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The Knight And The Gnostic
- Thread starter phlebas
- Start date
A special thanks again to Madiosi for his tireless efforts to contribute manips ... this time for both episodes 22 and 23.
Episode 23.
I thought the rack was the worst that the Abbot could do to me.
The dungeon was unpleasant to say the least. They put me in irons and left me alone, naked and shivering in a cold dank, rat-infested cell.
From time to time Bernard's thugs would enter to have their way with me. I was in no position to resist. I gagged on the spud they ejaculated into my mouth, and my poor vagina grew sore from the pounding thrusts of the many stiff cocks thrust inside. But what did it matter really ... I had already surrendered my purity to Lord de Flebas.
By morning when they dragged me out of my cell, I looked and felt a mess. Nonetheless, I was still alive and determined to continue my defiance in the face of Arnaud Amaury and the evil he represents. I was determined to rob him of any victory, looking upon my continued defiance as proof of the goodness of my own people and their just cause.
So now as they flay my back in full view of the huge crowd assembled to watch in the square below ... as each new whip stroke rips away at my back, leaving a crisscross pattern of angry red stripes on my fair skin, and here and there tiny little flecks of blood along the stripes ... as my ass cheeks quiver and shake under the full brunt of the lash ... as the knotted tip of the flail wraps around to tear at my ribs, nip at my tummy, or most cruelly, dig into the tender soft flesh of my breasts ... I refuse to cry out and I refuse to recant.
Stoically, I fix my eyes on the many faces below, staring intently at me ... each and every one of them ... literally transfixed by my nakedness, by the most shamefully undignified and titillating exposure of my womanhood, inescapable given my spreadeagled stance between the two posts to which I am bound.
In silence they take in my suffering as I buck and arch, twist and turn, and tug at my bonds. The only sounds are the crack of the whip, the dull slapping sound it makes against my skin as it finds it mark, my muffled grunts and moans, and the Abbot's incessant demands.
But I am unable in the end to keep my silence. The brutal whipping is simply more than I can take. I cry out for the first time when a wrap-around strike succeeds in catching one of my nipples, slicing into it and drawing a thin trickle of blood that runs over the gentle curve of my upturned breast before it snakes it snakes it way down over my ribs below.
The next one comes as a surprise ... A vicious underhanded swipe that swings up between my spread legs to rip through my exposed, open and already sore labia. I buck and scream so loudly that my cry echoes off the facades of the buildings across the square. The crowd stirs. This excites them!
Another strike between my legs follows and then another and another. I writhe and howl with pain, my head flies back. I shudder and shake uncontrollably. Yet another stroke cruelly batters my aching, burning crotch and I feel a flood of warm blood running down my legs.
I begin to faint. A bucket of filthy cold water is ready and immediately thrown over me. I sputter and cough, shaking away the sodden mass of hair covering my face. The crowd jeers and taunts, and the Abbot demands once again that I recant. I doggedly shake my head. I refuse to submit.
Episode 23.
I thought the rack was the worst that the Abbot could do to me.
The dungeon was unpleasant to say the least. They put me in irons and left me alone, naked and shivering in a cold dank, rat-infested cell.
From time to time Bernard's thugs would enter to have their way with me. I was in no position to resist. I gagged on the spud they ejaculated into my mouth, and my poor vagina grew sore from the pounding thrusts of the many stiff cocks thrust inside. But what did it matter really ... I had already surrendered my purity to Lord de Flebas.
By morning when they dragged me out of my cell, I looked and felt a mess. Nonetheless, I was still alive and determined to continue my defiance in the face of Arnaud Amaury and the evil he represents. I was determined to rob him of any victory, looking upon my continued defiance as proof of the goodness of my own people and their just cause.
So now as they flay my back in full view of the huge crowd assembled to watch in the square below ... as each new whip stroke rips away at my back, leaving a crisscross pattern of angry red stripes on my fair skin, and here and there tiny little flecks of blood along the stripes ... as my ass cheeks quiver and shake under the full brunt of the lash ... as the knotted tip of the flail wraps around to tear at my ribs, nip at my tummy, or most cruelly, dig into the tender soft flesh of my breasts ... I refuse to cry out and I refuse to recant.
Stoically, I fix my eyes on the many faces below, staring intently at me ... each and every one of them ... literally transfixed by my nakedness, by the most shamefully undignified and titillating exposure of my womanhood, inescapable given my spreadeagled stance between the two posts to which I am bound.
In silence they take in my suffering as I buck and arch, twist and turn, and tug at my bonds. The only sounds are the crack of the whip, the dull slapping sound it makes against my skin as it finds it mark, my muffled grunts and moans, and the Abbot's incessant demands.
But I am unable in the end to keep my silence. The brutal whipping is simply more than I can take. I cry out for the first time when a wrap-around strike succeeds in catching one of my nipples, slicing into it and drawing a thin trickle of blood that runs over the gentle curve of my upturned breast before it snakes it snakes it way down over my ribs below.
