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Bijou in Malhaven

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Chapter XVII: Up (cont'd)​

“David,” called out Carl, “She’s going to be thrashing pretty hard. These guys” – he gestured to Ben and Michael – “will be holding down her arms. The best thing you can do is is to hold down the rest of her. My suggestion is to straddle her. Great view, and the next best job other than driving the nails yourself.”

“On it,” answered David. He went to the trembling girl, her arms pinned to the wood by his assistants. He stepped one leg over her small nude body, and slowly lowered himself to kneel, one leg to each side of her. He let his weight settle, feeling Bijou’s hips pressing against his groin. Immediately he felt himself stiffen.

“One more thing, David,” advised Carl. “The crucifixion itself will last a while. You’ll have plenty of time to take that in. But what we’re doing now, the nailing, lasts only a few moments, so take care to be present, and take it all in. It will be over before you know it. Do everything you can to remember it. Pay attention and don’t miss it.”

“I will,” answered David, “Thank you.” He looked into the girl’s deep brown eyes. “Oh, Bijou,” he sighed. “What does it feel like, to be you?”

“I’m frightened,” the girl sobbed. “Oh, David, please, I’m so very frightened, please stop him.”

He bent his head low over her face and kissed her, then sat up again, running his hands over her bare breasts. Together, David and Bijou turned in the direction of her left wrist. Carl adjusted the position of her hand to his liking, and carefully probed the girl’s wrist joint, finding just the right spot to drive the nail. Bijou looked again to David.

“Please, David, make him stop.” There was raw desperation in her voice now. But David remained silent as Carl positioned the spike, pressing the sharp point into her wrist, dimpling the flesh there.

He raised the hammer. Distraught, Bijou turned her face away and squeezed her eyes closed. Carl made ready to drive the spike home.

“Carl, wait! Stop!” David cried out suddenly. Bijou’s eyes flew open in surprise.

Carl froze. Goddamn David and his princess! Part of him wanted to drive the nail anyway. There was no precedent for this. No one had ever called off a crucifixion this late in the game. The audience murmured in dismay. Carl looked at David. “It’s kind of late now, isn’t it, David?” he asked evenly.

“No; just in time,” answered David. He grasped Bijou’s head and turned her to face the nail pressing against her wrist. “I want her to watch.”

Carl smirked and nodded his approval. Good man, he thought, I should never have doubted him. Bijou’s eyes widened in terror as Carl lifted the hammer again and brought it down onto the head of the spike, driving it through the bones of the helpless girl’s wrist. The metallic sound of the strike rang out, and Carl noted with satisfaction that Bijou’s eyes had indeed been open for the impact, slamming shut only in response to the sudden fiery agony of the nail crunching through the delicate bones of her wrist.

Bijou threw back her head and screamed, arching her back in pain. David’s erection instantly grew rock-hard. Over and over, she bucked as Carl followed up with additional blows, driving the nail deep into the wood below where it had penetrated her wrist. With each new impact, the sound of steel against steel rang out, sending fiery spasms of agony down the girl’s arm and forcing her to scream again. Finally, he finished; the curve of the spike’s head nestled against her wrist, firmly holding it in place.

Carl stood, and gestured to Ben that he no longer needed to restrain the young woman’s arm. Ben stood, and admired Carl’s work as Bijou was wracked in painful sobs.

Now Carl moved to the girl’s right. He repeated his adjustments of Bijou’s arm, again pressing the tip of the spike to her wrist. He paused.

“David, there’s something I’ve been meaning to try, and this looks like a good opportunity. Do you trust me? I think it will be worth it.”

“By all means, Carl. What do you have in mind?” responded David.
 

Chapter XVII: Up (cont'd)​

“I’ll show you.” Carl carefully studied Bijou’s right wrist and the placement of the nail, and then, steadily holding the nail in place, measuredly shifted the girl’s arm under it, so that her forearm rather than her wrist was now positioned under the nail, which was now some three inches away from her wrist. He brought the hammer down, over and over, driving the spike through Bijou’s arm and into the wood below. The steely clangs resounded through the desert hills, as the suffering girl shrieked and bucked further against David.

“Okay, you can both let her go now,” said Carl. David and Michael rose, looking down at the beautiful woman at their feet, nails driven through her arms, pinning her to the wood. Bijou was gasping for breath, the first blast of the agony from the nails starting to give way to the steady waves of pain that would be her companion for the rest of her short life.

“Let’s give her a few minutes, to acclimate.” said Carl. “Would you please give her a little more water, Michael?” Michael complied, pouring water into the girl’s open mouth. She swallowed and coughed, her position on the ground impairing her ability to drink.

Some of the crowd came up for a better look, watching the Korean girl suffer. Her thrashing had further jarred her crown of thorns, and fresh blood now flowed from where the ordeal had torn fresh cuts in her scalp.

After a few minutes had passed, the crew returned to Bijou, and the crowd regrouped a respectful distance away, allowing them to resume their work. The Asian beauty now lay still, eyes closed in pain. Her left leg was positioned with her knee bent and the sole of her foot on the ground; her right extended straight. She was trembling, breathing raggedly from the pain.

Carl gestured to the suffering girl on the ground. “Last chance, David. Want to have a final go before we put her up and nail her legs in place?”

David smiled. “Absolutely; I was going to bring it up if you didn’t. I haven’t been able to get the idea out of my mind.” It was true. Ever since he had felt Bijou thrusting against him, straddling her as Carl drove the nails, he could think of almost nothing else. He removed his shoes, pants and underwear, and walked to the nailed girl. How vulnerable she looked, trembling so uncontrollably and breathing so raggedly. He stepped between her legs, and, with his left foot, pushed her right leg outward, spreading her legs.

Bijou’s eyes opened at the touch and she looked up to see David standing over her with his rock-hard erection. “No,” she barely whispered, “No, David, please; let me die in peace.”

“Oh, Bijou,” he replied, shaking his head. “This will not be a peaceful death, no matter what. And the way you were bouncing around, right into my cock like that? There’s no way I can walk away from that. I’m going to fuck you, one last time.” He knelt, forcing her legs apart and positioning his penis at the rim of her cunt.

“David, no, please…” she began.

“Shhhh,” he soothed. He pressed the tip of his cock into her. Bijou gasped in pain. Her vagina, David knew, was one area whose wounds had not been healed. This must really hurt. He smiled and thrust himself the rest of the way in and paused, waiting for her reaction.

