Fate of a Murderess

Part 7: The Swing

Jennifer was given most of the next day to rest, attached to her IV feed and lying immobile on the bed. The DeMoeiras had not bothered to tie her down any more: there was no point, since she could barely make a hobble, let alone a dash for it. With her toes permanently limp, her feet disfigured with metal plates under them, and her back rendered as rigidly straight as the proverbial poker, balancing was a huge problem and moving at any speed was simply out of the question. If she tried, Jennifer would be certain to fall flat on her face. The reason that she had been tied down before was to give her the minimum opportunity to guess what had been done to her before the demonstration of the survivable impaling.

The sun was making its rapid descent towards the horizon when the DeMoeiras next came for her. Her IV tube was removed and she was once more escorted into the courtyard to face the gathered DeMoeira clan and any interested onlookers whom they had invited. She was being paraded like a circus animal night after night before the baying crowds uninterested in her as a performer, just in what could be forced upon her.

The crane was the same, and the wooden block was there, the boards around it stained with a claret colour from the blood of Adenike who had died so horribly the day before. Jennifer did not need to be forced. She knew what she would be made to do, and that the DeMoeiras could make her suffer for a long time before the main event if she did not do it. Besides, she knew that she could take the pole in her behind, it had been proved yesterday. Far better to let her 3-minute slide be over quickly and then she could return to her bed.

But this was a very different impalement. She had forgotten James Edward's promise to the watchers yesterday.

The long pole on which she had been hoisted into the air was absent. Instead, Eleanore inspected her anus and declared it loose enough already, at which a much shorter pole, perhaps just 5 feet long, was brought in. It was more bullet-nosed at the top, and narrower than yesterday's pole. For a moment, Jennifer felt relieved, but then decided that this could only mean that they were going to use it to suspend her, and the obvious reason for that would be to roast her alive. She started to weep at the hideous cruelty of which her in-laws were capable.

However, Jennifer was soon given cause for hope. P.L. carried onto the stage a length of medical tubing, and a water bag. They would hardly be giving her a drink if they intended to roast her, would they?

As she was bent over the impalement block, she was gradually forced to swallow the tubing. She could feel it scratching its way down her oesophagus; the only way that P.L. could be sure that he was not going to be pouring the water straight through was to trace the side of her throat all the way down until he reached her stomach. At last, he had the pipe where he wanted it, and he undid the valve on the bag. Jennifer felt the cold water flowing through the piping down her throat, but it was a curious, unnerving sensation that, although she could tell it was happening, she could feel no wetness. She could also feel as the cold water started to collect in her stomach, which was pressed onto the top of the block. P.L. looked at Jennifer, who was quietly accepting all that was being done to her in the vain hope that it would soon be over.

"I thought you would like to know," he said, "That there are four litres of water in here, and you are going to get all of it. Good luck!"

The flow continued, and Jennifer was starting to feel horribly bloated already, though the bag was barely half-empty.

"Your titanium tube rests very close to your stomach," P.L. commented, "I wonder what effect that will have when we stick you soon?"

Jennifer whimpered as a bloated feeling turned to genuine tightness, and actual pain. Suddenly, the bag gave a gurgle and the water ran out, just as Jennifer was sure that any more would have killed her. She had no time to relax, though: already the blunt shaft was being pressed against the doorway to her back passage. She concentrated on releasing any tension in her anal ring as the rod was driven inwards.

"Ow!" she said, as the stubby front end penetrated her rear defences, but it was not the agony of yesterday's brutal assaults that her voice conveyed, but a mere complaint of the sudden stress on her body. P.L. did not make her put her head to the floor this time, but had her on her hands and knees, more horizontal as the pole came through her innards. As her artificial channel was filled with the pole, which ratted a little inside her due to its smaller diameter, she felt it pressing and sloshing her stomach, which made her feel as if she was going to be sick. That would soon be impossible though.

"Take a deep breath!" advised P.L., and she did. The pole quickly thundered through her throat, closing her windpipe just as the larger one had done, and she knew the posture to adopt as the shaft ploughed on and out of her mouth. There, it stopped, and she could not tell what was happening, only that something was being done behind her, at the bottom end of the pole. She hoped that they would hurry up, because already the air in her lungs was growing stale. Then suddenly there were four DeMoeira men in front of her, all with a grip on the pole.

"Relax your bottom and neck, dear, or this will sting a bit!" advised one of the men. Jennifer did as she was told, and immediately the men ran backwards, ripping the pole through Jennifer's body at a great speed. No matter how relaxed she had been, there was no way that it would not cause friction heat to burn her rectum and oesophagus, and as soon as her airway was clear, her scream ripped through the air. However, it was not the shrill cry of earlier events. Her vocal chords had been seriously crushed and damaged by the impalings and only a hoarse screeching emerged from her pummelled larynx.

