This wood was excellent to the purpose. Marie's breasts heaved up and down as she breathed in the air desperately. The air might not have been filled with smoke, but it was very hot and her increasing cries and coughing were partially caused by her lungs cooking insider of her.

The flames licked her feet. Unable to move them, the struggles of her arms became frantic, as did her screams. She was screaming in earnest now, no longer pleading with words, which were beyond her. Simple animal panic emitted from her, long, agonized screams which alternated with shorter cries when the hot air seared the inside of her lungs. Her feet and lower legs appeared to be forming crackling blisters as the flames rose.

Once the larger wood caught flame, it was a short time before the flames reached up to envelop the victim's body. Her feet were blackened as the flames reached higher and covered her lower body. The flames reached up like fingers, running along her legs and hips, scorching the flesh, climbing up her body. Screams, such as they were, began to fail. Strength was leaving the witch, the purifying flames sucking life from her body in increasing increments. Her struggle had ceased by the time flames lapped at her breasts.

In a sudden whoosh, her hair caught fire, burning away in a matter of moments. A slight scream was heard at this, but she fell silent quickly after. The air was now so hot around her that breathing would no longer help her, as her lungs failed to function from the searing heat. Smoke from her flesh rose above the town square, and the smell of roasted witch filled the square.

Many citizens left the audience at this time, unable to watch the horror. I knew that this purification was necessary, expunging the evil within our midst could only be done in this way. And so I watched as her body blackened, her heaving chest ceased to move, and her flesh began to curl away from muscle and bone. The flames were so high now that little could be seen but a silhouette.

If Marie Roget was still alive at this point, 30 minutes into the burning, she was no longer a witch. Evil is consumed by fire, as her body was consumed. When the flames began to withdraw, the fuel below her consumed, her blackened body was once again visible. Emaciated, sagging, it sank down with the flames. Most of the flesh was burned away, with bone visible in many locations.

I did not stay to watch her remains taken down. It would take some time for the embers of the fire to recede and allow access to the center. In the meantime, the smoking corpse would remain as a reminder and warning to all who contemplated consorting with the devil.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Marie: The Rack

Once again I awoke to the horrible heat, close air and hard ground of a basement cell of the prison. This time it was in the chamber to which I had been dragged, lighted with torches, larger than my cell.

There, off to the side of the room, was the simple wooden table that was designed to tear apart a human body. My human body. I lay on the ground, feeling the aches and pains of the abuse over the last few days and enjoying simply laying there. I was still naked, no clothes on my body whatever, but I was covered with a thin piece of cloth, like a threadbare blanket. Uneven rocks from the floor jabbed into my ribs and legs, but I lay perfectly still, staring at the rack before me.

I became aware of someone in the room with me. It was the tall thin man with a black robe I had seen in the examination room, the one that had consigned me to the dungeon for torture. He was quietly sitting in the corner, looking at me. I saw the slight shine of reflection in his eyes, though otherwise he did not move.

My leg made a clanking noise as I rose up; the chains on my legs were heavy but not attached to the wall. I had not been as free to move as this since I had been arrested. As I sat up, the dark man also rose and brought me a cup, offering it to me. An overwhelming thirst took hold of me, and I drank the water the cup contained, in one quick draught. The man filled the cup from a barrel of water and brought it to me again; and repeated this until I was completely filled and needed no more.

I sat and looked at the man suspiciously. He was being kind, but I didn’t know why. He didn’t seem like a kind man; he was simply another jailer. Except there was something harder in him… more methodical and dedicated. He knew what he was doing, and did it with reason.

He brought me bread, which I ate quickly. After eating ravenously and filling my belly with bread, I drank more water. Finally, after eating and drinking my fill, weariness overcame me and I leaned against the wall and fell asleep.

I was awakened by the loud sound of the heavy wooden chamber door slamming shut, and a bolt sliding into place. The dark man and a fat jailer stood before me, reached down and lifted me off the ground. I stood, stronger than I had been in some time. They led me to the wooden table, the rack, and forced me to my knees.

“Kiss the instrument of your salvation,” commanded the man in black.

My face was shoved against the rough wood, and I kissed it.

When released from this awkward ritual, I looked up and asked “Why have you been kind to me? Why have you fed me, and allowed me rest? Am I not condemned to suffer add die?”

“Yes… you are condemned. But we are here to save your soul, and only by obtaining your confession can we do that. These incompetant bastards,” (here he looked at the fat jailer, “have abused you so that you can’t even stand up to a simple interrogation. You needed strength, strength to endure the persuasion and cleansing power of the pain. Only by enduring this and allowing it to turn you and force the confession from you can you truly be free. You are strong enough now.”

