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The Rose Girl.

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A major concept is the idea that a human's memories, experiences, knowledge and perhaps even their 'soul' can be stored in a 'stack', a piece of Alien technology that all humans are now implanted with. This stack, or rather the information on it, can be transferred from body to body.

For the ultra rich, this means that they are effectively immortal, as they can simply back up their stack, and have a new body ready for them, either a clone, or even a new body, with enhancements, changed appearance, changed sex. Naturally, these Methuselahs (or Meths) have become rather jaded, and their tastes have started to run to the extremes, in some cases. However, it is easy to imagine professionals, who, for the right price and the chance of a new sleeve (as bodies are known as), could perform for these Meths.
 
The Rose Girl

Part 1

The communication had come in during J's exercise time, and she had ignored it for the moment. She knew what it was because of the headers that had been applied, and she knew that she could finish her routine before replying to the message.

Thirty minutes later, she was done, and as she towelled the sweat from her naked torso, she called up the message, the right eye flaring as the message routed itself to the eyescreen that was planted there.

A woman, dark skinned, bobbed black hair, unknown to her, expensive outfit, a shelf of legal texts in shot behind her. 'Miss Vieta. It is currently 09:30, West Coast Standard, on the 23rd. I gave been asked by my client to arrange a contract for your services for an event to be held in two weeks time. Please reply at your earliest convenience.'

J paused a moment, and looked at herself in the mirror. She liked this sleeve. A little under 2m tall, smallish breasts on a slender, muscled frame, curly brunette hair, with the left side shaved, and a neatly trimmed bush of public hair. She would ask for a clone of this sleeve, no additions, as part of the contract negotiations.

She sat in front of her vidcam, and placed the call, having pulled a robe around her, which she left open. She could have taken the call nude and it wouldn't phase a lawyer for a Methuselah, the ultra rich who could effectively live for ever by going from sleeve to sleeve as they aged.

The call connected. 'Ahh, Miss Vieta. My thanks for returning the call so promptly. My name is Clery, partner in Clery, Reage and Sade. I am on retainer for Mr Roberts, of Bay City.'

J nodded. She vaguely knew the name. An eyrie dweller, living above the clouds. Probably owned half of a planet or two.

'He was present at your performance at a soiree held by one of his aquaintances a few years ago, a Mr Graves, and was most entertained. He would like to hire you to perform at an event he is holding on two weeks.'

Graves.... Graves... J placed the name and the performance came back to her. That had been a hard session. If he enjoyed that, then this would call for an increase in rates.

J spoke. 'I have a few questions before I can make any decisions.'

The lawyer smiled. 'Please, go ahead'

'Duration of performance, is he going to provide the staff, is he pulling the permit from Bay City Police, and is this just physical, or will it include sexual?'

'From my instructions, and knowing Mr Roberts as I do, I can let you know this will include sexual aspects, and he will provide the staff.' The lawyer licked her lips. 'It is probable that attendees may also be invited to partake.'

J added another zero to the price she was working out in her head. 'The permit?'

'No permit will be required. The event is to take place in the Great Sand Sea'

Another zero.

'And duration?'

'The lawyer smiled again, and J realised that Miss Clery would probably be at the event herself. 'From Friday evening until Sunday evening.'

She paused, then went on. 'I am authorised to act for Mr Roberts during these negotiations, so if you could kindly work up a proforma, I am certain we can finalize this deal in good time.'

'My proposal will be with you later today. Until then, Miss Clery.' J cut the call off. The contract could wait a little, she needed a shower.
 
Part 2

Not quite two weeks later, contract in place and a clone sleeve being printed for her, J touched down in Bay City. She had travelled light, just a small bag, carrying a few sets of clothes, and she strolled out of the terminal, looking for a driver, who she had been assured would be waiting for her.

The driver was there, holding an alpha-numeric screen with her name on it. With a Curt 'Miss Vieta, follow me please', they were off, through a series of security patrolled corridors obviously reserved for those who worked for Meths. No Meth would ever travel on any kind of commercial flight, and indeed, she had heard that many were not flying at all, simply casting from clone body to clone body as needed.

The first stop was at the law office of Clery, Reage and Sade. Miss Clery was waiting on the roof for the hover car, huddled under a clear umbrella to shelter from the ever present Bay City rain, which fell almost daily at the lower levels of the city.

She clambered into the back of the car, which took off again almost before she had belted herself in.

'Miss Vieta, I hope your flight was pleasant.'

'It was a flight.' J replied, deliberately being cold and business-like.

'Thus is your itinerary for the day. First stop is the medical check,followed by the stipulated visit to the clone facility, where you will inspect the sleeve being prepared. We have a late lunch with Mr Roberts, where final discussion of the activities will take place. That will start the obligatory 24 hour cooling off period, so we will drop you at the hotel. If you assent to the job, you will be picked up from there on Thursday evening. If you back out, you will keep ten percent of the fee for your time.'

J was surprised at this 'Ten percent? Mr Roberts does realise that that amount alone would keep me comfortable for a number of months in Manhattan?'

'He is fully aware of this. He is well aware of your status in your profession as well. The ten percent would be a courtesy.'

J turned to Clery. 'And what is my profession?' She hated this fan dance, hiding around the subject. Besides, she wanted to bait the smug lawyer a little, push a button or two.