Bijou began to wail from the pain and the humiliating intrusion. She was completely helpless, her arms nailed to the wood, and she knew that David was relishing it. The pitch and volume of her cries increased as David began to move in and out, slowly at first, but gradually with increased speed and fervor. Bijou strained helplessly against the nails that held her down, to no effect. David brought his mouth to hers to kiss her, but she twisted her head, first in one direction, then the other, eluding his kiss, despite the obvious pain that the motion triggered from the crown of thorns embedded in her scalp. David marveled; Bijou would rather suffer additional torment from the crown than tolerate a kiss from him. He remembered how desperately she had returned his kiss when he had raped her on the rack, so long ago; anything to try to stop the torture. He knew now that all hope had fled from her; she knew she was going to die on the cross, and that no kisses or anything else she had to give would allow her to avoid her fate.
 

Chapter XVII: Up (cont'd)​

Still… a man wants what a man wants. David put his hand on her face and savagely turned her to face him, the thorns now digging deeply into her scalp on the back of her head. He slapped her, hard. Bijou winced in pain, both from the thorns and from the slap. He covered her mouth with his, drinking her deeply as he accelerated his rape. He could feel himself cresting, and he pulled back to look at the girl, memorizing her beautiful suffering face, awash in pain, humiliation and fear, one cheek reddened from the slap, her mouth open, just a little bloody from the savage kiss. And those eyes… those deep brown beautiful eyes, filled with pain, welling with tears, staring back at him, still in disbelief that he could do this to her…

He exploded inside of her. It was the most blazing of all the orgasms he’d ever had with her, with just a tinge of bittersweet from the realization that it would be the last. He collapsed on top of the heaving girl and laid there for several moments, breathing deeply. Slowly, he slid out of her, taking the towel that Ben handed him to clean off his dick. Bijou was now weeping uncontrollably, from the pain, the humiliation and the sheer horror of what was happening to her; her breasts shook from the sobs.

“Give me a minute,” David requested, standing and donning his clothes. He needed to recover. “Give me some of that water, will you?” he asked Michael, gesturing to the supply reserved for the men.

Carl chuckled. Sometimes these final goodbyes were the best. He waited as David drank his water and collected himself. Finally: “you ready?” he asked.

David nodded and wiped the excess liquid from his mouth. “Yeah. What do we do now?”

“Here,” Carl instructed, handing a length of rope about five feet long to David. “Tie one end of this around her left ankle.” He turned to Ben and Michael, and pointed to two small stepladders. “Ben, Michael, would you please take those and put them on either side of the upright, about three feet back, facing one another? Thanks.” The men moved to comply.

David had finished tying the rope and now stood. Carl spoke. “Okay, David, we’re going to lift the crossbeam now. You take her right side, I’ll take the left. Take it easy; all we want to do is stand her up.” David nodded, and the two men bent, taking hold of the wooden plank. “Okay, on a count of three. Remember, we’re just getting her to her feet now. One… two… three.” The men hoisted the plank to shoulder height as Bijou cried out in pain. Carl was pleased to note that she had looked to her right, where he’d driven the nail a few inches from her wrist. As he had planned, the stress of the lift had started to tear a furrow down the length of her arm as the shaft of the nail began to migrate through the flesh of her arm toward her wrist. He stole a quick look at the wound and saw that it still had a ways to go. Good. If this went as intended, the rip would slowly worsen over the course of the next several hours, until the shaft of the nail was finally pressed against her wrist joint and could move no further. It was only a couple of inches, but he knew that the pain of her flesh gradually tearing those few inches would be considerable. David saw it too and smiled with an almost imperceptible nod. Now he understood the effect of Carl’s experiment.

They now stood, Bijou facing away from the upright, about fifteen feet behind her. Carl nodded toward the upright wooden post. “Okay, David, now we’re going to slowly walk her back to the stipes there. Slowly now.” Together they stepped in measured paces to the post. Bijou resisted for only a moment, but to do so only increased the agony in her wrists, and she reluctantly stepped backward herself, keeping pace with the men, humiliated by her cooperation in her own execution.

“‘Stipes’?” inquired David after they had completed the move. “I guess that means the post, right?”

“Yes, sorry. We have a somewhat specialized vocabulary. The traditional name for the upright part of the cross is the stipes; some call it a staticulum. The crossbar is called the patibulum.”

“‘Patibulum,’” repeated David, savoring the word. “Cool. I love it when I learn something new.” They talked casually, as though they were not putting a beautiful young woman to an excruciating death.
 

Chapter XVII: Up (cont'd)​

“Okay, so let me explain how this works. See the notch cut out of the patibulum here?” Carl pointed to the spot on the crossbeam at Bijou’s neck, where a triangle of wood had been cut away. Just above it, two holes had been bored through the wood. “We’ve got the opposite situation up there at the top of the stipes. For a length of about eight inches, we’ve removed most of the wood from the front surface, to a depth of about two inches, the same thickness as the crossbeam. At the bottom part of the area where we've removed the material, we’ve left a triangle of wood that fits right in here.” He pointed to the notch. “That iron plate bolted to the top of the stipes covers the part we’ve carved away. What we’re going to do is lift the patibulum to the top of the stipes, and slide it down between the plate and wood, fitting the triangle there, right into the notch here. Follow?”

David looked up at the top of the stipes and could see what Carl was referring to. He nodded. “Got it. Okay, ready when you are.”

“Good. Okay, on a count of three, we lift her; and then, together, we’ll take three steps up the stepladder and put the patibulum in place, Okay?”

“Please…” Bijou begged. They ignored her.

Carl looked at David. “One. Two. Three.”

On the final count, they hoisted the wood, and Bijou’s feet left the earth for the last time. She screamed in agony as her wrists took on all her weight.

“Okay, ready? Step… and, step… and, step,” Carl cadenced, the men going one step up the ladder, synchronized with each call-out. After three steps, within reach of the top of the stipes, they halted. “Okay, ready… and up,” directed Carl. The two men hoisted the crossbeam to the top of the upright. The naked girl screamed and kicked, desperately seeking any support for her feet to alleviate the stress on her wrists, but finding none. Carefully, the men moved the crossbar into position and lowered it into its waiting slot. Bijou’s agony and screams intensified as the rough wood of the stipes scraped across the unhealed wounds the scourge had left on her back. David could sense the notch settle around the point, nestling into position.

“Hold it steady,” instructed Carl. From a tool belt he withdrew two long bolts, and, one by one, pushed them through the holes on the faceplate, sliding the shafts through a set of matching holes aligned through the faceplate, crossbar and upright. He took a pair of washers and wing nuts and fastened them onto the threaded ends that now protruded through the back of the stipes, securing the bolts in place. Not too tight; just enough to keep the wooden members in place.

