Fate of a Murderess

Fate of a Murderess

Part 1: A Nasty Business

Jennifer DeMoeira was now a widow. By marriage, she had become a member of one of the wealthier aristocratic families. Though their title meant little and had never had a corresponding seat in the House of Lords, their hereditary land holdings and in more recent years wise investment of their finances had meant that in the modern age they probably had more influence than any of those who still sat there.

The DeMoeiras were a close-knit extended family, and tended to marry only those of similar breeding to themselves. When the young Daniel DeMoeira had returned from university with a commoner in tow as his chosen love, it had caused a stir but the family lived in the modern age, and it was by doing so that they remained successful. Therefore, before long the union of Jennifer and Daniel DeMoeira was agreed and the two 22-year-old newly-weds had enjoyed a honeymoon of splendour the likes of which Jennifer had never imagined seeing for herself before then.

That was just over three years ago, and the tragic death of Daniel had in fact taken place during a holiday to celebrate their anniversary. Jennifer and Daniel had shared a love of outdoor activities, including rock-climbing and were both very fit. During a climb, however, a mooring had come loose and Daniel subsequently slipped and fell to his death. The verdict had come back, "accidental death".

The truth was, that Jennifer had had enough of being tied to the DeMoeira clan, whom she knew had never fully accepted her into their high society. She had tried to fit in at first, but eventually she just started to fall in with the rich "jet set" crowd, with whom the DeMoeiras would do business as the new world order required them to do, but whom they regarded as being somewhat crass and brash. Jennifer, the poor girl come good, was closer in spirit to the fast-living style anyway, determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

Finally, she had decided that, since Daniel's share of the family fortune was quite substantial enough for her to live on it for the rest of her life in the manner to which she was accustomed, and given that Daniel had promised that he had left it all to her in his will, she should do away with him and depart to America where (she was sure) her accent and money would make her far more respected and welcome than she was in the European set.

She was good-looking, too. Her regular exercise kept her figure trim and, though her breasts were not that big, they were well proportioned compared with the rest of her body and had plenty to get hold of. Her blonde hair she could style any way she wanted, for she had made a point of learning all she could about such things while she had access to the beauty therapists whose prices only such families as the DeMoeiras could afford. She had supported herself through university with a part-time hairdressing job, and so it might be said that she had a professional interest. Certainly her in-laws had commented, non-too-kindly, "Once a hairdresser, always a hairdresser!" She would win herself a man whose background was closer to her own, and embark on a brand new life, unimaginable when she had been just five years younger.

Now was the big leap. Her private jet was ready for the transatlantic flight, all the paperwork for her transferral to US citizenship was in place, and now all she had to do was board the plane, and she would be free of the DeMoeiras forever.

Jennifer placed all her trust in flying to the people who looked after the aircraft and to her pilot, but she rarely bothered them when they were doing their job. Thus, she never noticed that her regular pilot had been replaced by another. She simply settled herself in to pass the time between take-off and landing. As it happened, that time seemed to pass more quickly than she had expected, for not long after the aircraft reached cruising altitude, something in the cabin's air made her feel dizzy, shortly before she passed out altogether.

* * * * *

Jennifer awoke to find herself in darkness. She was seated naked on a leather chair, and restrained, she discovered from the feel of it, by broad leather straps. Her first instinct was a natural one.

"Help!" She called into the featureless blackness, "Anyone? Help me!"

The sound at least revealed that she was not in some vast chamber, but quite a small room. There was absolutely no source of light, and presumably the walls, floor and ceiling would be coloured black also, giving her eyes no chance of focussing on anything, and giving her no way of judging by sight where she was or what was around her. But the acoustics were unmistakable. The only other reality besides her voice and the occasional creak of the leather as she flexed her muscles against it, was the feel of the leather against her bare skin. Her feet did not touch the floor, but the leather upholstery continued down the back of her legs so that her heels were resting against it. Her hands were strapped down to the armrests so that she could not move her fingers to explore the shape of the rests, nor the material used to make the chair itself, beneath the leather. Across her forehead another band of leather made sure that she could not move her head forwards, backwards, left or right – nor could she turn her face more than a few degrees. The only things she could feel were leather and cold air. The only things she could hear were the leather, her own voice and breath, and the beat of her heart. She could feel panic coursing through her, and her heartbeat faster and louder all the time.