'You are a whore, Miss Vieta. A whore who specializes not only in sex, but also in the receiving of pain and humiliation.' She sat back, and J was impressed that the lawyer hadn't tried to contort herself mentally in order to avoid saying it. The street had another name for her. A Leopold, after Sacher-Masoch. A masochist.

They sat in silence for a while, before Clery spoke again. 'I have seen you perform before. You were hanging upside down for the entirety of the evening. It was.... engrossing.'

J could remember that night. Not this sleeve, a previous one. She had had to swing herself up to grasp her calves, almost jackknifing her body, in order to stop the blood pooling in her head, but then had to let go when the cramps in her stomach became too much. By the end of the night she was exhausted. Her body was dripping with sweat and piss, which had freely run down her body. She had also come numerous times, either under her own hand, or at the hand of another performer, who had wielded a whip, beating her repeatedly on her dripping cunt. J nailed Clery's type now. She would be in the front of the crowd, recording the images with her implanted eye camera, playing it back later whilst she masturbated.

The rest of the morning went exactly as described. The medical check was thorough, but J was in tip top shape. The clone was done, being held on ice in a facility with a link to a satellite. That satellite would allow for a flash back up of J's stack if needed, allowing her to not only survive, but withstand anything that was to be done to her. Everything was in order, if not beyond what she had requested.

It was only as the air car lifted higher and higher, breaking through the cloud and into the sunshine, did J start to feel a little out of sorts. She was in Meth territory now, their eyries piercing the clouds herd and there. The car dipped towards a large open garden, landing on a pad at the end away from the rather gothic facade of the eyrie.

J was met by a security detail, who quickly frisked her. Her bag was taken from her, and placedback in the car. She turned to Clery, about to complain, but a male voice from behind her interrupted her before she could start.

'Your bag will be taken to the hotel. There's no need for it whilst we have lunch.'

J turned. The man was tall, handsome, middle aged in appearance, and bearded. His hair was sandy, starting to show grey at the temples and in the beard. He was dressed simply, in a white shirt, blue trousers and white shoes.

'Miss Vieta. I am Lawrence Roberts. I trust my lawyer has adequately shown you everything so far?' He nodded at Clery, who spoke to the driver. The doors closed, and the car lifted off, dropping out of sight.

'Would you join me? I know we have somethings to discuss, but not until after we have eaten.'
 
Part 3


The lunch was held in the garden, and J had not eaten anything as fine for a while. Wine had been offered, and she had taken a glass, but noticed that Roberts did not. The conversation was stilted, as with so little in common with each other, there was little to talk about, and every attempt J made to turn the conversation to the upcoming event was rebuffed, politely.

Finally, having turned down an offer of something narcotic as an aperitif, Roberts stood. 'Walk with me.'

They set off through the garden, and Roberts started the conversation. "I hope everything is in order with the arrangements you have seen so far?'

J nodded. 'So far, yes.' She paused, stopping her progress round the garden. 'Mr. Roberts, what are you intending to do to me?'

Roberts looked back at her. 'You are more business-like than I expected.' He held up a hand as she started to speak. 'No, I respect that. At one remove, this is a business transaction.'

'On Friday, my guests and I will fly out to a location in the Great Sand Sea, to the East of this city, to spend time with each other, exploring some of our sexual mores. The group is very exclusive. If you accept the job, you will already be on site, caged and chained in the center of the site.'

'On Friday, you will be raped, culminating in your whipping at a post. On Saturday, you will drag a wooden cross to the top of a ridge above the location. Once there, we will crucify you in the heat of the desert, and you stay on the cross until the end of the festivities on Sunday.'

J shuddered, but could feel a flutter in her stomach. She already knew she wouldn't turn down this job. 'And your guests? What are they doing during this?'

Roberts was matter of fact. 'They will fuck. They will fuck privately in the tents around the site. They will fuck in the open, in pairs or more. They will fuck around your tortured form.' He stepped closer. 'A number, I anticipate, will want to fuck you. A smaller number will want to torture you themselves.'

J looked Roberts in the eyes. 'And you, Mr Roberts? What do you want?'

Roberts brought his face closer to hers. 'I am a cruel man, my cruelties hidden by a veneer of civility and covered up by wealth. I am tired of this. I have lived a number of lives, Miss Vieta. I have loved and been loved. I have possessed many things. But I have never possessed someone who would completly surrender themselves to all I am.'

Roberts grabbed J by the hair, causing her to cry out, more in surprise than anything else. He dragged her around a corner in the path, before forcing her to her knees. 'Look!'

In front of them was a marble statue. A naked female, kneeling, legs spread wide, head back, mouth wide open. Roses had been expertly trained around the statue, entwined around the breasts, between the legs, and even looping around the head.

Roberts let her go, and J knelt there looking at the statue. 'I could cancel the contract right now.'

'But you won't.' Roberts knelt beside her, his voice soft. 'I envy you, Miss Vania. You have turned yourself inside out. So many hide their true selves. Your desires are freely on display, and you have successfully monatized them. I have to keep them in check, lest the circles I do business with reject me.'

'You won't cancel the contract. You want to be the girl in the roses.'
 
Part 4

J woke up from a fitful sleep, the sheets bunched around her and soaked with sweat. She glanced at a clock. 01:00. She knew sleep wouldn't come easily.

