Art by Riodoro

[dediego23]

THE MISTRESS

1
​

The soldiers arrived shortly before sunrise. They had ridden hard through the short summer night to cover the distance from the palace to the small estate on the edge of the royal forest, and now they found it dark and silent in a deep sleep. The single man on watch duty immediately laid down his weapons when he recognised Sir Edmund, the commander of the royal guard, a veteran of countless battles, corpulent with age but still highly respected. Sir Edmund ordered his men to round up the few servants in the courtyard and entered the building alone through the main entrance. He had escorted his king many times on visits to his mistress and had been here overnight often enough to find his way around effortlessly, even in the gloomy semi-darkness.
When Sir Edmund entered Lady Theresa's bedroom he found her asleep, dressed only in a thin white nightgown. She was a radiant beauty, 22 years old, slim with chestnut hair and noble features.

View attachment 1558643

When she woke up, Lady Theresa stared at him sleepily for a moment, recognised him and immediately understood.
'Sir Edmund, what about...?
‘He is dead, my lady,’ Sir Edmund answered. There was no point in glossing over the harsh truth, he thought, but he didn't have to tell her everything. He kept quiet about the fact that it had happened during an afternoon fling with a buxom, big-breasted redhead, some peasant girl from the kitchens, as well as the fact that the wench had run naked and screaming through the palace afterwards, shouting ‘he just fell on me!’ over and over again.
The news came as a shock to Lady Theresa, as he had expected. She didn't cry though – of course she didn't, after all she was of noble birth, if only of lower nobility. Nevertheless, he could see genuine sorrow on her pretty face, although he doubted that the lady had felt any real affection for her lover; the king had been far too choleric, too licentious, too self-indulgent – a sinful man for whom gluttony and fornication had been as desirable as they had been common. And also too ugly for a beauty like Lady Theresa, Sir Edmund thought. He had to swallow hard when he saw the quivering lower lip, the elegant pallor of the delicate skin and the heaving breasts, covered only by a thin fabric, so close to him. No, it had not been love that had led this dark-haired beauty to respond to the king's advances, but a business deal that had brought her, who two years ago had been a penniless orphan in a subordinate position at court, an estate, a modest fortune and a staff of servants.
She sat unsteadily on her bed, too shocked for a moment to speak. 'How... how did this happen, my lord?’ she finally asked.
Sir Edmund had always held Lady Theresa in high esteem, thought her kind, intelligent and honest, and now he saw his judgement of her character confirmed, for she still seemed to give no thought to her own fate. That spoke in her favour, he thought, but there was no point in keeping her in the dark any longer, so he said curtly. 'Although I am not a doctor, I would say that it looked like a stroke, my lady. However, I regret to inform you that you are under arrest.
‘Under arrest?’ She looked at him in confusion.
'That is correct, my lady. I have orders from the King to take you into custody. He pulled a sealed envelope from under his tunic. 'Here is the letter of arrest with the royal seal.
Now she was even more confused, she stared at him and laughed nervously, hadn't she just been told that the King was dead?
Sir Edmund saw the pieces of the puzzle coming together in her mind and the fear was evident on her beautiful and even features.
She swallowed hard: ‘I understand, sir.
The old king might be dead, but now there was a new one, a five-year-old boy whose favourite pastime was eating sweet cakes and riding a wooden warhorse in the palace courtyard.
Sir Edmund cleared his throat.
‘It is the Queen Mother who wishes your arrest, my lady. She was confirmed as regent by the Crown Council last evening.’
The Queen was a withered woman, disillusioned with life, who had long since found refuge in a dogmatic religious zeal. It had been nothing short of a miracle that she had become the mother of an heir late in life, for she had felt nothing but contempt for her husband, but for Lady Theresa she felt unbridled hatred.
‘I see,’ the Lady repeated, ‘may I still be allowed to dress?
Sir Edmund shook his head, ‘There is no time, my lady’
She nodded, stood up and straightened herself, her firm breasts pressing against the thin fabric of her nightdress and Sir Edmund saw her tantalizing body outlined before him as if she were naked. ‘Well, sir, then you must do your duty.’
The old warrior swallowed nervously, placed his riding cloak over her narrow shoulders and led her down to the waiting carriage.

2
​

Sir Edmund sat beside her for the long journey, silent and noticeably depressed. Lady Theresa also remained quiet, caught up in her frenzied thoughts and dreadful premonitions. She was grateful to the old knight for the wide cloak he had given her, for the thought of being exposed to the gaze of the soldiers of the escort in only a scanty nightdress seemed unbearable to her. The men had greeted her with derisive jeers and indecent remarks, and one had even tried to touch her before Sir Edmund had put a stop to his behaviour with a sharp order. That had made her realise very clearly how much her status had changed overnight. Not long ago, any one of them would have risked lashes or worse for such lewdness, but now the men stared at her with impunity, unconcealed lust and brazen grins.
The horse-drawn carriage rolled along dusty roads for hours and she gradually realised that she was not going back to the palace. That was an ominous sign. Theresa felt an oppressive dread gradually spreading through her chest, which finally turned into icy, paralysing fear when a dark looming structure appeared on the horizon above the fields.
‘Sir Edmund,’ Lady Theresa exclaimed in horror, ’this can't be where you take me...’
‘I'm afraid it is, my lady. I'm sure you've already recognised the abbey. That is our destination.’
The huge keep, which stood out like a black tooth from the landscape, was indeed unmistakable, surrounded by half-ruined walls, towers and bastions. Everyone knew the gruesome stories that were told about this place, once a fortress, then a monastery and now the most notorious women's prison in the realm. Theresa knew them as well, although she had always dismissed most of them as exaggerated horror tales. She opened her mouth to protest, but then she saw that Sir Edmund averted his eyes, unable to bear to meet hers, and she realised that any resistance was futile and would do nothing more than further embarrass the man.
So they travelled the last mile to the abbey again in a depressed silence. Finally, the carriage rolled through a fortified gate between two mighty bastions and came to a halt in front of an ancient stone wall with a long row of barred windows.
‘You can leave that coat here in the carriage, my lady,’ Sir Edmund said, breaking the long silence. For a brief moment she felt the desperate urge to plead, to cling to the old knight and beg him for mercy, but that would do nothing to change her fate. ‘You... you won't need it... in there,’ Sir Edmund stammered, blushing like a schoolgirl. She simply nodded, letting the cloak slip over her shoulders. Shortly afterwards the carriage door was pulled open. One of the soldiers grinned at her. She stumbled out into the sunshine, her arms crossed in front of her breasts as if she could preserve at least a small part of her dignity that way. It was a gesture that in truth seemed ridiculous to her given the circumstances.
For a moment, she stood in front of the huge stone building, feeling like a sinner on judgement day. Then she felt the grip of strong hands on her upper arm and allowed herself to be led on unsteady legs to a small side door as if without a will of her own.