"Please, somebody! Help me!" she tried again, but only the dry sound of the room around her, too small to echo as such, but returning the sound to her ears as soon as she had released it from her mouth.

"Can anyone hear me?" she cried, the subtle change in her attitude revealed – no longer did she believe that help would come, but now she was asking of it could come. The panic was taking hold in her mind, as the ways in which she had prepared herself for years to defend herself were rendered worthless, and she was the captive of somebody who wanted her afraid, naked and powerless. There was no escape, but that did not stop the primeval fight-or-flight instinct from starting, adrenaline racing to her heart and urging it faster, sweat springing from her pores with the scent of fear in it, her body preparing to relieve itself of waste if need be. There was no object of her fear, only the continued silence of the room and the creaks as her panicking body pulled and twisted in the relentless bonds. Jennifer started to cry, tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping from her chin onto her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Deep inside, she was angry and humiliated by this, for she had always seen herself as a strong woman, always in control of herself and her emotions. But now, she had no control over anything and could only wait, weeping in the lonely darkness of her tight cell. Her sobbing lasted for several minutes, though she had no knowledge of how time was passing beyond the walls that caged her.

* * * * *

A door opened behind her, almost silent but in the silence of the cell, Jennifer's ears still heard it. Footsteps of someone entering. Her struggles and her tears had stopped, and she felt exhausted as the adrenaline was flushed out of her system. Light flooded in from whatever lay beyond the door, and Jennifer saw that the wall in front of her was dark red, before the door closed and total darkness returned. She heard more footsteps as the mystery person positioned himself behind her (the sound of the footfalls suggested a man, not a woman or a child, Jennifer was sure).

"You are hereby charged with the cold-blooded murder of Daniel DeMoeira, with the motive of inheriting a share of the wealth of the DeMoeira family. You have the right to remain silent, because there is nothing that you can say that we do not know about your crime, and there are no words that can induce mercy or a respite from your punishment." The voice that intoned these words was distorted using effects, but Jennifer had a feeling that she recognised it.

"We will not bother with extracting a confession, because we already know that you did it, how, and with what motive. Your means, motive and opportunity are known and indisputably proven. Though the law and its oh-so-thorough investigators concluded that Daniel's death was an accident, we have discovered what you did to make it appear so, and so justice will be done without the law."

There was a soft click.

"Besides, you silly bitch, you wrote the whole sick plan in your diary. No further evidence is needed to convict!" The distortion had been turned off, and the owner of the voice was revealed as he insulted the hapless Jennifer. It was the pater familias of the DeMoeiras, Daniel's uncle James Edward DeMoeira, who was always called by both his Christian names, as there were other Jameses close in the DeMoeira family tree. The lights suddenly came on, and the dark red room was filled with brightness. The colour of the walls seemed to have been chosen to match the worn leather of the chair to which Jennifer had been strapped. James Edward tossed something into Jennifer's lap. It was the incriminating diary. For a brief moment, Jennifer was more shocked that anyone had had the temerity to abuse that most hallowed of documents, sacrosanct since she had begun writing it at the age of 13, than she was at the knowledge that she had been caught and would be punished by the family of her victim. For a moment, she was about to respond with, "How dare you read my diary?" as though she were still a teenager and her parents had used it as evidence of her losing her virginity at fifteen. Instead, she addressed her response to a more immediately concerning issue.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Let me explain something about the DeMoeira family history. Our wealth, beyond what came from our hereditary status, was first based upon the slave trade in the 18th century and we made a great deal also from fashioning ways of controlling unruly slaves. Before that, there were DeMoeiras involved with every witchfinding enterprise in the 17th century. As slavery was abolished, we found that there were still areas where these specialities were valued. At present, the DeMoeira business family is responsible for many of the techniques used by totalitarian regimes on people who have been 'disappeared'. One way or another, for at least four centuries we have been at the heart of the torture and interrogation industries, and related businesses. In the last four decades, we have gained a reputation amongst those who know, for inventive and ingenious devices to punish or extract information from those whom a state considers beyond the pale. With the growth of so-called 'alternative lifestyles', we have found that toned-down versions of some of our products have a market in the general public as well, though generally they go to the more hardcore of the clubs that cater for such people.