There had been a dossier on the bed in the hotel room, detailing the timeline and aspects of the next few days. She had read this, multiple times, then tried to sleep.Normally, in the cooling off period she put into every contract, she had no trouble sleeping, but tonight, every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself, hanging in agony from a cross, her body a mass of weals. She also saw that statue, could imagine the feel of the thorns in her skin. She needed to exhaust herself, so she put on a sports bra and a brief pair of shorts, and went and found the gym.

Ninety minutes later, she returned, muscles aching from a punishing routine of weights and stretches. She stripped, and was about to go to the shower when she paused, and turned to the desk camera.

The call went to a message, at 03:00, she expected nothing else.

'Miss Clery. It is three am. Please tell Me Roberts that I wish to accept the contract.'

She paused. 'Please let Mr Roberts that I have examined the documents he had drawn up. Please let Mr Roberts know that he may increase the severity of the acts to be performed.'

She took a deep breath. 'I have one further request, which will be sent by message after this. I realise it is unusual, but it is one additional stipulation I am adding to the contract. I know Mr Roberts will accept.'

She hung up, then quickly wrote the message and sent it, before she could change her mind. Then she decided the shower was too much trouble and went back to the bed.

She woke to the sound of the door opening, daylight streaking in through the windows. A bellhop was bringing a cart through the door, placing plates of food on the table.

'Breakfast, Miss, if you don't mind.'

Once done, he took the cart and left. The smell of fine coffee filtered into J's brain, and she swung herself out of the bed and walked over. There was a single rose on the table, the thorns still attached to the stem, holding down a folded sheet of paper.

She opened the sheet, knowing what it would say. A single word, written in an almost extinct cursive. 'Agreed'

Part 5

J could hear the guests arriving, could see the air transportation come in overhead. Soon, they would be approaching the cage she was in, looking at her sweating, tortured form.

Roberts had sent a team to her hotel room shortly before noon on the previous day. Two men, and a female medic, carrying a small kit. The medic had worked on her with a cauterizing laser, inserting surgical steel rings into J's septum, both nipples, and a pair in each labia. The cauterizing, and an injection of a fast acting healing drug would ensure the rings wouldn't pull out if a load was put on them. The first increase in the severity that she had requested.

Then, she was escorted from the room to a car, which delivered her to a cargo flyer for the flight to the site. The site was as described, a circle of semi private tents, each luxuriously appointed, each sited to give an uninterrupted view of the center of the site, where her cage was.

She ate a light meal that was provided, the last solid food she would eat for the next few days. Then she undressed, ready for the process to start. Soon she was cuffed and collared, heavy iron encircling her neck, wrists and ankles.

Then they left her to prepare herself, to exercise, stretch, focus on what was to come, the heavy iron that they had placed on her and the rings that now pierced her helping with that focus. Then she retired to one of the tents, to sleep in overnight.

Finally, before dawn, she had drunk an electrolyte solution, than they had taken her from the tent, shivering in the chill of the desert at night, and caged her.

Now the guests were walking up to her, marvelling at the vision before her. In her minds eye, J could see it.

A cage, heavy iron bars, no more than a few feet on each side, raised a foot off the ground by chains at the corners. Inside a naked woman was sat, her legs doubled up in front of her, pulled apart to display her cunt, chained at ankles at knees to the bars, arms chained behind her back. Her head was craned back, held there by a chain from a septum ring to the top of the cage. A gag was buckled around her head, a ring nested behind her teeth, holding her mouth open.

J was bathed in sweat, gleaming in the sun, her hair hanging wetly behind her back. A low moan escaped her open mouth as she felt a hand reach through the bars to touch her, rubbing at her naked cunt.

'Miss Vieta...' The voice was a purr, and it took a moment for J to place it. The lawyer.

'I hope this is what you were expecting when you upped the stakes with your message.' Her hand was insinuating itself into J's cunt. 'So very wet...' Clery leaned in, looking down upon J's face. 'I'm going to make sure you never forget this performance.'

Clery's touches seemed to have broken some kind of spell in the guests, many more of whom now came up to touch or torment J. Hands stroked her face, fingers were inserted into her cunt, her nipple piercings were pulled, and she cried out as ice cold water was poured onto her upturned face by one female guest.

It was when she felt first one, then a second weight attached to her labia rings that she realised Roberts was in attendance.

'I hope we are not disappointing you so far, Miss Vieta.'

Roberts turned away, standing to one side of the cage. J could hear the guests gather as Roberts got everyone's attention.

'Honourable friends. It is five years since I started this little gathering, a chance for a few like minded individuals to gather, away from the eyes of partners, friends, neighbours and business associates. You are a select few that are gathered here, to be free of social norms for a few days, to do as we whilt.'

'In this cage you may see a victim, a sacrifice to our need to be true to our inner self, even fir this short period of time. A vessel for our suffering.'

'I tell you, you are wrong. This woman not only knows her true self, she freely accepts it, displays it. She is our sacrifice and our priestess, our torch to show us the way for the next few days!'

Roberts had reached his crescendo, and the crowd applauded. 'Now, my friends, go and eat, explore each other, and let the festivities begin!'
 
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old slave said:
Interesting delve into a bit of psychology, as well as a lot of eroticism.