The next one comes as a surprise ... A vicious underhanded swipe that swings up between my spread legs to rip through my exposed, open and already sore labia. I buck and scream so loudly that my cry echoes off the facades of the buildings across the square. The crowd stirs. This excites them!
Another strike between my legs follows and then another and another. I writhe and howl with pain, my head flies back. I shudder and shake uncontrollably. Yet another stroke cruelly batters my aching, burning crotch and I feel a flood of warm blood running down my legs.
I begin to faint. A bucket of filthy cold water is ready and immediately thrown over me. I sputter and cough, shaking away the sodden mass of hair covering my face. The crowd jeers and taunts, and the Abbot demands once again that I recant. I doggedly shake my head. I refuse to submit.
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It seems that the pious Barbara de Moore needs a true champion to save her...
...unfortunately in her time travels she has pissed off her friend Siss by threatening to kill her and Siss has charmed Tree not to get involved...
...to make matters worse in another space in time Siss is more interested in seeing Miss Moore hanging from an Olympic cross but she may get to see it twice... but we will have to see where this story goes. Either way, it is not looking good for de Moore...
...unfortunately in her time travels she has pissed off her friend Siss by threatening to kill her and Siss has charmed Tree not to get involved...
...to make matters worse in another space in time Siss is more interested in seeing Miss Moore hanging from an Olympic cross but she may get to see it twice... but we will have to see where this story goes. Either way, it is not looking good for de Moore...
shastar
Tribune
Hondoboot2
QUAESTOR PULCHRITUDINIS
That is right Barb, never submit to the Abbot, that treacherous evil little man
Thanks for the latest episodes Phlebas, Barb, and Madiosi!
Roberta
Senator
Loving the detail, great work.
Roberta
Senator
OMG Barb such detail, this is simply wonderful.
Episode 24
I have waded through blood and gore, but seeing Barbara de Moore whipped this day has rocked me. She has stayed firm to her beliefs, despite the vicious and agonising whipping she has received. Although torn and abused she has not given the Abbot what he wants. How can I save her from her own stubborn pride?
Close to collapse now, she is dowsed with water, pressed once again to recant her beliefs. Dripping, bloody, shamed, still she refuses.
"So be it." The Abbot is unmoved. He signals a lackey, he is up to something. Barbara is in her own world, unaware of anything around her. She waits for the next strike of the whip but it doesn't come. Instead a door opens below us, and one of her young perfecti is marched through it bound and naked. The terrified young woman is briefly displayed to the waiting crowd, and then her guards withdraw back through the door, leaving her to the mercy of those below, men who are already excited by Barbara's whipping. It is only moments before the first man seizes her, and within minutes she has vanished screaming into the aroused throng.
"You see mistress de Moore. Our actions have consequences, and our priciples can be costly to others, not just to ourselves."
Turning to his men Arnaud says "Leave her for a short while to think about her actions. Then take her down and bring her to me. De Flebas, you may like to come and join me inside. I wish to know your opinion of my further plans."
Barbara's head has come up now, horror in her face. The screams and shouts below have hit her hard in her weakened state. I wonder if she is questioning her committment to stay true and accept whatever comes. She looks at me, and I try to signal support and encouragement, but what more can I do for her? Is escape an option? Do I dare get her hopes up?
I have waded through blood and gore, but seeing Barbara de Moore whipped this day has rocked me. She has stayed firm to her beliefs, despite the vicious and agonising whipping she has received. Although torn and abused she has not given the Abbot what he wants. How can I save her from her own stubborn pride?
Close to collapse now, she is dowsed with water, pressed once again to recant her beliefs. Dripping, bloody, shamed, still she refuses.
"So be it." The Abbot is unmoved. He signals a lackey, he is up to something. Barbara is in her own world, unaware of anything around her. She waits for the next strike of the whip but it doesn't come. Instead a door opens below us, and one of her young perfecti is marched through it bound and naked. The terrified young woman is briefly displayed to the waiting crowd, and then her guards withdraw back through the door, leaving her to the mercy of those below, men who are already excited by Barbara's whipping. It is only moments before the first man seizes her, and within minutes she has vanished screaming into the aroused throng.
"You see mistress de Moore. Our actions have consequences, and our priciples can be costly to others, not just to ourselves."
Turning to his men Arnaud says "Leave her for a short while to think about her actions. Then take her down and bring her to me. De Flebas, you may like to come and join me inside. I wish to know your opinion of my further plans."
Barbara's head has come up now, horror in her face. The screams and shouts below have hit her hard in her weakened state. I wonder if she is questioning her committment to stay true and accept whatever comes. She looks at me, and I try to signal support and encouragement, but what more can I do for her? Is escape an option? Do I dare get her hopes up?
J
Juan1234
Guest
Great episodes! Is anybody else having technical difficulty seeing most of the images?
Ted Parry
Governor
Difficulty ..... Yes but only on Crucified Women Thread and only todays posts.
Episode 25
I am left hanging, spreadeagled naked between two whipping posts, high on the scaffolding overlooking a town square teeming with soldiers and ruffians. Arnaud and de Flebss, along with the Abbot's retinue have left, presumably to ponder what next to do with me ... their unrepentant heretic.