In spite of the oppressive heat of that dungeon room, a chill ran through my body as he turned to the fat man and said, “let us begin.”

Having regained some strength, I tried to run for the door. I didn’t make it more than two feet before tripping on my irons and falling. Rough arms jerked me up, dragged me over to the table and threw me on top of it.

“Please, please, I will confess, to anything. Just tell me, I will confess, do not do this thing!!! I have seen that you are godly and that you have compassion for a fellow human, please allow me to confess and do not torture me!!!!” I pleaded, cried, struggling and writhing as the ropes were attached to my arms.

The fat man was tying my ankles to the bottom of the long table as the dark man explained, “No, a confession now would have no meaning. It would simply be lies, lies designed to free you. You must be submitted to the cleansing torture, broken, and only then can the confession be true and you shall be free.”

I lay on the table, my arms stretched above me, my legs pulled down to the end. I felt my nakedness quite strongly at that point, with my arms and legs pulled wide and exposing all of my body to the men that stood over me. Continuing to beg and cry for mercy, I offered the men all I could. What little gold I had, my small plot of land with a field. I even offered my body to them, to use as they pleased if they would just let me go. This seemed to enrage them, and it was at that point that they began turning the wheel.

At first, there was little discomfort. I could feel my body becoming taught, the slack being removed from it. The slight bend in my knees and elbows straightened followed by my hips and shoulders. I noticed the pain first as my back began to straighten – the back did not hurt, but the strain on my wrists, the ropes digging in began to really hurt. I continued crying out for mercy, doing my best to convince these men not to do what they were doing. They simply kept slowly turning the wheel…

The wheel turned very slowly, but its effects began to becom quite pronounced. My body was stretched to its limits, and actually began to rise up off the wooden table beneath. My hands and feet were numb, ankles and wrists in burning pain, and my muscles… this was new, and I had not realized at first what the pain of the rack would be.

My muscles were being pulled and stretched, and each small increase in pull was like a red hot iron being applied to my arms and legs. It was agony. It is impossible to describe, the searing pain that concentrated in my shoulders, my elbows, but ran like fire up and down my arms. My legs burned and ached, my hips straining and tearing.

I no longer felt the table, the only sensation was pain, the pain of my muscles being stretched and torn… my ribs were standing out of my flesh, my stomach depressed and thin as my body was pulled.

Struggling was useless, as the bondage was so tight I could not move, not even a tiny bit. I was stretched as taught as a rope on a sail distended by a heavy wind. My pleading for mercy ceased, and was replaced by sobs and screams.

The wheel turned again, and I began to realize that the agony I was suffering was just the beginning. The pain of burning muscles began to be overshadowed by the horror within my shoulders and hips. My screams subsided for a moment as I simply attempted to breathe. My head flopped back, hanging back as my body was several inches above the table. I could see my arms from this position, in a red haze of pain I saw the wheel turned and new searing pain flooded my body.

Gasping, panting, screaming when I could, the pain extended from my ankles to my wrists. I truly felt that I was on fire, that my body was burning as the wheel turned further. The sweat was rolling off my body in waves, the surface of my flesh shiny with the moisture that trickled and dripped onto the table below me. I wanted to die, I begged to die, but the men simply turned the wheel another notch.

I knew exactly when my left shoulder gave way. There was a pop, but it was the explosion of pain that extended into my chest that brought me close to losing consciousness. Without the bones holding me together, the ligaments and muscles were literally torn apart inside my flesh. And without the support of my left arm, my right shoulder popped out of its socket moments later.

My breathing was constricted, the muscles of my body stretched and unable to draw breath in, but I screamed in a short, hoarse wail that was all I could muster. My entire upper body was being torn, my limbs slowly being removed, internal bleeding had begun, breathing was almost impossible, I could think of nothing but the pain, I was nothing but a massive bundle of pain and agony… it occupied my mind, my body, my soul… I no longer wanted freedom, I simply desired death.

The two rapid fire pops, my hips were torn apart. I screamed, and screamed, and choked on my own sweat and saliva as I tried to scream again. The release in resistance when my shoulders and hips gave way was immediately made up by additional turns of the wheel. The screaming nerves in my joints were torn.

I could see the flesh of my arms, an angry red and purple around my shoulders, gray further up the arms. I can’t feel the ropes any more, my hands seem to be gone, with no feeling, even though I can see them balled into useless purple-black fists.