It sounds a bit lonely to live in an eyrie. The Great Sand Sea, will you explain it? Global warming?
Click to expand...
The Methuselahs are removed from humanity by their age, I feel. They have become, at the very least, amoral. In the Altered Carbon series, one of them puts on a piece of entertainment with a fight to the death, with the winner being awarded a new sleeve with enhancements, and the loser getting a lesser sleeve. Even more disturbing, the fighters are husband and wife.

The Great San Sea? Certainly global warming. Central California is already over reliant on intense irrigation to grow crops, and I can't see that improving.

Oh, and I would suggest rereading the last section, as I realised I had left out a section.
 
Part 6

J worked the cramps out of her legs and neck and reached for a fluid replacement drink of a type used by extreme athletes who ran across countries for fun. She knew her rest time would be short, the last real rest she would get, and she needed to gather her strength.

She had stayed in the cage whilst the revellers ate, ocassional visitors coming up to examine her, until the mass had retired for a short while to their climate controlled tents. Then, Roberts' own staff had released her, helping her to this back tent, whilst others set up a new piece of equipment in the place of the cage.

She employed a military technique, putting her head down for the shortest of naps, but on what seemed like no time she was being led out again, by a pair of men.

The cage had been replaced, by a wooden framework in the shape of a capital letter I, which was held off the ground by a stout support pillar. She glanced around her, seeing the tents, some closed, but the majority open, the occupants engaged in numerous sexual acts, in ever changing combinations.

As she approached the framework, she could see what was in store for her. The two cross pieces had belts at various points along them, to hold her arms and legs out rigidly. The piece of wood where her torso would rest was narrow, so her breasts would fall either side of it, and also covered in metal studs. She touched these, and realised that they were sharp enough to scratch and even cut, but not deeply.

She took a moment to stretch, then the two men mounted her on the framework. Before too long, she was in position, her legs making a straight line across one crosspiece, belts at her ankles and either side of her knees holding her obscenely open. Her stomach and chest was lying on the spikes, which pressed into her skin, a belt around her waist holding her in place. Her arms mirrored her legs, fastened to the other crosspiece.

Her head hung freely, unsupported, whilst they tightened all of the belts, but soon the men were fastening a head harness around her, a huge ring gag again forced into her mouth, holding in open. Then her head was pulled back, the iron collar digging into her neck as the harness was joined to the waist belt, and fastened there, her head now held so her mouth was at the same level as her cunt.

She thought they were done at this point, but then she felt the rings in her labia being pulled hauling her even more obscenely open, the rings tied off to rings on the crosspiece. Finally, her breasts were pulled on, the nipple rings being nailed to the wood on each side, stretching her tits out to cones that already ached.

A crowd had already gathered by this point, all dressed in flowing robes that covered but didn't hide, and a whisper ran through the gathering Meths as one of the two men who had put her in her bondage approached J's open mouth. He unzipped the overalls he was wearing, and his erect cock sprang free. He grabbed J by the hair, and with one sure, swift, stroke, he forced himself into her mouth.

Simultaneously, J felt another cock at her gaping cunt, sliding deeply inside her. There was no finesse, just a full assault on her holes. The two men timed their thrusts, one pushing in as the other pulled back, and J could feel the spikes starting to dig into her skin.

The man behind her withdrew, and she felt another cock take his place, thrusting deep inside her. The displaced man moved around her to her head, and the assault on her mouth paused a moment, a stream of drool dripping running from her mouth down her chin after it.

She drew in a deep breath, just as the cock was replaced, this one larger, and she fought to control her gag reflex. She could feel the man in her cunt speed up, and then he abruptly withdrew, his come hot and wet across her ass and back.

Another cock took its place, and J orgasmed, hard, thrashing as much as the belts would allow. She felt the skin across her stomach tear, as the spikes tore into her, and she would have cried out from the pain in her stretching nipples if her mouth wasn't full of cock.

The man in her mouth grabbed her head, holding it in place as he came down her throat, and she swallowed as much as she could, the rest streaming out of her mouth as he withdrew.

She felt fingers in her mouth, and her eyes focused on a woman, her robes open at the front. She was knelt on the ground in front of J, one hand in J's mouth, another frantically rubbing at her cunt. J gagged, and the woman wiped the copious amounts of drool across J's face and into her hair, mixing with the sweat that was starting to spring out on her skin again.

J moaned, an almost animal noise, as she felt fingers penetrate her arse, filling her up entirely as the cock in her cunt still thrust back and forth, and she felt an orgasm building. She came as the man in her cunt did, her own juices flowing freely onto the cross piece and dripping onto the ground below. He pulled out and she felt the fingers withdraw from her arse, and start to slip into her cunt, first one, then two.

The finger slipped in, deeper and deeper, stretching her wider and wider, until the entire hand of someone was in her cunt. She felt the fingers curl back inside her, until there was an entire clenched fist in her cunt. She cried out in pain as it started to thrust back and forth, a cry muffled as a rubber cock forced itself into her mouth, and forced its way down her throat.

She forced herself to focus on the woman in front of her. Clery was kneeling on front of her, her white robes clinging wetly to her glistening body. Clery had the dildo in her hands, continuing to press it further and further into J's throat. Behind Clery was Roberts, bare chested, staring directly at J. He fixed J with a stare, that seem to read the extreme state she was in.

Clery started to pump the long dildo back and forth, and J started to choke on the thing, all while the fist in her cunt pistoned inside her. She was about to come again, and she fixed her eyes on Roberts, who stared back. He shook his head, and J desperately tried to hold the orgasm back, her body writhing, the pain in her breasts and the cutting of the spikes driving her on.