“Okay, you can step down now. Careful, don’t let her kick you.” David descended, avoiding the screaming girl’s flailing legs. He looked at the young woman and marveled. Bijou Park was now nailed to a cross, not just to a plank on the ground. He watched as Carl grasped the girl’s left ankle, the one to which David had tied the rope, and pulled it behind the stipes, spreading her leg and bending her knee around to the back of the cross. There was a cleat screwed to the back of the stipes, and he snugly tied the ankle to it, as one might moor a small boat. He rejoined David at the front of the cross, keeping clear of Bijou’s right leg, still free and thrashing.

“That lets us work on the one leg without worrying about getting kicked by the other,” he explained. “Okay, ready to finish this?” he asked. David nodded, and they again approached the girl.

Bijou hung, her free leg still vainly seeking some position of support, but the motion was enervated now. She was tiring, and had finally realized that the spasm-like kicks she had attempted served only to exacerbate the fiery agony in her arms and wrists. She couldn’t help herself: the leg still twitched, but without energy now.
 

Chapter XVII: Up (cont'd)​

Carl took hold of Bijou’s free ankle, and the girl’s moan of pain broke off in a gasp of anticipatory fear. Carefully, he guided her ankle up along the front of the stipes, bending her knee as he gently pushed the sole of her foot toward the wood. He paused when he reached the point where the foot was able to go flat against the surface. Bijou, in her panic, wailed and tried to twist free, but the executioner held firm. He measured the position with his eyes, and then pulled the limb a foot higher. “There,” he said to David. “That’s the spot. Can you hold her, please?”

David grasped the girl’s ankle with his left hand, his right hand pressing down on her foot, immobilizing it on the wooden post. Bijou continued to struggle, and his right hand tickled slightly as the girl’s toes moved about, grazing the surface of his palm. He found the sensation strangely erotic. Carl placed the nail; the point of it pushed slightly into the girl’s flesh, just at the spot where the ankle joined the foot. David could tell that Bijou felt the pressure; the squirming of her toes intensified, and David felt himself becoming erect again in anticipation of what was to come.

“Hold her tight, David. She’s going to try to kick.” David nodded, and Carl raised the hammer and struck.

Bijou screamed in agony as Carl drove the nail home. Despite the girl’s exhausted state, David could feel her leg stiffen with a surge of energy fueled by the sudden pain; but he held fast, and the delicate foot did not budge. Bijou took a deep gasp of air, and resumed her scream as Carl continued to hammer. David felt, rather than heard, the spike crunching through the fragile bones of the girl’s foot before reaching the solid resistance of the wood. A few more blows of the hammer and it was done. Carl gestured to David, who released the leg.

The Asian girl’s foot was now firmly affixed to the cross, the short band of the crucifixion nail’s head across it, blood dripping from the point where it had been pierced. There was perhaps a quarter-inch between the head of the nail and her foot itself, giving it a bit of play, but the wide head of the nail certainly prevented the girl’s foot from ever being loose again. Bijou was now wailing uncontrollably from this new source of pain.

“Okay, next one!” called out Carl. “Untie her other leg.” David went behind the cross and unwound the rope from the cleat. He was momentarily surprised when Bijou kicked out spasmodically, but he caught her leg and pulled it around to the front of the cross. Carl removed the rope still looped around her leg and dropped it to the ground. Grasping the ankle, he positioned the girl’s left foot next to her right, but slightly lower, so the left heel nestled into the curve of the inner side of her nailed right foot. “Okay, hold her, please,” he instructed David.

Again, David immobilized the girl’s foot against the wood. Again he felt the desperate erotic movement of her toes squirming against his palm. Carl placed the nail and began to hammer. The sound of steel against steel rang out, its percussive melody punctuating the ostinato of Bijou’s helpless screaming.

One last touch and they would be done. Carl moved one of the stepladders close to the girl and mounted it.

“Hand me the titulus, there, would you David?” he asked.

David picked up the thin wooden placard that lay in the dust a few feet from the cross and once again read the inscription he had selected for Bijou’s crucifixion:

Bijou Crystal Park
Regnum cuiusvis regia puella debet aliquando finem​

The reign of every princess must someday end, David thought wryly. And Princess Bijou’s reign was surely coming to an end today.

Bijou wailed rhythmically as Carl nailed the titulus in place, the repeated blows of the hammer imparting shock waves of vibration to the wooden structure that surged painfully through her body.

Carl stepped down and pulled the ladder away.

“All right,” he announced with satisfaction, “she’s done.”
 

Chapter XVII: Up (conclusion)​

The two men stepped back and admired their work. Bijou was artfully displayed on the cross. The slim girl’s body shook with pain, her arms spread wide, pinned through her wrists to the wood. The sinews in her underarms were sharply defined from the tension of hanging from the spikes. The gash on her right arm had continued to lengthen as the nail progressed toward her slender wrist, and was now about two inches long. Now that she was stable, Carl thought, it would be another hour or two before the spike completed the final inch or so of its migration to where the arm bones terminated at her wrist; for all that time, the slightest motion would exacerbate the girl’s pain from the slow tearing of the flesh of her limb. Her arms themselves were each nailed at a forty-five degree angle, such that her head had dropped from the pull of the weight of her body to just below the level of the patibulum.

The girl’s legs were attractively bent, nicely accentuating her ass. Her right leg was bent slightly more than her left. Bijou had fantastic legs, and the asymmetry of the pose displayed them to their best advantage. The arrangement had the benefit of displaying much more of her inner thighs than if her delicate feet had been nailed at the same level. From the front, one could see through the gap between her trembling legs to the wood of the stipes.

And her body! The slender girl was only five foot two, petite even by Korean standards. Her small stature and tiny body, with her small breasts, slim waist and perfect ass, lent an aura of innocence and vulnerability, greatly enhancing the effect of the girl’s torture. Her soft breasts rose and fell, the gentle motion belying the pain that obviously accompanied each ragged breath. She was already beginning to take on a sheen of perspiration from her exertions, and a small pool of sweat had begun to accumulate in her tiny navel. The gloss gathering on her body emphasized a constellation of cruel welts, lacerations, abrasions and bruises that still remained from the scourging and abuse she had undergone before being nailed to the wood.

