Fate of a Murderess

Part 2: The First Time

Jennifer's mind struggled back from the empty valleys where it had strayed, trying to lose the pain inflicted from without. She could see nothing, her eyes covered by black cloth. She could hear nothing, sound deadened by her environment. There was nothing to smell or taste. She could feel only softness on all sides, caressing her and yet at the same time translated as sinister by her unconscious mind: not the primordial loving warmth of the pre-birth womb, but something closing in and surrounding her, holding her captive.

Then shock, and the terrible recollection of all that had just taken place: for there was a hard metal object piercing her: between her legs, in her most intimate cavity, a harsh invader like those that still had left parts of themselves in her hands and feet. But not painfully driven through her flesh, but nestled within. Cold and uncomfortable, unwelcome and hateful, she wished it gone.

But she could not move her arms or legs, for the softness that imprisoned her was unrelenting and held her immobile except for small tremors of her muscles. Her legs pressed together might have formed a barrier to inserting it, but they equally made it harder to expel now it was in her. All the same, it was something that she could do to change her situation, positive action, and she would attempt it only because it implied regaining her will.

The muscles of Jennifer's vaginal walls would be the route to her freedom. Pushing, she felt proud when she discovered that she could by strength of will start to remove the unwelcome implement from her passage. She could feel more of it resting outside of her body now, and maybe she would finally push it all the way out, and feel it on her legs instead. Perhaps it would be just as uncomfortable, but it would be symbol of her willpower and determination to resist.

Then the sarcophagus lid opened. Jennifer did not hear it, her ears deafened by the lining just as its designer intended. But she felt the fresh air on her body, and slightly more freedom for her limbs. She thought of kicking, but the action was curtailed as a hand slapped on the end of the partly extruded metal shaft, driving it violently back into her. Almost immediately, the shaft was whipped out just as quickly and taken away. Then hands lifted Jennifer into a sitting position.

When the blindfold was removed, Jennifer saw that she was once again in the care of James Edward DeMoeira. Her wrists were still held against her chest and her legs, though now awarded some vertical movement, were still held rigidly against lateral movement by the shape of the sarcophagus. She was in some sort of anteroom, it seemed, and a long mirror faced Jennifer as she blinked to accustom her eyes to the light. It seemed to her as though she belonged in some sort of horror movie, rising up from the coffin like some pornographic bride of Dracula, the thick bands that held her arms in place hiding from her angle of view the vile handiwork of Doctor Brava.

James Edward spoke: "As you are now attired, and postured, you are to walk to the next point in the proceedings. It is time for you to meet the rest of the family, and I think that they would appreciate more a dignified, even proud, showing from you. If you resist, I can of course utilise some of our other products, such as an exquisitely designed electric prod that has received rave reviews from professionals. But why should you want that? It only makes your suffering even more omnipresent. Will you act rationally, or do I have to make even more of a show of you?"

"What's going to happen?" Jennifer asked meekly of James Edward.

"Your punishment is going to be long and entertaining, but the first night, as it were, is going to be a special occasion and the family have gathered from across the globe to witness your first time. That is what is going to happen, and it will happen either with you entering as a star or with you entering as a slave. The rest of the event, of course, will have you as abject criminal being punished, but nothing you can do will change that fact."

Jennifer looked from James Edward to the mirror and back, studying his face and her own. So soon after the triumph, minute as it may have been, that she had felt in driving out the dildo from her pussy, Jennifer was confronted again with her helplessness in this situation. Strength of will would mean nothing when she was being driven by electric shocks and surrounded by DeMoeiras all of whom wanted to see her suffer for her crime. The thought of having to surrender willingly to whatever her in-laws had devised was equally hateful to her, but she knew that she would have to do so and the thought was bringing her close to tears.

With a deep, shaking, intake of breath, she stared at her image in the mirror.

"I'll do it," she said, "I'll make a good entrance."

"Good girl, Jennifer." With that he bent down and used a variation on a fireman's lift to hoist Jennifer out of the coffin and then to stand her on the floor. It was the only way one man alone could possibly do it, and Jennifer realised that she also had to help with shifting her body weight. But it was effective and soon she was standing on her feet again.

