Shannon and the Inquisition Exhibition

Shannon stood nervously in the dean’s office, then approached the middle-aged woman who had her back turned to the door, staring intently into a computer screen.  A set of earphones sat atop the woman’s head and she typed furiously as monotone words drifted out of the cups.

“Excuse me,” Shannon said, “Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Hmm?” the woman turned from her work, “Yes, may I help you?”

“Hi, I’d like to see the dean please.”

“I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment.  What is this regarding?”

“It’s about a test I participated in last week.”

“And your name is?”

“Shannon.  Shannon Ascencio.  It’s important that I speak to him as soon as possible.”

“Ascencio? Well, I was just about to call you!  The dean asked me to schedule an interview with you for this afternoon, but since you’re here now maybe he can go ahead and see you.  Just a moment.”

Shannon stood there, confused, as the lady got up from her chair and turned the corner, knocked on the cream-colored door and stuck her head inside.  Shannon heard the woman say something in a questioning tone, followed by a brief response from a man inside.

“Shannon, Dean Werner will see you now.”

Shannon, uncertain as to why the dean would want to speak with her, thanked the woman and entered the office.  Giving the room a quick survey, she was underwhelmed.

The office was small, just barely big enough to accommodate the large oak desk centered in the room.  A pair of wood-frame windows with dark fabric drapes flanked the corners.  The desk was certainly intended to impress – and intimidate – visitors, but looked terribly out of place in such a small office.  Behind the desk sat a man, about 50 years old, in a high-backed chair and wearing a blazer.  A set of bifocals sat perched on his forehead.  The man closed a manila file folder and placed it to the side, then stood up and extended his hand across the desk.

“Hi Shannon, I’m Dean Werner.  I’m glad you could make it down.  I had asked Agnes to set up the appointment so I could speak to you about something that’s important to the college.  I hope this isn’t an imposition on your schedule.”

Shannon replied, “Well, actually sir, I came here on my own.  I wanted to discuss the experiment I participated in last week, the Milgram experiment.  I didn’t catch the professor’s name, but he was…”

The dean interrupted, “Oh, right. He was a visiting professor from another school. He’s not on the faculty here.  He asked that we grant him a room and include him on the Intro to Psych lab list.  As part of our affiliation with the university system, we obliged his request. Was there something in particular you wanted to ask about it? Otherwise, I’d like to speak to you about something else that I think you’ll find to be very interesting.”

Shannon paused.  This was a little confusing.  The dean wanted to speak to her?  About what? 

“Ummm, well, I uh…”  Quick!  Think of something intelligent to say!  “I … uhhh…”

“Yes?”

“I uhhh, was just wondering… when his final report was going to be published.  I’d like a copy,” she lied, hiding her intention to file a complaint about the conduct of the professor.

“I’m not really sure, but I’ll pass along your contact info if you like.  Usually those sorts of reports are published by the university press and only circulate within academic circles.  Psychology journals, thesis, reports, and the like don’t generally sell very well on bookstore shelves, as you can imagine, so they usually stay low-key.  We get our copies gratis.  You may want to just check at the library from time to time.”

“Thanks, but you don’t need to give him my information. “  The thought of that man knowing where she lived made her shiver.  “I’ll just check the library on my own. Thanks for the suggestion.” Shannon said, nervously smiling and clasping her hands behind her back, “soooo, you wanted to speak to me about something?”

“Yes, yes.  Please, sit down.”

Shannon pulled back a chair from the desk, trying not to hit the credenza behind her.

“Shannon, the professor told me that you were an exceptional participant and he was really impressed with your cooperation. He petitioned to have you receive full credit for the lab portion and receive a bonus allowance for the classroom lectures.  With your current grade point average, that means you’ll be receiving an A in the class and won’t have to take the Final exam.  Congratulations.”

Shannon sat in the chair, stunned by the turn of events.

“Well, thank you sir,” she said as she extended her hand and stood up to leave.

“You’re welcome, but there’s more.  With that ‘A’, you’re now in a position to make Dean’s List for undergrad students, if you can keep your grades up in your other studies. I wanted to tell you that myself.”

Shannon sat in the chair, unsure of how to respond.  She had come here to file a formal complaint, and was now being rewarded with the possibility of scholastic honors. She’d never expected this to happen; certainly not with her study habits.