Something else was affecting the noise. Jennifer now knew what had been done behind her. She had not noticed before the metal hoop at the base of the five-foot pole, but now that it was in front of her it was very clear. All the more so, because attached to it and running straight down Jennifer's neck was a shining metal chain.

It had rattled into her arse as the pole had pulled through, but had not registered instantly because each link was much smaller than the width of the pole itself, and the friction of the pole's passing had triggered far more potent sensations in her abdomen and throat. As her behind began to recover, she was aware of the knobbly cold feeling of the chain links resting in her.

The men who had pulled the pole right through her had now detached the chain from the pole, and were attaching it to something else: the hook that hung from the crane, whose head was now positioned directly above Jennifer's.

The inevitable happened, and the crane began to reel in its cable and the chain attached to it. Jennifer had no alternative but to use her lips and tongue to protect her teeth from catching on the links of the chain as they were pulled through her mouth. But that meant that these fleshy parts of her buccal cavity took the hammering that came of the metal lumps racing through her mouth. She was starting to taste blood from them when a new assault registered: the chain had all but stopped, and a massive steely torpedo was clamped against her anus. The chain was pulling over her face, crushing against her nose, and now was making her tilt upwards as the crane's relentless hoisting continued. Her hands left contact with the ground, and Jennifer struggled to her feet, tripping on the wooden impaling block as she did so. Soon the force of the crane was working directly opposed to the force of Jennifer's weight, and so the metal dildo was being driven in by Jennifer's own body mass. It was an uneven struggle, and her anal ring was sure to lose. Again she screeched in pain as she was torn apart by the enormous device. She could tell that it was even fatter than the pole had been yesterday (which in turn meant that it would not go right through her, because the titanium tube had fitted perfectly yesterday's pole). She had no idea how long it was, but was extremely thankful when she found that a steel bar was attached across its base, providing a sort of swing seat for her backside. The torpedo was stretching her horribly inside, and she was unable to stop herself moaning continuously under its influence. With the chain running through her, the sound was strange and eerie, but the meaning was clear and obviously excited the audience.

Jennifer's feet swung just a few centimetres above the ground when the crane came to a halt. Another metal pole appeared from somewhere, and this one had two prongs with threaded ends about a metre apart. To these they bolted Jennifer's feet and then used further chains to pull it up close to the swing seat bar and link the two. Jennifer's hands were bolted together behind her back. The crane lowered her a little, and she was disturbed by the way that the vibrations of the engine were transmitted so effectively down the chain, through her body and into the torpedo in her arse.

She then discovered why she had been lowered a little: James Edward had called forwards five of the generals who were valued customers of their torture equipment industry.

Jennifer's cunt had been squeezed by the huge object lodged in her rectum, and even the modest prick of the first general caused her to squeal as he roughly rammed into her. Adding to her discomfort was the fact that she was swinging freely on the chain, and as the man pushed into her, she would swing, the chain would rock in her throat and mouth, and make the dildo move as well. The general gripped her body as he approached climax, and spurted his semen into her, before making way for the second rapist.

James Edward appeared to have a very good working knowledge of the intimate anatomy of his guests, for he had arranged these generals in order of increasing penis length and diameter. Jennifer wept as her over-full belly was rubbed by theirs, and their ever-larger cocks pummelled her, driving her seat on and off the evil pillar pressed within. Each one left his seed within her, glorying in his conquering of the helpless woman.

The last man finished, and P.L. was there.

"Please, not you as well!" begged Jennifer.

"You're in luck! No. Not me. This." P.L. held up another metal shaft, even larger, it seemed to her eyes, than the one in her arse. Without another word, P.L. rammed the thing home, forcing it deep into Jennifer's tunnel, pushing its monstrous length right up to the hilt, forcing her pussy-lips wider than she had ever dreamed possible. A taut steel cable then linked the base of the dildo to either end of the bar on which Jennifer was sitting, to which was attached the weapon embedded in her behind. A flange of metal protruded from the dildo's base, covering Jennifer's clit, and its end had a small bump of metal that was now just gently brushing the erogenous tissue in its sheath.

P.L. showed Jennifer something else. He had now in his hand two small electronic devices, each one about the size of a personal stereo.

"These are radios, with very powerful amplifiers for their size. They fit just perfectly onto your swing seat here, and are designed to transmit all of their sound energy directly into the bar under your buttocks. We will be broadcasting continuously, and the batteries will last a lot longer than you are scheduled to be out here.

"It will be most interesting to see how many times you cum during the night!"

P.L. made short work of clamping the radios in place, and retreated, leaving a large bucket positioned beneath his victim. The sun was almost below the horizon by this time, and the arena was beginning to get cold. James Edward advised his guests that those who wished to could stay up to watch Jennifer's all-night ordeal, but the whole thing was being recorded digitally, and they would be able to watch at their leisure the official full-length version edited by the family experts. Therefore, they were welcome to adjourn to the viewing room or their accommodation, as they preferred.

