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Bijou in Malhaven

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Chapter VIII: Edward (conclusion)
​

He paused, then continued. “There’s another water torture we do, but I doubt you’ll ever be subjected to that one, either. It’s another old one, sometimes called the ‘water cure.’ You take the girl, and force a funnel into her mouth and pour water into it. Continuously. The girl has no choice but to swallow; and if she resists, that’s easy enough to overcome. Eventually, the poor girl is filled with water, distending her belly. They say it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.” He paused again, watching Bijou shudder. “But no one is likely to do that to a slab like you.”

“A what?” asked Bijou.

“A ‘slab.’ S-L-A-B,” he said, spelling out the letters. “I hate to tell you this, Bijou, but you’re a type. Certain guys like certain types of girls, and you’re a certain type of girl. You’re what we call a ‘SLAB’: Skinny Little Asian Bitch.”

Edward continued. “It so happens I like to fuck Skinny Little Asian Bitches, but not necessarily torture them. So you’re pretty much safe with me. With other guys, not so much. But the thing is, you are the epitome of the perfect SLAB. If someone wants a petite Asian girl, whether for sex or for torture, you’re pretty much the best of the lot. Short, petite, slender, small tits, nice legs, great ass. There’s a reason David picked you. Oh, and by the way, the imprimatur of being one of David’s picks is part of that, too. He’s got great taste and is well thought of. That’s why you’ve been so much in demand.”

His comments took Bijou aback, but she wasn’t really too surprised. She knew she was attractive to men who found Asians attractive, but she’d not heard the term before. And Edward’s comments about David echoed what Henry had told her. But she still didn’t understand how that tied into the “water cure.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with the water cure? What’s so special about me that I’ve been spared that one?”

“Look, Bijou,” Edward answered, “One of the things about this particular torture is that the girl’s belly gets distended from the interior pressure. Now, some guys think that’s a turn-on, others think it’s a turn-off. Me, I don’t really like it, but, hey, I’m pretty fucked up myself, so I don’t judge. Anyway, here’s the thing.” He paused. “The kind of guy who finds that attractive is not going to reach for a skinny girl like you to start with. He’s going to go for a more substantial girl. Do you know Alice? The girl who plays violin?”

Bijou nodded. Alice Chambliss was a pretty brunette, but no one would ever characterize her as skinny. She was by no means fat, but she had some meat on her bones. At the time of her acquisition, Alice had been an accomplished student violinist who had been enrolled in some type of masters program at some conservatory in the eastern part of the country. Bijou didn’t know the details, but had heard about it from some of the other girls. Apparently, Alice’s attractiveness had been only part of the motivation in taking her: some of the members got a heightened enjoyment out of torturing someone so talented. One had gone so far as to crush Alice’s fingers with pliers; with Alice’s devotion to violin, such a torture was worse than for most women, to see destroyed the hands that she depended on to play her instrument. Of course, the girl’s hands were restored along with the rest of her after a session, but that didn’t lessen her anguish.

“Alice has gotten the water treatment,” said Edward, “more than once. She’s already got a little bit of chub, but she carries it well, and some guys like that. The kind of guy who likes that doesn’t mind adding a little bit of instant water-weight gain. You can ask her about it sometime.”

Bijou made a mental note never to broach the subject with Alice.
 
A word about that "SLAB" epithet in the previous chapter...

Many years ago, I was with my then-girlfriend (now wife) as she was shopping for a party dress. We were in a store that catered to petite women.

A slightly overweight woman was trying, without success, to fit into one of the dresses. In frustration, she exclaimed "This store is just made for skinny little oriental bitches!" Then she noticed for the first time my girlfriend, who was (well, is) Asian, and who was, in fact, a skinny little oriental woman. (She's a little less skinny now, two kids and twenty-some years later; but not much so.) The woman was appropriately embarrassed by her outburst.

My girlfriend was actually amused, and we noticed that "SLOB" would be a good abbreviation for "skinny little oriental bitch" and we used that term from time to time going forward (she more than I; she took a degree of pride in it).

I thought that this is just the sort of casually derogatory (both toward women in general and Asians in particular) term that Malhaven residents might adopt, so included it here, although I modified "oriental" to "Asian"; and hence SLOB to SLAB.

By the way, we did end up buying a dress there, and I'm pleased to report that my girlfriend looked quite nice in it.
 

Chapter IX: Steven​


Occasionally, Bijou was chosen by one of the members as a consort. She relished this when it occurred. While serving as a member’s consort, she was the exclusive property of that member. No other member could take her, either for sex or for torture, without the owning member’s permission; and as a matter of etiquette, such requests were rarely made or granted. And most members did not abuse their own consorts, either; they had an ever-changing sequence of girls on assignment for that. As a consequence, being chosen as consort generally meant going several months in a privileged status without being tortured.

At the end of her consort service, some members simply released her for assignment, choosing a new consort once they became bored with her. Most, however, subjected her to some torture or another as a send-off. As it turns out, her first excruciating experience on the rack at the end of her consort service to David had been an example of a fairly standard practice.

But still, some members simply ended her consort service with no torture, and the lengthy period free of abuse seemed almost like a vacation for the long-suffering girl.

Then there was Steven. He had selected her as consort, the longest-lasting one of all her time in Malhaven. Six months, it had lasted, and he treated her tenderly throughout it. Forgetting her predicament, Bijou found herself falling in love with him, and came to believe that the feeling was mutual.

Steven treated her like a princess, right up until her last day as his consort. Then he bound her, nude and spread-eagled, stretched across the surface of a large metal wheel, and systematically broke as many bones in her body as possible. He used pliers on her fingers and toes, sometimes crushing them, in other cases twisting them until they snapped. He used a length of metal pipe on her legs and arms, splintering those bones as she shrieked and pleaded for mercy with the man she thought had loved her. The bastard postponed raping her until after he had shattered her pelvic bones. The agony as the jagged shards of bone ground against one another with each of Steven’s thrusts was excruciating.

After her experience with Steven, never again did Bijou forget where she stood at Malhaven.
 

