Bijou in Malhaven

[fauxface]

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

Part 2: The Next Thirteen (cont'd)​

​

Half an hour later, David was cleaned up and back. He observed with approval that Ben and Michael, the men assisting him, were tending to Bijou, once again giving her water. They were good men, he thought, doing what was needed to keep Bijou alive and conscious for her torture. Today, the two were assisting him, but on any given day, it could have been the other way around. David had assisted both of the men in the past. He looked at Bijou. She sat in the dirt, her back to the post, and her wrists still manacled above her head, still in the elegant high heels, her left knee bent with her foot on the ground, her right leg stretched out before her.

David cleared his throat to announce his presence, and she looked up at him in dread. “Time to get back to it, Bijou,” he said.

Bijou’s upper lip began to tremble in fear. “Please, David.” It was barely a whisper. “Hasn’t it been enough already?” Gone was the girl, who, since yesterday’s announcement, thought she could put up with just one final torture session.

“Not even close, Bijou,” he responded. “Gentlemen?” At David’s prompt, the two men lifted her to her feet, turning her to face her pillar. The lines in the dirt were scuffed, but still visible, and she took up her position, bent over, bracing the heels of her hands against the top of the pillar as David had shown her during her rape, her feet in their prescribed positions.

David walked in front of the pillar, carrying the second scourge. This one was a long leather lash, ending in four thin chains, each about the weight of a chain that might be used in a man’s jewelry; certainly thicker than any woman would wear. The four chains varied in length between one and two feet, each of them ending in a heavy lead sphere, varying slightly in size from about a half-inch to one inch in diameter.

David dangled the scourge so that the weighted ends hung inches from Bijou’s face. “This is your second scourge, Bijou. The first one was designed to slice you a little as it whipped you. On this one, the major source of your pain will be the hard impact of the leaden weights.” He paused for effect. “This will probably break some bones, Bijou.”

A murmur of appreciation ran through the crowd. Bijou, who had already been breathing hard, was now nearly hyperventilating in fear.

David walked behind her, casually dropping the weighted lash on her back as he passed, so she could feel the weights before he struck. He wasn’t surprised to see her flinch from the touch. He continued to walk past her, the scourge sliding from her now-torn back, and took up his position.

Bijou had barely steeled herself for the blow when the scourge slammed into her right side, whipping around her torso. The weights at the end struck against her tender breasts, bruising them. Involuntarily, she lifted her leg as she screamed, but had just enough presence of mind to adjust her foot placement when she stepped back down.

“Fourteen!” called David.

He took a step closer and repeated the blow from the nearer position. This time, the scourge again rounded her rib cage, but now went completely around the front of the girl, so that the weights struck the ribs on her left. She shrieked; at least one rib had broken in the impact.

“Fifteen!” he shouted.

She should have been expecting it, but for some reason had not: the next stroke landed between her legs, hard. The leaden weights were spaced just right to impact a wide swath of the area. Her pussy took the brunt of the impact, but one weight curved up to slam into her abdomen, the others to her perineum and anus, still raw from her rape. The scream from this stroke was choked off by her inability to take a breath through the sudden surge of pain. The scream wasn’t all that loud, but the suffering it indicated as it broke off was clear, and that made it all the more delectable. The crowd was obviously pleased.

“Sixteen!”

The next stroke was backhanded, falling directly on the ribs that David had broken two strokes earlier. Bijou had determined not to give them the satisfaction of screaming, but it was impossible to hold back. What started as a loud grunt of pain broke into a yell from the sheer force of the air she expelled. From the reaction of the audience, her sounds on that stroke were received at least as well as a full-throated scream. Her clear inability to contain herself made the cry all the more delicious.

“Seventeen!” David called out.

The next stroke again targeted between her legs. Bijou did not even try to contain herself this time and threw her head back, wailing in agony.

“Eighteen!” David tried to sound nonchalant in his call-out, but there was a tone of appreciation in his voice for the reaction he had elicited from the shackled girl.

 

[fauxface]

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

David now took up a position behind Bijou, but to her left, and let the scourge fly again. The shaft of the lash landed on her back, and the four weights accelerated as they curved around her body, slamming hard into her right rib cage. She shrieked from the pain, lost her balance and fell.

“Nineteen!”

Bijou knelt in the dirt, wrists still shackled to the post. Hurriedly she tried to stand. She pulled her right leg up so she was on only her left knee, and gathered her strength.

The scourge struck again, coming down hard over her right shoulder, the weights burying themselves into her abdomen and right breast, knocking her over and driving the breath from her.

“Nineteen!” she heard David repeat. Damn it, the bastard hadn’t even given her a moment to recover from the fall. Gathering herself, she gripped the chain that led to her wrists and pulled herself upright, sliding her shoes behind the lines. Damn shoes. If not for the heels, she would not have…

The next stroke slammed into her upper right back, obliterating her thoughts. She cried out in pain.

“Twenty! I didn’t think you were going to get back up in time, Bijou. Good for you, I’m proud of you!”

She panted in agony. Something niggled at her, but she couldn’t quite reach it. It was impossible to think straight, not while being beaten. Then she realized: Twenty strokes. Out of thirty-nine. I’ve made it half-way through…

Then the searing pain of the scourge slamming between her legs drove out any thought other than to try to remain standing for the rest of her torment.

“Twenty-one!”

Panting, Bijou braced herself for the next lash. She heard the footfall as David fell back, and then took a rapid step forward, adding additional power to the stroke. Again, the scourge smashed between her legs. Her vagina erupted in a spasm of agony, and she fell forward. Her face would have collided into the concrete pillar had she not been tightly gripping the column. As it was, even cushioned by her hands, she was momentarily stunned by the impact, and completely lost her footing. She rolled to the side and fell, her right hip slamming into the hard dirt, her legs flying, her wrists still chained to the post, now over her head.

“Twenty-two!”

Bijou lay in the dirt, motionless except for her chest, which heaved as she panted to catch her breath. She looked up, just in time to see the scourge falling toward her with frightening speed. Instinctively, she tried to cover herself, but the chains on her wrists impeded the attempt. The scourge landed, hard, across her breasts. Bijou howled and scrambled, trying desperately to pull herself up.

“Twenty-two!” David repeated.

Again the scourge landed before she could rise or turn away. One of the leaden spheres struck her left cheek; the other three, her left collarbone. She screamed as her face blossomed with pain.

“Twenty-two!” David called out again, this time with careful emphasis. He was making sure that Bijou knew that these strokes, despite being especially painful, would not count against her limit.

Somehow, Bijou got back to her feet and assumed the required position. Again, the powerfully bruising scourge crashed into her pussy. She lurched forward again, choking from the pain, but this time had the presence of mind to stay upright, and somehow pushed herself back into position. She had just enough clarity to realize that that had been the fifth stroke between her legs.

“Twenty-three!” Bijou could hear the satisfaction in David’s voice. He was anticipating finishing this set and continuing to the third scourge.

Twenty-three, she thought. Only three more, and no more between the legs. If she could just endure these three… The next blow landed, square on her raw back, driving the breath from her lungs and all thoughts from her mind: there was only the pain.

“Twenty-four!”

Bijou was shocked when the scourge landed, again, between her legs, smashing into her already abused pussy. As badly as the last stroke there had felt, this one was even worse. She knew her tender vagina was bruised and bleeding. But almost worse than the pain itself was the outrage.

“Twenty-five!” called David.