"Your husband was an idealistic young man, and we were never going to bring him in on these aspects of our business empire. He knew, of course, where the money originally came from for the building of the empire, but he could never have accepted it if he had discovered that it still formed a major part of our activities. Maybe that is why he found it possible, even necessary, to marry below himself.

"And so we come to you. DeMoeiras have killed their spouses in the past, or each other, but always for matters of the heart – wounded pride, jealousy, that type of thing. Even when it was a blood relative killed by his or her partner, if we saw that a wrong had originally been done to the murderer by the victim, then we stood by them, and often agreed beforehand to support the crime. And always, the murderer wanted to remain with the family, even if they had killed to marry elsewhere. But you! You killed for that most petty of reasons, money. Profit. And you would have turned your back on us, like a traitor returning to her true allegiance. Daniel, perhaps, got what he deserved after all for marrying below himself. Be that as it may, the heads of the DeMoeira family and our closest allies have determined that a deed of such black hearted, treacherous greed cannot go unpunished.

"We have used all the resources of our key industry to prepare for you something special, though if it works as we plan, it may become a new premium service in our portfolio."

Jennifer felt as though liquid nitrogen had been substituted for her blood and her bowels had turned to slack rubber. Her bladder also seemed to be on the verge of giving way. A part of her wanted to believe that this was all some sort of elaborate prank, but her diary, open to the incriminating entry, lay on her lap and she was restrained in a device that must surely have been designed with torture in mind. The decor made perfect sense, too. It would hide the blood perfectly. She concentrated desperately on not soiling herself in front of James Edward, her fingers digging as much as possible given her restraints into the leather arm of the chair.

She almost let go completely when James Edward placed his hand on her arm. But he was not going to torture her here, and not yet. Instead, his hands worked expertly to release her arm from the straps that held it in place. Even if Jennifer had had the awareness at that moment to struggle, the uncle whom she had once regarded as a friendly middle-aged man was far too strong. He twisted Jennifer's arm behind her back where he fastened a handcuff tightly around her wrist. Then he repeated the process with her other arm so that her wrists were linked behind her back.

Methodically, and with little thought for Jennifer's comfort, he proceeded to undo all the straps, and Jennifer was sure that he had lingered around the straps across her waist and lap, looking maybe not at what he was doing but at Jennifer's naked snatch. If that was true, it did not last for long and soon Jennifer was freed from the chair except for her wrists fastened behind her. James Edward went to them and operated some form of catch, which released the handcuffs from the back of the chair. At the same time he made sure that he had a firm hold of them himself.

"Come on, bitch, we're going to meet the Doctor," he said grimly, and taking a hold on Jennifer's shoulders he lifted her up and put her on her feet, "Oh, and by the way, if you try to run then we will have to give you a taste of our regular wares before we move on to your planned punishment, and that would not be pleasant for you. It would also delay the moment of truth, but believe me when I say it would not be worth it. Walk ahead of me, and follow my instructions."

Beyond the dark-red room the corridors were a cream colour, much like most corridors anywhere, and could indeed have been in a hospital, or an office block if it wasn't for the way in which Jennifer had found herself treated here. Feeling cowed and beaten, and terrified, Jennifer did not have the will left to try to escape, but simply did as she was told.