Chapter X: Release
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The days extended into weeks, the weeks to months, and the months to years. This was Bijou’s life now: an unending stretch of time spent in various episodes of torture, punctuated with only occasional rest. The variety was overwhelming. She had been repeatedly whipped, stretched on the rack, and suffered near-drownings. She had been burned in a variety of ways: seared with branding irons; bound to an iron grate and roasted over an open fire; tied to a chair with scalding water poured over her body. She had suffered impalement, both in her vagina and her anus. She had been strapped to a table and forced to endure a variety of electrical shocks.

Gradually, however, the periods of rest between assignments became more frequent, and of longer duration. Being one of David’s special girls had, she realized, increased her popularity as a torture subject; but eventually, even that status began to wane. David had brought in many women since her acquisition, and some of them now bore the brunt of attention that Bijou herself had formerly felt. His former consort Emily, for example, a tall and willowy redhead, was now enthusiastically requested by a number of members. Bijou had seen her hung by her wrists and whipped over and over again. With her long legs and slender body – her ribs showed more prominently than Bijou thought attractive, but some men obviously liked that – she was a constant target. And then there was Chani, a delicately-featured Thai girl. Chani had served as David’s consort for nearly a year, before he released her to the other members; but not before breaking her on the wheel, as Steven had done to Bijou. Once David had released Chani as consort, the wait list to torture her had had dozens of names on it.

But for Bijou, that time was past. A few months ago, there had been a sudden flurry of requests for her; and then as suddenly as it had started, it had abated. She now would go weeks without being selected for torture; sometimes a month. Everyone who had wanted to torture her, it seemed, had done so and had now already moved on to other girls.

Then came the day she had given up on ever arriving.

It began like any other day in Malhaven. Bijou awoke in her bed, and stretched and yawned. It was autumn, or at least she thought it was, but felt like a warm spring day. She arose and examined her nude body in the full-length mirror. Despite the years she had been in Malhaven, and the abuse she had undergone, she looked as beautiful as ever. She was uncertain exactly how old she was. A few of her birthdays had been “celebrated,” if that was the word, in cruel irony, with particularly excruciating torture sessions; but others seemed to have gone unmarked completely. Some, she supposed, may have gone by as ordinary days lost amid a routine torture session. Once she had been given “birthday spankings,” if being beaten with a wooden club severely enough to break bones can be considered a mere spanking. But even in that session, no one had tracked the number of blows, or attempted to correlate it with her actual age.

She guessed she was now twenty-four or twenty-five, but she really couldn’t be sure. The restoration process, she realized, included elements of rejuvenation as well; she still looked pretty much like the eighteen-year-old college freshman who had been abducted years before. Her face might have rounded out a little bit, she supposed, but she wasn’t even sure of that. Her face still held the smoothness of youth in the twilight of its teen years, and every inch of her, from head to toe – her breasts, her belly, her legs, her ass – was as firm and taut as on the day of her abduction. Her eyes now reflected a passive sense of hopelessness that was a product of her years of abuse; but other than that, she looked pretty much the same.

She reached for a short robe that accentuated her legs and put it on, and walked out of the bedroom to prepare some breakfast.

“Hello, Bijou,” said David, sitting in the living room.
 

Chapter X: Release (cont'd)
​

Bijou was startled, but recovered quickly. “Hello, David,” she responded, “How are you?” She tried to sound nonchalant, but David’s presence could mean only one thing. Her current respite, which had lasted almost two months, was at an end. She was going to be tortured again, and sessions at David’s hand were the worst.

“I’m good,” he answered. In truth, Bijou thought, he did look good. She suddenly realized that the female residents of Malhaven were likely not the only ones to have had restoration. The members obviously availed themselves of the same treatments.

“I bring news,” David continued. “Your time in Malhaven is at an end. You’re being released.”

Bijou heard the words, but couldn’t process them. Released. After all the years at Malhaven, she’d given up all hope of escape or release. She couldn’t comprehend being free again. All she could manage was a one-word response.

“Wh- What?” she asked dumbly. Even saying that one syllable, she stammered, the shock was so extreme, the idea of release so foreign.

“You’re being released,” David repeated. “Congratulations. You’ve outlived your usefulness. You must have noticed that interest in you has dwindled. You’ve been off now for, what, six or seven weeks? No point in keeping you around if no one wants you, either as a consort or for assignment. So you’re being released.”

Bijou was elated, and for the first time in years, her face broke into an unconstrained grin.

“But don’t go telling anyone about this. It wouldn’t do for the other girls to have false hopes.”

Bijou nodded, still unable to stop smiling.

“Oh, and first…” David paused, letting the word hang in the air, watching as her smile deflated. “I couldn’t let you go without one last session.” His voice hardened. “Tomorrow. I have quite an interesting time planned for you.” He smiled sardonically, and Bijou’s blood ran cold. He stood.

“Have a nice day, Bijou.” He walked to the door and left.

Bijou stood in the thin robe and shuddered. She knew that whatever David had planned, it would be horrible. Knowing David, it was likely to be the most excruciating torture she’d ever experienced. But it would be the last! She steeled herself. She’d been tortured for years, and until five minutes ago, had never dreamed that she would not be tortured for further years ahead. One more, she told herself. One more, and then I’m out. She could survive that. She would have to.

She decided to spend the day outside. Despite the foreknowledge that she was to be tortured tomorrow, she was determined to enjoy today. But the warm spring-like day no longer seemed so warm; and to Bijou, the fluffy white clouds looked like ominous thunderheads.

† † †​

Piper was in her apartment when Bijou stopped by. The frequency of Piper’s assignments had lessened, at least as much as Bijou’s, probably more so. In fact, in nearly all of her assignments in the last year, she had been paired with Bijou.

Bijou had intended only to see Piper one last time; minding David’s warning, Bijou had no plans to tell her she was being released. But she could not resist confiding in her friend. She told the other girl of David’s visit, and the announcement that she was being released from Malhaven.

“It can’t be!” whispered Piper skeptically, instinctively lowering her voice. “No one leaves.”

“No? There was this girl, Tracy,” said Bijou, “the first woman I ever saw tortured. I haven’t thought about it, but I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Something’s wrong here, Bijou,” warned Piper. “How could they let you go? How could he keep you from telling people on the outside? He’s lying.”