Jennifer discovered then how helpless she really was: Doctor Brava was not only a diabolically gifted surgeon, but also an excellent smithy, it seemed. His working of the metal had perhaps given Jennifer more scope than could otherwise have been expected, for with less skilled handling, the uneven metal might well have made any use of her feet impossible. Standing, it felt as though she was wearing shoes that had quite large, flat, round pebbles in them, positioned just a little forward of the highest point of the arch of her foot. Balancing was hard, too, because her toes would no longer respond to the instinctive commands sent by her brain. The flexibility of the front part of the foot is so much taken for granted by those who have learned to walk, using these capabilities to maintain their balance, that the loss of it was a serious handicap. The metal shafts had destroyed much of the muscle and bone that controlled the movements, so now the instinctive twitching only resulted in crippling sharp pains in the feet as further damage was inflicted on what remained of those muscles. She wanted to look down and see what she was doing, as she was going to have to learn to walk all over again, it seemed. However, James Edward used one hand to hold her chin up so that she had to gaze into his eyes, his other hand providing support in case she should totter and fall over. The brilliance of her tormentors was revealed again: either Jennifer would walk with pride and dignity, and thereby give them their delicious moments of anticipation of whatever torture was due next, or she would try, and fail, wobbling, stumbling and eventually crawling for fear of James Edward's electric prod, or she would simply be driven by that prod as she tried to resist and hold back. Escape was truly impossible: even if she would not be surrounded by her enemies, running was out of the question and, with her wrists tied, so was fighting. Jennifer darted her eyes fearfully, desperately, around the room as James Edward held her chin steady: she could see when her focus returned to his face, that he was savouring every moment of her distress.

"Are you ready to meet your public?" he asked her, the bitter humour of his voice highlighting the macabre notion that Jennifer would be a "star" of the occasion.

"No!" she whimpered, and now a tear trickled down her face as she realised that the moment had come when she must voluntarily or by coercion walk into further ordeal by her aggrieved and vengeful relatives.

"But you realise that you have no say in the matter. Now you must go." James Edward produced from a small, hidden cupboard the prod with which he had threatened Jennifer. He pointed to a double door, and Jennifer responded without his speaking another word. She stumbled almost immediately as the broken bones in her foot grated agonisingly, but somehow managed to regain her balance, and looking at the doors she saw that there was a pressure pad that would open them automatically. She stepped forwards carefully, and this time kept her balance. Behind her, James Edward laid his weapon to one side. The doors opened.

Outside was blazing hot sun and a sandy landscape. Jennifer saw that she was not, as she had originally believed, at one of the DeMoeira establishments in England, but in a large complex that was probably (though she couldn't swear to it) situated in Africa. The sun was beating down on a courtyard surrounded on all sides by low one or two storey buildings. Two shaded grandstands had been set up, and it looked as though around one hundred DeMoeiras had turned up, and in addition there were maybe two- or three-dozen men in various military uniforms. This was to be a showcase for the new techniques soon to be on sale to the world's worst regimes, as well as a private matter of revenge for the clan.

A ramp led up from the double doors to a platform where two of the most important DeMoeiras were waiting for Jennifer. These were James Edward's daughter Eleanore and her husband (usually known among the family only by his initials P.L.), who was the son of one of the generals waiting to see the show (and thereby automatically awarded the rank of colonel). Jennifer had never before connected the pleasant young man (or his father) with the evil doings of the dictatorship, assuming that they were not directly involved in that sort of thing – otherwise why would Eleanore have married him? She realised now that it was precisely through Eleanore and P.L.'s mutual involvement with torture methods that the couple had met and fallen in love. As Jennifer limped her way up the ramp, each step reminding her of the irreparable damage done to her foot bones, James Edward followed closely behind to keep her from faltering or falling, and she fixed her eyes on the pair of lovers whose relationship had changed in an instant in her mind from pure and redeeming to dark and debased.

And then she was on the platform itself, and James Edward turned her to face the audience before he stepped forwards to a microphone, to take on the role of MC.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family members and guests," he began, "We are today going to witness a new variation on a very old punishment." Behind her, Jennifer could hear the sounds of heavy lifting as several members of a choreographed team were lifting something onto the stage that had been hidden from her view as she approached. It was still hidden now, because she dared not turn to look.

"The old style had the weakness that it could really only be carried out once, at least, in its purest form. I like to think that we have retained much more of the spirit of the old way, while at the same time making the experience repeatable for the prisoner. This is the first time that this has been tested, but our very own Doctor Lucas Brava, whose genius you have all come to know, assures me that this will be a spectacular event.