Their destination proved to be what was apparently a fully equipped operating theatre, although there were features that, in conjunction with James Edward's speech earlier, suggested it might have other purposes as its main intent. The theatre was not empty, and of the three people there Jennifer recognised two: Joel and Francis were close cousins (though by a different branch of the family tree than James Edward's) of her departed husband, and presumably members of the DeMoeira dynasty who were much better versed in their family's lines of business. The third was obviously "the Doctor", if only because of his dress. However, he appeared to be dressed not for operating but for research, with a long white coat reminiscent of scientists in the movies. Although he wore no facemask, he did wear a head covering that contained his hair, which would otherwise (it seemed) have spilled out into a great shock of black hair. He was slightly shorter than the DeMoeiras, but also athletically built, with obvious wiry strength. He was studying Jennifer with small, dark eyes set in a face that seemed open but at once gave away nothing about what was inside the man's head. It made the naked captive shiver as he looked at her. James Edward held Jennifer firmly by her shoulders, standing behind her and discouraging any rash moves.

"So, this is the special lady whose crime I am to punish!" he remarked, and Jennifer caught a hint of some exotic accent in his voice.

"It is indeed," replied James Edward, "Jennifer, meet Doctor Lucas Brava, a close and loyal employee of the DeMoeira family for many years, and one of our most effective developers and demonstrators of products. He is highly skilled in many medical disciplines, and having been given the specifics of our requirements has devised the punishments that you will undergo.

"Now, Dr. Brava, I will leave the young woman in your capable hands. I trust that you have enough assistance with these two fine young men?"

With that, the two cousins (dressed in jeans and checked shirts, almost like cattle handlers in the Wild West) moved to take hold of Jennifer by the upper arms. James Edward departed while the men began to muscle Jennifer towards the operating table. Jennifer finally seemed to realise her predicament, for whatever was going to happen to her here, it would be terrible and horrific, and she did not want to let it happen. It was futile, however. With her wrists already handcuffed, she could do little against the strength of the muscular men who held her.

Unceremoniously, Jennifer found herself forced onto the table, where finally she might kick at her assailants – but it was no good; Francis held her chest down while Joel easily contained her legs in his grasp, effectively tucking them tightly under one arm. Swiftly, he found a leather strap attached to the table and Jennifer's ankles were trapped under it, and she was helpless once again. Now, he helped his cousin by holding down Jennifer while Francis adjusted his hold on her, moving behind her and now pushing down on Jennifer's shoulders. Joel backed away as Dr. Brava activated a control on the wall of the theatre. Jennifer's view was blocked by the arms of her cousin, but she could feel motors working beneath her in the operating table.

Joel came forwards again, and Francis forced Jennifer into a sitting position. Joel took a firm hold on the woman while Francis produced a key from his pocket and undid the handcuffs, for what reason, Jennifer had no idea at that point.

All became apparent when the two cousins each seized an arm and dragged them wide, forcing Jennifer onto her back once more. Now the motors' work was revealed, for Jennifer found her arms stretched along extensions on either side of the table. She was sure now that Joel and Francis had practised this many times and knew each step of the procedure through which they would put their errant in-law. Indeed, with practised skill they applied further leather straps, first around the wrists, then the lower and upper arms so that Jennifer was utterly secured to the smooth surface beneath her.

This, it appeared, was not enough for the doctor's purpose, for the pair continued with further straps across the legs and across the waist of the victim. Francis, the job of immobilising Jennifer complete, was eager for some fun. The unmistakable bulge in his jeans needed no emphasis, but he was already working his belt and fly. Although her legs were fastened together, Jennifer knew that this only meant that it would be tighter and hurt more. She tried to brace herself for the imminent rape.

"No, no, no!" insisted the doctor, "We do not take our fun until the business is complete! We must remain focused or the whole punishment may be compromised. If she should experience even the slightest physical arousal from your actions, it might turn pain into pleasure and then the entire effect is lost. No, now go and bring me my operating instruments!"

Jennifer expected to see perhaps implements of torture, or just possibly genuine scalpels and the like. What she saw were a hammer and several of the thickest nails she could have imagined.