“While I was talking to him, I mentioned a new exhibit we will be hosting and he recommended you highly.  I don’t know what you did during the Psych experiment, but you apparently did an exceptional job of it. And speaking of jobs, that’s the opportunity I have for you.  Would you be interested?”

“Job?  A job? Like a real job? A paying job?” Shannon said, quickly dismissing her original notion to enlighten the dean regarding her participation in the experiment.

“Yes, a job. It pays $50 a day, and you’ll be working 3 hours a day, except for the opening day - that’ll run an extra 2 hours.  The tour runs for two weeks, but there’s a proviso to extend the showing if there’s enough public interest. But,” the dean said, holding his hands up to her, “let me explain what it is before you get too excited about it.” 

The dean opened the manila folder and took out a pamphlet and passed it across the table to her.  “We’re one of the few schools in the entire conference that was granted permission to host a travelling museum from the Czech Republic.  The College of Arts and Sciences has been given a grant to cover expenses to host the exhibits, including your wages.  And since it is a college-hosted event, you’ll qualify for credits towards the Humanities elective that’s required of our students.  That pamphlet you’re holding is a promotional piece that is handed out at each showing.  Take a moment and look it over.”  The dean looked at her, giving her a moment to scan the pamphlet, and continued, “Shannon, I’d like to emphasize the importance of this exhibit for the College.  The Business School and the Engineering programs generally receive nearly double the grants and donations from private enterprise that the College of Arts and Sciences receives, even though we are responsible for educating far more students.  This exhibit,” he said, pointing at the brochure, “will put us on the map, so to speak.  I should tell you that I’m only sending the most qualified candidates over there for interviews.  You’re one of the select few.”

Shannon glanced through the small brochure advertising the museum.  The exhibit was called “The Inquisition Today” hosted by the Museum of Medieval History, and featured a collection of artifacts from various European castles, including royal thrones, ornaments, crowns, tapestries, armor, and such.  The last picture caught her attention and caused her to gasp slightly.

It was a torture chair.  And it looked very similar to the one she had just endured.

“Dean Werner, sir, what exactly is this exhibit?”

“It’s a private collection owned by a foundation based in Prague.  Basically, it is a collection of artifacts – some of which are very rare – from nations throughout Europe.  The Nazis collected most of it during their looting of France and Belgium and trade with Italy during World War Two, then the Soviets looted it from the Nazis and added pieces from northern Germany and central Europe.  When the Iron Curtain was lifted, the museum became a major tourist attraction in central Europe, and the museum’s governing foundation was able to add pieces from Bosnia and Romania.  Most of the collection is still in Prague.  What we will get is just a small portion of it; a sampling from each area of interest that’s a representative cross-section of the Crusades and the Reconquista.”

“Okay… well, what exactly is the job?”

“As part of the agreement to bring the collection here, we are responsible for providing production assistance, facilities, logistical support, and the like.  We will also be hosting a curator of the museum.  She will be giving a lecture on medieval political history and using the artifacts to illustrate.  One of our responsibilities is to hire up to 3 assistants for her.  It’s not a difficult job but you will be working before a live audience.  You’ll also be in period costume.”

“Um, wouldn’t someone from Drama be better?”

“Oh, the other colleges have also sent students. Several Drama and Dance majors have already gone over to the curator for an interview, along with another student from Fine Arts, two Marketing majors, and a grad student working on a Master’s in Jazz. I’ve sent two Communications majors and an Education student to represent this college.  Since our college is hosting the event, I’ve asked that the curator give preferential treatment to our students. As you can see, there are more candidates than there are positions, so if you want to get the job you’d be better off getting there for the interview sooner than later.  That is, if you’re interested.”

“Well…” Shannon thought about it.  The money seemed good, and she could use the credits. “Ok, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go for an interview.”

“Attagirl,” the dean said, passing a card towards Shannon, “this will get you an interview with the curator. Go over to Feldman Hall and ask for Ms. Casa.  She’s responsible for the exhibit and she’ll be the one that will be making the final hiring decisions.”

“Thank you, sir,” Shannon said, picking up the card from the desk as she shouldered her backpack, “I’ll go over there now, I guess, while there’s something still available.”