View attachment 1558644

nice!

 

[Riodoro]

Here are the next three chapters:

3​

Theresa followed Sir Edmund as if in a trance through a maze of corridors and chambers. Some half-ruined, damp and long empty, others obviously used for storage and filled with dusty furniture, empty wine barrels and other remnants of the building's long history. Behind her walked the three soldiers of the guard, who were now so close to her that she could almost feel their muscular bodies, reeking of sweat. Theresa wondered why the men seemed to find their way around this labyrinth effortlessly, and then she realised that whenever they picked up a prostitute or a vagrant or some other female criminal in the city, which was part of their duties as royal guards, they brought them here. And now she was one of those women...
When they reached a steep staircase that led deeper into the bowels of the building, one of the men thrust the shaft of his spear into her back and gave her such a hard shove that she almost fell.
‘Come on, now, don't be so coy,' he mocked. When Theresa stared at him angrily, he just laughed. ‘She's proud, our lady, well, they'll soon drive that out of you down here!’
‘She won't even let us see her pretty tits,’ said one of the other men grumpily.
‘I'm telling you, boys,’ said the first of the soldiers again. ‘She's as horny as a bitch in heat. The old king hasn't wanted to fuck her for a long time. And yet she still thinks she's better than us. Well, that's nothing that couldn't be cured with the rack or a night on the Spanish donkey,’ he grinned as he grabbed Theresa's buttocks and pushed her down the last few steps, greedily feeling the tender curves of her flesh through the thin fabric of her nightgown.
Theresa was too shocked to react with anything more than a horrified gasp. She had never been spoken to in such an unbecoming way before. She looked around desperately for Sir Edmund, but he ignored the behaviour of his men as he seemed to want to get the whole affair over with as quickly as possible. He opened a heavy door made of oak and painted blood-red, above which a cross was carved into the stone of the archway.
‘Come, my lady, in here.’
On the other side of the door Theresa found herself in a spacious chamber that was slightly better furnished than the rest of the crumbling dungeon. A little daylight was streaming through two small and barred windows, illuminating a wood-panelled wall beneath which was a stone platform with a table on it. In front of it stood a single simple wooden chair. A room for a tribunal or a trial, Theresa recognised.
On the opposite side of the room, beneath a mural depicting the martyrdom of Saint Eulalia in vivid colours and impressive detail, stood three figures in brown monk's robes. Two of them were engaged in a conversation which they did not interrupt when the new arrivals entered the chamber – one was an old man with a long white beard and another a broad-shouldered giant with his back turned to her, so that she could not see his face.
Sir Edmund led Theresa to the chair and she sat down obediently.
‘This is where I will leave you, my lady,’ he said stiffly.
The third figure, the one that had stood slightly apart from the other two, approached them.
‘Well done, Sir Edmund! We had feared that this witch would escape us.’
Theresa froze in horror. She recognised the rasping, sharp voice even before the man pushed back his hood and revealed his surprisingly youthful-looking, ascetic and hard face with the trimmed beard and the fiendishly piercing dark eyes.
‘You!’ she gasped.
Cardinal Pelletier flashed a thin, mirthless smile.
‘I have long wished to see you like this before me, Lady Theresa. Humiliated and ashamed, as befits your many sins,’ he said.



The cardinal had risen quickly in the church hierarchy at a young age and had already received his high office in his late thirties. His uncompromising faith had made him a moral authority in certain circles and it had given him some influence at court, which he was able to increase when the queen made him her confessor. He had used this position to preach against the decline of morals and had not shied away from criticising the king's love life in a pamphlet. Lady Theresa still had his words clearly in mind, in which he recommended that ‘the depraved women who tempt our good King to sin should be flogged naked through the streets’. The pamphlet had earned the Cardinal banishment from court, but his high ecclesiastical rank and the Queen's protection had saved him from worse consequences.



Lady Theresa gripped Sir Edmund's hand in fear.
‘Are you really going to leave me in the hands of my enemies? In this terrible place?’
The old knight pulled away from her, almost brusquely saying, ‘I will pray for you, my lady. Farewell now.’ His face was hard and unapproachable and Theresa knew he had to control himself to show no sympathy or affection for her in front of the Cardinal. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied meekly. Her own voice sounded strange to her, so brittle and thin. The red door closed behind the old knight and she was alone with the cardinal and his henchmen.

 

[Riodoro]

4​

Your words sadden me, my child,” said Cardinal Pelletier. “Do not see me as your enemy, but as a stern father who wants to lead you back to the path of virtue.” He stepped closer to Theresa and she was surprised at how much the cardinal had changed. She had known him as an obsequious sycophant, one of many toadying lickspittles who had tried to win the old king's favor, but now he spoke with the arrogant self-confidence of a man who enjoyed the trust and protection of the most powerful woman in the kingdom.
“Do you deny that you have indulged in sexual debauchery in this den of sin on the edge of the forest, this estate that you have earned by spreading your legs like a common street whore? Do you deny adultery?”
Theresa couldn't, and so she had no choice but to stare at the cardinal silently and angrily.
“Your silence is telling,” he said with a hallow smile. “You deserve to be punished for your sins alone, your salvation...”
“Don't pretend to care about my soul,” Theresa interrupted him. For a brief moment, her fear gave way to fiery indignation. “Your goal has always been to see me destroyed!”
‘I won't hide the fact that I'm delighted with how things have turned out. To see you so deeply fallen and me vindicated. In this I clearly see the hand of God at work. But do not forget that we are both here by order of the Regent. She has commissioned me to investigate the circumstances that led to the untimely death of her beloved husband and to begin with your role in it."
‘My role?’ Theresa shouted. ‘I wasn't at the palace when it happened. You can ask Sir Edmund about it!’
The cardinal shrugged. ‘That doesn't prove anything. A well-placed co-conspirator, some poison, that's all it takes...’
‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing?’ Theresa jumped to her feet. ‘Such an outrageous behaviour is not befitting of a man of God!
The cardinal paid no attention to her outburst, passing it over as if it were the meaningless nagging of a naughty toddler.
‘To carry out the investigation, it has pleased the Regent in her wisdom to place the supervision of this prison in my hands,’ Cardinal Pelletier emphasised his words with a sweeping hand gesture that encompassed the dungeon and, by extension, the entire fortress, as well as the two other men standing under the mural. ‘Some of my brothers in the faith have gained great experience as witch hunters in the conviction and punishment of criminal women. I have sent for the best of them and once they have arrived here, we will finally be able to deal with the criminals imprisoned in this building with the severity they deserve. My predecessor was too lenient in this regard, I'm afraid. But as far as you are concerned, my lady, only Brother Rudolph is available to me here at the moment.’
He pointed to the white-bearded monk watching Theresa intensely now, on his wrinkled face a mixture of embarrassment and lust.
‘He is a healer and unfortunately knows little of these matters,’ Cardinal Pelletier continued, ’That is why I have secured the services of someone who does.’
All colour drained from Theresa's face as the broad-shouldered man turned to her at this prompting and she recognised the scarred face of Master Berold, the royal executioner.