“That was six times between my legs!” the girl shrieked. “You said only five!” The words came out urgently, accusingly, punctuated by desperate gasps for air.

“No,” corrected David. “I said at least five times. You’re not a very careful listener!”

Outraged, Bijou was about to retort, when the scourge fell again, onto her left back. The impact was enough to knock her off her feet again, and she scurried desperately to rise again.

“Twenty-six.” called David.

Bijou continued scrambling, desperate to get to her feet before another gratuitous blow was delivered. It wasn’t until she heard David’s chuckle, laughing at her, that she realized that that had been the twenty-sixth blow, the second set of thirteen. The session with the second scourge was now complete; there had been no need for her desperate attempt to get back into position. She allowed herself to collapse again, now on her knees, her head down against the pillar. Michael hurried forward to attend to the girl, Ben following with another container of water.

Let her have a break, David thought. He’d been pushing her pretty hard.

Michael came over to him as Ben watered the girl. “I don’t know how much more she can take, David,” he said. “She’s pretty close to the edge now, and I know you’re not even near finished.” David’s jaw set. He was unmoved.

“Listen to me, David. She could actually die from this. I know that’s not what you want.” Michael looked at his friend. He knew that David was depending on him, and on Ben, to give him the unvarnished truth he needed to hear.

“I’ll be careful,” David replied after a while. “But I want to finish this.” He stepped back. “Let’s take fifteen minutes, let her recover a bit. Then we’ll start with this one.” He indicated the instrument he held in his hand.

Michael eyed the third scourge dubiously. “Be very careful with that one, David. Be very careful.” With that, he went back to the bleeding girl kneeling at the pillar.

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (cont'd)
Part 3: The Last Thirteen
​

Bijou heard David approach, and scrambled to her feet, struggling. Her entire body trembled from fear and exhaustion as he stood before her.

“Last one, Bijou,” he said, brandishing the scourge.

She didn’t react. He slapped her, hard across the face, sending her sprawling again. “Get up!” he screamed at her.

Slowly and painfully, Bijou rose to her feet again. Despite David’s vicious torture, she was shocked by the slap. This was not the David she knew. It was not his cruelty that shocked her; he had always been a sadistic man. But he had always implemented his cruelty with a cold and measured precision. The man she faced now seemed nearly out of control with rage. She couldn’t understand its source, and it added to her terror.

Her vision was blurred, but with an effort, she focused on the scourge. At first glance, it looked just like the previous implement. Like the second scourge, it had four leaden balls hanging from chains. And then she saw the difference, and her eyes widened in terror. Each of the balls had a set of five sharp metal points projecting from it. They weren’t large, maybe only a quarter-inch or so. On each of the spheres, one of the points was set directly opposite side from where the chain attached; the other four were arrayed at ninety-degree angles midway between. Bijou gasped, thinking about the damage that would be done to her when she was flailed with it.

“Oh, yes, Bijou,” snarled David, “this one’s really going to hurt. But it’s the last of the three.” He walked behind her. “Alas. I was just starting to enjoy this.” With a savage suddenness, he swung the scourge sharply between her legs.

Bijou screamed as the metal points tore at her, piercing the tender flesh of her vagina and perineum, a pain made worse by the simultaneous impact of the heavy leaden weights against the same area. She gagged, pushing her face against her hands on the concrete pillar, struggling to remain standing.

“Twenty-seven,” intoned David.

He swung the scourge again. This time it wrapped around her legs, first her right, then her left, before the ends snapped into the soft flesh of her inner left thigh. Again she howled, but stayed upright.

“Twenty-eight.”

The next stroke landed against her back, the weights whipping into her right rib cage, tearing harrows in her side as David yanked it back. She gave a cry of pain and collapsed from the impact.

“Twenty-nine.”

Before Bijou could rise, he struck her again, this time ripping into her right thigh.

“Twenty-nine!” he yelled again. But now he paused, watching as Bijou shakily got to her feet and resumed her position.

He looked at her, still in her high heels, her slim body bent and shaking as she awaited the next blow. How fragile she seems, he thought, and how beautiful. He swung the scourge again. It circled her body from the right, the spiked balls penetrating her left rib cage. They stuck for a moment, and as David pulled the scourge back, the retraction spun Bijou like a top, causing her to turn and fall onto her ass.

“Thirty!”

She now sat on the dirt, facing him, her legs open, her wrists chained over her head to the top of the post. He swung again, the scourge landing in her left armpit.

“Thirty!” he repeated.

Bijou screamed in pain, pedaling her legs frantically, driving herself backward until her back was to the post. Her neck was now near level with the top of the post, her wrists chained there, her elbows pointed at the sky. David lashed out again, backhanded, now tearing at her right breast. She screamed in mindless agony.

“Thirty!” he called yet again.

Bijou thrashed in confusion and disorientation. She tried to stand, but the chains holding her wrists behind her head would not allow it. She arched her back, pressing her hips forward, straining pointlessly against the chains. The next stroke was a direct hit between the legs. It didn’t count.

“Thirty!”

“David! Wait! You’re going to kill her!” Michael intervened, putting his hand on David’s arm, interrupting the next thirtieth stroke. “Let me put her back into position.”

David stopped, and reluctantly nodded. Michael stepped up to Bijou’s battered body. She was unable to cry, gasping for breath. He gripped her at the waist, now slippery with blood, and rotated her so she faced the correct direction. Gingerly, he lifted her back to a standing position, and adjusted her feet to their required placements.

Michael slowly stepped away, carefully watching the tortured girl. She swayed unevenly, but remained upright.

David swung the scourge down in a vicious arc. The spiked spheres landed on her right shoulder, and Bijou threw her head back in a near soundless gasp of pain. She hovered for a moment, and then crashed to the ground; first to her knees, and then nearly prone but for the chains holding her wrists to the pillar.

“Thirty-one,” panted David. The effort was beginning to affect even him. He gathered himself for another strike, then looked to Michael, reconsidering.

Michael nodded, and strode to the girl collapsed in the dirt. Again, he raised her to position and stepped back. David raised the scourge again as the tortured girl stood unsteadily.

She fell again, before David could even strike. “Damn it!” he yelled in frustration.

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (cont'd)
Part 3: The Last Thirteen (cont'd)​

Michael walked over to him. “David, there’s no way to continue this. It’s just not possible. It’s not just that you’ll probably kill her; she just can’t stand up any longer. You’ve pushed this beyond the limits of her endurance.”

David seethed in anger and frustration. Ben now joined Michael, and the two men looked at him in disbelief. They’d never seen him like this.

David collected himself. “Okay. She doesn’t have to stand. Put her back on the frame, please. Arms wide. We’ll finish it there.”

Ben and Michael looked skeptically at each other. Neither was certain that Bijou would survive another eight strokes with this nasty scourge, even without being forced to stand. Michael gave an almost imperceptible shrug, and Ben nodded in agreement: she was David’s girl; it was David’s call. They walked to Bijou, now barely conscious.

Ben unfastened the cuffs that held Bijou’s slender wrists. He marveled at the two small patches of flesh on her arms, incongruously unscathed where the cuffs had protected her wrists. The undamaged skin was in marked contrast to the rest of her body, which was covered in a lattice of welts, lacerations and gashes visited upon her from the scourges. And yet, despite the severity of her injuries, she was still stunningly beautiful in her pain.