The grandstands emptied and Jennifer was left alone to dangle in the gathering night air, illuminated by the floodlights that had come on as soon as darkness approached. Her pussy and arse were filled with metal invaders, her throat and mouth were clogged with chain so that it was hard (but not impossible) to breathe, her arms were linked behind her back, her legs spread and pulled upwards. Her belly was uncomfortably full, and she had been given far too much water to drink. How could she suffer more?

Then the radios started. They were working in perfect synchronisation, and the DeMoeiras had calculated the exact resonant frequency of the bar to which were now attached both dildos. It was subsonic, around the 15-20 Hertz range. The resonant vibrations easily overcame the damping effect of Jennifer's butt and were transmitted with ease along the bar and down the taut cable, into the steel that plugged Jennifer's dark holes. And it also set the flange, attached to the dildo in her pussy, vibrating in sympathy with the rest of the framework. Rubbing, churning, stimulating Jennifer's clitoris at over fifteen times a second. It was painfully hard against her button, but so welcome as well after two months without any form of stimulation for her clit.

"Oh, no!" she wailed as she realised what had been done to her by the demonic brilliance of her torturers. The arousal was inescapable despite every discomfort and agony that she felt. Worse was the growing realisation that the water that had been deposited in her stomach was now being processed and her bladder was filling as her body decided that she had too much fluid already.

The pleasurable sensations in her clit were transforming the vibrations in her rectum and vagina from punishment to arousal as well, and she was now receiving a mechanical double-fucking as never before. She did not want to cum while there would still be people watching live, but she could not help herself as the vibrations suddenly doubled in frequency. They were still resonant with the bar, and now were much more urgent and stimulating. It was too much, and tipped Jennifer over the edge.

"Aah! Ah, ah aah!" she cried as the orgasm coursed through her suspended body. As the sensations surged through her body, she was no longer able to control herself, and she was shocked to feel her piss flooding from her body as she came. Even as her body rode the orgasm for all it was worth, the deepest sense of shame overtook her mind, and away in the viewing room the close-up camera on her face showed the flush of shame as well as joy that flooded her cheeks.

Elsewhere, in the editing suite, William DeMoeira applauded himself in his deployment of the higher frequency. It was set to be random through the night, but he had thought that Jennifer might need an early orgasm to get her going. It's always easier the second time, was his thinking. He switched off the higher frequency, and put the control of the transmitter back on random switching.

* * * * *

In all, Jennifer orgasmed another five times during the night, and lost control of her bladder on another two of those occasions. She was kept from freezing by the heat from the floodlights, but the sweat that she had exuded during her excitement had made it a close-run thing in the end.

P.L. removed the cable and the dildo from Jennifer's pussy, before enlisting the help of some other DeMoeiras to hoist Jennifer bodily from the dildo in her arse, which was somehow unbuckled from the chain, and then Jennifer was allowed to sink rapidly to the floor while the chain rattled upwards through her body and out of her mouth. Then they undid the nuts that held her feet to the second metal bar.

Almost two litres of Jennifer's piss had been collected in the bucket, and this seemed to give one of James Edward's younger sons (aged eighteen) an idea. He went back to the building and came forth with a curiously-shaped glass that Jennifer recognised from her student days as being the "Yard of Ale". It was a favourite drinking challenge in many pubs. Holding anything from 3 to 5 pints, the drinker had to down the lot in one go. The special shape of the glass was a part of the challenge: only if a special technique was used could the task be done: otherwise, about half the original volume of liquid would suddenly surge down the glass and soak the drinker.

Now, the DeMoeiras were challenging Jennifer to drink a yard of her own urine. To her chagrin, it was as if she had colluded in their idea: she had passed just enough urine to fill the glass tube neatly.

The gathered spectators were armed with whips in case she tried to refuse the challenge, because she would need both her hands and her feet to be able to accept it. Jennifer looked at the ring of sadistic faces around her, and knew that they would love to lash her almost to death, if she did not accept the challenge. Feeling sick to her stomach, she took the glass of her piss in her hands and started slowly to pour the stuff down her throat. Of course, most of it went straight through the titanium tube and started to leak from her anus immediately, adding to her humiliation and degradation at the hands of her in-laws.

Jennifer had never even attempted the Yard of Ale while at university, let alone mastered the technique. Pretty soon the inevitable happened, and her yellow pee rushed down the pipe and covered her face, hair and naked body. Laughter surrounded her on all sides, and she sank into a heap on the floor, noticing as she did so the pinkish tinge to the fluid still dripping from her backside.

Hours later, after she had been hosed down and inspected by Doctor Brava, the verdict was given: "I don't think she can take another impaling tomorrow," said the doctor, "So I suggest we put her on the cross again."