She looked again at Roberts, who just stared, then nodded, once.

J exploded. Her cunt spasmed around the fist inside it, as more liquid gushed from her, soaking the robes of the woman whose fist it was. Clery pulled on the dildo, and all the air left in J's lungs escaped wiith it, a long, wordless howl. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she thrashed again, blood from the cuts mixing with the sweat that was coursing off her, to drip in pinkish drops from her body.

J was brought back to herself by the shock of a bucket of ice cold water being thrown at her head. Her eyes snapped back and she inhaled suddenly, her body realising the oxygen debt she was in. Two, three deep breaths, then a new cock was roughly shoved between her widespread lips, whilst behind her, another cock forced its way into her arse, as her rape continued.
 
J rested her head against the rough wood in front of her, and flexed her shoulders, to relieve the ache that was building in them.

She had been taken off the framework, with no idea of how long she had been mounted on it. She had lost all sense of time, and simply become a creature that orgasmed, and felt pain. When they took her off the framework, she had just collapsed on the ground, her legs and hips agony from the position she had been in. They hosed her down where she lay, washing the sweat and come off her, then used a dermal device to roughly close the cuts on her torso.

Someone linked a chain to the iron collar around her neck, and she was dragged into her hands and knees, and forced to crawl to the post that she was now at. Here, she was positioned, kneeling on her legs, her wrists chained above her head, and left.

Now the Sun was dipping below the horizon, and with a loud click, she was bathed in the light of spotlights, lighting her up from all sides and causing her to screw her eyes up. Slowly, her vision accustomed itself to the light, but she could see almost nothing outside of the circle of light.

Footsteps were approaching from behind. A Latin woman, hair cascading around her head and shoulders, her robe flapping open as she walked. The newcomer knelt beside J, and produced a bottle of water. J drank greedily from it, as it was pressed to her dry lips.

'Thank you,' said J.

The Latina leaned in and kissed J, full on the mouth, and J responded, their tongues writhing around each other. The woman drew back, and whispered 'You were so beautiful, coming on my fist earlier. Now I'm here to see you whipped til you bleed.'

She walked off, and J tried to gather herself for what was coming. From now on, every step in the sequence of events became harder and harder.

She heard a conch shell being used, and soon by the hubbub, she could tell that all of the guests were now looking at her. She heard Roberts start to speak, but her attention was taken away from that as the chains at her wrists started to rise, pulling her up. Soon, she was standing, her legs shaky beneath her, her weight mostly held by her wrists and shoulders.

She was aware now of the silence, the crowd hushed in anticipation. The only thing she could hear was her own heart, starting to race, and her breathing, which she fought to bring under control.

The first strike of the whip was a sharp line across her backside, but she could tell that it was almost a warm up, a stroke to gauge the range and the weight of the single tailed whip. She grabbed the chains with her hands, and steeled herself for the next stroke.

She heard the hiss of the whip, then a line of fire crossed from right shoulder to left hip, and she cried out, her hands grabbing tighter at the chains.

Another stroke, this one licking around her body to cross her stomach, her breath leaving her in a cry of pain as she felt the bite. She gasped for air before a third stroke burned into her backside, and she felt the skin tear, the first trickle of blood running down her right leg.

The whip wrapped itself around her torso with the next stroke, and J's head snapped back. She screamed as the end of the whip bit into her pierced nipple.

Slowly, methodically, the whip fell again and again, and J cried out with every stroke. Despite the chill of the night, she was sweating, mixing with the blood that was running from the whip cuts that now decorated her torso. Her knuckles were white with the effort of holding onto the chains, her legs shaking beneath her. Her back was on fire, the pain driving her deep into herself, into the space where pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin.

She felt a presence in front of her, and Roberts swam into focus. He held a multi-tailed whip, each tail terminated with a large knot. She looked at it, knowing that he wanted to use it in her front, and she cried at him. 'Yes! For fuck's sake yes!'

He gestured, and the whipping stopped. Hands roughly grabbed her, turning her around so the post was behind her now. Her legs were hauled apart, chains to the ankle irons holding them there, so she was stood in an upside down Y shape.

Before her, the crowd were still, in the main, focused on her, and blinking past the sweat that stung her eyes, J looked around them, seeing the lust in them. Her eyes were drawn to Clery, who was staring back at her, another woman knelt between Clery's legs, obviously licking at the lawyer's cunt.

Roberts himself took up position with the leather scourge. He nodded at her, and she braced herself for the blows that were to come.

The first blow raked across her breasts, and J screamed again, the knots digging into her flesh. A second strike reopened the cuts from earlier in the day, and drove the breath out of her lungs. Roberts knew exactly what he was doing, stroke following stroke, angled to strike at her from different directions, the knots and weals rising after every blow. She could feel that he was playing with her, driving her to only one destination.

Finally, her body a mess of weals and cuts, her skin slick with blood and sweat, Roberts swung the scourge up between her legs, the knots digging into her inner thighs and cunt. Her legs gave way, and she orgasmed, fluid gushing from her cunt, her head tossed back as she screamed to the sky. Blow after blow was aimed at her cunt, and her eyes rolled back, a feedback loop of pain and pleasure tearing through her, until everything went black.
 