Then the unthinkable happens. The men leave. The door is opened, and then shut, and I am alone, in my own hell of agony. I can’t move, I can’t plead, I can do nothing but suffer in this position. My shoulders and hips were ripped from their sockets, and it felt like white hot irons had been inserted into my joints. The pain from my shoulders and hips was flooding my body, as the pull began exerting itself on my internal organs… the muscles in my chest were no longer effective in helping me breathe, and my stomach, my diaphragm could not draw the air in effectively. The pain ran through my sides like hot lead, poured over me, and my spine convulsed with every gasp of breath.

No movement. No respite. No change. Slowly increasing pain, as muscles and tendons gave way, sickness as I lost blood to internal bleeding.

I vomited. It was a weak vomit, my stomach muscles could do little except try to stay adhered to my bone. But bile rose and came out, flooding down over my cheek and into my hair and the table below. Afterward I simply gasped, concentrating on breathing.

After some time, a black spots formed before my eyes, the agony became to much for my conscious mind, and I slipped away into blackness.

A heavy splash of scalding hot water awakened me. The burning of the boiling water was horrible, though the pain was a small increment to the pain that gathered in my limbs and body. I gasped to consciousness, and immediately screamed. The two men had returned, and were about to turn the wheel again.

What more could be done to me? Any more pressure, any more torque, and my arms would simply tear away from my body, I was convinced.

The wheel turned, and pain exploded anew as my elbows dislocated. I actually saw them, with my head tipped back. One moment they were there, the next the bump of bone in my flesh elongated and slide into two lumps, separated by an angry red and purple hollow of flesh. In this hollow, I could literally see the screeching agony of torn flesh and cracked bone.

The men had spoken to me, and I had not been able to understand. The pain was too great. I could not remember why I was here, I could not think rationally, I could not even really understand what was happening. I simply knew that I was made of flesh and bone that was slowly being torn apart.

I confessed, I know that. Somewhere, sometime, I was able to breathe enough to squeeze out whatever words they wanted. Nothing stopped when I did, the confession continued, and the torture continued. My knees held for a while, but I don’t think I was aware enough to know, the pain encompassed my entire body.

There came the moment when something ripped inside me, inside my chest or stomach. My back gave way, a loud cracking sound accompanied by excrutiating pain that engulfed my entire lower body and made me vomit once again. I smelled urine and feces; my own I know, though I did not know when I lost any of my body control. Soon after my spine separated, I lost all feeling in my lower body. I thought for a moment that I had been torn apart, that my lower body was ripped away… but the ever increasing tearing torment of my upper body continued.

How long this agony continued, I don’t know. It seemed a lifetime. In reality, perhaps a day. I didn’t even realize when it stopped, the pain continued on its own. But I do remember being dragged down a tunnel and being cast, limp, into a small hole dug in the stone. A heavy wooden door closed on me and I lay, suffering, unmoving.

I didn’t sleep. No sleep could exist with my body torn apart as it was, with the pain screaming up and down. I could not move my limbs and I lay in the hole exactly as I had been dumped there. Consciousness departed me eventually, but it was not sleep.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Marie: Trial

I awoke in a cell, which I believe to be the same cell in which I had previously been held in irons. It was difficult to tell, because it was so dark, but after crawling around a bit I found bits of cloth that I believe were what was left of my torn dress. It was cold, and I covered my naked and suffering body as best I could. The dirt on the floor covered a hard, uneven stone which dug into my flesh as I lay on my side.

My ankle had been chained to the wall, as if there was any chance of escape from this hell. The stench of urine and feces, sweat and blood, and the indefinable smell of pain and iron made it almost impossible to breathe. The dark made it hard to see much except by the slivers of light that entered from around the door edges. There was little to hear except the occasional rustling of rats.

Not only had my ankle been chained to the wall, my wrists had been placed in an iron device that was attached to my neck by a collar. The iron bar extended out from the collar and held my wrists out from my neck about a foot. I could move more freely than I could when I was in that torturous inverted V, and lay down on the floor, which I did. But the irons were still very restrictive and uncomfortable. That said, I hardly noticed them because of the lingering pain in the rest of my body.

My extended time on the wooden pony had damaged my privates. The area between my legs was wet with blood, and was in constant throbbing pain. I could not examine myself because my hands were held up near my head by the irons, but I felt as if my pussy had been spread and torn wide, and blood was tricking down my thighs. I lay on my back with my knees up, legs slightly apart, trying to relieve the pain.

My breasts ached horribly. The numbness was receding, but as it went, pain took its place. Strange how the torture was over, at least for now, but the pain was increasing! I began to sob quietly, grateful for the rest and recovery, but feeling completely lost and hopeless.

Finally, I slept.