"Without further ado, I give you: Jennifer DeMoeira, née Derby, in her first of many crucifixions!"

Eleanore and P.L. moved swiftly into action. Jennifer had just enough time to take sharp intake of breath before they were on her. The first thing they did was to unfasten Jennifer's wrists and remove the band around her chest. Jennifer started to struggle, but the husband and wife team were too strong and simply took one arm each and dragged Jennifer to the great wooden cross that was the thing that Jennifer had heard being moved. This cross was formed of two great beams of varnished oak or some such wood, each one almost as broad as Jennifer's hips and the vertical beam perhaps two or three times as tall as Jennifer. Meanwhile, James Edward was giving a running commentary.

"Of course, we are not counting the manner of the original operation, which you watched on video before taking your seats here, as a true crucifixion - although the prisoner was spread into a cross shape and nailed down. Because that state only lasted a very short time, and she was never hoisted to a vertical position, it did not share all the characteristics of the classical crucifixion. That operation was merely a preparation for the many that are to follow."

One of the helpers with the cross stepped up to the platform and was helping P.L. hold down Jennifer's arms along the arms of the cross. The sweet and pretty Eleanore (who had always struck Jennifer as perfectly matching the description of Snow White: hair as black as ebony, lips as red as blood and the rest of it) was gleefully collecting a hammer and nails (which had quite big heads, Jennifer noticed) from another of the assistants. Jennifer was trembling uncontrollably now, as fear coursed through her veins. Her best guess had been that she would be attached to the cross using powerful magnets to attract the metal in her hands and feet, but the addition of more nails had to imply a greater threat even than that.

"And now we come to the clever part. The two-part nails used in the operation have left a perfect metal-cased hole that lets you nail the hand to a piece of wood as many times as you like without doing further damage – unless you miss the nail's head, of course!" A smattering of laughter from the crowd. They were enjoying the pater familias' presentation as much as the prospect of Jennifer's suffering. As if to emphasise the point, Eleanore chose that moment to bring her heavy hammer down hard onto the first nail. And she accidentally struck only a glancing blow before the hammer's head slid off the nail and onto Jennifer's fingers. Jennifer screamed. The crowd cheered and laughed cruelly. The hammer fell a second time, and this time the long nail went cleanly into the wood. Jennifer spoke quietly and desperately to Eleanore, "Please stop! This is inhuman!" The mesmerising stare of James Edward was not on her, and the immediacy of the situation had stirred her tongue. But it was too late, if indeed there had ever been a time since Daniel's death when she could have deflected the full malice of the DeMoeiras seeking revenge. Besides which, Eleanore was one of the few DeMoeiras who had retained her sisterly love of Daniel even when his ideals led him further from the fold, so of all those present she would have least mercy for his murderer. The hammer slipped again, this time deliberately.

Then Jennifer was silent as Eleanore swiftly finished her job on the first hand. She opened her mouth to plead once more as Eleanore was stepping across to the other outstretched arm, but as she did so, Eleanore gave her a satanic look and brandished the hammer with the words, "Do you want a few more accidents, murderer?"

James Edward had stepped aside so that the crowd could watch the work going on, but he had moved the microphone closer and directed it towards the kneeling torturers and their prone victim. Eleanore's words were picked up by the PA and also brought a ripple of laughter from the gathering.

As Eleanore busied herself with hammering in the second nail, and P.L. made sure that Jennifer didn't pull her hand away until the nail was safely embedded in the wood, Jennifer herself was left with nothing to do but weep helpless, bitter tears at the end to which she had been brought. Sweat now coated her naked body and she could see that the others on the platform would need a change of clothes due to the heat. Nobody noticed the extra droplets that sprang from her eyes, but it seemed that they stung far more than the salty water already covering her. Apart from the silently flowing tears, and the rhythmic banging of the hammer on the nails, it was as if an expectant hush had fallen in the courtyard. When the hammering stopped, a new level would be reached.

Finally, Eleanore stood back. The nails were in as far as they would go, the heads of the nails protruding slightly beyond the splayed ends of the metal tubes in which they rested, and held slightly above the victim's hands by those same spread flanges. The backs of her hands were also slightly raised by the flanges that had been so expertly created by the metalworking of Doctor Brava. Jennifer's arms were at full stretch, held inflexible by the spikes driven deep into the wood behind them.