Part 8


J woke to an ecstacy of agony, her body feeling like it was on fire. As her eyes focused, she could tell she was in a cage again, but her only bondage was the collar and metal cuffs, all joined by a series of chains. The cage was in a circle of flickering light, provided by a series of flaming torches around it. Beyond that circle was an outer ring of fire, marking the tents from which she could hear the guests.

She gently uncurled, feeling the aches in her hips and shoulders. She ran a hand over the welts across her stomach, and lower, the knots that the final strikes with the scourge had left in her inner thighs and cunt. She shuddered, as she recalled the brutal assault Roberts had subjected her to.

She started at a voice coming from behind her. 'You are truly everything I hoped you would be.'

Roberts walked around the cage, then sat cross-legged on the ground in front of her, and passed a bottle of water through the bars.

J licked her dry lips and in a voice hoarse from screaming croaked out 'Thank you....'

She drank from the bottle, whilst Roberts looked at her.

'Is this when you drag me out of this cage and fuck me?'

Roberts leaned closer. 'If I wanted to fuck you, I could have done that at any time in the afternoon. I am not interested in your as a vessel for that lust.' He leaned closer to her. 'Miss Clery, of our mutual aquaintance, would happily oblige, I'm certain.'

Despite the pain, J grinned.

'You know what I want, Miss Vieta. You want it too.'

Roberts stood, brushing the dirt off his trousers. 'There's going to be a chill tonight. Given your usage today, it may help you rest.'

He was walking off as he finished his thought. 'I hope it does, I want you strong so you last as long as you can...'

Part 9

The chill had done nothing to help her. Instead, she had woken up before the dawn, shivering. She had tried to shift in the cage, to hug her legs to her torso, but it did next to no good. She knew she would only be warm when the sun came up.

When they came for her just before dawn, her teeth were chattering, but Roberts' men didn't care. They hauled her out of the cage without ceremony, then worked on the heavy irons at her neck and limbs, removing them for the first time since Thursday.

Instead, a simple loop of rope went around her wrists, which were held in front of her. The bitter end of the rope was held by one of the men, and with a sharp tug, she went stumbling after him through the still sleeping camp.

Once at the edge of the camp, the men got to work prepping her for the ordeal.

A coarse rope was first, around her waist, and tied in front. This left a long end, which was pulled down between her legs and back to the rope at the small of her back. Here it passed through a metal loop before being tied to a chain that was wrapped around a sturdy beam of wood, at least 8 feet long and 4 inches to a side. This made her shudder. She knew the metal ring at the back would make sure that the rope would dig deeply into her cunt.

A second beam was laid across her shoulders, making her wince as it touched some of the weals. Her arms were tied to this beam, loops of the same coarse rope holding them out horizontally along the face of the beam. Another loop of rope was pulled through her mouth, holding it open like a bit, and forcing her head up and back against the beam, so her view was of the sky more than of the ground in front of her.

A chain was clipped between her nipple rings, and a bag hung from it. She knew it would be weighted for her walk.

Thus prepared, the men made her kneel on the ground until the attendees had gathered.

The beam on her shoulders was already heavy, and she struggled to keep it balanced, so she wouldn't topple either forward or back The rope in her mouth meant that by the time Roberts stood by her side, the crowd milling about in front of her, there were already slick trails of drool running down the sides of her jaw and into her throat.

Roberts held up a hand. 'Today marks the second day. The tortured girl in front of you is taking her last walk.' That brought silence from the crowd. Did they not know what was going to happen to her?

Roberts pointed out in the distance. 'That rise is four miles from here. Four miles of sand. Her final walk is to drag the makings of her own crucifix to her own, personal Golgotha.'

That set the crowd buzzing. J could hear the snippets of conversation. 'Is he really going to'.... 'She agreed to'... An undercurrent of murmuring. She leaned forward to allow herself to see the faces in front of her, seeing shock, surprise in the majority of them. Here and there she could also see lust.

She lost the next part of what Roberts said, as she strained to sit back again. The shoulder beam was heavy, and it took effort to stop herself from toppling backwards. Roberts then opened the bag hanging from her nipple rings and after showing them to J, dropped in 4 long, iron nails.

A man either side of her lifted the beam up, and, taking the cue, she stood, bracing herself. Roberts stood in front of her.

'One of my men will guide you, to make sure you don't wander off the route, but I imagine more than a few people will want to travel to the hill alongside you. I certainly will.' He paused, reached into a pocket. 'Just one more thing...'

Roberts reached for J's cunt, and made sure the rope bisected her cunt. Satisfied, he slipped a lock through the rings, making sure the rope wouldn't fall out to either side.

A whip lashed across J's arse, and she knew the ordeal was starting. One foot forward, then another, and then she cried out as the slack in the ropes to the beam she would be dragging was finally all done, and the rope ground its way deeper into her cunt. She grunted as the beam slowly shifted, then started to slide in the sand.

The crowd parted, and J began her final walk.
 
Part 10

J staggered, and nearly fell, but she caught herself in time, lurching to one side, crying out in pain as the rope between her legs sawed at her raw cunt.
In these moments, when the pain had driven her into her mind, it was as if she could see herself from outside of her body, and that vision was floating in front of her now.