Theresa's fighting spirit had suddenly disappeared and now there was only icy fear. ‘You... you want to have me tortured? You can't be serious! Me, a lady of noble birth?’ she stuttered.
‘I will do whatever it takes to bring the truth to light,’ the cardinal replied.
‘The truth? The truth is that I am innocent!’
‘We'll see.’ The cardinal nodded to the executioner. ‘Prepare her, Master Berold.’

5​

Theresa's mind raced as the executioner led her by the arm through the chamber to a table that stood in a niche in the wall under a stone arch. At the sight of the rough wooden beams and the leather straps attached to the table legs, whose obvious purpose was to bind a naked body to the table, she was overcome with such intense fear that she almost felt sick. Master Berold seemed to her to be a simple man, not only uneducated but also dull. With a fierce courage that was born of her burning despair, she forced herself to smile at the boorish hulk.
‘Master Berold, you know me, you've seen me often enough at the King's side...’ she began.
‘That's true enough, my lady,’ the executioner growled, ‘I've seen you before, but I'll only really get to know you in the next few hours, it seems,’ he chuckled as if he had just made an excellent joke.
Theresa ignored this, ‘The king, I mean, our old, our late king, he wouldn't want you to do me any harm...’
‘Well, that may be true, but he's dead, isn't he?’ replied Master Berold with a deadpan expression. They had now arrived at the table. Theresa involuntarily backed away from the executioner until she felt the hard wood pressing against her hip and the cold stone of the wall at her back. Now she was cornered like a young deer before a wild wolf. Master Berold took an iron manacle from the tabletop, scrutinised it and then tossed it carelessly onto a large pile of chains, leg irons and handcuffs.
‘I don't blame you for trying, my lady, but believe me, you can't expect any help from me. I only do what I'm told.’
Theresa knew there was no hope, but she nevertheless murmured softly, ‘I am a noblewoman...’
‘Oh, I know that, my lady. If you were a commoner, I would treat you very differently. First of all, I would have a little fun with you, pretty as you are. But in your case, everything shall be done exactly according to the rules. First, the monk will examine you. Afterwards when you are put to the question, it will only be to the first degree. Only if you are obstinate will the more severe degrees be applied.’
Theresa didn't know exactly what these degrees were all about, but she suspected that it would be something horrific. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. And then she heard Master Berold say:
‘Now, enough with the chatter, take off your gown. It would be a pity if I had to tear it off your body, don't you think?’
With fingers trembling with nervousness, she undid the ribbons holding the silk fabric and let the nightgown slide down. Then she was nude. She resisted the urge to cover her nakedness with her arms and forced herself to stand as upright as if she were at the king's side in her best muslin dress.
‘You now see what only royal eyes have been allowed to see,’ she said with a defiant sparkle of her old pride.



‘To me you look no different from many others, my lady. On the rack the peasant girl is no different from the noblewoman, believe me, I've done plenty of work on both.’
This dampened Theresa's pride considerably, and it was all over when the executioner gave her a slap on the arse so hard that there was a loud smack.
‘Now up you go,’ he tapped the table with the flat of his hand. ‘If you behave yourselves and promise me you'll keep still while I shave off that brown fur down there, I won't have to tie you up.’

 

[dediego23]

4​

Your words sadden me, my child,” said Cardinal Pelletier. “Do not see me as your enemy, but as a stern father who wants to lead you back to the path of virtue.” He stepped closer to Theresa and she was surprised at how much the cardinal had changed. She had known him as an obsequious sycophant, one of many toadying lickspittles who had tried to win the old king's favor, but now he spoke with the arrogant self-confidence of a man who enjoyed the trust and protection of the most powerful woman in the kingdom.
“Do you deny that you have indulged in sexual debauchery in this den of sin on the edge of the forest, this estate that you have earned by spreading your legs like a common street whore? Do you deny adultery?”
Theresa couldn't, and so she had no choice but to stare at the cardinal silently and angrily.
“Your silence is telling,” he said with a hallow smile. “You deserve to be punished for your sins alone, your salvation...”
“Don't pretend to care about my soul,” Theresa interrupted him. For a brief moment, her fear gave way to fiery indignation. “Your goal has always been to see me destroyed!”
‘I won't hide the fact that I'm delighted with how things have turned out. To see you so deeply fallen and me vindicated. In this I clearly see the hand of God at work. But do not forget that we are both here by order of the Regent. She has commissioned me to investigate the circumstances that led to the untimely death of her beloved husband and to begin with your role in it."
‘My role?’ Theresa shouted. ‘I wasn't at the palace when it happened. You can ask Sir Edmund about it!’
The cardinal shrugged. ‘That doesn't prove anything. A well-placed co-conspirator, some poison, that's all it takes...’
‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing?’ Theresa jumped to her feet. ‘Such an outrageous behaviour is not befitting of a man of God!
The cardinal paid no attention to her outburst, passing it over as if it were the meaningless nagging of a naughty toddler.
‘To carry out the investigation, it has pleased the Regent in her wisdom to place the supervision of this prison in my hands,’ Cardinal Pelletier emphasised his words with a sweeping hand gesture that encompassed the dungeon and, by extension, the entire fortress, as well as the two other men standing under the mural. ‘Some of my brothers in the faith have gained great experience as witch hunters in the conviction and punishment of criminal women. I have sent for the best of them and once they have arrived here, we will finally be able to deal with the criminals imprisoned in this building with the severity they deserve. My predecessor was too lenient in this regard, I'm afraid. But as far as you are concerned, my lady, only Brother Rudolph is available to me here at the moment.’
He pointed to the white-bearded monk watching Theresa intensely now, on his wrinkled face a mixture of embarrassment and lust.
‘He is a healer and unfortunately knows little of these matters,’ Cardinal Pelletier continued, ’That is why I have secured the services of someone who does.’
All colour drained from Theresa's face as the broad-shouldered man turned to her at this prompting and she recognised the scarred face of Master Berold, the royal executioner.

View attachment 1560550

Theresa's fighting spirit had suddenly disappeared and now there was only icy fear. ‘You... you want to have me tortured? You can't be serious! Me, a lady of noble birth?’ she stuttered.
‘I will do whatever it takes to bring the truth to light,’ the cardinal replied.
‘The truth? The truth is that I am innocent!’
‘We'll see.’ The cardinal nodded to the executioner. ‘Prepare her, Master Berold.’