“I don’t know!” exclaimed Bijou. “They can restore and rejuvenate us. Maybe they can erase our memories, to keep us from telling. And David doesn’t lie, Piper. Even on that very first torture, when you and I were racked, he never said I was going to ‘observe,’ like he had the first time. He just said there was another torture, and left it to me to assume I would only have to watch. He’s a sadistic monster, Piper, they all are, but he’s not a liar. If he says I’m being released, I believe him.”

Piper remained skeptical. They hugged, and Piper watched as Bijou left the apartment and continued on her walk. She wondered if she would ever see Bijou again; and if so, whether it would be outside Malhaven.

† † †​
 

Chapter X: Release (conclusion)​

Bijou returned to her apartment around five o’clock, planning a light meal. Entering the apartment, she found a young short-haired brunette, preparing dinner. “Hi,” the girl said brightly, looking over her shoulder. “I was asked to come over and make you dinner for tonight.” She had just completed the task, and delivered an appetizing meal to Bijou’s table, which had already been set. “Come sit and eat. I’ll stay with you.”

Bijou crossed to the table and sat down. Part of her wanted to defy Malhaven and refuse the meal. But in truth, she was hungry, and it looked delicious. She began to eat. “You don’t need to stay,” she said.

“Actually, I do,” her cook said. “I have orders. I’m Jessica,” she added, just realizing she had not introduced herself.

“Why are you here?” asked Bijou. “Normally I make my own dinner.”

“I don’t know, exactly,” admitted Jessica. “My orders were to make you dinner and to make sure you take some medication.” She placed a container of tablets on the table.

Bijou regarded the medication with suspicion. “What if I don’t take it?” she asked.

“You need to,” urged Jessica. “If I report back that you wouldn’t take it, someone else will come by, and you’ll end up taking it anyway. You know that.”

Bijou nodded. Jessica continued, “I don’t know what your situation is. They only told me you have ‘a big day ahead of you’ tomorrow. I’m sorry. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I know it can’t be good, I’m sorry. They wanted to make sure you’re well-nourished and well-rested, so I guess it’s going to be more intense than most. I wish I didn’t know that, I’m sorry. The tablets are sedatives. They want you to get a good night’s sleep, for whatever it is they’re going to do to you tomorrow.” Jessica’s voice caught as she spoke. Her eye were moist.

Bijou finished her dinner and stood. The sedatives remained on the table.

“I’m sorry, Bijou, but I need to see you take them. I don’t dare risk it otherwise. Whatever they’re doing to you tomorrow is going to happen whether you sleep well or not, and if you don’t take those, then something’s going to happen to me, too.” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Bijou, but you need to take them.”

Again, Bijou nodded. Jessica was right. Whatever David had planned for her was going to be brutal, whether or not she took this medication. If she didn’t take the sedatives, Jessica would have to report that; and then someone would come back and make her take them, and it wouldn’t be gentle. And she couldn’t deceive this girl, she just couldn’t. If she somehow faked taking the pills and convinced the other girl, Bijou knew that David would retaliate against Jessica, and brutally. She would not allow that to be her final legacy at Malhaven. Bijou opened the container, shook out the two tablets it contained, and put them in her mouth. She reached for the water glass, still on the table and washed them down.

Jessica was visibly relieved. Her duty had been done.

“You should go to bed now,” Jessica suggested. “They’re fast-acting. I have instructions to set up your wardrobe for tomorrow. I’ll do that while you get to bed.”

“Okay,” said Bijou. She felt remarkably passive. She went into the bathroom and brushed her teeth and washed her face as Jessica busied herself in the closet. She took a last look in the mirror. My last night in this place, she thought.

Bijou padded to the bed. As sleepwear, Jessica had laid out a pair of comfortable cotton panties and a cotton sleeveless top. Bijou changed and got into bed, sliding under the covers. The medication was already taking effect. It was not even six PM, and she was already getting drowsy.

Moments later, Jessica came out of the closet with the selection of clothing, and laid it on a nearby dresser. She looked at Bijou, now sleeping soundly. “Goodnight, Bijou,” she whispered sadly. Jessica left the apartment, closing the door softly.
 
Before I post Chapter 11, in the spirit of "a picture is worth a thousand words," I'd like to describe how I got the inspiration for Bijou's dress, which is introduced in Chapter 11 and figures somewhat prominently in Chapter 12. It's not really much of a spoiler, but those of you who want to rely only upon your imagination from the written text can skip what's below in this message. Those of you for whom my written description falls short, or who just want a better idea, may want to see it.

For Bijou's dress (and for that matter, her shoes), I was inspired by the cover photo on Ayumi Hamasaki's 2004 CD, Carols. You can see that photo here. Neither Ayumi's dress nor her shoes are quite exactly the same as Bijou's, but you'll see the resemblance. This is the only shot I've ever seen of Ayumi in this dress, so I had to fill in some details from my imagination; and I simplified some aspects of both the dress and shoes, but the spirit remains.

Incidentally, Ayumi's body is a lot like that of the real-life woman who was my inspiration for Bijou. Ayumi is a tad shorter, but overall gives the same impression (circa 2014 or so, when I was writing this story, anyway). Another person who gives off the Bijou vibe is (again, circa 2014) Tomomi Itano (e.g. here and here). Neither of them looks like "Bijou" facially (although Tomomi comes a little closer), but the bodies are about right..

Enjoy.
 

Chapter XI: Morning​

She awoke.

A man was gently shaking Bijou’s shoulder, rousing her from a deep sleep. She was still just a little groggy and disoriented from the lingering effects of the sedative, and then she awoke fully, suddenly remembering the significance of the day.

“Good morning,” greeted the man who had awakened her. She didn’t recognize him and he did not introduce himself.

Bijou sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was still dark out. “What time is it?” she asked.

“About five o’clock,” came the reply. “Go shower. You have a full day today.” He gestured toward the bathroom. Obediently, Bijou walked to the bathroom. She removed her top, and, sensing the man’s hungry eyes on her, smiled a bit, despite herself. She still retained her youthful beauty, and would soon be able to enjoy it again, once freed.