A tortured form, hair dripping with sweat, her body gritty with sand that stuck to the sweat that freely dripped down her torso, the beam across her shoulders forcing her to walk with her torso bent forward, the pouch of nails hanging from her nipple chain swinging with each step. Her cunt, raw from the rope that ran between her labia, which dug into her clit with each step, the sensations a type of white noise for her nerves.

She had no idea how long she had been walking, no idea how far she had yet to go. Her legs burned with the effort of just putting one foot in front of the other, whilst trying not to fall. She had done that once already, falling on a patch of softer sand, unable to stop herself. She couldn't even turn her head, so she landed head first, mouth open, which filled with sand.

A woman in the crowd, as sweat slick as J, had helped J to her knees, and had sluiced water in her mouth, washing out as much as the sand as possible, but J still tasted the sand, felt the irritation in her mouth.

Another step, and she lurched to the other side, a man pushing in the beam as she went past, sending her back into the center of the crowd that was with her. A sizable crowd was walking with her, watching her suffer. Some were content to watch, others were helpful, guiding her with gentle hands, sluicing cold water over her overheated body.

Others though were reveling in her torture. Some had found floggers from somewhere, and had taken shot after shot at her back, reopening cuts that had only just started to close after her whipping at the post.

A woman stood in front of her now, and deliberately spat at J as she staggered forward, the spit catching J square in the face, from where it ran into J's rope-bitted mouth. There was nothing J could do. This was her own choice. She wanted this, wanted what was to come. The dichotomy of her situation flashed across her mind. She had made a career, almost an art, of accepting pain, as it made her feel alive. Now she would die for that.

She dropped to her knees, chest heaving as she struggled for breath. She felt that she was fading, that perhaps she wouldn't make it, that she would fail. She felt a whip crash down against her back, and she cried out. Another hard lash, and she struggled to get to her feet. She wanted to tell the people around her to carry on, she needed the goad of the whip, the sharp pain brought her clarity, brought her strength, brought her closer to her prize.

She drew her all together, and got her legs underneath her, whilst the crowd around her gasped and applauded. Someone poured water over her head, cool water, and she drew more strength from that amount that fell into her mouth.

A man, bare chested, swam into focus in front of her. 'Keep walking, bitch, or you'll feel this!' he threatened as he brandished a whip at her.

She nodded, as best she could, tried to articulate the words 'Please....I need it....'

It must have worked, as she felt a whip descend on her again. She roared as she felt her skin part from the blow, but she stood and staggered on again.

Each step, another one closer to her death, and her reward.
 
I'm afraid I began to drift away in the middle of part 6. Perhaps the complicated technical descriptions of where all the chains and rings go impairs the flow of the read? I found myself reading those bits several times to make sure I understood how all the apparatus works instead of being excited by the drama. The trouble is, if you can simply have a new body if the old one gets thrashed to ribbons it's not much of a problem if it does. J seems to be as hard as nails and completely detached from her own emotions. Would there be more erotic power in ruthlessly tormenting a sweet and delicate flower of a girl, a frail and feminine foil for vicious, twisted Roberts to really get his whip into? One who didn't want to die?

Don't mind me, I don't know! As you were gentlemen, carry on..............

Kate XX
 
The death thing is something touched upon in the actual TV show, with an exclusive club in sub-orbit where anything goes, up to a limit. Unless agreed upon, and contracted for, killing someone is still illegal. The prize fight I mentioned at the begining is legal because it is contracted, and the police have an actual observer present at the party, to ensure that things are kept above board.

Also, new bodies are expensive. The original story has the idea that victims of crime can be brought back in the 'sleeves' of criminals, as part of the restitution the state provides, but you sorta have to deal with what you get. Or you can pay for it, if you are rich.

Wordy descriptions of apparatus... I wish I could draw sometimes... Or was somewhat less verbose.. mea culpa... mea culpa...
 
KurvyKate said:
I'm afraid I began to drift away in the middle of part 6. Perhaps the complicated technical descriptions of where all the chains and rings go impairs the flow of the read? I found myself reading those bits several times to make sure I understood how all the apparatus works instead of being excited by the drama. The trouble is, if you can simply have a new body if the old one gets thrashed to ribbons it's not much of a problem if it does. J seems to be as hard as nails and completely detached from her own emotions. Would there be more erotic power in ruthlessly tormenting a sweet and delicate flower of a girl, a frail and feminine foil for vicious, twisted Roberts to really get his whip into? One who didn't want to die?

Don't mind me, I don't know! As you were gentlemen, carry on..............

Kate XX
Click to expand...
I like the technical descriptions, even though it may take me a few reads to fully visualize them, especially if it involves a slight twist or modification of an old reliable device or restraint technique that makes it particularly cruel (e.g. the whipping bench at the Ludwigsburg Museum, or in this story, J's bondage on the cross bars) and is something I'd never seen or thought of before. So for me, The Limey is delivering on that score, as well as developing an intriguing character and cultural milieu. I've never watched "Altered Carbon," but I may have to take a look.

BTW, I finally "got" the name of the legal firm, Reage, Clery, and Sade. I'm sure everyone else has already figured it out, but as I mentioned, it can take me a few reads. So Pauline Reage, pen name of Anne Desclos, writer of "Story Of O." Then Corrine Clery, the actor who starred as O in the movie version. The third name was a bit more of a puzzle until I recalled Sade (Helen Folasade Adu) an influential and popular English singer-songwriter of the 1980's through the 2000's who had many chart topping singles and albums including "Smooth Operator," "Soldier of Love," and "The Sweetest Taboo," which I think musically encapsulates J's personality.
 