Each of the men threw one of the young woman’s arms over his neck, and pulled her back to the framework where David had whipped the dress from her. The spools that held the chains were still about eighteen inches apart, where they had remained from when David had whip-stripped her. He’d said “arms wide”, so Ben reset them to be nearly three feet apart. He completed the adjustment and turned to Michael, holding the dazed girl. “Ready.”

Michael nodded and pulled Bijou to the frame, raising her left arm over her head. Ben fastened the cuff around it. Michael released her, and the girl hung listlessly from one arm. He grabbed her right wrist and extended it up to Ben, who fastened the other manacle to it. The Asian girl now hung inertly from the chains.

David called out to them. “A foot or so higher this time, okay? And chain her legs open.”

“You got it,” responded Ben; then, in a low voice to Michael: “He’s not giving up on the pussy strikes.” Michael shrugged again. It was clear that David would not be heeding their advice today. Ben turned the winch-like handle, turning the spools and adjusting the chains accordingly. Bijou’s body lifted until she was suspended by her wrists, about a yard apart. Her feet, still in the high-heeled shoes, now torn and scuffed from her ordeal, dangled a foot above the desert floor.

“You still want the heels?” Ben called out to David. There didn’t seem to be any point in the shoes any longer, not if the girl wouldn’t be standing.

“No, I guess not; thanks,” answered David.

Ben removed the straps on the left shoe, and slid it from her foot. He tossed the shoe aside, then repeated the task on the right. He marveled at the soft, smooth soles of her feet, which had been untouched by the whips and scourges, protected by the shoes.

The men now crouched to the strip of concrete that ran between the posts, marked with a series of holes. Michael took a heavy eye bolt and threaded it into a hole a foot outside Bijou’s right ankle. Ben did the same about a foot to her left. Michael picked up another chain, a foot in length and terminating in a manacle, and attached the free end to the eye bolt. He pulled Bijou’s slim leg to him and fastened the manacle to her ankle. Ben performed the same task with her left ankle. The girl’s suspension was all done efficiently and swiftly. Bijou hung in the chains, her arms forming a V-shape, her wrists about three feet apart. Her legs were similarly open, her feet pointed, chained at the ankles about three feet apart.

The girl moaned softly, barely conscious but obviously in considerable pain. Ben moved to give her another drink of water.

Michael regarded her. “That’ll help, but it’s not enough.” He rummaged through the supplies and came up with a syringe. An amphetamine and adrenaline cocktail; enough to keep her going through the remainder of the show. He slid the needle into her neck and pushed the plunger. It wouldn’t be long now.

† † †​

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (cont'd)
Part 3: The Last Thirteen (cont'd)
​

Bijou had felt someone lift her from the dirt and stand her upright. She made a herculean effort to remain standing, but her legs shook, and balancing on the high heels was impossible. She toppled again. She lay in the dirt, unable to move. She squeezed her eyes closed and winced, waiting for the scourge to fall again.

It didn’t. She was vaguely aware of a conversation among the men. She was too much absorbed in her own pain to make out the words, but from the tone of things, David was angry. Although she was grateful for the respite from the abuse, his anger frightened her; that couldn’t be good.

She laid in the dirt for an interminable period. Presently, she felt the men unshackle her wrists and lift her to her feet. She allowed herself a moment of cautious hope: was her torture over? But the moment was short-lived; Bijou was dragged back to the frame where David had first whipped her and she was reshackled, this time at both her wrists and ankles, now spread wide, her body suspended.

The world receded from her as she hung for a timeless interval, aware of nothing but the red haze of pain that enveloped her. She was suffering, but too weak even to cry out. She wondered if she were dying. The thought saddened her, to die this close to being freed from Malhaven, and she wept silently. And yet another part of her whispered that death would be a relief.

A new pain, small but sharp, punctuated her misery; just a pinprick on her neck, then it was gone, and Bijou immersed once more in her red hazy swirl of suffering.

Gradually the fog began to lift. The pain did not lessen, but the haze dispersed. In fact, the pain intensified and came into focus, as Bijou came fully aware again. She had realized she had been bound once again to the whipping frame, but in her daze, it was as though it were happening to someone else; the ramifications had not been clear to her. But now, she knew. She suddenly came completely alert and realized her predicament. She hung nude, suspended from the wooden frame, her arms and legs spread. She shrieked at the realization: it could only mean that her scourging was about to resume. She struggled ineffectively, throwing her head back and wailing in anguish.

† † †​

The three men stood before the hanging girl, waiting and watching. It had been five minutes since the injection, and there was still no result. The only sign of life in Bijou’s battered body was the barely perceptible undulation of her small breasts as she took her shallow breaths; and the tears that slowly seeped from her eyes and trickled down her face.

Ben saw it first: the faintest flicker of an eyelash. Then once again she went still.

A moment passed, and her eyelids began to flutter. Smiles crept across the faces of the men. She was on her way back.

Then the transition was abrupt. Bijou gasped sharply. Fully alert, the girl screamed, thrashing in her shackles, struggling in vain to free herself. Realizing the futility, she threw her head back and wailed.

There was a murmur of approval from the small crowd. The wait had been worth it; the girl was back, and the cruel torture was about to resume.

† † †​

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (cont'd)
Part 3: The Last Thirteen (cont'd)​

David retrieved the scourge and strode to the frame where the naked girl hung, watching him fearfully. It was a shame, he thought, that he wouldn’t be able to follow through on his original plan, forcing Bijou to stand, complicit in her own torture. But on the other hand, this configuration had its advantages, too. Suspended as she was, there was almost no part of the girl’s body that was not accessible to David’s scourge. He was pleased that her chains were not completely taut. They were drawn tightly enough that her legs were kept apart, her pussy exposed and unprotected. But the play in the chain would allow her to squirm and thrash, energetically but ineffectively, as she was beaten. He liked that.

He readied himself, standing twenty feet in front of the immobilized young girl, drinking her in, the hot sun now directly overhead. How small and fragile she looked, helplessly suspended before him. Another man would have felt pity. David raised the scourge slowly, savoring the fear in Bijou’s wide brown eyes; then swung.

The scourge hit her waist and swung around her body, the sharp points of the leaden projectiles burying themselves in the small of her back. Bijou threw back her head and screamed.

“Twenty-seven,” David said, tonelessly.

Michael and Ben were shocked. “David…” said Michael, slowly. “You were already up to thirty-one. You don’t really want to start over?” He said it as a question, but it was a statement.

“That set was canceled when Bijou wouldn’t comply. She wouldn’t stand up through it, so fine, we’ll do it this way,” snarled David. He looked at Bijou, and there was hatred in his eyes. “The bitch is lucky I don’t start over from one!”

Michael backed away. She was David’s girl, this was David’s session. But he wondered if the girl would survive twelve more strokes from the vicious scourge.

David stepped to his left, now nearly in front of the post to Bijou’s right. She looked at him and knew what was coming next. “Please, David, no, have mercy, please…” she broke off, sobbing. David lashed out in an underhand arc, the scourge sweeping up and planting itself squarely between her chained legs. The sobs broke off sharply, as an unrelenting scream was torn from the chained girl.

“Twenty-eight.” There was satisfaction in David’s voice. Neither Michael nor Ben made any further moves to interfere. It was in David’s hands now.

“‘Mercy’…” muttered David. “When have you ever known me to show mercy, Bijou?” He swung again, replicating the previous stroke, again landing the scourge between her legs and eliciting another scream, as loud as before.

“Twenty-nine.”