5​

Theresa's mind raced as the executioner led her by the arm through the chamber to a table that stood in a niche in the wall under a stone arch. At the sight of the rough wooden beams and the leather straps attached to the table legs, whose obvious purpose was to bind a naked body to the table, she was overcome with such intense fear that she almost felt sick. Master Berold seemed to her to be a simple man, not only uneducated but also dull. With a fierce courage that was born of her burning despair, she forced herself to smile at the boorish hulk.
‘Master Berold, you know me, you've seen me often enough at the King's side...’ she began.
‘That's true enough, my lady,’ the executioner growled, ‘I've seen you before, but I'll only really get to know you in the next few hours, it seems,’ he chuckled as if he had just made an excellent joke.
Theresa ignored this, ‘The king, I mean, our old, our late king, he wouldn't want you to do me any harm...’
‘Well, that may be true, but he's dead, isn't he?’ replied Master Berold with a deadpan expression. They had now arrived at the table. Theresa involuntarily backed away from the executioner until she felt the hard wood pressing against her hip and the cold stone of the wall at her back. Now she was cornered like a young deer before a wild wolf. Master Berold took an iron manacle from the tabletop, scrutinised it and then tossed it carelessly onto a large pile of chains, leg irons and handcuffs.
‘I don't blame you for trying, my lady, but believe me, you can't expect any help from me. I only do what I'm told.’
Theresa knew there was no hope, but she nevertheless murmured softly, ‘I am a noblewoman...’
‘Oh, I know that, my lady. If you were a commoner, I would treat you very differently. First of all, I would have a little fun with you, pretty as you are. But in your case, everything shall be done exactly according to the rules. First, the monk will examine you. Afterwards when you are put to the question, it will only be to the first degree. Only if you are obstinate will the more severe degrees be applied.’
Theresa didn't know exactly what these degrees were all about, but she suspected that it would be something horrific. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. And then she heard Master Berold say:
‘Now, enough with the chatter, take off your gown. It would be a pity if I had to tear it off your body, don't you think?’
With fingers trembling with nervousness, she undid the ribbons holding the silk fabric and let the nightgown slide down. Then she was nude. She resisted the urge to cover her nakedness with her arms and forced herself to stand as upright as if she were at the king's side in her best muslin dress.
‘You now see what only royal eyes have been allowed to see,’ she said with a defiant sparkle of her old pride.

View attachment 1560551

‘To me you look no different from many others, my lady. On the rack the peasant girl is no different from the noblewoman, believe me, I've done plenty of work on both.’
This dampened Theresa's pride considerably, and it was all over when the executioner gave her a slap on the arse so hard that there was a loud smack.
‘Now up you go,’ he tapped the table with the flat of his hand. ‘If you behave yourselves and promise me you'll keep still while I shave off that brown fur down there, I won't have to tie you up.’

nice!

 

[Cp1981]

Super! Can’t wait for the next

 

[Riodoro]

6​

The executioner worked with the professional thoroughness of many years of experience. First he shaved her armpits, then she obediently spread her thighs for him. His razor blade was so sharp that she felt nothing but the slight coolness of the steel on her most sensitive parts. When he had finished, she was as bare between her legs as she had last been as a young girl.
Brother Rudolph was far less skilful. He awkwardly groped her naked body with his bony fingers, squeezed her breasts and explored her nipples extensively, then slowly moved them down over her stomach. Theresa couldn't suppress a gasp as he reached her private parts, but after that she forced herself to remain as still and motionless as if she were made of stone.
It was easy for her to hide her mind behind a shield of indifference, the same way she had always done when the old king had fucked her. This time, too, she felt as if she were watching herself from a distance, but at the same time she was tormented by terrible premonitions of what was to come.
Finally, Master Berold allowed Theresa to sit up.



Cardinal Pelletier had been watching the whole time, and now he came closer and looked at the friar with a questioning look. With a strange tension in his voice he said only one word:
‘Well?’
‘There are no signs of pregnancy,’ came the reply, which obviously satisfied the cardinal.
‘I am not surprised,’ he exclaimed. ‘They say the king had grown weary of his whore months ago. Nevertheless, we had to be on the safe side. So there's nothing to be said against an extended interrogation?’
‘Not at all, not at all,’ muttered Brother Rudolph, running his greedy gaze over Theresa's naked body one last time with barely suppressed regret, no doubt to memorise every detail for later, when he would be alone in his cell.
‘She is a splendid young woman, healthy and strong.’
‘Then you know what to do, Master Berold,’ the cardinal announced. ‘I will retire to prayer for a few hours. When I return, we will begin the interrogation.’

 

[Riodoro]

7​

‘That's how I like it: clean-shaven and proper!’ said Master Berold when they were alone at last. As he always did when he had the opportunity to work on young women, the executioner felt a familiar excitement in his nether regions. Berold pulled the mistress towards him, pressed her slender body against his massive, muscular one, embraced her from behind, almost like a lover, and ran his hands over her firm breasts.
‘Well, now would be the time for me to take you if you were a common criminal,’ he whispered in her ear from behind. ‘A nice hard fuck over there on the table. The priests wouldn't notice, and they don't usually care anyway. It's different with you, as I've already told you, but maybe you're not so averse, are you? Many women get horny when the torture is about to start. You'd enjoy it, I can guarantee that. What do you think, my lady?’
‘Never!’ Until now, Theresa had accepted the executioner's touch without resisting, had resigned herself to the inevitable fact that she would be violated no matter what she did, but now she firmly freed herself from his grip and glared angrily at the executioner. Berold just laughed.
‘Well, not then. There are plenty of others for me, but for you? You may well soon regret having rejected me. My big cock is much more pleasant than many other things they'll put in you down there, I'll tell you that.’
Master Berold was not too disappointed. The late king's whore was actually a little too skinny for his taste, and besides, a cute little thing was waiting for him naked and in chains in his bedchamber in the keep. The very first thing he had done when he arrived at the prison that morning was to inspect the cells and he had caught sight of an exceptionally pretty inmate. She was a new arrival, sentenced to twenty years in prison for theft, and completely terrified. Berold had to lick his lips involuntarily as he thought of how she had stared at him with tear-filled blue eyes from the semi-darkness of her filthy cell like a cute little doe. With big tits, wide hips, freckles and honey-blonde hair, she was just to his taste, and none of the guards had dared to protest when he had claimed her for himself. Oh yes, thought the executioner, he would get his fun today, but first he had to take care of the stuck-up bitch in front of him.
He led Lady Theresa down a corridor to a large chamber. Along its rounded wall were two dozen niches set into the stonework, each containing a privy, a simple brick stool with a wooden seat and a hole in the floor underneath.
Each morning and evening, over four hundred female prisoners crowded here, waiting in long lines to relieve themselves under the strict supervision of the guards, but now in the afternoon all the privies were unoccupied.
Berold pushed Lady Theresa to the nearest one and was pleased to see her pretty face contort into a grimace of disgust as she reluctantly sat down on it, the pungent stench rising to her nostrils.
‘Now empty yourselves properly! Down to the last drop, my lady. And if you feel the urge to shit, then do so. Let me warn you: if someone shits themselves during my torture, I'll get very angry and you don't want to experience that.’