Jon Smithie said:
BTW, I finally "got" the name of the legal firm, Reage, Clery, and Sade. I'm sure everyone else has already figured it out, but as I mentioned, it can take me a few reads. So Pauline Reage, pen name of Anne Desclos, writer of "Story Of O." Then Corrine Clery, the actor who starred as O in the movie version. The third name was a bit more of a puzzle until I recalled Sade (Helen Folasade Adu) an influential and popular English singer-songwriter of the 1980's through the 2000's who had many chart topping singles and albums including "Smooth Operator," "Soldier of Love," and "The Sweetest Taboo," which I think musically encapsulates J's personality.
Click to expand...

I actually like your version better! I was going with the Marquis DeSade reference.
 
Part 11

Roberts was knelt by J's head, holding it in his hands. 'Are you ready?'

Was she? Now she was here, lying on the cross that had been made from the wood that she had carried and dragged to this place, was she having second thoughts?

She had nearly failed at the end of her walk. She had fallen, the weight of the beam across her shoulders driving her into the sand, filling her mouth again. She had tried, but couldn't get up, until two women had helped her, getting her up and kneeling, pouring water over her head and body, then finally taking position either side of her, shouldering some of the burden, and helping her to this place. As they walked with J, the two women occasionally cried out, and it took J some time to realise that the crowd was now whipping them, and not her.

J hadn't even had the chance to take a proper look at her helpers until they reached their goal, and she had been released from her bonds. Both were tall, willowy and blonde, and it took a while to realise they were identical. Their white outfits had been torn open down the back on the journey, and hung off their shoulders and arms, and vivid red welts criss-crossed their sweat slick backs.

They had stayed with J, holding her whilst the sound of hammering had filled J's senses, giving her water, stroking her hair, soothing her when she jumped and twitched at the sound of the hammer. They had only left when Roberts himself came to take J to the cross on which she lay.

The cross had been made, laid on the ground, with ropes to hold her arms in place at the beginning. What she hadn't expected was the oiled wooden cock that jutted out from what would be the upright of the cross.

Her sharp intake of breath must have caught Roberts attention. 'The Cornu. It will penetrate your arse whilst you dance on the cross. Not quite my final surprise for you.'

Now she was lying on the cross, her arms along the crossbeam, tied in place for now, the tip of the carved cock just inside her arse. Everything was telling her no, she wasn't ready, her heart was pounding, but she stilled her responses, controlled her breathing and nodded her head.

'I'm ready'

Roberts signalled to his men, and as two of them approached, the party goers did as well. J craned her head to look at the crowd. There were the twins who had helped her, totally nude now, kneeling at the far end of the cross, by the hole that the cross would soon be dropped into. There was Clery, a look of absolute lust on her face, a look echoed in many around the circle of Roberts's guests. Some though, looked distinctly uncertain, and J drew a morbid satisfaction from that.

Roberts leaned down, looking directly into J's face. 'Do you need something to bit down on.'

She shook her head. 'No. They've all come to hear me scream. I won't disappoint them.'

J felt the hands on her arm, felt the nail tip being placed at the wrist.

She cried out in pain as the nail was driven into her wrist. It was expertly done, right at the point the two bones on her forearm split. Roberts grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him.

More pain, as the same was repeated to the other wrist. 'Fuuuuuccccckkkk!'

She was close to hyper-ventilating. She felt but didn't comprehend her feet being pulled up and to the side, the soles being placed to the sides of the upright, her knees bent to some degree, but she screamed as the nails were driven in, keeping them there.

Roberts stood up. Moved to where the hole in the ground was. 'Honoured Guests!' he began, having to shout over the tumult of cries that had erupted. 'This woman has truly reached the pinacle of her art. She has been beaten, tortured, raped. But this was all her choice. Her life, lived to the fullest at this moment.'

He looked around at the crowd. 'Have we done the same at this retreat? If we have not explored every avenue that has been shown to us, then I say no.'

As this was being said, the cross was being brought to the edge of the hole. J was sobbing as the cross started to transition from horizontal to vertical.

'As our guiding torch, this woman will burn brightly, then gutter and go out. We owe it to ourselves, and her, to live our lives to the fullest, no matter where that may take us!'

The cross slipped into the hole, only to stop abruptly. If it wasn't for the ropes around her arms, J's entire weight would have crashed down. Instead, she slid down a little, but she still cried out as her arms and shoulders suddenly took most of her weight. With her feet nailed to the side of the cross, her knees bent, her cunt was totally exposed. Finally, the cornu worked its way deeper into her arse.

The ropes were removed, and J slumped down under gravity even further, splaying her obscenely, and burying the cornu deep inside her. Through a veil of tears she looked at the crowd again. A handful had turned away, the sight of her broken and bleeding body too much for them. The majority of the rest were staring, but here and there were those who had truly listened to Roberts's speech. The twins fell into this last group, kneeling legs spread at the base of the cross, both masturbating.

She knew the part she had to play, knew how it would hurt, but knew as well that it would drive her to even greater heights. She forced her legs to work, to straighten, used her shoulders to push herself higher. She started her dance, mindful to keep the cornu tip in her arse.

Roberts looked at her, and smiled.
 
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