James Edward reclaimed the microphone, "Now, the senior members of our great dynasty have decided that there should be a ritual defilement of the felon. Five have been chosen to take that pleasure, who have been greatly involved in the work that brought her to this point. The Doctor's able assistants, Francis and Joel, obviously deserve a turn. The two who are on stage now have also done much work behind the scenes to get to this point, so they also can participate. Alas, my eldest son William cannot be here, as he is finishing off the sad tale for public consumption of Daniel and Jennifer DeMoeira, so I have selected at random one of the guests who are here to see our new innovations. Step forward, General Hervez!"

From the beginning of the statement, Jennifer had watched James Edward, transfixed by horror at his statement. Only when he stopped speaking did she respond to the implication, and could not stop shaking her head and whispering over and over again, "No, no, no, please no!" Joel and Francis were approaching from the same double doors as Jennifer had used. P.L. was already stripping off, while his wife busied herself with a strap-on, and gloating over the distraught Jennifer with such comments as, "I'm lucky – I don't even need to get my kit off to screw you!"

Within a couple of minutes, four naked men and one dildo-equipped woman surrounded Jennifer.

P.L. and Joel each grabbed one of Jennifer's legs and pulled them apart as Francis prepared himself for the entry. He had been anticipating this moment since he first set eyes on Jennifer's naked body in the operating theatre, and had subsequently been brought to heel by the Doctor. As soon as the strong-arm work of lifting the cross onto the stage had been completed, he had been allowing his erection to build as he studied Jennifer's smooth curves. He liked them with bigger tits in general, but this was a special occasion. He eagerly straddled the defenceless woman and leaned in to the attack.

Jennifer bit her lip to avoid making any further futile comments, but she was never going to keep still when the entry came. It was violent and brutish, while she was utterly dry, and so she screamed. And screamed again, every time the young man withdrew and pushed in again, battering away at her with rapid strokes. Fortunately for Jennifer, his lack of discipline as demonstrated in the operating theatre meant that he finished quickly, spurting his semen deep in her passageway. He and Joel swapped places, and Joel eased his cock into Jennifer's hole, which now was slightly more lubricated thanks to its previous occupant, and also the fact that she was beginning to secrete her own fluid in amongst. There was no arousal, however: only horror filled Jennifer's mind, but the human body does what it can to protect itself, and now her vagina was in grave danger of serious assault if it did not soothe the way a little.

Joel decided that he wanted a kiss from his cousin-in-law, and with his shaft deep inside her, he lay across her and sought her lips. Jennifer tried to turn her head away from him, but Eleanore was there and held her tightly while Joel forced his tongue into her mouth. The grip that Eleanore took on Jennifer's hair warned her that she should kiss back or suffer that bitchy form of punishment as well. Jennifer felt that she had little choice, and obliged. Then Joel started his movements, slower than Francis to start with, drawing moans of protest instead of screams from his victim. But he soon accelerated his strokes, and Jennifer was crying out, "No, please stop!" But it only spurred him on, and so a second load of sperm was deposited in her.

Joel took the place P.L., who went to stand over Jennifer's head. His wife meanwhile positioned herself with her strap-on dildo poised over Jennifer's sore and suffering pussy. P.L. put his hands around Jennifer's throat and instructed her, "Open wide, I'm coming in!" and simultaneous thrust his cock at Jennifer's mouth. Surprise more than anything caused her to comply, and with her head tilted back as far as it would go thanks to P.L.'s grip on her neck, he was able to push right into her throat where he held still for a moment while Jennifer gagged and struggled for breath. As he pulled out, Eleanore struck home, driving her demonic hard implement into the plundered dark reaches of Jennifer's pussy.

Maybe the couple had practised this routine on hapless victims of the husband's ruler, for the precision with which they carried out their double-ended brutalisation was remarkable. As soon as Eleanore withdrew from one end, P.L. would be driving his cock full-tilt into Jennifer's throat. It was not slow fucking, either: they drove with a spiteful, frantic rhythm without ever falling out of beat with one another. But they stopped as if on a signal, before P.L. had ejaculated. The relief that Jennifer felt was short-lived, however.

"Suck and swallow, sweetie!" crowed Eleanore as she showed to her victim a sharp pin and proceeded to lower it to Jennifer's clitoris. She opened wide once more, and as P.L. placed his cock between her lips, she did as she was instructed, doing her best to stimulate the beast so that she could avoid Eleanore's threat. It did not take long, for P.L. had been very close to orgasm when he brought the throatfucking to a stop. Jennifer found her mouth flooded with his semen and desperately she gulped it down, anxious to the last to avoid the vindictiveness of her late husband's cousin.