Theresa had never been so ashamed. The executioner not only showed her a shocking lack of respect, he treated her like an animal and looked at her as disparagingly as a farmer looks at his dairy cow. She felt as small and humiliated as she would never have dreamed, and yet she also felt a strange arousal, her nipples were stiff and swollen and that was, as she admitted to herself with horror, not only because it was cool down here in the dungeon.
‘Spread your legs wider,’ Master Berold ordered. He leaned casually against a stone pillar and watched her, the muscles of his body gleaming in the light of the torches.
She obeyed, against her will and yet without hesitation she gave herself completely into the control of this uncouth barbarian. It was almost liberating to know that she was completely at his mercy. That whatever fate had planned for her would happen, no matter how much she tried to resist it. Her bladder was well filled and yet she had to force herself with all her willpower until she finally managed to relieve herself. She saw her stream disappear into the depths of the hole in the stone floor. Suddenly she heard a distant, half-smothered whimper from the depths below her. Like the distant howl of a goblin. Surprise and shock must have been clearly visible on her face, because Master Berold laughed.
‘Oh yes, there are ghosts in the walls here, my lady, just water them well and they won't bite you in the ass.’

 

[Riodoro]

8​

Master Berold enjoyed Lady Theresa's obvious horror. Her aristocratic arrogance had suffered badly by now and she might be just intimidated and frightened enough to believe him, he assumed. He listened to the distant howling, strangely distorted and amplified by the pipes. The executioner knew the real cause of it, of course, and it was hardly less scary than his ghost story. The latrines were a remnant from the days when the prison had been a monastery, inhabited by resourceful monks who prided themselves on wasting nothing, therefore they had been constructed so that the urine was channelled through pipes to a cistern deep beneath them and collected there. A tanner in a nearby town paid a good price for it. When the convent had been converted into a women's prison, this practice had been maintained and had not only provided a lavish perk for the guards, but had also inspired the more sadistic among them to a punishment that would soon become one of the most feared among the female prisoners. Whenever the cistern was emptied, the guards took pleasure in selecting an unfortunate prisoner and chaining her to the wall just below the drain of the latrines. She was then forced to stand there, repeatedly doused with the piss of her fellow inmates, starving and freezing – if the guards were merciful, only for a day or two, if she was unlucky, until the cistern was next emptied, which could take a week or longer. As the liquid level in the narrow vault rose by several inches with each passing day, she would be up to her neck in piss by the end of her sentence and Master Berold had even heard of shorter prisoners drowning miserably.
‘There's hardly anything that quiets a rebellious inmate faster than a few days down there,’ one of the guards had told him with a grin, and Master Berold didn't doubt his words.



He grabbed Lady Theresa's arm and pulled her down from the privy, chuckling as he did so. ‘I jest, my lady, there are some ingenious ways of disciplining the inmates here. The latrine duty is one of the previous warden's better ideas, very effective at keeping the women in line.’
When he saw the puzzled look on her face, he just shrugged. ‘It need not concern you, my lady. But perhaps you will get to experience it yourself one day.’

 

[thecuriousone]

I like the twist with the latrine-oubliette.

 

[wulf]

This artwork is fantastic, and I look forward to seeing how this story continues. Beautiful work, and thanks for sharing.

 

[Cella]

7​

‘That's how I like it: clean-shaven and proper!’ said Master Berold when they were alone at last. As he always did when he had the opportunity to work on young women, the executioner felt a familiar excitement in his nether regions. Berold pulled the mistress towards him, pressed her slender body against his massive, muscular one, embraced her from behind, almost like a lover, and ran his hands over her firm breasts.
‘Well, now would be the time for me to take you if you were a common criminal,’ he whispered in her ear from behind. ‘A nice hard fuck over there on the table. The priests wouldn't notice, and they don't usually care anyway. It's different with you, as I've already told you, but maybe you're not so averse, are you? Many women get horny when the torture is about to start. You'd enjoy it, I can guarantee that. What do you think, my lady?’
‘Never!’ Until now, Theresa had accepted the executioner's touch without resisting, had resigned herself to the inevitable fact that she would be violated no matter what she did, but now she firmly freed herself from his grip and glared angrily at the executioner. Berold just laughed.
‘Well, not then. There are plenty of others for me, but for you? You may well soon regret having rejected me. My big cock is much more pleasant than many other things they'll put in you down there, I'll tell you that.’
Master Berold was not too disappointed. The late king's whore was actually a little too skinny for his taste, and besides, a cute little thing was waiting for him naked and in chains in his bedchamber in the keep. The very first thing he had done when he arrived at the prison that morning was to inspect the cells and he had caught sight of an exceptionally pretty inmate. She was a new arrival, sentenced to twenty years in prison for theft, and completely terrified. Berold had to lick his lips involuntarily as he thought of how she had stared at him with tear-filled blue eyes from the semi-darkness of her filthy cell like a cute little doe. With big tits, wide hips, freckles and honey-blonde hair, she was just to his taste, and none of the guards had dared to protest when he had claimed her for himself. Oh yes, thought the executioner, he would get his fun today, but first he had to take care of the stuck-up bitch in front of him.
He led Lady Theresa down a corridor to a large chamber. Along its rounded wall were two dozen niches set into the stonework, each containing a privy, a simple brick stool with a wooden seat and a hole in the floor underneath.
Each morning and evening, over four hundred female prisoners crowded here, waiting in long lines to relieve themselves under the strict supervision of the guards, but now in the afternoon all the privies were unoccupied.
Berold pushed Lady Theresa to the nearest one and was pleased to see her pretty face contort into a grimace of disgust as she reluctantly sat down on it, the pungent stench rising to her nostrils.
‘Now empty yourselves properly! Down to the last drop, my lady. And if you feel the urge to shit, then do so. Let me warn you: if someone shits themselves during my torture, I'll get very angry and you don't want to experience that.’