She had only been showered for a few minutes when she heard the knock on the door. “We need to get moving,” she heard.

She toweled off and came out, nude. The man held a robe for her and she slipped into it. “Sit,” he commanded, indicating one of the two chairs he’d brought into the outer bathroom. She sat.

For the first time, Bijou noticed he had brought a small case. Setting it on the bathroom counter, he now opened it, and Bijou saw that it held an array of cosmetics. He sat in the other chair, facing her, and went to work on her face, just a light touch of makeup, to enhance Bijou’s own natural beauty.

He carefully applied the cosmetics for only a few minutes, with expert strokes, then went to work on her hair. She had already brushed it smooth, and he considered whether to leave it as it was, long, lustrous and dark, reaching nearly halfway down her back. After all, it looked pretty good already. But no, he decided, let’s put it up. No girl goes through a session without getting her hair mussed. By the time they’re done with her, it will be down again; this way they get to see two different ways. He expertly swept her hair to the top of her head and secured most of it there. He let one thick tress loose in the back; that was a nice enhancement. Carefully, he extracted two small tendrils to fall softly on either side of her face, framing it nicely. Satisfied, he turned her to look in the mirror.

Bijou was stunned at her own appearance. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her skin exuded softness. The light touch of mascara and the subtle shading of her eyelids accented her Asian eyes without going over into caricature. The lip gloss was dark but understated, just enough to bring out her sensuous mouth. The ringlets of hair that hung alongside her her face accentuated her high cheekbones and gave her an innocent, vulnerable look.

He smiled; he could tell she was impressed. But the clock was moving. He indicated the clothing that Jessica had set out for her on the dresser. “Get dressed.”

Bijou walked to the dresser, which held a flowing white chiffon dress and a pair of silver high-heeled shoes. She opened a drawer, and pulled out a pair of white panties. The man shook his head. “No underwear today, Bijou. Just what’s on the dresser.”

Bijou nodded. She should have expected that. She slid the robe over her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. She pulled the dress over her head – carefully, to avoid messing her hair – and slipped her arms through the delicate shoulder straps, feeling the soft gossamer fabric slide over her body. She took a moment to smooth the silky material over her hips and legs.

“The shoes, too,” he commanded.

Bijou sat carefully, so as not to wrinkle the chiffon dress, and crossed her left leg over her right. She slid the left shoe onto her foot, the silvery strap nestling between her first two toes. A matching strap rose from the shoe’s heel and fastened to a delicate strap that encircled Bijou’s trim ankle. A small elegant network of silver-white beading ran along the top of her foot between the toe and ankle straps. She re-crossed her legs and repeated the process, putting on the right shoe.

Bijou stood and looked in the mirror. She had to admit, Malhaven knew how to make a girl look good. The heels added five or six inches to her height, and combined with the gently frilled hemline of the dress, ultra-short at the front and tapering behind her to the tops of her calves, her legs were exquisite. The plunging neckline laid bare much of her upper chest, but revealed only a hint of the soft unobtrusive cleavage of her breasts. She turned sideways. The back of the dress briefly flared out slightly from the motion, then settled. In profile, she realized, she looked even better. Her small firm breasts pushed subtly at the fabric in front. The fabric flowed gently, yet just a little bit clingingly, nicely showcasing the curves of her ass. The back of the dress was open almost to the base of her spine, the thin delicate straps over her shoulders connecting only at the front of the dress and at the edge of her bare back at the waist. Add in the makeup and hair, and Bijou had to admit, she had never looked better in her life.

The man gave a low whistle of appreciation. “Bijou, you are absolutely stunning. But it’s time to go now.” He gestured to the door, and Bijou followed his gesture. She paused at the door, only for a moment, looking one last time at the apartment that had housed her for so many years. Then she turned her back on it, glad to be gone, and left.

It was still dark outside, but a hint of lavender grey to the east indicated that the sun would soon be rising. A dark limousine awaited. Bijou and her escort got in the back seat, and unbidden, the driver started the car and they were underway.

† † †​
 

Chapter XI: Morning (conclusion)
​

In just a few minutes, they had left the settlement behind. Bijou suddenly realized that Malhaven proper was smaller than she had imagined; at least the inhabited portion. Eventually they approached a tall concrete wall, topped with razor wire. Bijou had never seriously considered an escape attempt, and she now saw that there was no way she could have succeeded. But she asked, “Has anyone ever escaped from Malhaven?”

“No,” he replied. “It’s been tried. I know of five or six attempts. None of them ended well for the woman. I was on one of the recoveries. See that barbed wire?” They were now passing through an opened gate in the wall, and he pointed to the curled razor wire topping it. “When we caught her, we wrapped her in it – legs, arms, breasts, and making sure we ran some between her legs – and slowly dragged her for miles through this desert. She was pretty messed up by the time we stopped. Then we unwrapped her, used a length of the wire to hang her by the wrists from a tree limb, and whipped her with the rest of it.”

He paused. “That probably would have been enough for her to learn, but to be sure, we put her to constant torture, cycling through every procedure we have in the catalog. Then we repeated, over and over, interrupting only for an occasional restoration, and only when there was a medical need for it. We kept that up for three solid months, day in and day out, with not even an hour of relief. She was downright docile after that.” He paused again, remembering. “Some of those treatments were pretty messy. Ed used a cheese grater on her, I remember. He spent hours on her, concentrated on her knees. I don’t think she could ever even look at a cheese grater after that. Anyway, that was the only one I worked on, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t go too well for the others, either.” Bijou shuddered.

They drove on in silence. The terrain was mostly flat, but with some significant hills. Looking at the rocky landscape with its sparse xeric vegetation, Bijou realized she had no idea where in the world she was. In the almost-suburban Malhaven settlement, she’d always assumed she was in North America, or maybe Europe. But she realized now she could be almost anywhere: North America, South America… maybe northern Africa. Probably not Europe, she guessed from the terrain. But really, she had no idea.