"How did she do?" demanded Eleanore,

"Hmm, so-so, I guess!" replied P.L., who saw that despite Jennifer's efforts some of his seed had leaked from her mouth onto her face.

"Ooh, is that good enough, do you think?" asked Eleanore, going into a well-rehearsed routine to prolong the suspense for Jennifer.

"I don't know, I'd best toss a coin for it. Heads is yes, tails is no – seems appropriate!" P.L. drew a coin from his pocket and flipped it. The answer was a forgone conclusion: it was a two-headed coin, but Jennifer wouldn't know that and the riveted gaze that she fixed upon the spinning disc confirmed that she was entirely focussed on its outcome. Another time, P.L. would have fixed it the other way, but today Jennifer was destined for a longer-lasting torment, and the sooner it started the longer it would be.

"Heads it is!" he announced, "So we've decided that you get away with your slovenly work this time." Eleanore pulled her steel thorn away from Jennifer's privates and stood back. Now it was the General's turn.

Like many who have reached the top of their military career in a regime where that carries more political than combat power, the General was not a fit man, but fancied himself as a gourmet: he ate a lot, of the very finest, while the average man in his country struggled to feed himself, let alone his family. Currently, he weighed in at around 120 kilos (about 260 pounds). A swaying orb of blubber, he pressed his bulk down onto Jennifer's slim and muscular frame as she whimpered and wriggled beneath him.

"Aah," the General groaned softly as his penis went where the others had gone, "I see now what this peasant slut had that enticed young Daniel. Although this is not exactly the way he would have done it!" Shame flushed Jennifer's face: for some reason nothing else had bothered her about the event in that way: perhaps the torture and physical concerns had driven it from her mind, but only now, with some stranger making personal comments about her love-life with her former husband, did she feel emotional shame as opposed to physical humiliation.

The General started heaving on top of Jennifer, practically rubbing her with his rolls of fat as he plunged his cock into her. The effect was almost like being caught in some great tidal swell at sea, and even the sensation of a threat of drowning accompanied it as the waves of fat seemed to sweep up and threaten to engulf her, as they crushed and forced the wind from her lungs.

And then the General was withdrawing, having added his own contribution to the mingled DeMoeira semen in Jennifer's cunt.

James Edward returned to his role as MC: "And now we will have a brief pause while the men who have just performed so admirably put their clothes on again, and so that Mrs DeMoeira née Derby can get her breath back: after all, she's going to need all she can get in just a very short while!" There was a short round of applause for the men, during which Eleanore returned to a point beside Jennifer's head. She had brought a carton of water with a tube running from it. The other end of the tube she placed in Jennifer's mouth.

"Drink up! We don't want you passing out from heat exhaustion," commanded Eleanore. "Besides which, I think you need to swill out after my husband's cum flooded your airway. Again, we want you breathing as easily as possible – at least to start with!" Jennifer did as she was bidden, gulping down the water and washing it round her mouth to try to remove the taste of P.L.'s seed. Soon, there was none left in the carton and Eleanore went and stood at the back of the stage alongside the men who had finished dressing themselves by this point.

"And now, there are two more nails required to fasten our wayward sister to her tree. P.L., Eleanore, Joel, if you would be so kind as to continue?" The three named protagonists stepped forward and went into their routine.

This was different to the hand nails, because it seemed important to the DeMoeira plan that Jennifer's feet were positioned correctly. Joel was holding Jennifer by her armpits as P.L. took hold of her around her shins, pushing her legs tightly together and pulling hard against Joel's grip. Eleanore was once again in charge of the hammer and nails.

Eleanore started by taking a nail and poking it through the metal tunnel in Jennifer's foot, making Jennifer wonder for a moment what would happen. Then P.L. leaned his whole weight across her legs as Eleanore gave a violent twist to force the nail's shaft into an almost vertical position, wrenching at the tortured innards of the foot in the process and wringing a piercing scream from Jennifer's lungs. The pain did not stop there, however. Eleanore had placed the tip of the nail against the wood and was using that leverage to bring it ever closer to vertical, straining against the natural resistance in the bones of the foot and the muscles running all the way up Jennifer's leg. It was impossible for Jennifer not to try to lift her knees at least slightly to take some of the strain, but of course this had been anticipated and that was why P.L. was positioned as he was, preventing any such easing of the stresses induced. Finally, Eleanore was satisfied with the angle of her nail. Therefore, she took her heavy hammer and started to drive it home.