He walked behind her, taking in the shredded flesh on her back. He swung again, a flat horizontal stroke. Once again, Bijou cried out as the scourge whipped around her right rib cage, the barbs digging into her right breast.

“Thirty.”

Her body was now covered in lacerations, bruises and welts. Almost no part of her was clear of the marks of the whips and scourges. Then he smiled, and, aiming carefully, swung out again. The stroke was perfect. The spikes on the closest ball embedded themselves in the sole of Bijou’s right foot, anchoring the weight and leaving the remainder of the spheres to whip around her foot, the next ball smashing into the top of her foot, cracking the fragile metatarsal bones there. The remaining weights completed the journey as the lash wrapped around to the bottom of her foot, embedding the weighted spikes alongside the point of first contact. For a moment, the scourge snagged, now having completely wrapped her foot. Savagely, David yanked the scourge back, tearing a set of parallel gashes down the length of the girl’s foot. Bijou howled in pain. David looked on with satisfaction. The girl’s feet had been the last pristine portions of her body, having been protected by the now-discarded shoes. It felt good to have marked one of them.

“Thirty-one.”

He briefly considering attacking her left foot similarly, but demurred. Instead, the next stroke was another hard lash directly between her legs, tearing another scream from the helpless girl.

“Thirty-two.”

Again, David lashed out with the scourge. The stroke wrapped around her chest, the weights landing on her upper back, tearing it even more.

“Thirty-three.”

Again, David struck, the flail once more slamming between the brunette’s legs. Bijou’s screams intensified.

“Thirty-four.”

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIII: Counting to Thirty-Nine (conclusion)​

Part 3: The Last Thirteen (conclusion)​

​

Bijou’s cries were constant now, a continuous outpouring of long, drown-out screams and wails, punctuated by gasps as she gathered breath to continue. David struck again, the scourge this time wrapping her legs before the spiked balls burrowed into her left inner thigh.

“Thirty-five.”

David was getting tired now, and not a little impatient. It was time to bring this to a close. He struck again, the scourge making a direct hit between the wailing girl’s legs. He noted with satisfaction that she gagged from the impact, temporarily breaking off her cry of pain, only to renew it with increased vigor after a brief series of gasps for breath.

“Thirty-six.” David made a mental note that that made five strikes between Bijou’s legs. Probably enough, he reflected.

He walked in front of her. With only three strokes remaining, he wanted to watch her face for all of them. He paused for a minute or two, allowing Bijou to collect herself. Gradually, the screaming tapered off, although the girl continued to weep in pain. David struck once more, the lash orbiting her hip and landing at the top right corner of her pubic hair. She erupted again.

“Thirty-seven,” he said, and paused again. He was savoring these final strokes. Eventually, Bijou’s screams subsided to weeping, and he readied to strike again. This time, the lash snaked around her left ribs and completely around her to the front again, landing almost at her breastbone. He pulled back before the weights had time to fall lose, slicing through the skin at her right ribs as he withdrew to another shriek of pain.

“Thirty-eight.”

Only one more. He waited, biding his time, until her scream began to trail off, then took a step forward and struck out again, one last time. This one was at the same level as the previous stroke, but with the shorter distance, it reached further and wrapped completely around her chest, the barbs embedding in her left rib cage, just below where the stroke had first made contact. He pulled back viciously, and Bijou’s body jerked, turning with it for a moment, before her chains impeded further movement. The barbs then ripped through her skin as they were dragged back over her ribs. She let out a howl, a fitting end for the final strike.

“Thirty-nine!” David announced proudly. He looked at the scourge. It had done its job admirably, and its tips now dripped with the young woman’s blood. He put it down with respect, and went off to confer with the others.

† † †​

Bijou hung in her chains, moaning in pain. Every inch of her body felt lacerated or bruised; she was now sunburned from the harsh afternoon desert sun. Although whatever they had dosed her with had kept her conscious and alert throughout the beating itself, she felt herself slipping again. She struggled to stay conscious this time. “Thirty-nine,” she’d heard David announce to a smattering of applause. That means the torture was complete. She was close to dying, she knew. It was important to hold on. If she were to go unconscious now, she might never awaken, she feared. And with release so imminent…

She strained to hear what the men were saying, but found it impossible. They were talking so low, and the pain she felt was almost audible, pulling her attention from the conversation. “…Twenty minutes,” she thought she heard a voice she say. It was a voice she didn’t recognize. Certainly not David, Michael or Ben. Twenty minutes to what? Her release? Her death if she didn’t get medical attention? What?

And then she saw him, as he stepped from the small crowd. Henry. Despite his threats on their first meeting, he had never harmed her in her years at Malhaven. He was always the one who nursed her back to health after the abuse. Henry. Despite her pain, she managed a weak smile, and was encouraged to see him smile back at her. “Go to sleep, Bijou,” he whispered soothingly, and carefully slipped the hypodermic into the vein in her arm.

Painfully, Bijou lifted her head to look into Henry’s kindly face. “Thank… you…” she croaked. A moment later, everything went dark.

 

[Elemendar]

That's probably the most detailed and "inspired" depiction of scourging I've ever read. Well done.

My only criticism is that we've had two chapters dedicated to flogging one after another. I get that one of those beatings was significantly worse than another, but still, the "stripping by whipping" scene kinda loses impact once you know there's another whipping coming right afterwards.

 

[fauxface]

That's probably the most detailed and "inspired" depiction of scourging I've ever read. Well done.

Thank you!

My only criticism is that we've had two chapters dedicated to flogging one after another.

That's true, but it's actually a bit of a plot element, indicating David's continuing to become unraveled. Chapter 25, and to a lesser extent, Chapter 36, will touch on that a bit.

Besides, I think of the Chapter 12 strip-whipping as an appetizer for Chapter 13's scourging!

BTW, I have no objection to anyone taking this and revising it, so feel free to cut or move any parts you wish to your liking; we all have different things that pique our kinks.

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIV: Formalities​

She awoke.

Something was wrong.

The pain was unbearable, all over her body, particularly between her legs, the area that had taken so much the brunt of the scourging. She was still suspended in manacles, her legs still chained apart. Clearly something had gone very wrong in her restoration.

She squinted into the morning sun at David, Michael and Ben, and the small crowd of men who had come to witness the spectacle of her final torture. She saw Henry among them. “Henry!” she screamed. “Please, help me! It didn’t work! It still hurts!” She began to cry. “Oh, my God, it hurts so much.” She broke down, sobbing from the pain.

David stepped forward. “Shhhh…” he soothed, caressing her cheek. “It’s okay. Everything’s all right,” he said softly. “Everything is just the way it’s supposed to be.” It was the same tone of voice she had heard from him as his consort; soft, almost tender.

She looked at him, tears in her eyes. “But… it hurts!”

“It will all be clear in a moment,” David said softly. Then he stepped back, his demeanor subtly altering, taking on an air of formality. He now stood stiffly before her. The group went quiet, and there was silence other than the sound of the soft desert wind.

Now David’s voice assumed an official tone. “Bijou Crystal Park,” he announced with formality, “You have served the community of Malhaven well and honorably for nearly seven years, and for that, the council of Malhaven honors and thanks you. From your arrival here so long ago, you have served many of us as both consort and resident, providing many hours of pleasure, entertainment and companionship. Your years have been marked by much suffering. We know that your service was not voluntary, and that it represents a substantial sacrifice on your part. For all of this, the council and community of Malhaven thanks you.” He paused for a moment, and then continued.