They topped a small hill, and Bijou could see activity below. There were some spartan buildings, apparently of concrete construction. A large area of hard-packed dirt held a few scattered vehicles and men. The car completed its descent and came to a stop not far from a compound of buildings. Her escort and the driver each got out of the car. The driver stepped back and opened her door, as her escort walked around to her side. He reached down and extended a hand to her, gentlemanly offering his assistance to her. “This is your stop, Bijou.” She took the offered hand and stepped out of the vehicle.

The man turned to look at her one last time. The Asian woman was achingly beautiful. The diffuse light of the sunrise illuminated her face. A soft wind wafted over the diaphanous dress so that the front of the garment clung to her breasts and pubis. The back of the dress fluttered gently behind her in the light breeze, displaying her fine legs as she stood in her elegant heels.

“Good luck, Bijou. And goodbye.” He returned to his seat in the limousine, and it sped off, returning in the direction from which they had come. Bijou could see the men across the plain walking toward her.

At the front of the pack was David.
 

Chapter XII: Preparations
​

“Well, gentlemen, let’s get started, shall we?” David addressed two of the other men. From their general demeanor, Bijou could see that the two of them were serving as David’s assistants. The rest, Bijou realized, were other members gathered to watch David torture his favorite girl one last memorable time.

Immediately, the two men grabbed Bijou by the arms, and began pulling her toward a wooden structure. The structure was a simple one, two thick wooden posts, each about the diameter of a utility pole, and about eight feet high, about ten feet apart. They were set in opposite ends of a strip of concrete that ran between them, about nine inches wide, intermittently pocked with holes bored into it. Between the tops of the posts ran what appeared to be a metal pipe, about three inches in diameter. The pipe was drilled through with a number of holes along its length. It included two spools of chain, each about two feet long, terminating in padded cuffs. The spindles could evidently be adjusted to be positioned at any of the holes that ran the length of the pipe; they were currently set about eighteen inches apart. The men pulled Bijou’s arms above her and fastened the manacles to her wrists.

She now stood, her arms chained above her. The position was not uncomfortable, she realized. She was not hanging by her wrists, and her feet were flat on the concrete strip – or as flat as they could be, given the high heels. In any event, she was securely positioned for whatever was going to come next.

David stood before her. “Well, Bijou, I think the first order of business is to remove that pretty dress.” He pulled his knife from his pocket and unfolded it, and looked at her. He paused.

“No,” he said, thoughtfully. “That would be too easy.” He refolded the knife and returned it to his pocket. “Today, I’m going to strip you with this.” One of the men stepped forward and handed David a long, nasty-looking black bullwhip.

Bijou cringed, but she realized that this was something she could handle. She’d been whipped before; many times before. It wasn’t pleasant, obviously, but she knew it was something she could endure. And today was to be her final torture. She could take this.

By now, her audience had grown. There were about ten men now, waiting with anticipation for her to be tortured.

David walked behind the chained girl, holding the whip. He could see the tension in Bijou’s shoulders, as she prepared for the lash. Stealthily, he approached her, raising the whip. He approached within a foot, and then let a length of the lash drop across her shoulder, dangling harmlessly against her chest. “Boo!” he shouted.

Startled, Bijou gasped in surprise.

David chuckled, mocking her alarm. “Just kidding, Bijou! Don’t worry, when I start whipping you, you’ll know it.”

He now took up his position, some twenty feet behind the chained Korean girl. He paused, taking in for a final time the smooth unblemished skin of her bare back, exposed by the elegant gown. Then he struck.
 

Chapter XII: Preparations (cont'd)​

David brought the whip down, hard, just inside Bijou’s right shoulder blade, drawing it down the length of her back. Bijou gasped in pain. She was determined not to cry out for as long as possible, and she knew she could endure at least the first few strokes of a simple lash.

What frightened her, however, was where the whip had landed. David had said he was planning to strip her with the whip, but she could tell from the surge of pain that the point of impact was nowhere near either the fabric or straps of the gown. David didn’t screw up, she knew. It could only mean that he had intentionally avoided the garment. He was going to use the whip, not only to remove her dress, but to deliberately shower her with gratuitous blows unrelated to stripping her.

David looked with satisfaction at the welt the whip had raised. An angry and nearly vertical red line now ran from the woman's right scapula to the middle of her spine, not coming within an inch of the fabric of the dress. “Well, Bijou, it seems my aim is not what it once was,” he mocked. They both knew nothing was wrong with his aim. “This may take a while.” He brought the whip down again, slightly lower and to the right, drawing another mark nearly parallel to the first. Bijou grunted through clenched teeth, but did not cry out. This time, the whip made it to the trim of the dress at the base of her spine. The hem frayed slightly, but did not tear.

Again, he struck, this time at the point where the hem of the fabric had just frayed, right where the delicate dress covered Bijou’s ass. Bijou jumped in reaction to the blow, but still, she succeeded in suppressing her scream. For the first time, a tear appeared in the garment; only an inch, but a start. David struck again, at the same spot. This stroke impacted exactly on the rip from the previous lash, lengthening the rip and eliciting a yelp of pain from the girl. David saw a slight spattering of blood along the tear and noted with satisfaction that the tip of the whip had reached the flesh of her ass.

He walked around the chained girl to stand in front of her. Bijou winced in anticipation as David raised the whip for the first frontal lash. This stroke was nearly horizontal, striking the dress just at the lower edge of her right breast, tearing the fabric in a three-inch horizontal slice. Bijou had barely suppressed a moan of pain, when David struck again, this time tearing the fabric over the ribs on her left side.

David paused, considering where to strike next. He drew the whip back and struck again, once more at the girl’s right breast, exactly where he had torn the dress two strokes previously. Pay dirt. The stroke was right on target, sliding through where he had previously split the fabric, and slicing at Bijou’s tender breast. The girl cried out in pain, making evident the quality of the stroke. Now he was on a roll.

He walked behind her again. Raising the whip high, he brought it down hard, drawing it from the center of her back down to the base of her spine. Bijou screamed, the first full-throated expression of pain today. The fabric at the base of her spine tore a little more. David repeated the stroke, earning another scream from Bijou. The tear deepened, and David now saw the cleavage of her buttocks where the fabric had torn.