"What are you going to do to me?" she wailed, pathetically, feeling ashamed at how she sounded but unable to find any greater strength for her voice.

"We are going to punish you, dear," said Doctor Brava, "Many times over. I will not spoil the surprise if you have not already guessed the nature of this operation – anyway, the moment is almost upon you!" So saying, he took up one of the nails and a hammer.

"Joel, gag her, then hold her head. She should watch every moment of this, and it would be a shame if she should accidentally harm her tongue during the process." The doctor approached Jennifer's right hand on its platform, while a ball-gag was forced between her teeth by Joel: apparently, it had been on a second layer of the trolley with the hammer and nails. Then, as the doctor had instructed, Joel placed his hands on either side of the patient's head and forced her to gaze at her vulnerable hand as the doctor carefully placed the tip of the nail into the hollow of her palm. She could see that the nail was at least a centimetre wide, and 15 centimetres long. Doctor Brava poised himself for the first blow, and Jennifer winced but did not dare to close her eyes, which would anger the doctor further.

Metal struck metal, pierced flesh, wrung a scream from Jennifer's lungs, impotent behind Joel's gag. Jennifer did not know it, but Dr. Lucas Brava had planned this well. Beneath her hand was a gap in the meal of the table placed perfectly to take the nail. In that gap was a form of putty that would not seriously impede the nail's progress, but would slow it enough that there would be several blows needed to drive its full length through the victim's hand so that the head rested in her palm. The tip of the nail had already reached the putty, tearing muscles and twisting bone. Jennifer watched with terror and impotence as each subsequent strike brought further damage in her hand and she screamed into the gag with each one as the pain of it seemed greater than the one before. In all, it took seven blows of the hammer before the nail was completely driven home.

"I have broken, I think, two bones in your hand with this operation," Doctor Brava commented to his patient, "But that is unimportant now. Slightly more significant is that you will also have lost any use of your middle two fingers as a result of the procedure. However, given your future prospects, I think that this will prove to be unimportant to you. And now, I shall perform the operation on your other hand."

Joel twisted Jennifer's head so that she faced her left hand and the doctor carefully selected his nail before delicately positioning it exactly as he wanted over her palm. This time, the fear in Jennifer's eyes was the anticipation of a known horror, and in it Dr. Lucas Brava found his greatest delight. He paused a long moment, drinking in the terror of his 'guest', before once more lifting his arm high and driving the cruel spike into the defenceless tissue of Jennifer's trapped hand.

Jennifer found herself beyond screaming, and just gurgled behind the gag as the pain multiplied again and her left hand was left with the same damage as her right. More securely than any straps could hold her, she was pinned to the specially designed table, in agony and impotence caught naked beneath the stares of the men who had done this to her.

"By now, you will be thinking, 'They are crucifying me!' But it is not so, yet. No, this is just the preliminary stage, for the beauty of what I have devised is that we will be able to crucify you over and over again, and it will never end. Each day that your in-laws feel the lack of Daniel, they will be able to put you to a punishment deemed fit for murderers and robbers, in days long ago, and you will come close to death but be forced back to life, to face the same agonising near-death the next day, and the next, forever. This is the fate that I have devised for you!" The doctor laughed at Jennifer's wild, staring, uncomprehending eyes, filled with a conviction of her captors' insanity and the knowledge of her helplessness within it.

Joel and Francis came down the table and began undoing the straps that held Jennifer's legs to the table. Each time, however, they simply looped a strap around her so that her legs were still securely fastened together but no longer held flat against the table. When her ankles were finally freed, Jennifer tried hard to kick her way loose, but it was hopeless. She would have tried harder, but found that her fighting caused her arms to pull on the nails still holding her hands firmly to the table and the stabs of pain quickly forced her to stop. It was hardly as if she could have broken free anyway while the two men were so unyieldingly holding her.