View attachment 1564317

Theresa had never been so ashamed. The executioner not only showed her a shocking lack of respect, he treated her like an animal and looked at her as disparagingly as a farmer looks at his dairy cow. She felt as small and humiliated as she would never have dreamed, and yet she also felt a strange arousal, her nipples were stiff and swollen and that was, as she admitted to herself with horror, not only because it was cool down here in the dungeon.
‘Spread your legs wider,’ Master Berold ordered. He leaned casually against a stone pillar and watched her, the muscles of his body gleaming in the light of the torches.
She obeyed, against her will and yet without hesitation she gave herself completely into the control of this uncouth barbarian. It was almost liberating to know that she was completely at his mercy. That whatever fate had planned for her would happen, no matter how much she tried to resist it. Her bladder was well filled and yet she had to force herself with all her willpower until she finally managed to relieve herself. She saw her stream disappear into the depths of the hole in the stone floor. Suddenly she heard a distant, half-smothered whimper from the depths below her. Like the distant howl of a goblin. Surprise and shock must have been clearly visible on her face, because Master Berold laughed.
‘Oh yes, there are ghosts in the walls here, my lady, just water them well and they won't bite you in the ass.’

Ghosts? More likely the sounds emanate from an even lower level of the prison occupied by prisoners who must endure being regularly pissed and shat upon by the prisoners above them. No matter how bad your prison experience is, young lady, it could be a whole lot fucking worse.

 

[Dafmads]

I do like the slow beginning and the credible development of the story. And can barely wait for the intensity of her fate to rise. The artworks are perfectly matching - a very exciting work. Thank you very much!!

 

[extr200]

But perhaps you will get to experience it yourself one day.’

Oh!
Hopefully she'll experience that kind of humiliation. Very insidious and cruel punishment! Awesome! Thank you for the beautiful work!

 

[Riodoro]

9​

Theresa only realised that Master Berold had brought her back to the same chamber where she had been received by cardinal Pelletier when she came face to face with Saint Eulalia on her St Andrew's Cross again. The mural gleamed in the light of the torches, the unknown artist had depicted the suffering of the martyr so expressively that it inevitably made the viewer feel pity for the saint. In Theresa's case, this was mixed with self-pity for was she not just as naked and defenceless at the mercy of her torturers? She wondered whether she would be able to endure her torture with the same cheerful determination that the artist had depicted on the martyr's face.
Master Berold shoved her into a corner of the chamber. On the floor was a fireplace surrounded by stones; it was not in use, but the remains of grey ash in it were not yet old. Above it, a rope dangled from a pulley like those used on sailing ships.
‘The first degree, my lady,’ Berold declared with a strangely solemn tone in his voice, as if he were now speaking to her in his official capacity. ‘You will be hanged and stretched with weights for a minimum of three hours and a maximum of six.’
Perhaps that wasn't so bad, Theresa hoped. She held her wrists out to the executioner when he asked her to do so and only gasped once when he tightened the rope.
‘The bonds have to be nice and tight,’ Berold explained, ‘We don't want you to slip out and drop down.'
They were indeed tight, so tight that they felt as if they were made of iron, not hemp rope. Theresa was already beginning to lose feeling in her hands but she gritted her teeth and forced herself not to show any reaction from now on. Not even when her arms were pulled over her head until she was only standing on the tips of her toes.
‘Now your ankles, and of course we don't want to forget the weight.’
Theresa's eyes widened as she saw Berold dragging a huge iron ball towards her. It was so heavy that the giant man moved it by dragging it across the floor, panting and using both of his muscular arms. The metal made an unpleasant sound like a wounded animal as he dragged it across the stone floor of the dungeon.
‘This is going to tear me apart!’ she gasped as the executioner set the weight down beside her with a thud.
‘Not at all,’ said Berold, ’do you think I'm such a fool that I can't calculate how much weight you can take?’
Now he bound her ankles together in the same way as her wrists and then tied them with a short rope to the eyelet at the top of the weight.
‘This should weigh about half as much as you, I'd guess. That's not enough to dislocate your delicate little arms or do you any other serious damage. We're done for now. I will leave you, my lady. I'm itching to get back to my chamber, I've got a nice little bed warmer ready and I might even get a few hours sleep.’



‘Later,’ he said when he noticed her glance at the weight, ’that comes later, my lady. Always nice and slow and bit by bit – that's what old Master Hicket used to tell me and he knew his business. Taught me everything I know about torture. Just have a little patience. You'll feel it soon enough, and a lot more besides, unless you show yourselves to be compliant and confess when the cardinal questions you.’
‘Never,’ Theresa hissed, but it didn't sound as firm as she would have liked.
The only answer Master Berold gave was a chuckling laugh that echoed in the chamber as he disappeared through the dungeon door, leaving her alone.

 

[Riodoro]

10​

Theresa had tested her bonds initially: She had tried to twist her hands in the restraints, but the grip of the rope had been so tight that she couldn't move at all and eventually she had given up. Her hands were completely numb and after a while she began to lose feeling in her feet as well. She kept hanging by her wrists for a while to relieve her feet and move her toes, then the dull tingling stopped, but soon her shoulders and arms began to ache more and more and she stood on her tiptoes again. She performed this dance, alternating between hanging and standing on her tiptoes with increasing speed, until the first cramp twitched through her calf muscles. The pain was so intense that Theresa howled out loud, after which she tried to stand on just one foot for a while, but soon the other leg was also crippled by cramps. Finally, the muscles in her upper arms and then in her chest also cramped, which felt as if she was being pricked with thousands of needles.
By the end of the third hour, the individual focal points of pain in her outstretched body had merged into one. Even if she had tried, the exhausted and cramped muscles in her legs would no longer have held her upright, and so she had no choice but to hang powerlessly in her restraints. She no longer even had the energy to cry and only whimpered softly as her trembling body swayed slowly to the rhythm of her heavy breathing.
This is how Master Berold found her when he came back into the chamber. He lifted Theresa's chin and studied her tear-filled eyes, in which he could see her deep exhaustion and the first signs of the familiar panic that always gripped prisoners once they had had their first taste of real torture.
‘You see,’ said the executioner, ’now you are tired and your muscles have no strength left. If I stretch you now, it will hurt a lot more.’
With a strong tug on the rope, he pulled Theresa up about an arm's length. Something cracked in her shoulder joint and a sharp pain, many times worse than anything she had endured before, spread from a point between her shoulder blades and raced down her spine, sweat spurting from her heaving breasts as her chest tightened violently and her ribs protruded from under her pale skin like two ploughshares. The short rope between her ankles and the weight tightened, then it began to move slowly upwards until it swung about a hand's breadth above the ground. The force with which Theresa's body was stretched seemed to multiply, she could no longer even whimper. Her mouth opened and closed as if she were drowning and her overstretched chest allowed only a rattling gasp as she seemed to feel red-hot nails digging into her hips and knees.