“Good.  I’m sure you’ll do well,” the dean replied.

* * *

“Hi, I’m here to see Ms. Casa?”

An attractive woman in a business suit and heels was studying a promotional poster.  She quickly turned to face the young college student.  Speaking in a clipped accent she said, “Yes, I’m Ms. Casa. Can I help you?”

Shannon was struck by the color of the woman’s eyes; a clear, vibrant blue that shone through the lenses of her square-rimmed glasses that rested on a perfect linear nose.  Brown short-cropped hair, cut ragged around the ends, with silver earrings that twinkled in the light of the hallway, framed her face. The woman obviously knew her fashions.  Shannon suddenly felt horribly underdressed in her t-shirt and shorts.

“I, uhh…” Shannon stammered, before collecting herself and reaching into her bag and pulling out the card the dean had given her, “I’m here about a job?”

“Oh, yes,” the woman said, “Please, come into my office,” she said, directing Shannon towards a door marked “STAFF ONLY”.  Shannon entered the room and the woman closed the door softly behind them.

“Please, take a seat,” the woman said, directing Shannon towards a small wooden chair, one of only two in the room.  The woman lifted a pad of paper from a small cabinet and sat in the other chair. “I had the desk removed because it took up too much space.  Besides, I think people tend to hide behind them too much,” she explained, laughingly, “Please forgive me if I did not recognize you at first. I did not expect you to arrive so casually dressed.”

Shannon could feel her face beginning to get warm with embarrassment at her attire.

“I am sorry.  I did not mean to offend,” the woman said apologetically, “I meant only… well, I did not expect … perhaps I should start over.  Please accept my apologies.  I am sure I look very unprofessional.  I am still practicing my English and sometimes I say things wrong.” She smiled at the young college girl.  “I would just like to ask you a few questions about your experience and see your dossier.”

“My dossier?”

“Yes, dossier.  Maybe that is not the right word? Samples of your work.  You brought it with you, yes?”

“Um, no.  I didn’t know that was required for the interview.  I thought I was just coming over here to meet the curator and go over my job responsibilities.”

“Oh,” the woman said.  Shannon could tell she was disappointed.  Shannon quickly chirped “But, I’m here now, and you can see me in person.  Do you really need anything more from me?”

The woman gave a quick laugh, and said “Well, normally I collect samples of previous work from applicants, to see how they look in different positions and different lighting. It is not perfect but it gives me some idea of how to pose you.”

Shannon was confused.  How can being a ticket-taker look any different from being an usher? And why would she be posed? Maybe the woman mis-spoke.

The woman saw the look on Shannon’s face and quickly said, “But, you are right. You are here now so I will look at you. Stand for me please?”

Shannon stood up.

“Turn around,” the woman asked.

“Good, good,” she said approvingly as Shannon turned her back to the woman and then stood still, “you have good posture, very good proportion to your shoulders and neck.  And your arms and legs have a very nice definition to them.  I think I could possibly use you but I will need to see your chest and tummy.  Would you remove your shirt for me, please?”

Shannon’s head whipped around. “Hmm?”

“Is that a problem for you?” the woman asked innocently.

Shannon thought for a second.  Maybe it had something to do with the costume.  She was wearing a bra, so it wasn’t like she would be naked.  And it was just her and the woman, so it was practically like being at the gym.  She gave a nervous smile and reached for the hem of her shirt, “I’m sorry,” she said apologetically, “I just wasn’t expecting that. I’m just a little nervous I guess.”

“Oh,” the woman replied, “I understand.  This is my first trip to your country. Maybe it is different here.  I am sorry, but I need to see.  It is ok, yes?”

Shannon nodded, lifted her shirt over her head, shook out her long brown hair, and folded the clothing neatly before setting it on the chair.

“Very good,” the woman said approvingly, “turn your shoulders to the left a bit and bring your left knee forward.”

Shannon did as the woman directed.  Unsure of what to do with her hands, Shannon let them rest casually along her hips.

“Bring your left hand back a bit; shoulders to me.  Now left knee forward and bend your leg.  Yes, now maybe bring both arms back behind you.  Hmmm.  Now in front and maybe raise both up; high. Yes, over your head.  I like that.  That’s a good pose for you.  You have good torso. It would make a good picture if I was in a studio.  Ok, now remove your shorts for me, please.”