I was awakened by the door opening and light flooding the cell. A guard placed a pan with something in it, as well as a jug of liquid which turned out to be water. He slammed the door behind him and I realized just how starved and thirsty I was. I drank the water eagerly, and then ate stale bread from the metal pan. I drained the water jug, and fell back again, feeling a little better than I had.

I fell asleep again.

This time I was awakened by a scream echoing down the halls. A woman was shrieking, one long scream that seemed to penetrate wo0den doors and stone walls, going on and on without stopping, tearing the agony from inside of her and expressing it in sound… until slowly the scream quieted in a gurgle as the air was completely expelled from her lungs. I expected her to scream again… and the silence that came after the scream was more disturbing than the scream that had awakened me.

I crawled as far away from the door as I could and sat shivering next to the wall. A rat ran across the floor, touching my foot. The pain in my breasts had begun to subside, but the fear in my heart was growing. They had already tortured me, raped me… what was next?

When the guards came and dragged me from my cell, I discovered that I could not stand on my own. The joints in my legs were too painful – a lingering effect of the weights that had been hung on them while I was riding the pony. So, I was dragged out, down the corridor, up some stairs and to a hall that had several people in it, including one severe looking priest sitting at a table. The guard threw me on the floor in front of the table.

“She is accused?” The magistrate at the table wheezed out in a weak voice.

“Yes sir. She has been held for the last two days, awaiting your judgment,” said a tall thin man dressed in black from the side of the room.

“Is there a confession?”

“No, sir. She has not been examined yet.”

I looked up at the magistrate from the floor, hair hanging in clumps over my face, and tried to rise. “Please sir… I am…”

“Are you ready to confess?” The magistrate wheezed and coughed.

“Sir, I am innocent-”

He cut me off, “I don’t want to hear it then. Examine her for the mark. Gag her to assure she does not speak further.”

My hands were bound in front of me, and a gag was shoved in my mouth before I realized what was happening. The gag was huge, holding my mouth wide open, distending my jaws widely and painfully, and yet filling my mouth completely to muffle all sounds.

The rope around my hands was raised, and I was lifted up in to the air. Once again, I hung by a rope from the ceiling, swaying slightly. The strain was on my shoulders and I began to whimper through the gag with the pain.

The humiliation of being hung naked, in front of a room full of men, suddenly flushed over me. I wriggled a little bit, and then started crying.

Moments later, two of the men had their hands on me, examining my body carefully. It felt as if I were a slab of meat being inspected before being cut up and sold. They probed me, spreading my buttocks, lifting my breasts (which made me cry out in pain), searching every part of my flesh. Probing fingers slide into crevices of my body, demonstrating how helpless I was as the men scraped fingernails over the sensitive flesh inside me.

While the physical examination continued, the men spent a long time looking between my legs, pulling my nipples, and invading my holes. I felt so completely helpless; it was worse than the torture the day before. I wanted to die rather than let these men fondle and grab my body in any way they chose.

A sharp object, like a knife but with a sharp tip, was produced. They actually showed it to me, and my eyes widened in fear as I saw the instrument before my eyes. I shook my head frantically and cried out from behind the gag… but moments later the probe had been shoved into my stomach, piercing my flesh. I yelled, and wriggled, trying to get away. Strong hands held me as the knife was plunged into my back, repeatedly. Different spots, starting from the top of my shoulders to my buttocks, then inside my legs… I jerk and screamed at each probe.

At last came a time when I had no strength to do anything other than hang from my wrists, swaying as the examination continued. The knife pricked me again and again, and while the pain was severe, I did nothing but moan in the agony.

“It is here,” said one of the men, pointing to a place here the knife had just pierced the skin of my inner thigh, near the top. “She does not react when we prick her. It is the sign of Satan.”

“Very well. Let her be examined and a confession extracted. May God have mercy on you,” the magistrate nodded and then turned to leave.

The rope holding me dangling above the floor was released and I collapsed. My body was covered with streaming rivulets of blood, and I felt as if I had no more life force in me. The thin man in black motioned to the guards, who picked me up under the arms and dragged me from the room, descending once again into the bowels of the stone prison, into the stench and misery that awaited.

I was not returned to the cell, which I had hoped. Rest, even in that suffocating darkness was all I desired right then. The rest and peace of being alone, unmolested, just for an hour or two. Instead I was dragged down to a lower level where the ceiling was low and supported by arches, the light dim from the flames of torches, and the floor a plain dirt with no stone paving.

There, in the room at the end, awaited my fate. A simple, uncomplicated thing. A table. Just a wooden table. With a places for ropes to be tied… and a roller at one end.

It was a rack. I was to be stretched on that most infamous of devices. I fainted.