This was not like the hammering of the hand nails, where unless a blow went astray, the force was directed only onto the nail and then the wood. Here, because of the way that the nails had been put into place, the head of the nail rested almost directly onto the foot. Each hammer blow also forced the angle of the foot ever close to the horizontal, towards extension of which even a prima ballerina would be proud, had it been achieved naturally. BANG, went the hammer on the nail, and crunch went the already broken bones in Jennifer's foot. The impossible stretching of sinews and tendons, and the flashing pain of the hammer blow each time forced a scream from Jennifer's lips, and James Edward commented to the crowd that, "At least her lungs are in good working order at the moment!" Jennifer barely noticed as they chuckled.

Finally, Eleanore stepped away for a moment and Jennifer heaved a sigh of relief: it was over. But she had forgotten that this was only the first foot to be done. Eleanore was just collecting the second nail, and the terror started again, no screams this time from Jennifer, just an incoherent babbling of useless protest, punctuated by gasps as each hammer blow struck home. Before long, Jennifer was nailed firmly to her cross by hands and feet, agonisingly stretched both vertically and laterally.

The stage assistants that had helped to lift the cross onto the platform in the first place now climbed up onto the stage. Joel and Francis moved to help, while P.L. and Eleanore stepped down in front of the platform, ready to guide the others.

The team quickly lifted Jennifer on her cross to knee height and shuffled her towards the front edge of the platform, until the top of the cross was poking over the edge, and the crossbeam was just level with it. Four of the lifters then took places ready at the foot of the platform, to lift the cross to shoulder-height between them. Gradually, the cross moved forwards again as all the carriers lifted, until another pair had to shift from the stage to the ground, until all the lifters were carrying the cross shoulder-high. For Jennifer, the repeated stopping and starting was signalled by steady jolts as she was rocked from side to side each time the cross was lifted and then put down again. It wrenched at her arms and shoulders, and at her hips and ankles. Almost paradoxically, she had a smoother ride once the men were carrying her out to the centre of the amphitheatre formed by the two grandstands. James Edward had fallen silent now, believing perhaps that the events could speak volumes for themselves with no need of embellishment from the loudspeakers.

There, a hole had been prepared in the ground, and Eleanore and P.L. were waiting to guide the toe of the cross into it. Slowly, the men negotiated a 180 degree turn so that Jennifer would not be placed head-first into the ground. Then Joel and Francis at the toe end of the cross orchestrated the measured tilting of the wooden construction.

In some ways, it was a good thing that the wood was so smooth – it meant that Jennifer would not be getting any splinters. On the downside, it meant that each minute increase in angle was translated to a greater strain on her arms, and a greater need to lock out her knees against her own weight. Soon, the toe was at the lip of the hole. The men eased it inwards, Jennifer finding herself grimacing and gritting her teeth to hold out against the increasing pain in her feet and arms.

With a sickening jolt, the cross slid the last foot or so into the hole, jarring Jennifer so that she lost her grip on the situation. Her knees buckled, dragging unbearably on her arms and hands. A barking cry of pain burst from her lips. All around, the crowd were applauding again as the workers filled in the soil around the foot of the cross while Joel, Francis, P.L. and Eleanore held it upright.

The gathered people rose as one when the workers stepped away at last from the wooden cross, and applauded cheerfully the spectacle of the lonely blonde girl forced open and totally exposed to their eyes and the elements, spread and nailed to a cross in the manner of a criminal of ancient Rome. Jennifer closed her eyes and tried to think of something, anything, to take her away from the world of agony, torment, and gleeful hatred that had ensnared her. But the only memory that came to mind again and again was the sight of Daniel tumbling onto the rocks far below.

"It may take a little while for the full effectiveness of this method to become apparent," announced James Edward once the clapping and cheering had died down, "And we are interested in seeing just how long somebody might last when subjected to this method. Jennifer is a strong, fit woman and there are accounts of people in ancient times lasting several days before expiring. However, I think we will take the expert Doctor's opinion at nightfall, it being now 1300 hours, and decide then whether she should also face the desert night. Meanwhile, we can watch from indoors via CCTV and discuss other matters while we may."

The courtyard began to empty, leaving the stretched and sun-battered Jennifer to her fate.