Shannon paused, then reached for the button at her waist.  It seemed like an odd request, but with her underwear on she wasn’t showing anything that she didn’t show at the beach.  She unfastened the button, dropped her shorts to the floor, stepped out of them, and added them to her shirt on the chair.

“Good, now turn for me please, again,” the woman said.  Shannon turned so that her back was to the curator.

“You have a nice proportion to your hips and shoulders.  Has anybody ever told you that?”

“No,” Shannon said with a smile, “usually the boys just want to see my boobies.”

The woman laughed. “Boobies. If those are what I think, then yes, that’s the way it usually is with me, too.  Ok, you can turn around.”

Shannon turned, facing the woman again.

“Do you have any tattoos or piercings hiding?”

Shannon thought for a moment. “Just my ears,” she said, fingering her simple gold ball earrings.

The woman made a notation on the pad of paper, looked at her, smiled and said, “Ok, remove your bra for me please.”

Shannon stood there, stunned. Remove her what? Was she serious?

“Is there a problem?” the woman asked, looking at her with those piercing blue eyes.

“Uh….”

“Have you never undressed in front of another woman?”

“No, I mean, yes, I have, but …,” Shannon shook her head quickly.  She’d taken showers at the gym plenty of times.  How was this different? “It’s not a problem.”

Shannon reached behind her back and felt for the plastic clip of her bra.  She quickly bent it until the clasp parted, then she let the straps fall forward as her hands automatically went to hold the cups still pressed loosely against her breasts.  She quickly folded the halves of the bra and placed it on the chair with her shirt and shorts.  She covered her naked breasts with her left arm as best she could without trying to be obvious about it; if that were possible.  She now stood before the woman, dressed in only her shoes and panties.  She could feel her heart beating furiously in her chest.

The woman noticed Shannon struggling and laughed. “I am sorry.  Do I make you uncomfortable?  Maybe I have been doing this so long that it is too automatic for me.” The woman stood up and moved closer to Shannon. “I tell you; maybe you are not right for this job, okay?  I will find somebody else, maybe somebody with more experience.  Do you get paid for interviews? I will tell your agency that you came and spoke with me, but you were not right for the job, okay?  I do not want to cause trouble for you.”

Shannon was now really confused.  “Um, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not with an agency.  I was sent here by the dean about a job. I’m a student at the university.”

The woman’s eyes betrayed her shock.  She stood riveted to the floor, unable to move.  Finally, Shannon broke the silence.

“Hello? Ms. Casa?”

The woman blinked and fell back a step, reaching for the chair with her hand without turning around.  “I, uh…”

“Ms. Casa… are you ok?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine,” the woman stammered as she sat down, “I am so sorry.  I thought you were here for the modeling job!”

“Modeling job?” Now it was Shannon’s turn to be surprised.  This was becoming quite a confusing day for her! “You thought I was a model?”

“Yes, but I am sorry.  You are so pretty I just thought… I mean I had filled the university jobs … it never occurred to me that… I, uh…”

Shannon started to giggle, then laugh.  She was flattered that she could be mistaken for a model.  She had been complimented on her looks before, but she never thought she could be confused for a professional model.

The woman started to giggle, too, and soon both Shannon and Ms. Casa were laughing together at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Ms. Casa, if it’s ok, I’d like to get dressed now.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” the woman replied, holding her face in her hands, her glasses pushed up into the ragged brown strands of her hair, “and please, call me Sabina.”

“Ok, Sabina,” Shannon said, smiling, “So do I have the job?”

“After our interview, I think you can have any job you want!” she replied, “but the modeling job pays the most, if you are really interested in it. You meet the requirements – no tattoos, no piercings, proper age, suitably attractive.  Just one thing…”

Shannon paused, the strap of her bra half-way up her arm, and looked at her.

“I will need to see your pubic region.”

“My what?”

“Your pubic region? Is that the proper words? Your area between your legs; to verify that you have no tattoos or piercings… down there… and other things.  It is part of the job requirements.”

Shannon hesitated for a moment.  There was a limit to what she was willing to do.  She’d been naked in front of a woman before; at the gym, at the doctor’s. Certainly after the games she and Callie had played last week, this should be no big deal. But she still felt awkward about it.