At the moment, her back was arched in pain, and the men could see the gentle ripples of muscle in her taut abdomen as she strained with the effort. That would not continue for long; once the girl began to tire, Carl knew, much of her time would soon be spent hanging limply from the nails in her wrists. Her hair, now completely down, blew loose in the slight desert breeze, constrained only by her crown of metal thorns. Occasionally a tendril would drift across her face, but not for long; long enough only to draw attention to the beauty of her face and not long enough to obscure it. From the points of the crown ran tiny rivulets of blood; not enough to interfere with her features, but enough to make clear the pain and damage inflicted by the thorns. Most of the thin trails of blood stopped upon reaching her eyebrows or the tops of her high cheekbones, but one ran down her left cheek, guided by a particularly prominent welt that had been raised during her beating. Bijou’s face itself was twisted and contorted with pain. Her eyes, for the moment, were pressed shut, her mouth open as she struggled to breathe through the pain. And the sound! Bijou alternated between wails of pain, when she had sufficient breath to do so; and desperate ragged gasps for air, when she did not.

The men looked at her, taking in the sight of the suffering girl. David was clearly enthused. The crucifixion exceeded his highest expectations. Carl observed her through the practiced eyes of a man who had crucified more than a hundred women. Bijou would settle down before long, he knew. For the next hour or so, she would twist and writhe ceaselessly, desperately but naively seeking even a small degree of relief from the suffering. But eventually, she would stop. Eventually, the girl would finally come to realize that there was no comfortable position on the cross; when that time came, she would hang there, accepting the pain, and stirring only as needed to breathe and to stay alive.

Carl marveled at that last part. Even when death would be a blessing, somehow something in these women always rose up, forcing them to struggle, against their wills, to remain alive; always pulling for one more breath, despite the indisputable fact that death was the last avenue of mercy available to them.

He squinted past Bijou suffering on the cross. The sun would be going down before too much longer. “Let’s relax, guys,” he called out, including Ben and Michael in the invitation, “we’re done for now. We can just watch and enjoy.” He sat on one of the many rocks that afforded a view of the writhing girl. The others followed suit.

Polite applause sprung up from the small audience, startling David. He had forgotten all about them.
 

Chapter XVIII: First Day​

Carl had called it well. After about an hour of struggling, Bijou slowed as her strength began to ebb. Eventually, she stopped almost completely, and hung in misery, silent apart from her labored breathing. Occasionally, she would shift position, and cry out from the pain the effort had cost her. She’d be noisy for a while after that, moaning for several minutes, but that would trail off after a while, too.

What surprised Carl was that she was not pleading for mercy. Almost all the girls did. Almost invariably, they would beg in desperation to be taken down from the cross, offering their bodies to the men in return for mercy, oblivious that those bodies no longer interested the men who had put them there. But not Bijou. She obviously understood. She had seen how David had reveled in this, her final torment, and she knew that no amount of pleading would curtail it. She understood the depths of his black heart even more than Carl did, he thought. She made no pleas, offered no indignities.

It was then he heard her speak. “Water.” It was barely a whisper.

That was about right, too, thought Carl. She had to be parched by now. It was astonishing that she hadn’t asked already; but then, she probably expected to be refused. Most likely, she had suppressed the request until her thirst had become intolerable, not wanting to give the men the satisfaction of withholding it. It was only when the thirst was unbearable that she had finally given in and asked. But still, he delayed. True, it was in the men’s best interest to keep the girl well-hydrated, to extend her torment for as long as they could. But it wouldn’t do to let her know that. He put a hand on David’s arm, subtly restraining him.

“Let her beg,” he counseled quietly.

They didn’t have long to wait. “Please,” Bijou pleaded, “I’m so thirsty. Please, just a little water.” The young woman had painfully pushed up on her broken feet to gather the breath to call out with her plea.

“Maybe a bit later,” answered Carl carelessly. David nodded agreement, taking his lead from the more experienced executioner. The girl moaned in despair, and collapsed back into position, supported by the nails through her wrists. The movement was excruciating, and she cried out sharply before settling back into a low moan. Carl stole a look at his wristwatch and noted the time.

After thirty minutes had passed, Carl rose and fetched a bottle. “Water for you, Bijou,” he announced. The crucified girl looked at him with gratitude. He lifted the bottle to her mouth, and she wrapped her lips around the opening and drank greedily. The liquid was mostly water, but it was more than that. It held nutrients that would begin to supply the calories she would require for this ordeal; and a mixture of stimulants and other drugs that would prevent her from slipping into unconsciousness and thereby evading her torture. Bijou knew nothing of this, though, and gratefully sucked at the rim of the bottle. Most of it she actually drank, but some of it dripped down her chin and rolled down her slender body; over her small breasts, her abdomen, to her downy brown pubic hair, continuing its way over thigh and calf, to the heel that pressed against the wood that now absorbed the excess fluid. Carl had no problem with the spillage; it was a nice effect, and there was more he would provide her as needed.

The sun was beginning to set; the shadow of the cross, and of the girl pinned to it, ran long. Soon it would be dark. As evening continued to fall, Bijou savored the slight relief the cooling air brought. She had been on the cross for hours, under a cruel desert sun, and the lowering temperature was a tiny blessing.

“Do you think you’ll be needing us any more?” Michael asked. By now, the crowd had dispersed, and the only ones left on the hilltop were the four men and the crucified girl. Both he and Ben were eager to return to their homes. The activities of the day had left both of the men with unmet needs, and each of the men had a woman in mind to help him with that.

“No, I think we’re done,” Carl answered, “Thanks again for the help.” David added his agreement. There were handshakes and fist-bumps all around, and then Ben and Michael departed for their homes. David unrolled sleeping bags as Carl returned with food for the two of them. They were here for the long haul. They ate in quiet conversation, occasionally looking up at Bijou, the beautiful girl’s body twisting in pain on the cross. Finally, as darkness descended, the men laid atop their bedrolls and went to sleep in the warm desert night. It had been a long day.
 
This last sentence: it had been a long day. Just perfect.
 

Chapter XIX: First Night​

For Bijou, nightfall brought scant relief. Although it mercifully ended the heat of the sun she had endured for the afternoon, the darkness brought its own terrors. She didn’t sleep, of course; the agony of crucifixion would not have allowed that, even without the drugs she had been given to ensure her consciousness. Darkness descended onto the hilltop, and her suffering began to take on a timeless aspect. There were stars above, but no other light as far as she could see, and the starlight was too dim to see by. She could not even make out the outlines of her tormentors, who slept comfortably on the dark ground only a few feet from where she hung suffering. She felt suspended in darkness and in pain. It all seemed unreal and interminable; she felt that she was in a timeless hell, with no beginning, and no end.