By now I have become a bit of an embarrassment to Arnaud. My refusal so far to break under torture threatens to undermine his authority. He dares not allow this to go on. I can imagine the debate going on behind closed doors over how to break me.
But for now it is Bernard I must be wary of. The disgusting pig of a man circles around me, eyeing my limp whip-marked body. My head sags. He shouts an order and his underlings douse me with three more buckets of cold water. He takes s moment to examine my damaged nipple, rubbing his hand over it as I grimace. He seems to take pleasure in causing me this small discomfort, continuing to abuse me by groping rudely between my legs.
Then he has me taken down, calling on his men to drag me down to the square below and put me on display. The crowd parts as I am dragged to the center of the square supported between two of Bernard's men. There I am backed up to a post and my wrists bound to it overhead. A sign is affixed to the post with the words, 'Barbara de Moore, heretic and blasphemer'.
At my feet they dump the corpses of three of my young perfecti followers whom they had earlier thrown to the crowd. Their naked bodies are bruised and bloody. They have clearly been repeatedly gang raped and murdered at the hands of the crowd.
They lie at my feet, eyes still open, staring vacantly up at me. Expressions of horror and shock on their faces. And I look down on them, tears welling in my eyes as the full impact of what my stubborn resistance has done to these poor girls who have followed me so trustingly hits home. The poor things have paid an awful price for my foolish pride.
Now it is midday. The crowd has thinned. Many have gone off to find food or loot among the still smoldering ruins of the houses and shops surrounding the square. But many remain to taunt and ridicule me. They call me names, and gawk at my nudity, pointing and laughing among themselves. I shut my eyes. I am by now beyond humiliation.
I am not sure how long this goes on ... surely much of the afternoon, for the sun has disappeared behind the chateau's towers. My strength and will are ebbing fast. I have had little sleep, and nothing to eat since I was dragged before the Abbot the day before. My head droops. I find myself slipping in and out of consciousness and falling into despair.
I know the Abbot and his men will be coming for me soon. I can only expect to be subjected to more torture, and I know that my ability to endure is by now feeble at best. I am weary. I hurt all over. The death and destruction of my town around its once beautiful market square breaks my heart.
Will my determination to defy the Abbot Arnaud soon be broken as well?
I am left hanging, spreadeagled naked between two whipping posts, high on the scaffolding overlooking a town square teeming with soldiers and ruffians. Arnaud and de Flebss, along with the Abbot's retinue have left, presumably to ponder what next to do with me ... their unrepentant heretic.
By now I have become a bit of an embarrassment to Arnaud. My refusal so far to break under torture threatens to undermine his authority. He dares not allow this to go on. I can imagine the debate going on behind closed doors over how to break me.
But for now it is Bernard I must be wary of. The disgusting pig of a man circles around me, eyeing my limp whip-marked body. My head sags. He shouts an order and his underlings douse me with three more buckets of cold water. He takes s moment to examine my damaged nipple, rubbing his hand over it as I grimace. He seems to take pleasure in causing me this small discomfort, continuing to abuse me by groping rudely between my legs.
Then he has me taken down, calling on his men to drag me down to the square below and put me on display. The crowd parts as I am dragged to the center of the square supported between two of Bernard's men. There I am backed up to a post and my wrists bound to it overhead. A sign is affixed to the post with the words, 'Barbara de Moore, heretic and blasphemer'.
At my feet they dump the corpses of three of my young perfecti followers whom they had earlier thrown to the crowd. Their naked bodies are bruised and bloody. They have clearly been repeatedly gang raped and murdered at the hands of the crowd.
They lie at my feet, eyes still open, staring vacantly up at me. Expressions of horror and shock on their faces. And I look down on them, tears welling in my eyes as the full impact of what my stubborn resistance has done to these poor girls who have followed me so trustingly hits home. The poor things have paid an awful price for my foolish pride.
Now it is midday. The crowd has thinned. Many have gone off to find food or loot among the still smoldering ruins of the houses and shops surrounding the square. But many remain to taunt and ridicule me. They call me names, and gawk at my nudity, pointing and laughing among themselves. I shut my eyes. I am by now beyond humiliation.
I am not sure how long this goes on ... surely much of the afternoon, for the sun has disappeared behind the chateau's towers. My strength and will are ebbing fast. I have had little sleep, and nothing to eat since I was dragged before the Abbot the day before. My head droops. I find myself slipping in and out of consciousness and falling into despair.
I know the Abbot and his men will be coming for me soon. I can only expect to be subjected to more torture, and I know that my ability to endure is by now feeble at best. I am weary. I hurt all over. The death and destruction of my town around its once beautiful market square breaks my heart.
Will my determination to defy the Abbot Arnaud soon be broken as well?
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Good! That reminds me -- I have to read your story!
But they're still missing other threads and in my Conversations.
well done again Barb and Phlebas!!!
How could anyone mar this prefect creation of God???
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Grrrrr! Bad Barb!!!