The next several strokes were for David’s amusement, clearly unrelated to removal of Bijou’s dress. He addressed the whip to the flowing fabric that concealed the back of her legs. He returned to his position in front of her and struck her again, across the breasts, her belly, her hips. Some of the strokes tore the dress; others snaked through the existing rips to strike the now-bare flesh beneath.

With each new stroke, Bijou screamed, her determination to remain silent now forgotten.
 

Chapter XII: Preparations (conclusion)​


For several minutes, David continued, unhurried. The once-beautiful dress was now in tatters. The back portion, which had once flowed gracefully down to the backs of her knees, hung in ribbons; Bijou’s slim legs were completely unconcealed. The rip at the base of her spine had lengthened from repeated impacts, fully exposing the crack of her ass. On the front, a series of horizontal slices through the cloth revealed a matching set of welts beneath; the nipple of her left breast peeked through the thin torn fabric. Bijou’s hair, which had been styled elegantly up at the beginning of the session, now hung loose.

She was beautiful.

David paused again, and looked at his favorite girl. After the last barrage of lashes, Bijou had lost her footing in the high heels, and was now hanging, knees bent, from her manacled wrists. “Stand up,” he barked. “We’re not done yet!”

David lashed out with the whip again, backhanded this time. This stroke caught Bijou’s right armpit and continued to slice upward, leaving a mark on her delicate face. As the tip of the lash crossed upward on the way to her cheek, it caught the right strap of the dress. Frayed from previous blows, the strap broke, and the panel of fabric it supported fell forward, exposing Bijou’s right breast. Now we’re getting somewhere, thought David.

David returned to Bijou’s rear and attacked again. Over and over, the whip fell. David concentrated on the thin fabric at her waist, striking it repeatedly and watching it shred under the assault, and listening to her cries. The white fabric began to spot red as blood seeped from the welts made by the whip.

The dress was barely hanging from Bijou’s body now, held in place only by the remaining strap over her left shoulder. David returned to a position in front of the shackled girl, and prepared for his next stroke. He raised the whip, and, with all of his force, brought it down on the remaining strap. The lash tore Bijou’s skin as well as the strap, and she screamed in pain. The strap snapped, and the fabric covering her left breast fell. With both straps severed and the waistline fabric in tatters, the dress drifted down the whipped girl’s body, lingering momentarily at her waist before gracefully sliding past her hips and fluttering down to the dirt.

David reached down, picked up the dress from where it lay on the ground, and tossed it aside. Bijou was now nude, except for the silver high-heeled shoes, her breaths coming violently in wracking sobs. The whip had left its mark on her, she knew, but less so than in other whippings she’d endured. For one thing, although many of the strokes had been superfluous to the goal of stripping her, the main object had been removal of the dress, not a full-blown whipping. For another, although the dress was flimsy and had not offered any significant protection, many of David’s blows had been directed to the destruction and removal of the garment, only incidentally hitting her body. If this was to be her last torture, Bijou was at peace with that.

David beckoned to the men assisting him, and they came over to attend to Bijou. They unshackled the girl and she stumbled, guided and half-carried by the men, to a wooden crate nearby that had been pressed into service as a seat. One of them lifted a container of water to her lips. She drank deeply.

“Are we done? Am I free now?” she asked.

The men looked at one another in surprise. “No, Bijou,” said one. “You were just being stripped. Your final torture is just about to start.”
 
The next chapter is quite long, and is divided into three parts. I was initially planning on posting one part per day, but some might want to read it all in one sitting, so I'll try to get it all done today. (I have to do formatting adjustments, and also do minor cleanups and a final re-read, sometimes with tiny edits, on each posting, so it's not as fast as a simple copy-paste.)
 

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine
Part 1: The First Thirteen
​

The men lifted Bijou from the crate and dragged her, stumbling, to a low concrete pillar set in the hard-packed dirt. It was about six inches in diameter, and rose to a height somewhere between Bijou’s navel and breasts, topped in a flat circular surface. A short chain, about twelve inches long, was secured to a bolt at the top. The loose end branched into two short lengths of chain, each only about three inches long, terminating in a pair of cuffs that could be separated by no more than about six inches. The men fastened the cuffs on Bijou’s wrists, and released their grip. The exhausted girl sank to her knees, her forehead resting on her hands, which in turn rested on the top of the pillar.

Bijou’s rest was short-lived. “Stand,” commanded David, grabbing her hair and yanking her to her feet. Bijou complied, standing unsteadily in her silver heels, doubled over due to the restraints on her wrists.

“You’re about to be scourged, Bijou.” Bijou listened. A scourging was just a type of whipping, wasn’t it? I endured the whip, I can endure this, she thought.

It was as though David could read her mind. He crouched, bringing his face to the same level as hers. “You’re probably thinking this is just a more harsh whipping, huh? Well, technically, yes. A scourging is just like a whipping, in the same way that a hurricane is just like a summer breeze. No, Bijou, I wouldn’t have saved scourging for your final day if it wasn’t one of the most horrendous tortures we had.”

He paused. “So here are the rules, Bijou. You break them, you get hurt more. I recommend following them. First, you remain on your feet at all times. If you fall, you’re only prolonging it. Second, I want you bent over, with that nice little ass sticking out, so to make sure you bend over far enough, your feet have to stay behind this line.” At that, David took an aerosol can and sprayed a straight line onto the dirt in front of her, perpendicular to the direction from Bijou to the pillar, about two feet back from it. Shackled to the pillar, there would be no way for Bijou to keep her feet behind the line without bending over. “Finally, keep your legs apart; I don’t want to see your feet crossing these lines.” He pushed her ankles apart, and painted two short lines, perpendicular to the first, between them, just inside each high-heeled foot, about eighteen inches apart.

“What happens if I don’t follow your rules?” She almost spat the question, defiantly.

David smiled wickedly. “I’m kind of hoping you don’t, Bijou. I’m eager to show you.” He paused for a moment. “I actually considered chaining your ankles to stakes in the ground,” he added, “then you’d have no choice. But I think coercing you into cooperating with your own torture makes a much better spectacle.”