Once she thought she heard some animal, and a frisson of terror suddenly jarred her back to reality. What if it were a predator? She realized her helplessness, fixed to the wood. But it was only the sounds of the men breathing deeply in their sleep, magnified by her terrified mind. She was beyond screaming out now; she simply hung on the cross and wept in despair.

After what seemed like forever, a crimson line appeared at the distant horizon; it was daybreak. The rising sun would chase away the terrors of the night; but with the light, she knew, would come its relentless scorching heat. For the first time, Bijou found herself wishing for death. It was a wish that would never again leave her.
 
There are still some twenty chapters (nineteen numbered plus an epilogue) to go, and I see that many of the chapters in this region of the story are quite short; some even less than a page (the preceding Chapter XIX, for example). Beginning tomorrow ([edit: actually, beginning today, I guess, because I just realized that I posted the last two short chapters today]):, I'm going to start posting multiple chapters a day when the chapters are short and at least chronologically related, e.g., in the same day in the fictional timeline. It doesn't make sense to milk the posting schedule just because of what are mostly arbitrary chapter breaks.
 

Chapter XX: Piper’s Morning​

Sun streamed through the window, illuminating the face of the pretty blonde woman still lying in bed. Piper’s eyes flickered a moment in the light, and she stirred. She lay there, wishing herself back to sleep for a moment before giving up. She threw back the sheets and got out of bed.

She was wearing a pair of red panties; nothing else. The panties exquisitely showcased her slim waist and shapely ass, something that vaguely annoyed her. She never thought she could miss plain boring white underwear, but she did; everything the girls at Malhaven were supplied with was designed to show the wearers’ assets in their best light.

She brushed her teeth and hair, then went to the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee and prepared to dress. She’d just selected a pink dress when she heard a knock on her door.

She froze, afraid to answer. Like Bijou, she had been on a dry spell, for which she was grateful; she hadn’t been selected for torture in weeks. In fact, on nearly all of those assignments she had been paired with Bijou. Piper had long ago realized that she had become little more than an accessory to the Asian woman. The men abusing her had really been after Bijou, and Piper had been pulled into the maelstrom by virtue of the association that had burdened the women for years, ever since their being racked together.

What would happen now, Piper wondered, with Bijou having been freed? She was not naive; she knew her popularity was largely derivative of Bijou’s. With Bijou gone, there would be far less call for her. She didn’t expect to be kept indefinitely now, and only hoped that she, like Bijou, would soon be given her freedom.

And that, she suspected, was what was behind the knock on the door. Still, she didn’t move.

The door opened – the knock was, after all, merely to provide the appearance of courtesy – and a man walked in. “You’re wanted,” he said, curtly. “Let’s go.”

“Um, okay, sure,” Piper stammered. “Let me just get dressed.”

The man evaluated the near-naked girl. “You look fine just like that,” he pronounced. Without another word, he took Piper’s arm and – rather forcefully – escorted her, clad only in skimpy red panties, to the waiting car.
 

Chapter XXI: Second Morning​

David yawned and stretched, coming awake. He had slept soundly, almost straight through the night. He’d awakened once, unaccustomed to sleeping on the desert floor, but he didn’t mind. He had laid there quietly for almost an hour, looking at his girl on the cross. Unlike Bijou, he had the advantage of looking up at her, silhouetted in semiprofile against a sky dimly lit by desert starlight. He couldn’t discern her features, of course, but the silhouette was exquisite in its own way: the curves of her soft body and the recognizable contour of her face contrasted with the severe straight lines of the cross. He laid quietly, watching the subtle motion as she moved, the gentle movement of her breasts as she drew her shallow breaths – shallow so as to minimize painful motion. She was softly moaning – he wondered if she even knew she was doing that – and occasionally would softly gasp as an errant movement triggered a fresh bolt of pain. He was vaguely surprised at her quietude. It was as though the night had imposed a solemn silence that even she needed to abide. Eventually, David had drifted soundlessly back to sleep, leaving his one-time consort to continue in her quiet suffering.

But now he was awake, and could see Carl beckoning to him from a cabin beyond the crosses. He smelled breakfast cooking – bacon, he thought; there was probably eggs, too. He looked at Bijou, and it was apparent that she smelled it, too. The girl was clearly famished; it had been some time since she had had solid food, and the nutrients that Carl had provided had been scant, designed only to allow her to eke by. But there would be no more food for her, and if the hunger made her suffering more intense, so much the better.

He joined Carl, who handed him a healthy plate of bacon, eggs and toast. “There’s coffee, too,” Carl gestured. The two sat at a picnic table and ate.
 

Chapter XXII: Logan​

Logan and his men waited in the morning sun. The women should be here soon. He made another quick inspection of his equipment and once again ensured everything was in order and at the ready. There were a number of tall wooden posts set in the ground as well as a series of shorter ones. The required chains were attached, and an array of various implements with which to whip and scourge the girls were neatly laid out on a nearby table.

He looked to his assistants. Two men, members of the group that called itself the “Centurion Squad,” after the soldiers in ancient Rome who had had the responsibility of overseeing crucifixions. The name was apt.

In the distance, he saw a line of vehicles coming, kicking up plumes of desert soil behind it. Great. Logan and his assistants were ready for them.

One by one, the cars stopped, and their occupants were removed. As usual, the girls’ wrists were tied in front of them, collars on their necks, as they were brought forward. There were three of them, just as planned. All of them looked like they would be fun. Based on what they were wearing, it looked like they’d all been taken directly from their beds in the morning; or at least not much afterward.

First came Piper, the cute one with the long blonde hair. Logan liked what he saw; medium-sized breasts, a little bit on the short side, but not tiny. She wore nothing but a pair of red panties, which highlighted her nice ass.

Alina was next. She was the only one in a nightgown, a flimsy off-white see-though negligee. Alina was a strikingly beautiful Algerian girl, with jet-black hair, dark as a starling’s wings, falling past her shoulders. Her hauntingly brown eyes, so dark as to be almost black, and her sleek narrow-bridged nose and sensuous lips gave her a faint wisp of exotic ethnicity. She was of average height and average build, but with breasts that were pert and upright. Taking her in, Logan assessed her as a classically beautiful brunette; he was a bit surprised that they were already done with her.

Finally, Claire, the short-haired blonde pixie. Like the other blonde, she was wearing only panties; an extremely skimpy lime-green piece that was little more than a G-string. The girl had a remarkably thin waist and improbably large breasts. The combination was unusual and somehow made her more alluring, thought Logan. Maybe save her for last.