Joel and Francis quickly repositioned Jennifer's feet so that her soles were pressed onto the table, and used their strength to hold her in that posture, with her knees raised into the air. Jennifer couldn't see, but a similar arrangement as that for the nails in her hands had been set up in the table for her feet, and it was to these that the men placed them. Once more, the putty would absorb some of the force of the hammer blows so that the effect would be prolonged. The fact that her legs now blocked her view at least meant that she could not be forced to watch the pitiless metal being driven through her feet.

Doctor Brava was just as precise with his placing of the third nail on Jennifer's right foot, but this time he did not raise his hand as high with the hammer. Consequently, Jennifer did not see his actions as they were hidden behind her knees. The first she knew of the impending blow was when the nail was thrust into her foot.

In shock, Jennifer jerked with the sudden pain, wrenching her hands on the spikes already driven home. She moaned: a long, low, drawn-out wail behind her gag. A low chuckle emerged from the three men.

This was not the smooth transfixing made by the nails in her hands: the nail was not struck with as much force, and also the bones in the foot were proving less easy to prise apart. Every aspect of the process was slower and more painful than it had been with the hands. All the extremities are highly concentrated with nerve-endings, for it is with hands and feet that a person will most often feel their way through a situation where vision and hearing prove ineffective as guides. This sensitivity was now the weapon used against Jennifer.

She showed more control with the subsequent hammer blows, and no longer caused herself greater pain by tugging on her hands, but she could not avoid making the helpless sounds of anguish that so amused the men around her. The nail ground against the bones in her foot, forcing them out of the way and tearing asunder the muscles and sinews that lay in its path. It took at least a dozen strikes before the doctor was satisfied with his handiwork, and repeated the process on Jennifer's left foot.

Now the cousins were making lewd comments, that these were surely not the only pricks that would impale her, and other such comments, and they timed their remarks to coincide with the hammer blows so that humiliation was swiftly followed by suffering. This at last brought tears to Jennifer's eyes: not the pain of being tortured, but the suggestive and lascivious words of her in-laws, and the thought of things that they implied would happen to her.

The doctor finished hammering home the last of the nails.

"Now we come to the really clever part," he informed Jennifer, "Because when we remove the nails, something miraculous happens!"

Francis revealed on a second trolley another tool, resembling a great claw hammerhead, but obviously only used for the claw characteristics. Jennifer could neither imagine what would happen now, nor what they could possibly gain in terms of a "special punishment" by nailing her to the operating table and then immediately prising her free. But that was what they appeared to be doing, Joel taking charge of the process.

The claw crushed against the side of her hand, turning her little finger numb in the process, but the nail pulled free – or did it? Jennifer could see clearly a nail in Joel's hand, which he placed into a metal surgical dish with a clang. But she could also see and feel metal in her hand, and she was still pinned to the table. The same curious effect was found with her other hand.

Joel used Jennifer's toes as a fulcrum for the claw in removing the nails in her toes, crushing them until she was sure that bones had been broken (not that it mattered compared to what had happened to the innards of her feet already). Yet, again, she could still feel the cold metal in her and she was still pinned to the table. What could the doctor have done? Because of his approach to the rest of the operation, Jennifer thought that he would have explained it at this point, but he simply gave further orders to the cousins, that Jennifer's arms should once more be strapped down.

Once the cousins had carried out the command, he operated a control on the wall. It seemed to Jennifer as though the table where the nails had been driven in had melted. She did not have much freedom, but where she had been pinned securely, she now had a little bit of movement. In actual fact, a solution that dissolved the putty had been released from small reservoirs in the table.

"Turn her over!" instructed the doctor, and Jennifer was unstrapped again, and the strong men, giving no hope of struggling, did as they were bidden. The doctor himself lifted Jennifer's legs (which were still bound tightly together) and held them straight out so that kicking was unavailable as an option. In no time at all, Jennifer found herself lying on her chest, arms stretched out and strapped as before, but her palms were now facing downwards. From somewhere, Joel produced a chinrest that forced Jennifer's face to point in one direction only, towards the wall and away from any inspection of her own condition. Behind her, she caught a faint roar like a gas fire coming to life, and then presumably at the command of another wall-mounted control, a large panel slid to one side in front of her to reveal a mirror.