Bijou trembled. She noticed the crowd had grown considerably. She hadn’t been paying attention to the audience when David had whipped the dress from her body, but there were now at least two dozen men ready to watch her be scourged. One of them, she noted, was the man who had brought her here this morning; apparently he had come back to watch the show.

David walked behind her, out of her field of vision. A moment later, he returned, holding a new whip, different from the one he had used on her earlier.

“I’m going to use three different implements on you, Bijou; each one is calculated to be more painful than the one before. You’re getting thirteen lashes with each; a total of thirty-nine. This one is your first scourge.”

He showed her the whip. She looked at it with morbid interest. It was made of leather, terminating in three tails. But the tails did not end in simple leather thongs. Instead, at the end of each, the whip transitioned from a simple cowhide cord to a flat strip of leather, about two inches long and a quarter-inch wide. Something on the strips glinted in the sunlight.

“I don’t know if you can tell, Bijou, but this is no ordinary whip; not like the one I just used on you.” He brought the tip of the whip just inches from her face. She flinched at the proximity. “Each of the leather blades here is woven with stiff copper wire.” She saw, horrified. As David had indicated, she could see that each strip of leather was actually two strips, laminated together and sandwiching a network of copper wire. Small pieces of wire jutted out from each one. This was the glint that had caught Bijou’s eye. There were about a dozen extrusions of shiny stiff copper wire on each, maybe a half-inch long, bent at random angles.

“This has the most exquisite effect, Bijou. Each of these wires – and there are about forty in total, in case you were wondering – is capable of carving a tiny but painful slice in that angelic body of yours. Now, you’re not going to get forty slices per stroke, of course. On each stroke, some will make contact, some won’t, but there are enough here and at different angles to make it interesting.” He softly pulled one of the leather blades across her cheek. At that amount of pressure, it merely scratched, but Bijou instantly realized the effect it would have when driven through the air, falling with full force against her naked body. She began to tremble, getting her first inkling of how brutal this was going to be.
 

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (cont'd)​

Part 1: The First Thirteen (cont'd)​

​

She didn’t have long to wait. David took up his position behind her, and raised the scourge. Bijou squeezed her eyes closed in dread and anticipation. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Bijou heard it: the quiet whish of the lash hurtling toward her. The scourge struck, about a foot from its tips, on her right lower rib cage. The remaining length of the whip accelerated around her body, cracking into her torso, just above her navel. Bijou erupted in a shriek. She felt as though each of the forty tiny wires were slicing into her, although she knew that could not be the case. Even though the pain was instantaneous, she was sensitive enough to aware of two distinct sources of suffering: the slicing by the wires, and the rough pressure of their leather carrier as David retracted it, the fine stiff wires pulling back through the fresh tiny wounds.

“One!” announced David. A murmur of approval rippled through the audience, which had continued to grow.

Bijou panted, trying to compose herself. If she could just endure… The lash struck again, cutting off her thought. It made initial contact in the same location at her rib cage, but David had taken a couple steps forward for this stroke. With the shorter distance, the whip reached further, wrapping completely around the front of her torso, the tip accelerating and picking up momentum before snapping sharply into her lower back. Bijou screamed again; the scourge had connected with one of the areas most abused when David had whipped the dress from her.

“Two!” called David.

The next stroke came on her left, whipping around and striking her on the lower portion of her left breast. Bijou screamed again and jumped, stumbling in her high heels, nearly losing her balance.

“Three!”

Bijou bent forward, doing her best to protect her face; she knew there was no way to protect her body. This time, the whip came from above, whipping down over her right shoulder to her chest, the wire laces slicing into her right breast. Once more, Bijou screamed.

“Three!” called David.

“Four! That’s four!” shrieked Bijou.

“Your feet,” answered David. The young woman looked down. She’d stumbled on the third strike, and she now saw that she had unknowingly set her right foot over the line, by barely an inch. The fourth stroke had not counted, she realized. Just an inch, that was all it had taken…

The scourge struck again, this time snaking between her legs, far enough up to strike her on the sternum, and nearly striking her face, despite her attempt to protect it. Again, she screamed.

“Three!” repeated David.

Desperately, Bijou adjusted her foot to position it in the prescribed spot. Bijou could hear David chuckling behind her. He had wanted to show her what happened if she failed to follow the rules, and now he had.

The next stroke was a vicious one, with the tips landing directly between her legs. Bijou howled as the copper wires ripped at her tender labia.

“Four!” Bijou could hear the satisfaction in David’s call-out.

To Bijou’s shock, the next stroke was identical, again striking between her legs. The searing pain seemed to reverberate within her. She screamed afresh as the metal strands tore at her soft genitals.

“Five!” David paused. “I may have forgotten to mention, Bijou,” he shouted. “I’m going to hit that sweet little pussy of yours at least five times with each scourge. ‘Hurricane,’ remember?”

Bijou wailed. She’d only been struck there twice, and now David was telling her there would be three more with this scourge, and then another ten after that with the others. Any thought that she could endure this ordeal had fled. Now she understood David’s reason for forcing her to separate her feet. She’d naively assumed it was for the added stability to keep her standing. Now she realized it was needed to provide ready access to the region between her legs.

The next lash landed flat between her shoulder blades. Her sobs were punctuated by her scream at the impact, abruptly cut off again as she struggled to get her breath.

“Six!”
 

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (cont'd)
Part 1: The First Thirteen (conclusion)​

Another stroke landed between Bijou’s legs. She screamed as the furthest strap sliced into her labia; the other two striking her perineum, that tender spot between her vagina and anus. Bijou jumped from the impact, howling from the pain. She instinctively raised her right leg, partly in an attempt to shield herself, partly to try to absorb some of the force of the blow.

“Seven!”

Bijou looked down just in time to see that, in resuming her stance, she had shifted her right foot across the line. Panicking, she moved it back into position. She had barely done so when the next stroke hit, wrapping around her hips and whipping around to strike the back of her left thigh, just below her ass.

“Eight!” called David, “You got back in position just in time, Bijou! Good girl!” He paused for a few seconds. “The next one is coming right to your cunt. I thought you’d want to know!”