“We have brought you here on your twenty-fifth birthday…” – Bijou gasped; she had had no idea – “…to mark this conclusion of your service to us. The scourging you have received represents your final torture at our hands. We now come to the matter of your final disposition, which we now announce.” He paused.

“It is the judgment of the council of Malhaven that you be stripped, scourged and crucified, your limbs nailed to a cross of wood, there to remain until your death. Your scourging having been completed, you shall now be delivered for crucifixion. So say we all.”

“So say we all,” the crowd repeated.

“What?” Bijou screamed in disbelief. “I’m supposed to be going home! David! David! Listen to me! You said I would be freed! I’m supposed to be going home!”

David looked at her coolly. “No one said a word about freedom, Bijou. Who said you were going home?”

“You did!” she shrieked at him. “You said I was being released!”

“Oh, yes, Bijou, of course. You will be released.” David looked at the girl, hanging before him in the wooden frame where she had been scourged. “Death, Bijou.” He paused, letting the words hit her. “Death shall be your release.”

“You bastard!” she shrieked, “You goddamned bastard!”

David was unmoved. He’d expected an outburst of some kind. You can’t tell a girl she’s about to be put to an excruciatingly protracted death without getting some reaction.

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIV: Formalities (cont'd)​

Michael had been standing to one side, holding a one-foot square teakwood jewelry box, and he now approached. He held it out to David, who was donning gloves made of fine mesh metal. David thanked Michael and released the box’s clasp, opening its hinged lid. Inside, resting on a bed of scarlet velvet lay a circular object consisting of three or four loops of stiff dark wire. At intervals from the wire jutted thorn-like projections, about an inch or so long, sharp and unyielding. He lifted the thing from its container, the mesh gloves protecting his hands.

“As you know, Bijou, some have styled you the Princess of Malhaven,” he said, evenly. “Every princess must have her crown.”

With horror, Bijou realized what this was. A crown of metal thorns, for a woman about to be crucified. David lifted the crown over her head. She desperately tried to evade its placement, thrashing in her chains and wildly whipping her head about. But Ben had come up behind her and grabbed her head, holding it firmly in place. She was helpless, hanging from her wrists, her ankles chained and her head immobilized.

Gingerly, David positioned the crown on her head, carefully adjusting its position as she begged for mercy. Then, satisfied, he pressed it solidly down. Bijou screamed as the pointed metal thorns penetrated her scalp, tearing small wounds and scraping her skull below. Unmoved, David continued to push it, just a bit further. He twisted the crown slightly here and there as he did so, until he was satisfied with the snug fit. Ben released his hold on her head and returned to his position with the others.

David stepped back, admiring Bijou as trickles of blood made their way down the girl’s face from the puncture wounds in her scalp. He smiled and removed the mesh gloves. Yes, everything was all right; everything was just the way it was supposed to be. “I crown you Princess Bijou of Malhaven,” he announced, smirking. He turned to the assembled throng. “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. We’ll be moving to the final phase now.” He turned to Michael and Ben. “Okay, let’s get going,” he said. They nodded. David turned and walked away, toward the hills, atop which his favorite consort was about to be crucified.

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XIV: Formalities (conclusion)​

Ben and Michael approached Bijou, hanging in chains from the wooden framework. Working efficiently, the men fastened a chain around the Korean girl’s waist like a belt and locked it, then released her ankles from their fetters. For a moment, the girl kicked helplessly, but the men simply let that run its course. Eventually, whether from fatigue or simply realization of the fruitlessness of the attempt, she stopped, and hung docilely from the frame. With her feet still several inches above the desert floor, Michael grasped her left wrist firmly and released it from its chain. Holding her arm firmly, preventing her from striking out at him, he swiftly pulled Bijou’s wrist down behind her back and refastened it to a manacle attached there to the chain around her waist.

The girl now hung from only her right wrist, still chained to the frame, her toes a foot above the ground. That couldn’t be comfortable, thought Michael. But then, that was nothing compared to what she’d endured in the scourging, nor compared to what she was about to endure on the cross. He gestured to Ben, who turned the winch, lowering Bijou to the ground with several feet of slack to spare.

Bijou stood on the packed dirt, one arm still chained to the structure, the other chained behind her back. With the slack in the chain, her right hand was now level with her shoulder. “Please, Michael,” she begged. “You have to help me. You can’t let him do this to me.” Bijou looked pleadingly into Michael’s eyes.

“Sorry, Bijou,” he said. “Our loyalties are with David.”

“I heard you before, though,” she said. “You were trying to stop my scourging. And when he started that third set over, you tried to get him to credit me for the first five strokes.” She looked at him with her beautiful brown eyes. “Please, Michael.”

“That?” Michael nearly laughed out loud. “That wasn’t for you, Bijou! We were all afraid you’d die from the scourging, and we’d miss out on your crucifixion.” He chuckled at her misunderstanding. “No, no, Bijou, we’ve all been looking forward to this.”

With that, he grasped her chained right hand firmly. He lifted his right foot, and brought it down into the back of her leg, driving the sole of his boot directly behind her right knee. Bijou let out a sudden cry of pain as her legs buckled. She fell to a kneeling position, her right arm raised, still in its chain and held by Michael. Before she could react, Michael unfastened the cuff on her wrist, and twisted her arm sharply behind her back, refastening it there to the chain that encircled her waist.

Ben joined them, and the two men each put a hand under one of her arms, lifting her to her feet. The Korean girl stood unsteadily, her wrists pulled tightly behind her, her back arched from the strain, her small breasts pushed forward. Michael looked at her taut body admiringly. She was going to look great on the cross. Ben fastened a collar on her neck, followed by a lengthy chain leash.

“Any idea why he’s not making her carry the crossbar?” Ben asked. “He’s not going easy on her in any other way.”

“I asked,” replied Michael. “He wants to save all her strength for the cross. Besides, he’s already up there prepping, no use putting her through anything he’s not here to watch. It was Carl’s suggestion; skip the carry, he said, and he’ll be able to squeeze a lot more out of her, make her last a lot longer. David was all for it.”

“Makes sense,” Ben replied. “But, man,” he said, looking at Bijou, “he’s really got it in for her, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah,” said Michael. He thought of the excruciating scourging. “He sure does.”

“Let’s go, princess,” ordered Ben, jerking the girl’s leash. The men walked in the direction David had taken. Bijou stumbled along behind, pulled by the chain.

 

[thecuriousone]

Now the real thing starts....

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XV: Twenty Minutes
​

Carl was already at the crucifixion site, making certain that all was ready. He was Malhaven’s most experienced man with respect to final dispositions – executions, if you wanted to skip the euphemism – and was without any doubt the master of crucifixion. He’d crucified more women than any other man at Malhaven, and had contributed much to the art. It was no surprise that David, who had never personally performed an execution himself, had tapped Carl, Malhaven’s leading carnifex, for this one.

Crucifixion. It was simultaneously the most elegant and most brutal way to put a woman to death. There were more painful methods – arguably death by fire or by impalement hurt more – but both of those were fleeting events. A woman being burned at the stake suffered for at most a half-hour. Impalement could last longer, but, still, nothing like crucifixion. A woman’s crucifixion, if done properly, could last for days.

And then there was the presentational aspect of the event; crucifixion was unmatched there. The style of death was inextricably interwoven with display of the woman being tortured to death; her body raised for all to see, her arms spread wide like a stage performer acknowledging applause. It was no surprise that in Malhaven crucifixion was the most frequently employed method to put a woman to death. More than all the others – the stake, impalement, hanging, all of them – combined.