Alina and Claire were each led to one of the low wooden posts, forced down, and each chained by the collar to her post. It was interesting to see how they handled it differently. Alina sat on the dirt ground, her back to the post and her legs stretched out to one side. Claire knelt, knees apart, assuming an air of obedience despite not having been given any explicit command. Soon, they were each chained by the neck to a post, awaiting the ordeal that was in store for them.

All but Piper. Logan would start with her.
 

Chapter XXIII: Further Preparations​

“We’re having three more girls arrive today,” Carl informed David as they finished eating. “It would be great if you could help me set up. And if you want to try your hand at one or two of them, I’d be happy to show you how it’s done.”

“That would be outstanding!” blurted David. Bijou’s was the first crucifixion in which he’d participated, and he’d caught the fever. “I’m not sure what to do, though.”

“No problem,” answered Carl. “I’ll do the first one, and explain everything to you. You can do the others, and I’ll walk you through them.”

David could hardly wait. The men finished their breakfast and prepared the site for the anticipated arrivals. There wasn’t much to do, actually. Three of the iron disks in the ground were removed, exposing the square pits they had concealed; two to Bijou’s left and one to her right. The men carried out a heavy square post, and carefully laid one end next to the hole on Bijou’s left. She looked on as they lifted the far end of the post until it was nearly vertical; then it slid three feet down down into its cavity with a deep thump. They repeated the operation twice more, until all three posts had been installed.

Bijou watched the operation in horror, understanding its import. It could only mean that more women would be brought to the hilltop to be crucified. She moaned softly, both from her own pain and her revulsion at what she knew would come. The men pretended to ignore her, although they were delighted by the obvious effect it had on the poor girl. Without a word, David walked off to fetch a hammer as Carl assembled sets of nails.
 

Chapter XXIV: Piper’s Research​

Piper hung between two wooden posts, chains running from her outstretched wrists to the tall columns. For the moment, her legs hung free, dangling a few inches above the ground. Logan grasped the sides of her panties and pulled them down her legs, past her ankles, and tossed them aside. The blonde girl now hung totally nude; she would never wear clothing again. A moment later, her ankles were also chained, to anchors set at the bases of each of the posts. With her legs spread widely, there was no question that the tender area between them would be accessible to Logan’s whip.

All of the men at Malhaven had gravitated to roles that suited them, and Logan was no exception. David excelled in selecting the finest new residents; Henry at maintaining their health and beauty; and Carl at putting them to death when they were no longer required. In the same way, Logan enjoyed preparing the women for men such as Carl.

There were two things he liked about his role. Both flowed from the fact that Malhaven was done with these women, and no one really had any strong feelings about what was to be done with them.

First, he was freed from having to worry about any limits on what he could do. It was acceptable to torture these women beyond any ability for men like Henry to restore them; there was no restoration in these women’s future in any event. It was even permissible to mutilate them, he knew, although he would never do so. Both his professional pride and his personal preferences militated against such a thing. Still, the nature of Logan’s work brought the girls right to the edge, and sometimes beyond; it was nice to know that, if something went wrong or he went a little too far, no one would care.

The second aspect followed naturally from the first. With no worries about what he was able to do to these girls, he was able to experiment and gather data. What were a woman’s limits? What could be done to her? How long and with what intensity could she be put to a particular torture; how closely could he make her approach death without going over the line? Logan’s work on these doomed women was essential to understanding what could be done to all the other residents of Malhaven, whom the members wished to keep alive through their torments, and yet remain recoverable afterward.

As a side benefit, the abuse from Logan softened them up for Carl. No matter how long a woman had been resident in Malhaven, when she realized that she was to be put to death, she always resisted. The difference between being tortured and being tortured to death was a difference of kind, not just one of degree, and rarely would a woman go softly into that good night. One of Logan’s objectives was to, quite literally, beat the women into submission.

But for Logan, the best part of his job was addressed to the question of the limits of a girl’s endurance. Today he would be gathering his first set of data on a new scourge. His work with Piper would make up his first set of observations; how much could a healthy young woman in her mid-twenties be subjected to before losing consciousness? What protocols worked best to keep her alive and alert? At what point would the damage appear to be irreversible, and perhaps leading to death?

Time for answers.

He fingered the handle of the whip he was about to test. It ended in parallel lashes, each studded with a series of metal cubes set on their diagonals. It was similar, he knew, to the ball-studded scourge that had been used in Bijou’s middle session; he had designed that one as well. This scourge represented a refinement of that invention, the sharp corners of the cubes replacing the curved orbs, and presumably inflicting significantly more damage and pain. But that was theory; the flail was still untested. He needed to see how it performed in the field, on a live woman.

He walked before the blonde girl thrashing in her chains; something about his bearing made Piper stop struggling and listen. Logan began the formalities.

“Piper Robyn Littleton,” Logan recited, “you have served the community of Malhaven well for many years. Those years have been marked with much suffering and sacrifice. For that, the community thanks you. Today commences your final torture and final disposition. 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. I have the honor of administering this scourging, your final torture. When your scourging is completed, you shall be delivered for crucifixion. So say we all.”

“So say we all,” echoed the centurions.

“No!” screamed Piper, “No, no, no!” She resumed her struggle with fresh vigor fueled by panic, but she was helpless. Alina and Claire were too far to have heard Logan’s words, but Piper’s violent reaction to them visibly startled them. They looked on in fear, stunned into silence. What was in store for them?
 

Chapter XXIV: Piper’s Research (conclusion)​

The formalities out of the way, Logan walked behind the woman and with no further ceremony, immediately commenced the flogging. He struck hard with the flail, the first stroke landing on her rib cage and tearing the flesh there. The girl screamed and writhed in her chains. Next, Logan walked in front and struck Piper hard in the chest, tearing into one of her breasts; once again, he was rewarded by another anguished scream of pain. Next stroke, between the legs. The cubes tore into her pussy, some accelerating up and around to impact her ass and the flesh at the small of her back. Piper’s screams were continuous now.

Over and over he struck the blonde girl as she screamed and begged for mercy. He proceeded slowly, methodically, picking each target of the scourge with care. Both of her sides; across her back; between her legs; her breasts and belly. After the first several strokes, Piper had stopped struggling, and the girl had settled into a long alto wailing, punctuated by a sharp soprano scream each time the flail found its target. To Piper, the beating seemed to last for hours; but in fact it was not even thirty minutes before she lapsed into unconsciousness. Logan looked at the unconscious girl with satisfaction. She’d been scourged all over her body, but he had concentrated the worst of her blows on her back, which was nearly shredded. He knew Piper was going to be crucified with that Bijou girl. Although she’d taken a good number of strikes to her chest, ribs, and abdomen, he’d made sure that, viewed from the front, she would still make for a presentable crucifixion.