She didn’t want to know, and she knew that David’s announcement was one more way of enhancing her torment. It worked. She froze in fear, and heard the chilling whish as the scourge flew toward her. With a resounding crack, the tip snapped against her already-damaged pussy, sending a bolt of agony through her. She howled in pain.

“Nine!”

The next stroke landed at the small of her back, precisely at the spot where David had struck her the most during her stripping, where he had coaxed out the first rips in the dress. The area had already been whipped raw, and this latest strike exacerbated her suffering. She choked on her scream as she struggled to get her breath.

“Ten!” David moved toward her left.

Only three more, Bijou thought. Only three more… but one of them would be between her… The next stroke landed the scourge on her back. It whipped around, the tips slicing at the ribs on her right side.

“Eleven!”

Now David crossed over to the right, and with a backhanded delivery, struck out at the naked girl with a mirror image of the prior stroke. Again, the scourge landed on her back, the strips cutting at her left ribs this time.

“Twelve!”

Only one stroke left, Bijou realized. And only four had been to her pussy. That meant the next one…

Crack! The scourge whipped up between her legs, snapping hard against her labia, hard enough that the last copper-woven tip actually entered into her, slicing her most tender flesh as it went in. She screamed, tensing with pain. That was a mistake. The tension in her vagina gripped the end of the whip, so that David’s violent retraction of the flagellum hurt even more. Bijou shrieked from the white-hot agony, breaking off into unrelenting sobs.

“Thirteen.” David recited the number with unadorned finality, as a simple declaration. He put the copper-tipped whip away. Bijou continued to sob, but felt a certain degree of relief. She had made it past the first of the three scourges.

Slowly, David walked to the weeping girl. “Rest for a moment, Bijou. I’ll be back in a few moments.” He began to walk away. “But don’t go anywhere, okay? I won’t be long.”

Don’t go anywhere. As if she could, shackled to a concrete pillar in the middle of a desert, surrounded by men whose only purpose was to watch her be tortured. Bijou sank to her knees, her wrists above her head, and rested her cheek against the pillar and sobbed.
 

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (cont'd)
Part 2: The Next Thirteen
​

Only a few minutes later, David returned. “Stand up,” she heard him bark behind her.

Bijou scrambled to her feet, still hurting from the copper-wire scourge. She felt David’s hands on her waist, guiding her into position.

“We’re going to have a little intermission here,” David stated. As he spoke, she could feel something poking her from behind in the back of her legs. She turned to look at David for the first time, and her eyes widened. He was wearing a white T-shirt, and nothing else. His erect penis stood like a flagpole.

David continued as though nothing were out of the ordinary. “Here,” he said, moving her hands to the top of the post. “This will help you stand.” She braced herself, with the heels of her hands pressed against the top of the pillar. It made her bend slightly further, but did add to her support.

David’s hands skimmed up the girl’s arms, and slowly slid down the length of her slim lacerated body, coming to rest on her hips. She felt his penis pressing painfully against her bruised and lacerated pussy, and realized what was coming. She was going to be raped again.

“No, David, please,” she began to beg. “It hurts.”

David chuckled. “Well, we wouldn’t want for you to hurt in the middle of a torture, would we?” He pushed his penis into her. She gasped at the sudden starburst of pain as her injured vagina suffered from this fresh assault. The lacerations from the five lashes that had landed there had made the area extremely sensitive, and David’s penis sliding roughly into her exacerbated her agony. “Shush, this won’t take long,” he assured her.

It didn’t. David slid his penis in and out of Bijou’s aching cunt for only a few minutes, and then withdrew. “There,” he muttered, “That should be adequate.”

Bijou was astonished. This had to have been the shortest rape she’d ever experienced from David. Most surprising, she had not felt him come inside her.

But he had not finished. “Just wanted to get lubed up,” he panted. Bijou now felt the urgent press of his penis against her anus, and realized his intention. She moaned in dread. She’d always loathed anal sex, although she knew that David particularly enjoyed it with her. She resisted, and he shoved her forward, against the pillar.

“Sorry, Bijou, but you don’t get a lot of choice in the matter.” He pushed her down, her abdomen now resting atop the pillar, her chained hands lodged between the top of the concrete post and her groin. “You have no idea how nice that ass of yours looks, Bijou: bent over in high heels like that!” She gasped as David pushed into her rectum and began to rape her in earnest.

It was worse than all the times he had taken her that way as his consort. Back then, although she’d never really become inured to the inherent pain, David had always tried to be gentle when he took her in the ass. But there was none of that now. He lunged back and forth, plunging his cock into her ass over and over. She wailed as her chained wrists ground against the rough concrete surface of the pillar. She was now bent double over it, David pushing her head down nearly to her knees. She found herself gasping for breath, the position making it difficult for her to breathe. The pathetic sound only spurred David further.

It seemed to go on for an eternity, but finally, he finished; this time, the sensation of David coming inside her rectum was unmistakable. He withdrew, panting from the exertion, and Bijou slid from the pillar, knees to the ground.

But David was not quite finished. He gripped Bijou’s left arm, and, pulling her wrists above her, turned the young woman around. She now knelt before him, her back to the pillar, her wrists chained above to the concrete post, nearly behind her head. She looked up at him in confusion, but before she could frame a question, he grasped a fist full of hair and, holding her head firmly in place, pushed his penis into her mouth. Bijou gagged as he slid it back and forth, wiping his dick clean. She tasted the mixture of his semen and her own feces. There was also another salty metallic taste, and she realized it was the blood from the wounds the scourging had left on her pussy. It was her own blood, not the normal vaginal fluids, that had contributed most of David’s lubrication. She gagged, certain she was about to vomit, when David suddenly withdrew.

He gave a contented sigh. “I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed that, Bijou. Thanks so very much.” He stepped back. “I’m going to go finish cleaning up,” he added. “I’ll be back in a few.” He walked off. “Remember,” he called out, “don’t go anywhere!”

And he was gone. Still kneeling, her back to the pillar, Bijou lowered her head and wept in pain and debasement.

One of the men in the crowd slowly began to applaud, and the rest joined in.

† † †​
 
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