And Carl was the master. He was already at the site, waiting for David to arrive. He’d stayed for the formal statement in which Bijou had learned her fate, and for the girl’s crowning – it was important to know the condition of the woman he would be putting to death – but had left for the crucifixion site immediately afterward. David might have some concerns and Carl wanted to make sure he was ready to deal with any issues. This was the first time David had ordered a girl to be put to death, and David’s proprietary attitude toward Bijou was pretty well known throughout Malhaven; that “princess” thing hadn’t come from nowhere. And the man had seemed edgy, to put it mildly; he hadn’t seemed to be holding it together too well when things went wrong in the scourging, and they had nearly lost Bijou even before her crucifixion was scheduled to begin.

Carl recalled the crisis.

When he had seen the condition of his subject, he had been appalled. Ben related what had occurred. Bijou had been scourged. That in itself was no surprise: scourging was a routine prelude to crucifixion; it would have been unusual for the girl not to have been scourged. But the details of what had been done to Bijou shocked him. Even prior to the formal scourging, she’d been whipped, and not gently. A preliminary whipping, prior to a scourging or any other torture, was not unheard of. Technically it was not part of the torture itself; it was merely a humiliating and painful way strip a woman at the onset of the procedure, and could be an extremely effective way to force a girl to confront her own vulnerability. But Carl could see from Bijou’s condition that the whipping had gone far beyond what had been needed to remove a delicate dress from a woman’s body. A competent man with a whip should have been able to take that dress off with maybe five to eight strokes, at the most. If done carefully, it could be done with three or four. To hear Ben tell it, David had used closer to forty – closer to a full scourging in itself rather than a small prelude to one.

And the scourging itself… David had used one of the most brutal forms – forcing the girl to stand throughout the ordeal, and penalizing her with additional strokes for the inevitable falls – while opting for one of the most vicious combination of scourges he’d ever seen used together. The final scourge, with the spiked balls, required a high degree of care; it did too much damage. Until today, the only times Carl had seen it used in preparation for crucifixion, it had been combined only with scourges that really weren’t much more lethal than an ordinary whip. And then starting that set over again, once the girl could no longer stand on her feet. What the hell was the matter with him? It was almost as though he didn’t want her to survive to the crucifixion.

When he saw David, though, he saw that that wasn’t the case at all. The man wanted this crucifixion, and was deeply contrite at the damage he had done to the petite woman. He had just gotten carried away and lost control – something that was not at all like the David he knew.

Carl had examined Bijou and huddled with David and his team, giving his frank assessment. “David, I recommend you get her to Henry now. Have her restored and start over another day, this time more carefully. I can’t do the job you want with a subject in her condition. Or you can abandon the crucifixion altogether: just pick up the scourge again and finish the job. Another ten or fifteen minutes with that third scourge, and she’ll die, and it will be painful, just as you want.”

“I don’t want that!” growled David.

“Or burn her at the stake.” The stake was the second-most favored form of disposition at Malhaven, after crucifixion. “Very painful, still quite a spectacle.”

“Too quick!” retorted David. “You and I both know, she’ll last half an hour on the stake, tops. I want her crucified!”

“David,” Carl said gently, “I’m not making myself clear. In her condition, half an hour would be a gift. You nail this girl to a cross, she’s not going to last longer than twenty minutes. We’d spend more time putting her on the cross than she would spend hanging from it.”

David was stunned. “Twenty minutes?” he repeated. “I know girls have lasted days on the cross. You’re telling me twenty minutes?”

Carl was firm. “The women who have lasted days didn’t have the nails driven in when they were already nearly dead from an out-of-control beating. Look at her, David. Twenty minutes, tops. Tops.” He emphasized the word. “Maybe less. For all I can tell, she’s too damaged to take even a single breath once she’s up on the cross. In that case, make it five. I’m sorry, David, but I’m telling it to you straight.”

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XV: Twenty Minutes (conclusion)
​

David paced back and forth, upset with himself for his lack of control that had put them in this position. He wanted Bijou crucified. He’d been looking forward to it for months. He’d waited for months, to commence the process on her birthday, to add to the horror of it. What was he going to do, restore her and lock her up for another year?

“What’s the problem?” It was Henry. Michael had called him over, aware that restoring and starting over was one of the options. Carl explained the situation.

Henry thought. “You know, this isn’t a problem very often. Girls on final disposition, it’s usually because no one wants them any more. No one cares what happens to them. This happens more than you’d think, David, a girl being over-damaged like this just before her execution, but it’s usually no big deal. You just do what Carl suggests; a quicker form of execution, or just continue the torture until the girl dies. No big deal.” He looked at David sharply. “It’s quite rare, really, for someone to care so much for a woman whom he has designated to be put to death.”

“Yeah,” answered David, “I get that. But I do care about what happens to her, and I wanted to watch her go out on a crucifixion. One that lasts more than twenty minutes.”

“Tell you what,” said Henry. “Let me try something. I’ve never done this before, but only because there’s never been a call for it; there’s no technical reason why it can’t work. Let me put her through a partial restoration. Patch her up, sort of. Leave the more painful stuff, fix what’s life-threatening. No promises, David, but I don’t see why it wouldn’t work.”

And so it had gone according to plan. Henry had medicated the dying girl and taken her away, and now they were back, ready to resume. Carl could tell, just from looking at Bijou, that she was in much better condition. She was still covered in welts and lacerations, but the most vicious of the wounds had been repaired. Even in her damaged condition, she had been pretty, but now she looked incredibly beautiful again. Even her hair had been washed, and then carefully re-mussed to be consistent with the abuse she had taken. He noted with satisfaction that Henry had left intact the wounds on the sole of her foot. Good, thought Carl. She had a lengthy walk from the scourging site to the hilltop where she would be crucified, and it was only right that it should be painful.

He heard Henry summarizing for David. “We stopped most of the internal bleeding. Blood loss leads to death pretty quickly and is an easy fix, so that was low-hanging fruit. We vacuumed her bronchioles and alveoli. For a crucified woman, being able to take as good a breath as possible – considering the circumstances – is key to survival. Muscle repair was tricky. On the one hand, you want the repairs, so she has the capability of pulling herself up, to be able to draw a full breath. But on the other hand, the injuries you gave her were a substantial source of her pain, and I didn’t want that going away. So I compromised. We repaired most of it, especially at key structural points, but coupled with a nerve enhancement to compensate for any reduction in pain that would have otherwise resulted. I basically made the smaller injuries that we left hurt more, to compensate for the major injuries that we repaired. Oh, and as you can see, we repaired the ugliest of the flesh wounds; mostly the ones on the front from that last scourge. We figured you’d want her looking pretty again for this.”

Carl chimed in. “Bones?”

“She had some fractured ribs, and a few bones in one foot were broken. I left the ribs alone; that will make even simply breathing hurt more, so it’s a plus. I repaired the foot, though. If you’re going to drive a nail through it, you’ll want to start fresh, I assumed. Also, there’s the matter of the walk to the site. She won’t make it on a broken foot; although as I see you’ve noticed, I left the wounds themselves intact.”

Carl nodded in appreciation. “Anything on internal organ damage?” he asked. “She looked as though she probably took some serious hits in that category.”