11​

She hung for another half hour during which her agony seemed to double with each passing minute. During this time, Master Berold prepared everything for the start of the interrogation without paying much attention to the whimpering and moaning Theresa. He stacked firewood in the fireplace, lit it, and placed a branding iron deep under the logs where the fire would be the hottest. He brought a bucket of cold water, which was always useful for bringing a tortured woman back from unconsciousness, and prepared a tub of pig's tallow with which he generously smeared Theresa's feet. The mistress, her mind clouded with pain and fear, barely seemed to notice.
Finally, a side door opened almost silently behind the tortured woman and cardinal Pelletier, in his simple monk's robes, scurried into the torture chamber without Theresa noticing him.
He stood behind her for a while, glancing at her outstretched naked body with his cold, intelligent gaze. ‘I prayed to see you suffer like this,’ he finally said. ‘But now that you are hanging so miserably in front of me, to my own surprise I almost feel sorry for you. Who would have imagined that?’
He sat down in an armchair barely an arm's length away from his victim, crossed his legs and looked up at Theresa with alert interest.
‘Well, compassion is a Christian virtue, of course, but it can also be misguided when a sinner like you gets her well-deserved punishment. Nevertheless, I would be inclined to end your torment, at least for today...’
‘Please, Pelletier, I beg you, stop,’ Theresa wailed. The part of her consciousness that wasn't consumed by the agonising pain hated herself for begging in front of the cardinal. She knew the price that would be asked of her was too high and yet she was nearly ready to pay it just to stop the agony.
Cardinal Pelletier nodded with a smile, ‘We can end it if you confess your guilt in the murder of the king and tell me your co-conspirators.’
‘How can I do that?’ asked Theresa, whimpering, ’that would be my death sentence...’
‘Perhaps it would be,’ Cardinal Pelletier agreed. ‘It's up to the Queen Mother to decide.’
‘She hates me!’
‘She doesn't hate you, my child, but only your sins. So you don't want to confess?’
‘I... I can't.’
‘You heard that stubborn woman, Master Berold. Do you agree with me that she is unrepentant after the first degree?’
‘Undoubtedly, Excellency,’ growled the executioner. He had stepped behind Theresa and was examining her like a butcher examining a piece of meat, running his hand over her sweat-covered torso until his hand rested on her firm buttocks.
‘So it’s the second degree,’ he said. ‘You will be burned with fire. On the parts of your body and for the duration I decide.’

 

[Riodoro]

Hi everyone,
there are two more chapters and pics coming with this installment but one of the pics is not quite ready so I'm going to work on it a little more and post the next two chapters tomorrow. A big thanks to every one of you who have commented. I'm enjoying doing this story a lot and I'm glad that you seem to like it as well

 

[bastndo]

Hi everyone,
there are two more chapters and pics coming with this installment but one of the pics is not quite ready so I'm going to work on it a little more and post the next two chapters tomorrow. A big thanks to every one of you who have commented. I'm enjoying doing this story a lot and I'm glad that you seem to like it as well

Thank you so much for sharing your amazingly written story and illustrations! A beautiful historic enactment of torture methods and proceedings from the good old days with many awesome details and accurate references! Can't wait to see the Torment by fire - with pig's tallow smeared on the young woman's feet, the second degree will no doubt be slightly more "convincing" for Theresa, as it was for many young women and girls that suffered the same torture in the past! Please keep up the good works!

 

[wulf]

Awesome work, and quite exciting. Thank you for sharing.

 

[Riodoro]

12​

Theresa had only been vaguely aware of the fire burning in front of her. At first it had even been pleasant, for in the long hours alone in the chamber the cold had crept deep into her overworked joints and muscles, but now the fire had grown almost waist-high, the flames were flickering alarmingly close to her feet and she could feel the heat radiating from them on her bare skin.
And now Master Berold was pressing his palm against her ass cheeks, not even hard but hard enough to push her body slowly forwards, directly over the fire!
‘No, oh please, no!’ she wailed, but the steady pressure didn't let up and she watched in horror as her wriggling toes dipped into the fire and were surrounded by the flames. Immediately afterwards, the pain hit her like an all-consuming wave. Just as she realised that the agony was far worse than anything she could have imagined, she felt Master Berold's hand stop pressing into the small of her back and her body swung back into a vertical position. Her toes were only a hand's breadth away from the fire, but that was enough for the sharp pain to subside to a dull throb.
‘Oh, it hurts so terribly,’ Theresa whimpered, ’you don't know how much it hurts!’
‘Nonsense,’ cried Cardinal Pelletier. ‘You've barely felt the cleansing flames and you're already whining like a little girl. Aren't you ashamed to be so weak before the image and example of the Saint?’
Theresa knew only too well by now that she was not as strong-willed as St Eulalia on her cross. ‘I... I can't bear it,’ she moaned, ’please, please have pity!’
‘You'll get pity if you confess,’ said the cardinal harshly. He waited a moment, but when all he heard in reply was the sobbing of the mistress, he nodded to Master Berold who pushed Theresa forwards again. This time he did not pull her back so quickly, this time her toes remained in the dancing flames for long seconds, and Theresa reached the moment when the pain became worse than she could bear, and then it grew stronger, and stronger, and stronger, until her whole mind was reduced to this one all-consuming agony. She screamed long and shrill and full of anguish.
‘Well, at last I can really hear you scream,’ Cardinal Pelletier said with satisfaction.
‘Like a songbird,’ Master Berold agreed. He held Theresa's feet in the fire for a while longer, then let her swing back.
‘Oh God, please...’ Theresa whimpered as she finally caught her breath.
‘Once more,’ cried Cardinal Pelletier. ‘Teach her not to defile the name of our Lord with her filthy tongue.’
This time it lasted even longer, so long that Theresa was sure her feet would be black and charred, but when the executioner finally let her swing back, they were still only reddened, barely more so than a sunburn, and covered with small white blisters.
‘The branding iron now, Master Berold,’ Cardinal Pelletier ordered, unmoved by her screams and begging.
Through the veil of her agony, Theresa realised that Berold was taking the branding iron from the embers of the fire. The tip, a metal cross perhaps two inches across, was white-hot. She saw it slowly closing in on her bare skin, felt the heat emanating from the glowing metal as a sharp, stinging tingle. Like in a nightmare and yet strangely vivid. The executioner played with her fear, letting the branding iron move across her outstretched body: back, flanks, stomach and chest.
Tears of fear and despair streamed down Theresa's pale cheeks, she imagined in her overheated imagination how the brand would dig into her flawless flesh before the moment had even come and found the idea of being disfigured in this way so monstrous and unbearable that all the willpower she could muster was suddenly torn away like a wooden dam by an icy flood.
‘No, no, no...’ she whimpered ’...please don't...’
‘No, you say,’ mocked Cardinal Pelletier, ‘’but you haven't even felt the iron yet. She's a real scaredy-cat, our lady. Where do you think she fears it most?’
Berold surveyed the writhing body in front of him with a smile. ‘Her tits, I should say, Your Excellency.’
‘Oh yes,’ Cardinal Pelletier's eyes lit up with pleasure. ‘Isn't that where the whores are branded? That would be most appropriate. But we might want to start in a less sensitive place so that we still have room for enhancement.’
‘You are quite right, Your Excellency,’ agreed Berold, ’may I suggest her thigh?’
Cardinal Pelletier nodded, ‘Very well!’
Before Theresa could protest, she felt Berold's thumb digging into her anus, his fingers gripping her buttocks tightly and holding her pelvis in an iron grip so that no more wriggling or squirming, however slight, was possible. Carefully and without haste, the executioner chose the right spot.
Theresa howled in fear, then the iron touched her twitching thigh, sweat and skin erupted with a loud hiss in a cloud of vapour and an excruciating pain overwhelmed her. When the iron was withdrawn after a good fifteen seconds, a deep cross-shaped burn of black scorched flesh was emblazoned on her thigh.
Berold lowered the branding iron and waited as he listened to Theresa's frantic screams gradually fade into drawn-out, desperate sobs that now reflected not only her agony but also her realisation that her defiance was completely broken.