Shannon finished pulling on her bra, took a deep breath, then hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and hiked them down to her knees.  Standing back up, Shannon waited patiently as Sabina gave a quick examination of her mound, the dark hairs trimmed close to her slit for the summer bikini season.

“Ok, that is all I needed,” Sabina said, “you are hired.  Can you come at 7pm tonight for a rehearsal? We have a VIP event at 8 o’clock and I would like you to be a part of it.”

“7 o’clock?” Shannon tried to remember if she had anything planned, “that should cool.  Do I need to bring anything or do anything before I come?”

“No,” Sabina said, “I can provide the costume for you to wear, but you can do your own cosmetics if you wish; just do not go too fancy, okay?  It is easier for me to add make-up to you than to remove too much. Just be yourself and you should be okay.”

* * *

Shannon arrived fifteen minutes early.  Her stomach was bothering her slightly; probably just nerves.  She went into the bathroom to relieve herself and saw Sabina in there, too.

“Well, hello!” Sabina beamed, “are you ready for your debut?”

Shannon smiled back, “I’m a little nervous.”

“Me, too,” Sabina replied, “that is why I am in here.  Working with new people makes me… tensive?  Is that the right word?”

“No, I think you mean either ‘tense’ or ‘pensive’, but I know what you mean.”

“Would you feel better if I gave you a quick tour? We have some time and maybe it would make us both more comfortable for the exhibit.”

“Sure,” Shannon replied, gladly accepting the invitation and forgetting about the butterflies in her stomach.

Sabina led her down the hallway through a side door into the main lobby.  Lifting a remote control from a podium, she pressed a button and the ceiling lights brightened, highlighting ancient tapestries beautifully woven in garnet, gold, green, and purple.  Shannon was amazed at the intricacies of the designs.

“Each of these tells a story.  You must remember, back then, very few people could read, so the tapestries were created as a way to preserve history.  They eventually became a way for the nobles to brag of their accomplishments, and to serve as warnings to other nobles who may be plotting against them. I like to joke: ‘These are the medieval versions of law school diplomas.’” She smiled as Shannon laughed. “Come, I will show you what people really want to see.”

The two women passed through another door.  Sabina lifted the remote and the lighting dimmed until only a few spotlights shone down.  Within those beams sparkled brilliant rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious stones, each set within various golden crowns, tiaras, pendants, rings, and necklaces.

“These are some of the oldest jeweled pieces in the collection, and are considered to be without value… in a good way.”

Shannon interrupted her, “I think you mean, ‘priceless’”.

“Yes? Ok, priceless. I could spend all day in here. Very dangerous for us to be here now, since we only have a short time to prepare.  Come, we can shop later,” Sabina said with a smile as she started to walk through the room towards a door on the other side.

“All of that wealth had a price, and it was paid for here,” she said.  The room, pitch-black dark except for a row of dim red lights set in the floor, was suddenly pierced by a single beam of light that emanated from behind them, focused on a solitary object in the center of the room. 

The iron torture chair.

Shannon shivered.

Sabina saw her reaction. “Are you ok?”

Shannon, her gaze not leaving the chair, replied, “I’ve had some … experiences with something similar.”

“Do not be afraid,” Sabina said, trying to set the young woman at ease, “It is not as fearful as it looks. Perhaps you would find comfort knowing that it is more to frighten than to actually do anything. It is very old and now the spikes are not sharp enough to pierce the skin.  If you sit on it, it is no more uncomfortable than sitting on rocks.  The real torture is sitting on it for a very long time, with the pressure on one spot. In old times they would heat the metal with fire. But we do not do that here.”

“No, no, it’s not that.  It’s just…” Shannon’s voice trailed off, remembering the experiment. And Callie’s little game.  She smiled slightly at the thought of the two of them and what Callie had done to her after the experiment was over.  Shannon quickly said, “is there anything else in here?”

“Of course.  This is one of the most popular parts of the exhibit; even the women like a good scare. I think it is funny how people have not changed in all of these centuries.”

Sabina pressed another button on the remote.  The light over the chair dimmed and another spotlight pierced the blackness of the room to illuminate a different object.

The rack.