Logan walked to the table and logged the number of strokes and the duration of the scourging. Piper had not been given any drugs to keep her awake, and this data would help to establish a baseline. One observation would not be enough, of course, but there would be other girls to test.

As Logan recorded his data, the centurions removed Piper’s inert body from her shackles, and took her to a holding area behind the posts, chaining her there, away from Alina and Claire. Logan now looked at the two other scourges he would be using today.

One was a balled scourge, the one that Piper’s cubed scourge had been a variation of; it was essentially the same flail as the second one that had been used on Bijou. It would serve as the control in his little experiment, for comparison to Piper’s scourge. The other was a very nasty implement, an improvement on Bijou’s third and final scourge. The one used on Bijou had featured a number of spiked balls, each with five sharp studs set apart at five of the six equally-spaced points on the sphere, the sixth point being where the ball was attached to the chain. Logan had observed that scourging and, even as he watched the small Asian girl bent over suffering as the scourge crashed into her petite body, he had a brainstorm. As brutal as that scourging was – and he didn’t approve of his invention being used as David had, to nearly kill a subject who needed to be preserved for crucifixion – he knew it could be improved. For one thing, the spike opposite the point where the chain joined the sphere would rarely, if ever, strike its victim. It would always be perpendicular to the direction of the strike. That fifth pointed stud was superfluous. For another thing, the configuration of the scourge was limited to five points. He could do better.

He had immediately gone back to his workshop yesterday afternoon and produced the scourge now before him. This one had six sharpened points, each set equidistant from its nearest neighbors. It was similar to Bijou’s, but the attachment to the chain did not take up one of those six points. Instead, the chain connected to a spot on the sphere at the center of the triangle formed by three of the sharp studs. This configuration could easily allow three points from each ball to rip into the woman it targeted; in the prior configuration, it was at most two. Another advantage was that in this arrangement, there was no useless point set opposite of the sphere's attachment to the flail. In retrospect, it was an obvious variation, and he wished he’d had it in place for David to use in Bijou’s beating. But no matter. He would test it today.

“Which one do you want next, Logan?” one of the centurions called to him. Logan caressed the new scourge with its spikes; but it would have to wait. “The brunette,” he called out, “Alina.” It was the obvious choice, he thought, as the men pulled the protesting Algerian girl to her feet and chained her in position between the posts. Alina was closer than Claire to the same build as Piper, and he wanted to compare the effects of the more boring sphered scourge with its improvement that had been used on Piper.

Besides, he really wanted to try the new spiked one out on that short-haired blonde pixie, Claire. He wondered what her large breasts would look like, attacked with such a scourge. He was going to enjoy that, and wanted to save it for last.

Piper, gradually returning to consciousness, peered out through a slowly lifting haze to see Alina from the back. The brunette’s negligee had already been torn from her body, and she now hung nude, as Piper herself had hung not long before, arms out and legs spread. Logan was in front of the chained girl, and Piper, facing him, could hear him speak. “Alina Sofia Bensoussan, you have served the community of Malhaven well for many years…” The dark-eyed girl screamed in horror as Logan recited her sentence of crucifixion. Piper closed her eyes tightly and wept.
 

Chapter XXV: Second Day​

Bijou groaned in misery. It was late in the morning and the oppressive heat of the harsh sun beat down on her. She hadn’t been given water since dawn, and she was parched.

She saw David to one side and attempted to call out to him. Her voice was barely a raspy whisper, no actual words, and fell short of his ears. She gathered her strength, swallowed with difficulty and took a painful breath, then tried again. “Water!” she begged.

This time David looked up, then over to Carl, who nodded. David took a canteen of water over to the cross where the Korean girl hung and held it up to her. “Would you like some water, Bijou?”

Bijou barely nodded, trying to reduce any movement that would induce additional pain. David ascended the short stepladder with the container.

She locked eyes with him. She knew now she would not be spared death, but maybe there was a way to cut short the torment. “Kill… me…” she breathed softly. He looked at her closely. “I want… to die.” The last two words rushed out in a tortured gasp, so great was the effort.

“You want to die, Bijou?”

There was the barest nod in response.

“Well, that’s easy enough. Just stop drinking your water. In your condition, you probably won’t last another twenty-four hours.”

Bijou looked at him in despair. How he must hate her! The only way she would escape this torment early was to actively increase her own suffering, by dehydrating herself on the cross.

Well, if that was the only option, then, she would do it. She’d stop drinking. She’d resist her parching thirst and bring on her death.

David held the container close to her mouth.

She could do this. Resist. By tomorrow, all this would be over.

She had decided. She would stop taking water; it was her one route to escape David and his sadistic friends.

David touched the rim of the container to her lips. There was only the briefest of hesitation; then, reflexively, Bijou wrapped her mouth around the opening and drank deeply. She felt the cool water run down her throat, alleviating her brutally parching thirst. Bijou heard David chuckle and was ashamed at her weakness for giving in.

Suddenly she gave a cough, and David withdrew the canteen for a moment, allowing some of the water to run down her body. For several moments, the girl was wracked with a series of excruciating gasping coughs, each spasm sending a shock wave of agony through her body, before she got herself under control. She made an ‘O’ with her mouth, edging her face slightly closer, inviting the canteen.

Again David pushed the opening of the container into her mouth. Bijou sucked rapaciously, almost fellating the canteen, closing her eyes and feeling the cool water enter her. After he felt she’d had enough, David withdrew the container. The girl greedily kept her mouth around it, moving her head as far as she dared to keep sucking at the fluid; but David pulled it away, some of the precious liquid flowing out of her open mouth, over her chin and down her neck toward her petite breasts.

Bijou looked at David, hating him, and hating herself even more for having given in. David only smiled.

As he prepared to stow the canteen, David gradually became aware that Bijou’s expression had changed. She was no longer looking at him; rather, she was looking past him, with a look of surprise, at something else. He turned and saw the figures in the distance coming up the hill. He waved to Carl, who joined him.

Carl looked at the approaching figures and frowned. “Only two girls? I was expecting three. Usually they’re all delivered at once.”