“She did, a bit,” answered Henry. “But other than the bleeding, we left them alone. There’s a lot of pain associated with those injuries, and I didn’t want to alleviate that.” He noticed Carl’s frown at his response. “I know, internal organ damage leads to eventual death, but the key word is ‘eventual.’ Left unrepaired, her internal injuries will kill her in the long term, a week or two, but, look: there is no ‘long term’ here. She’s about to be crucified. Her life expectancy is measured in days now. The crucifixion will kill her, not the organ damage.”

“Days,” repeated David. “I like the sound of that.” Carl did too; it sounded much better than “minutes.” “I owe you one, Henry,” said David.

“Not at all,” the medic responded. “This is not the sort of thing we’ve been called upon to do before, and it was an interesting challenge.” The men shook hands and walked to the front of the frame, where Bijou’s unconscious body hung inertly in chains. It was time to awaken her and inform her of her fate.

But that had been an hour ago. Now Carl saw David coming up the hill, and he knew Bijou would not be far behind, being pulled along by Michael and Ben. Time for final preparations.

 

[thecuriousone]

The effort they are willing to put in letting her die a death as painful as possible.... they are dedicated to their hobby.

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XVI: The Walk​

Bijou stumbled as Ben yanked on her leash, urging her forward. It was a challenging walk, and the men were setting a difficult pace, mercilessly pulling her forward whenever she lagged. Bijou’s hands were still pulled behind her, fastened to the chain that encircled her waist, and she was nude and barefoot. The unforgiving ground was covered with sharp tiny stones that bit into the soles of her tender feet. Her right foot, still bleeding and inflamed where David had struck it with the scourge, particularly hurt.

The throng of men had grown and now amounted to several dozen men, eager to see her crucified. Some of the men had gone on ahead, but many had hung back to watch the Korean girl’s painful procession up the desert hill.

The group topped a low hill, and for the first time, Bijou could see her destination: the next arid hill, the top of which was some seventy yards distant. She slowed, taking in the sight, realizing what it represented for her.

Ben yanked, and she stumbled again. This time she fell. With her arms chained behind and unable to protect herself, her knees crashed to the ground, followed by her chest and face. The crown of metal thorns, jarred loose from the impact, fell aside.

“Ah, jeez,” complained Ben to the prostrate Korean woman, “try to be careful, will you?” He grasped her hair and pulled her up to a kneeling position. Her left breast and cheek bore abrasions from the impact with the rough ground. A few tiny stones and grains of soil adhered to her chest and face. Michael took a cloth and brushed her off roughly. He inspected her: no significant damage done. The abrasions nicely complemented the damage from the scourging. He grasped the Asian girl’s collar and lifted her to her feet.

“Here, would you like a little water?” he inquired. He opened his canteen and offered it to the chained girl.

“Yes, please,” Bijou answered gratefully. She was parched. She looked imploringly at him and opened her mouth. Michael tilted the canteen to her lips, and Bijou closed her eyes and drank deeply. For all she knew, this would be her last drink of water. She swallowed, and the excess stream trickled down her chin and around her breast. Michael poured a bit of the water onto the cloth and pressed it against her scraped knees. The cool liquid soothed the pain slightly. Bijou smiled briefly in gratitude for the apparent small kindness, not realizing that Michael’s motivation was merely to present her to David in as intact a form as possible.

Michael slid his hand up the Korean girl’s thigh, lightly touching her pubic hair, before withdrawing. Damn, she was a lovely girl! “Come on, princess, let’s keep moving,” he ordered. He gestured for the girl to resume her march up the hill.

“Wait!” called Ben. “We can’t forget this.” He had retrieved the crown.

“Good job,” added Michael. He held Bijou from behind, immobilizing her. “Go ahead, put it back on.”

Bijou whimpered as Ben carefully pressed the crown back into position. A few beads of fresh blood appeared on her forehead where the metallic thorns pierced her scalp anew. “Perfect,” he declared. He looked at his watch; it was nearly noon. Time to get going. He took up the chain and gave it a tug. “Okay, let’s go, princess.”

 

[Urmel]

Chapter VI: Paul & Andrew​

​

There was one particularly hideous torture that Bijou would never forget. She had been taken to a wooded area by two members, Paul and Andrew. Together, they escorted the girl to a clearing, where she could see the remains of a young tree. Based on what Bijou could see of it, it must have sprouted only within the last couple of years. The sapling had been shorn of nearly all of its branches, and chopped off to a yard or so above the ground. What remained was essentially a vertical wooden shaft. Bijou could see that the exposed end had been crudely sharpened.

There were only two small vestiges of branches projecting from the inch-thick stump that rose from the ground. One was only three or so inches long; it curved upward, terminating in a raggedly cut end that looked like it had been roughly chopped nearly through with a hatchet, with the last bits ripped off to complete the job. The other remaining branch was directly opposite the first, and an inch or so higher. It extended about six inches in length from the small trunk, rising diagonally away from the stump in a more or less straight line.

Bijou was stripped. Paul pushed her, face-down, onto a canvas tarp that covered the ground, pinning her there, his knee pressed hard into the small of her back. Andrew pulled up her legs, and, taking several feet of rope, tied her crossed ankles together. Once her legs were secured, he released them, and nodded to Paul, who took his knee from Bijou’s back and grasped her arms. He held them out to Andrew, who efficiently tied her wrists together. A long stretch of rope was left extending from her bound wrists. Andrew took the excess rope and passed it around the lashing that bound her legs, then pulled it, drawing Bijou’s ankles tightly to her wrists. With a grunt of satisfaction, he knotted the cord tightly, leaving the girl secured in a hog-tied position. He nodded to Paul, who fastened a dog collar around the girl’s neck.

Bijou lay on the ground, too frightened to think about what they would do to her next. Then, abruptly, the two men each took an arm and lifted her small body from the ground. Bijou saw to her horror that they were carrying her to the stump, and realizing their intentions, began to thrash wildly, but to no avail. The men were strong, and Bijou was light, and she could offer no resistance as they raised her over the remains of the tree.

Vorsichtig ließen sie die gefesselte Frau auf den Baumstamm herab und führten den angespitzten Stamm in ihre Muschi. Sie schrie vor Schmerzen, als das raue Holz in sie eindrang, und sie glitt hilflos Zentimeter für Zentimeter den Pfosten hinunter, mit dem rauen Holzschaft in ihr. Ihr Zappeln verstärkte den Schmerz nur, und nur mit größter Konzentration konnte sie aufhören, sich zu winden. Jetzt hatte Paul seinen Griff um sie gelöst, und Andrew stand vor ihr, hielt sie unter beiden Armen und führte ihren schlanken Körper weiter nach unten, wobei der Stumpf immer tiefer in sie eindrang. Durch den Schmerz konnte sie den längeren der beiden Äste auf dem Stumpf darunter sehen, der vor ihr hervorragte und leicht in Richtung ihres linken Beins gedreht war. Paul sah ihn ebenfalls, und während er die Stirn über die unvollkommene Ausrichtung runzelte, drehte er ihren Körper wild, sodass der kurze Ast in der Mitte lag. Bijou schrie vor Schmerzen bei dieser Woge der Qual, aber Paul nickte nur. Jetzt war er mit ihrer Ausrichtung auf dem Pfahl zufrieden und führte sie den letzten qualvollen Zentimeter hindurch, ohne auf ihre anhaltenden Schmerzensschreie zu achten. Der kleine Ast schmiegte sich nun in das weiche braune Schamhaar des koreanischen Mädchens, verhinderte, dass sie weiter rutschte, und trug praktisch das gesamte Gewicht des Mädchens. Der andere Ast drückte schmerzhaft auf ihren Anus, drang aber nicht ein.