“This is a reproduction of a rack typical to western Europe. The design is actually a compilation of different parts we took from drawings; a mix of English, French, and German.  We blended them together to show the different parts in one piece so we would not have drag around many types of the same thing.”

Two drums flanked a long rectangular frame that sat on stout wooden legs, such that the entire framework sat at a 20-degree angle from the floor.  Inside that frame were a series of cylinders, each cylinder ringed with small rivets, parallel to the drums.  Heavy ropes were coiled around the drums, the ends fastened to thick leather cuffs that rested on the cylinders.

“In the demonstration, this is used to hold the model so that the curator can demonstrate other things to the audience,” Sabine explained, “over there we…”

“Wait, wait,” Shannon interrupted, “the model.  You mean I’m going to be on that thing?”

“Well, yes.  You will be fastened to that rack.  But do not worry, it is just for show.  The crowd really likes it.”

“No, no, no, no,” Shannon said quickly, “I’m not getting on that thing.”

“It is ok, really,” Sabina replied, trying to calm the frightened girl, “it is just for show, like Halloween, to give the audience a scare.  We will have other models, too.”

Shannon thought for a second then said, “I’ll be naked, won’t I. That’s why you wanted me to strip at the interview.”

Sabina looked away and adjusted her glasses.  “Yes, but it is not sexual. There are laws.”  She paused, and then quickly added, “It will be dark and the audience will not see your face, okay?”

Shannon gave her a dubious look.

Sabina responded, “You will be clothed in a costume gown, so if you are uncomfortable with the job, maybe this time you can just wear the gown the whole time. But you cannot wear any underwear because people will see the strap lines.  Is this better for you?”

Shannon stared at the rack.

“You can go to it if you like.  Come, I will show you how it works.”

The two women moved closer to the frame.

“Your feet go here, your hands go up there,” Sabina explained, “I have been placed upside down sometimes, but usually the model is placed head-up.  That is why the ropes at the bottom are wider than the ropes at the top.”

“You?” Shannon asked quizzically, “have been on this thing?”

“Yes, I am one of the regular models for the exhibit.  I am a student like you.  I am working on my doctoral thesis and this is credit for my research project.  Our normal curator had to attend to some business in Lithuania, and since I had a good visa, good education, good English, and had knowledge of the exhibit’s presentation, I was offered to come on this tour as the substitute curator. You understand, yes?”

Shannon nodded.

“Okay, so the show is you on the rack with people watching as I explain how it works, then I go to the other artifacts.  Then we move to the next room which talks about the Crusades and how it affects politics to the present.  Do you want to see?”

“No, politics bores me,” Shannon admitted.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, that’s ok. What will the other models be doing?”

“They will be here with you, too,” Sabina replied, “It is our normal program.”  Looking at her watch, she said, “we should go to the dressing room. The other models are probably there and we need to have you fitted with your outfit.”

* * *

The crowd shuffled slowly through the room, admiring the exquisite jewelry protected within the clear acrylic cases, the spotlighted beams catching every cut of the valuable crystals.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I may have your attention please, we are ready to move to the next exhibit,” Sabina said loudly, furtively trying to corral her charges together before proceeding to the next room.  Craning her neck to make sure that everyone was ready, she opened the wide double doors to reveal the pitch-black darkness of the chamber beyond.

“Please proceed all the way to the red lines on the floor,” she announced, letting the well-dressed crowd pass by, “please, everybody come forward to the red lines, please. Thank you.”

Satisfied that everyone was in the room, she closed the doors, took her place at the back of the room, and pressed a button on the remote control.

A beam of light shone from behind the crowd, illuminating the ancient torture chair.  A hushed silence fell over the curious audience. Sabina waited a moment, and began her speech.

“Each of the jewels you saw in the previous room was paid for in blood; the blood of innocents who’s only crime was that they were either very poor, or rich enough to pose a threat to someone richer.  Some were victims of their beliefs, others were simply caught up in a wave of politics fueled by greed and faith and blind obedience.  You are looking at an instrument of torture used to extract confessions from the unfortunate ones who fell on the wrong side of politics and paid for it in blood and bone.”