‘Don't make such a fuss, my lady,’ said cardinal Pelletier. ‘It adorns you tremendously, the cross of our Lord. Far more than all your jewels ever could. Now, where shall we place the next one? Perhaps on the other thigh, for the sake of symmetry?’ the cardinal chuckled.
‘Noooo!’ Theresa wailed, ’No more, please! Just say what you want me to do, you monsters!'

 

[wulf]

12​

Theresa had only been vaguely aware of the fire burning in front of her. At first it had even been pleasant, for in the long hours alone in the chamber the cold had crept deep into her overworked joints and muscles, but now the fire had grown almost waist-high, the flames were flickering alarmingly close to her feet and she could feel the heat radiating from them on her bare skin.
And now Master Berold was pressing his palm against her ass cheeks, not even hard but hard enough to push her body slowly forwards, directly over the fire!
‘No, oh please, no!’ she wailed, but the steady pressure didn't let up and she watched in horror as her wriggling toes dipped into the fire and were surrounded by the flames. Immediately afterwards, the pain hit her like an all-consuming wave. Just as she realised that the agony was far worse than anything she could have imagined, she felt Master Berold's hand stop pressing into the small of her back and her body swung back into a vertical position. Her toes were only a hand's breadth away from the fire, but that was enough for the sharp pain to subside to a dull throb.
‘Oh, it hurts so terribly,’ Theresa whimpered, ’you don't know how much it hurts!’
‘Nonsense,’ cried Cardinal Pelletier. ‘You've barely felt the cleansing flames and you're already whining like a little girl. Aren't you ashamed to be so weak before the image and example of the Saint?’
Theresa knew only too well by now that she was not as strong-willed as St Eulalia on her cross. ‘I... I can't bear it,’ she moaned, ’please, please have pity!’
‘You'll get pity if you confess,’ said the cardinal harshly. He waited a moment, but when all he heard in reply was the sobbing of the mistress, he nodded to Master Berold who pushed Theresa forwards again. This time he did not pull her back so quickly, this time her toes remained in the dancing flames for long seconds, and Theresa reached the moment when the pain became worse than she could bear, and then it grew stronger, and stronger, and stronger, until her whole mind was reduced to this one all-consuming agony. She screamed long and shrill and full of anguish.
‘Well, at last I can really hear you scream,’ Cardinal Pelletier said with satisfaction.
‘Like a songbird,’ Master Berold agreed. He held Theresa's feet in the fire for a while longer, then let her swing back.
‘Oh God, please...’ Theresa whimpered as she finally caught her breath.
‘Once more,’ cried Cardinal Pelletier. ‘Teach her not to defile the name of our Lord with her filthy tongue.’
This time it lasted even longer, so long that Theresa was sure her feet would be black and charred, but when the executioner finally let her swing back, they were still only reddened, barely more so than a sunburn, and covered with small white blisters.
‘The branding iron now, Master Berold,’ Cardinal Pelletier ordered, unmoved by her screams and begging.
Through the veil of her agony, Theresa realised that Berold was taking the branding iron from the embers of the fire. The tip, a metal cross perhaps two inches across, was white-hot. She saw it slowly closing in on her bare skin, felt the heat emanating from the glowing metal as a sharp, stinging tingle. Like in a nightmare and yet strangely vivid. The executioner played with her fear, letting the branding iron move across her outstretched body: back, flanks, stomach and chest.
Tears of fear and despair streamed down Theresa's pale cheeks, she imagined in her overheated imagination how the brand would dig into her flawless flesh before the moment had even come and found the idea of being disfigured in this way so monstrous and unbearable that all the willpower she could muster was suddenly torn away like a wooden dam by an icy flood.
‘No, no, no...’ she whimpered ’...please don't...’
‘No, you say,’ mocked Cardinal Pelletier, ‘’but you haven't even felt the iron yet. She's a real scaredy-cat, our lady. Where do you think she fears it most?’
Berold surveyed the writhing body in front of him with a smile. ‘Her tits, I should say, Your Excellency.’
‘Oh yes,’ Cardinal Pelletier's eyes lit up with pleasure. ‘Isn't that where the whores are branded? That would be most appropriate. But we might want to start in a less sensitive place so that we still have room for enhancement.’
‘You are quite right, Your Excellency,’ agreed Berold, ’may I suggest her thigh?’
Cardinal Pelletier nodded, ‘Very well!’
Before Theresa could protest, she felt Berold's thumb digging into her anus, his fingers gripping her buttocks tightly and holding her pelvis in an iron grip so that no more wriggling or squirming, however slight, was possible. Carefully and without haste, the executioner chose the right spot.
Theresa howled in fear, then the iron touched her twitching thigh, sweat and skin erupted with a loud hiss in a cloud of vapour and an excruciating pain overwhelmed her. When the iron was withdrawn after a good fifteen seconds, a deep cross-shaped burn of black scorched flesh was emblazoned on her thigh.
Berold lowered the branding iron and waited as he listened to Theresa's frantic screams gradually fade into drawn-out, desperate sobs that now reflected not only her agony but also her realisation that her defiance was completely broken.

View attachment 1569886

‘Don't make such a fuss, my lady,’ said cardinal Pelletier. ‘It adorns you tremendously, the cross of our Lord. Far more than all your jewels ever could. Now, where shall we place the next one? Perhaps on the other thigh, for the sake of symmetry?’ the cardinal chuckled.
‘Noooo!’ Theresa wailed, ’No more, please! Just say what you want me to do, you monsters!'

Oh my. This is beyond magnificent, and a true masterpiece of torture art. Just lovely and thanks for sharing.