Jennifer first registered that a blue gas flame was emerging from the torch in the doctor's hand. Her bladder released its contents as a terror unlike anything she had ever experienced, even during her already horrific ordeal at the hands of her in-laws, gripped her. Seeing it happen, the cousins laughed out loud in utter derision. Though it did not register for some time, the urine did not pool upon the table, but a well-placed opening drained it away.

The second thing that registered was that although the nails appeared still to be pointing upwards from Jennifer's hands, they had lost their spikes and seemed to be flat on the end. Compared to the rapidly approaching torch flame, this seemed an irrelevant detail but afterwards it was something that Jennifer recalled with vivid clarity.

The third thing that registered was the act that by now, both cousins had huge erections barely concealed in their jeans.

Then the flame approached Jennifer's left hand.

"This will burn, but not directly," the doctor said, "But I must cut down to size, and soften, the metal so that it can be made a secure anchor on the back of your hand. Having it slip out would be most unfortunate, for you as well as us."

He was as good as his word and expertly turned the torch onto the 12cm or so that still protruded. He cut very close to Jennifer's skin, but the flame never came close to touching her. But metal conducts heat extremely well, and the metal was melting as it was cut and softened. Jennifer's hand felt the rapidly swelling burning, and her flesh against the metal still in her hand was seared and burned also. The levels of pain had been taken to yet another level, and Jennifer could not make more sounds but was reduced to stretching her face around her gag in an effort to express her anguish. Her eyes were blinded by tears that expressed no emotion but were simply a reaction to a stimulus for which her body was never designed.

Through the pain, she became aware of a change in the doctor's actions. The fire that still raged in her hand numbed it to anything else that happened, but she could still feel the impact as the doctor now used a small ball hammer to beat the red, soft metal into a cap that pressed firmly against the back of Jennifer's hand, searing the flesh beneath it and causing a new timbre in the wall of pain that emanated from her limb.

"Now we must let it cool gradually: a quick cooling could be disastrous!" the doctor declaimed to all in the room. Jennifer did not know if this was true, but knew well enough that it meant that the burning would not cease in her hand for some time.

The doctor moved with a flourish to Jennifer's feet, where he efficiently went about the same process as he had done on Jennifer's hand. Each nail emerging from the hollow in the middle of her foot, the flame was brought even closer to her skin, but the doctor was clearly an expert with all manner of tools and never once went wrong.

The pain in hand and foot had by now driven Jennifer into a state akin perhaps to hypnosis: she was aware of her surroundings and of the pain inflicted upon her, but its meaning and any response to it was deadened, her mind having temporarily departed in order to protect itself from the storm of unprecedented and extreme sensation. The doctor was aware of this fact, but continued anyway until all four limbs had been treated the same way.

The two cousins briefly left the room, and returned wheeling in a trolley on which rested a sarcophagus. There was no strength left in Jennifer, and her mind was still unable to deal with the suffering that she had suffered, so she did not resist when the doctor first blindfolded her, and then turned her over. Deftly, he fastened a strap around her chest, just under her bosom, and to it he tied her weak and pathetic wrists, positioning her in a parody of the ancient Egyptian mummies.

With ease, the cousins lifted Jennifer into the coffin-like bed, whose dimensions had been carefully tailored to match those of its intended occupant. To the catatonic Jennifer, it was as if she floated through darkness into a world of soft cushions. The sarcophagus was there to enable her to recover for the next phase of her punishment; its soft lining was no sign of mercy on the part of the DeMoeiras, but a means to an end. The doctor looked at the naked woman whom he had mutilated so cunningly and produced one final instrument, a long, thick, shining metal dildo that he forced home into her pliant pussy.

"That should help waken her," he suggested to the cameras recording every moment of the operation, and then closed the lid. He had detected just the slightest of movements as he had inserted the cruel shaft, and so he waved at the tiny transparent eyes of the sarcophagus before allowing Francis and Joel to push the trolley to the next stage.