Während Paul die letzten Anpassungen vornahm, nahm Andrew einen langen Metallpfosten und schob ihn in ein dafür vorbereitetes Loch im Boden. Sie hatten genau gemessen und geplant, sodass die Spitze des Pfostens auf gleicher Höhe mit Bijous Hals war. Andrew legte ein kurzes Stück Kette vom Pfosten zu Bijous Halsband. Er zog sie gerade straff genug, dass Bijou gezwungen war, aufrecht zu bleiben.

Und jetzt musste Bijou nur noch leiden und die Männer mussten zusehen und das Schauspiel genießen. Sie wusste, dass sie ein Hingucker war. Ihr Körper wurde nur von dem kleinen Ast gestützt, der zwischen ihren Beinen hervorragte, und vom Halsband aufrecht gehalten. Trotz der unglaublichen Schmerzen spürte sie, wie das Blut an ihren Schenkeln heruntertropfte. Die Männer sahen in stiller Anerkennung zu, als Bijou vergeblich versuchte, ihre Schreie zu unterdrücken. Sogar die kleinste Bewegung, die zum Schreien nötig war, löste intensive Schmerzwellen aus; es tat so weh, dass sie sich zwang, ihre Schreie zu unterdrücken, und sie konnte jetzt nur noch leises Wimmern von sich geben, das die unglaublichen Schmerzen Lügen strafte, die sie erlitt.

Andrew brachte zwei Campingstühle und ein paar Bier heraus und die Männer setzten sich. Das würde eine Weile dauern.

† † †​

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XVII: Up​

A few moments later they reached the top, and Bijou’s eyes took in the place where she would be put to death. An extensive plateau topped the hill. A number of large rocks littered the landscape. A number of them encircled a fire pit stacked with wood. The sight of the firewood jarred her. It meant that the men planned on being here well past nightfall. Bijou now realized for the first time that her crucifixion would likely last hours into the night; this would by no means be a speedy death. There were a handful of rustic buildings set well back from the edge of the hilltop: small cabins and equipment sheds. She saw David and the other man talking; David was obviously being given a tour.

Set back some distance from the edge of the hill, a series of iron disks were set in the ground, like manhole covers, extending in a sweeping curve. In one spot, near the center, one of the metal plates had been removed. It had covered a concrete column, sunk into the earth, with a deep square-shaped cavity in its center. The square socket now held a dark wooden column, about eight inches square, rising about eight feet from the ground. Halfway up the post, a series of holes had been bored into the wood, in a centered vertical line. A thick rectangular metal plate, eight inches wide to match the wooden post, was affixed to the top of the upright. Another dark beam of wood, a triangular notch cut from its center, lay on the ground in front of the upright, along with various tools and materials.

Carl continued orienting David, now indicating the metal disks. “Each of these plates covers a concrete socket, for additional uprights when we have more than one crucifixion going. We keep them covered when they’re not in use, just in case someone’s not looking where there going; we don’t want them stepping into a hole. It can get pretty distracting up here. This afternoon, we just have the one, but we’ll be a little busier later this week.” He now saw that Bijou had arrived. Carl looked at the girl, and then back at David. “You sure you don’t want to do the honors here, David?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Carl,” David answered. “I do appreciate it, but I know you’ll do a better job. And I appreciate you explaining things. I may give it a try next time. I wouldn’t mind giving you a hand, though.”

“Good,” replied Carl. “It’s at least a two-man job, but I could actually use all three of you, as long as you’re here.” He indicated Ben and Michael, as well.

“Happy to,” answered Ben.

“You bet,” added Michael.

“Take her collar and chains off, would you, please?” instructed Carl.

Ben removed the chain from the girl’s collar, and began to unfasten the collar itself. Michael unlocked Bijou’s wrists and the chain that encircled her waist. Bijou rubbed her wrists as Michael dropped the chain to the ground. The girl looked up for a moment, then broke into a run before either Michael or Ben could react.

But Carl intercepted her before she had gone twenty feet, wrapping her small waist in his muscular arm. Almost casually, he lifted her and carried her back to the men, kicking and struggling. He set the nude girl back on her feet, a yard or so in front of where the plank lay on the ground. Her back was turned to the upright post. Carl smiled wickedly, continuing to hold her. “You’re not the first to try to make a break for it, Miss Park. How far do you think you could have gotten, here in the desert, naked and barefoot?” The girl looked down in despair, saying nothing.

 

[fauxface]

Chapter XVII: Up (cont'd)​

They stood together now. Carl continued to hold her close, his right arm still wrapped around her waist. His bearing subtly stiffened now, and his voice assumed a more formal tenor. “Lie down, please, Miss Park,” he said. He made it sound like the professional instruction it was; as a physician might instruct a patient.

Bijou looked up into his eyes. “Please, sir,” she stammered, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name… but… please, sir… Please don’t do this thing to me.”

“Lie down, Miss Park,” he repeated. His voice now took a steely tone.

“No, please, please, don’t do this.” Her soft brown eyes filled with tears.

Carl released his grip on her, and brought his right hand to her face. He gently wiped away a tear with his thumb, looking into her beautiful gaze. Slowly, he ran his hand down her face and her neck, stopping at her small soft breast. He cupped the breast for a moment. Suddenly, he swept his right leg around her, planting the foot firmly on the ground behind her, and shoved her hard in the chest. Bijou flew backward and down, tripping over Carl’s leg, her ass slamming into the hard dirt. She flung out her arms to try to stabilize herself, and Ben and Michael each grabbed one of her wrists, restraining her.

Carl stood over the girl’s prone body as the assistants stretched out her limbs along the crossbar. “My apologies, Miss Park. You’re right, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Carl. I’m going to crucify you now. David, would you please bring that bundle to me?”

David handed the rolled cloth to Carl, who knelt and unfurled it, revealing a hammer and four odd-looking nails. Carl noticed David looking at them quizzically, and explained.

“You can’t use conventional nails for crucifixion; at least not all by themselves. You try hammering a simple nail through a girl’s arm, for example, and with all the thrashing she does, she’ll pull right through it. When I first started this, I used to tie the girl to start, then hammer the nails. The nails gave the support, and the ropes kept her from pulling off of them. Some other guys have used small strips of wood; they’re sort of like washers, holding the wrist in place under the nails. The downside for that to me is that it covers up the actual wounds, and besides, an energetic enough girl can still pull them through the nail heads. So I came up with these.”



He held a nail up for David’s inspection. The shiny metal glinted in the noontime sun. The spike was several inches long, with a sharp point and small serrations along its length to better grip the wood. But it was the head of the nail that made it unique. Seen from the side, the nail was in the shape of a stylized letter “T”. The head extended for a line about two inches, in a slight curve, concave side down, from opposing sides of the nail’s shaft.

“See, with this, the two sides of the nail head go across the girl’s wrist. I hammer it down almost to the wrist. End result, the nail’s holding her up, but she can’t pull off of it. And you get to see the damage it does; it’s not hidden by a strip of wood. Here, have a look.” He handed the spike to David.

David looked at the device admiringly. So simple, yet a lot of thought had evidently gone into it. “What did you do before you joined Malhaven?” he asked Carl.

“Mechanical engineer,” Carl answered with a grin.

“I should have guessed.” David smiled, and handed the spike back to Carl. Together, they turned back to the whimpering girl.