Sabina paused again, letting the audience absorb her words.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I caution you.  If you are offended by nudity, or do not wish to see this demonstration, you may leave the room now by going to that sign above the door to your right.  That will take you to the next exhibit, where you can wait until the rest of the group joins with you.  I will give you a moment to make your decision.”

Low mumbling passed through the crowd, but Sabina did not see anyone moving towards the door.

“Very well. We will begin.”

Sabina pressed a button on the remote.  The audience could hear footsteps and metallic clinking in the shadows and the sound of someone moaning angrily.  Soon the source of those moans became clear as a woman dressed in a simple white gown, a dark red blindfold over her eyes and a heavy metal strip buckled across her mouth, was led into the circle of light by a muscular young man stripped to the waist, his face covered by an executioner’s hood.  Rusty manacles hung from the woman’s wrists and clattered as she stumbled towards the chair, the shackles around her ankles linked to the cuffs on her wrists by a length of heavy chain.  The man, his muscles rippling beneath his skin, positioned the woman in front of the chair as a hush fell over the crowd.

The woman was tall and well-proportioned, with short-cropped brown hair that shone in the bright spotlight of the chamber.  The curves of her breasts were apparent under the almost-sheer material of the gown, the harsh light showing the silhouette of her body.  The crowd pressed closer as each member realized that she was not wearing anything underneath the flimsy garment.

“This unfortunate victim has been accused of being a hexe; a witch,” Sabina said, as the shackled woman stood silently before the waiting crowd, “Tonight, you will witness the interrogation of three witches, each subjected to different tortures by the Inquisitors to extract a confession of practicing an ancient art. Pagans, healers, and even the famous and devout Knights Templar were targeted. After the accused witch was arrested, she would be brought to the Inquisitor for examination.” Sabina raised her hand, directing the audience’s attention to the metal covering the woman’s mouth. “This one has already been fitted with the Witch’s Brank, a metal bit similar to a horse’s bridle. The device has a metal piece that is inserted into her mouth to prevent her from conjuring evil spirits.  Now that she has been arrested, we must prepare her for her examination.  Mr. Executioner…”

The man turned and faced Sabina, waiting.

“Strip her.”

The young man dutifully turned to the shackled woman and began to tear at the ragged garment, the cloth parting with a loud ripping at each pull.  The woman struggled to remain standing as the fabric was torn from her body, each tug revealing more and more of her bare flesh to the crowd.   Soon she was completely naked but for her blindfold, the brank, and the chains around her wrists and ankles. Her head was bowed as she tried to conceal her nudity with her hands, the short length of chain preventing her from completely covering her most private regions.

The bright light illuminated her skin, exposing every curve of her body to the titillated audience.  Long legs stretched upwards to the dark triangle  of hair centered between her full hips.  Her lean tummy quivered. Her full, pale mounds, capped by soft rose-colored flesh, bobbed with her ragged breathing as she stood trembling in the circle of light. The circles of her nipples began to contract, the dark skin puckering atop the swaying mounds of soft flesh. Her eyes were covered by the dark crimson blindfold. Her cries were muffled by the steel bit in her mouth as she stood naked before the waiting crowd. 

“The common belief was that a witch would bear the Devil’s Mark, which could take any form.  She would be examined closely for any imperfection; a bruise, a scar, any reddening of the skin could be enough to condemn her to further torture.  Please take a moment and see if you can find the Devil’s Mark on her body.”

There was a slight rustling as the crowd shifted, pressing closer to the naked woman so that they could gaze at her exposed flesh.  She trembled slightly as unknown eyes looked up and down every inch of her nakedness, with particular attention paid to her breasts and vulva.  She shifted nervously, causing the chains to rattle against the links joining her wrists and ankles. Suddenly, she jumped and gasped with surprise as the muscular young man reached forward and placed his hand on the dark triangle between her thighs, letting his fingers part the tangled hairs of her snatch so that the crowd could get a better look at the pale skin underneath.  His other hand reached behind her, holding her in position.

Suddenly, the woman let out a painful cry and twisted to the side.

“Ladies and gentlemen, look!  There, on her right hip we see a red mark.  Could this be the mark of the Devil?  We must investigate.”

Sabina paused as the crowd whispered and pointed.  Yes, there was a red spot; right there, see it? Oh yes, there on her hip. Was it there before? I don’t know; I don’t think so.