David peered down. There were four figures; two women and two men. The women were nude, and each had their arms spread wide and tied to wooden boards that had been placed across their shoulders. Even at this distance, David could see they were struggling to proceed, impelled forward by the men, who struck them with whips when they faltered.
 

Chapter XXVI: Another Walk​

Alina struggled under the weight of the patibulum tied across her shoulders. After her beating by Logan, the two brutish men had unchained her and thrown her to the ground, where they had stretched out her arms and tied them to this wooden plank. She had been secured to the board at her wrists, elbows and shoulders, with another loop at her neck to keep it from slipping. Then the men had grasped the board and hauled her to her feet, forcing her to walk, nude and barefoot, over the harsh rocky terrain to the hilltop where she was to be crucified.

Alina stole a look at the girl next to her, also struggling with the weight of her wood. The Algerian girl was surprised Piper could even stand, let alone plod along with the additional weight she bore. Alina herself could progress only slowly, bent over from the load. Alina’s beating had been harsh, but just a glance at Piper’s abused body showed that the blonde woman been treated even worse. The sharp-cornered scourge that had been used on Piper had ripped into her ribs, back and crotch. The worst of the abuse had been to her back, which now looked like raw steak. Alina was astonished that the girl could walk at all, let alone bearing the load of the wood on her shoulders.

Alina brought her eyes back to the ground in front of her and forced herself to take another step, and then another. If she tarried for too long, the man assigned to her would lash out at her with his whip. It was a simple leather whip, not nearly as bad as the metal-balled scourge Logan had beaten her with, but it still hurt like hell, especially because every place it could land had already been scourged. And her escort seemed to particularly enjoy aiming between her legs.

Again, another careful step. She paused for just a moment; the lash struck her across the ass. She yelped and continued on her way, precariously maintaining her balance despite the awkward weight of the patibulum.

So far she had avoided falling. Piper had not been so successful. Twice the blonde girl had lost her balance and tripped. A trip and fall would ordinarily be a small thing, but because of the way the girls’ arms were bound, both of Piper’s falls had been traumatic. Her bare knees had slammed into the rough terrain, which obviously hurt badly enough. But then, unable to use her hands to protect herself, the blonde girl’s chest and face had smashed hard into the rocky soil. Alina stole another look at the other woman. Piper’s breasts were inlaid with bits of sand and gravel from the impacts; and her broken nose still trickled blood despite her centurion having roughly wiped it clean after the second fall.

Alina brought her attention back to her walk, before the whip could strike again. She hated herself for her compliance. Each step, she knew, brought her closer to the place where she would be crucified. And yet, the sting of the whip when she resisted impelled her forward. Resistance would be only symbolic, she knew. She suspected that if she resisted, she would simply be painfully dragged for the rest of the way. Either way, there would be no escaping her fate.

The group now had reached the bottom of the last rocky hill, and the women started their painful climb to the top, still bent over from the crushing weight of their patibula. Alina paused to look up, to assess how long of a journey still lay ahead. What she saw made her blood run cold. It was a cross, with the slim figure of a woman on it, slowly moving in what was obviously incredible pain. Alina stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to take her eyes off the girl. Then she saw the wooden uprights arrayed alongside the crucified woman, and the terror really hit home. Soon, she and Piper would be hanging from those posts, crucified next to the girl who now was writhing alone.

“Move it!” her centurion bellowed, and cracked the whip, hard, between her legs. Alina yelped and jumped from the sudden pain. It was a mistake. She lost her balance and fell forward, her knees coming down hard on the abrasive rocky ground. A small sharp bit of gravel burrowed into the crevice at the edge of her right kneecap, and she cried out at the sudden acute pain. Unable to brace herself with her arms tied to the wood, her body and face slammed hard into the rocky ground. She narrowly averted a broken nose like Piper by slightly turning her head, but the impact drove the wind from her and for a moment she saw stars.

She lay there dazed for just a moment, feeling with her tongue the dirt that had entered her open mouth. She struggled to rise before being struck again; but she was helpless. The guard grabbed a fistful of her hair and brutally pulled her to her knees, pausing for only a moment before lifting again, forcefully dragging her erect, until she once again stood on shaky legs.

She saw Piper shoot her a look of sympathy – the blonde girl knew well how painful both the fall and the recovery were – and then they continued up the hill.
 

Chapter XXVII: Companions​

Eventually the group reached the top of the hill, the two women bent over from the load of their crossbeams, their two escorts spurring them forward with their whips.

“Two of them for you today, Carl,” announced one of the men. “This is Alina Bensoussan,” he gestured to the brunette girl, “and the blonde one is Piper Littleton.”

Carl frowned. “Only two? I was expecting three. A Claire Williamson?”

“Yeah,” responded the man. “She didn’t survive the scourging.”

Carl nodded. It happened. “Okay, well, let’s get these two up. David!” he called, “I’ll do the first one, explaining as I go, and you can do the second. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds great!” enthused David. “Which one’s first?”

The two women stood still, frightened, each hoping the other would be chosen, each hoping to evade her crucifixion for just a few moments longer. Piper was aghast, seeing her friend Bijou nailed to the wood. She had been skeptical about Bijou’s story of freedom, but nothing had prepared her for this sight.

Carl paused, deliberately letting the fear soak the women for just a moment longer. Then he pointed to Alina. “This one.” The raven-haired girl moaned in terror, and Piper breathed a soft sigh of small relief at being spared, if even for a few moments. The blonde girl’s slide to the ground was arrested by the centurion who had accompanied her, forcing her to stand. She’d be on her back soon enough; for now, she would have to watch what was being done to Alina.

“Do you know either of them?” Carl asked David, as they prepared.

“Both,” answered David. “I’ve taken Alina, the brunette, on assignment a couple of times. Strappado and breaking on the wheel, as I recall. And the blonde girl, Piper, she was actually my consort for a short time. Right after Bijou, as a matter of fact.” Memories of Piper being tortured flooded back to David; the time on the rack with Bijou, and the send-off he’d given her, burning her with open flame and hot irons, when he’d finished with her as consort. He grew excited in anticipation at the thought of driving the nails into the blonde girl’s delicate body.

Throughout this, Bijou looked down in distress. She didn’t know Alina well, but Piper was her friend; the best friend she’d had at Malhaven. She realized now that Piper’s death sentence was a direct consequence of her own. Piper had nearly always been brought along to be tortured as an adjunct to Bijou. But now, with Bijou gone, there would be little call for Piper at Malhaven, and no reason to keep her. Bijou wept for her part in her friend’s crucifixion.
 
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