“Mr. Executioner, prepare her for her interrogation.”

The woman let out a low, fearful cry as she was pushed back against the legs of the chair, forcing her to fall onto the hard spikes that dotted every inch of the metal surface. She wept as the cold spikes pressed against her warm skin, the tips poking her body.  The man quickly moved behind the chair and, lining up the metal brank with a post at the back of the chair, slipped two metal pins into holes set in the brank and the post, one on each side of the woman’s face, fixing the woman’s head to the chair’s high back. 

The woman, her head immobilized, struggled only slightly as the man uncuffed the shackles around her hands, then locked the slender wrists into new cuffs set in the arms of the chair, the skin of her forearms pressing against a row of spikes set along the metal supports.  Her ankles were soon cuffed to the legs of the chair as well, leaving her unable to move any part of her naked body.  The woman sat trembling on the chair, raised about an inch above the flat surface by the hard spikes, her breasts swaying with each quivering gasp. The crowd stared silently at her misery, taking in the site of the nude woman pinned against the heavy iron instrument.

“Sometimes, merely being locked in the chair was sufficient to extract a confession.  But, for more stubborn cases, additional measures would be taken.  A popular target on women were the breasts, and our ancient Inquisitors were quite devious at the techniques they would use to extract whatever they wanted from their victims, as you will see. Mr. Executioner, please prepare the press.”

The woman wailed at the words and began to tug at the bonds holding her to the chair.  The man casually reached a hand out to cup each of the woman’s tits, holding them in his hands as if to judge their weight, his thumbs toying with the soft red nipples, causing the dark areolas to tighten and contract as the woman struggled in the chair. 

He then reached behind the apparatus and swung a narrow bar across the front, letting it rest just below the woman’s bust.  The bar was studded with evil-looking metal rivets that gleamed in the harsh spotlight. Lifting the woman’s soft mounds, he pushed the bar firmly against her sternum, trapping her torso in place and eliciting a yelp of pain from the woman as her back was pressed against the spikes of the chair.  Locking the bar on the other side, he let her breasts settle gently across the studded metal shaft, the rivets pulling at the soft undersides.  The woman groaned and twitched, each gasp causing her tits to shift and rub on the metal-studded rod, the rivets finding fresh skin to torment.

Pausing, waiting patiently for the woman’s moaning to subside, the man then lifted a metal bracket from behind the chair and set it across the front of the victim, just above her pale mounds.  Two long bolts hanging from the bracket were lined up with threaded holes in the metal bar, each of the tops of the bolts adorned with an intricate molding of a lion’s head.  He carefully began screwing each bolt down, trapping the woman’s soft flesh between the two lengths of iron.  Satisfied at the tension placed across the woman’s chest, he stepped to the side, awaiting Sabina’s next command as the victim sat whimpering in the torture chair.

Sabina paused, giving the audience a chance to thoroughly study the image of the nude woman bound helplessly to the chair, her breasts trapped between the cruel jaws of the vice.  A line of drool descended slowly from the woman’s mouth, pooling on the glistening skin beneath her chin, her chest rising and falling with each painful breath.  Her breasts, the pale skin pinned between the two metal bars, did not move as she sat gasping in the chair.

“Mr. Executioner, please begin tightening the vice.”

The woman squirmed as the young man began to twist the two decorative caps on the top of the vice, the metal lion’s heads scraping against the bracket as the evil bars drew closer together, squeezing the soft tissue, causing the areolas to widen from the pressure exerted on the mammary glands hidden beneath the soft rose-colored circles.  The woman’s hands flexed and grasped at the air as her mounds were crushed under the bite of the riveted metal, the muscles of her abdomen twisting in the bright light of the chamber.  The soft caps of her nipples protruded obscenely, engorged with blood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, this is causing our witch to suffer terribly.  But, we are not done with her yet.  Mr. Executioner, it is time for the next torment.”

The shirtless young man stopped turning the two knobs and reached for the woman’s enlarged nipples protruding from the mouth of the device. Fingering the throbbing tissue, he began to twist and rub the sensitive teats, scraping at them with his fingernails, causing the woman to twitch and flinch with each movement of his fingers. She moaned as sweat began to collect in the furrows of her shoulders and arms.

“As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, her nipples are extremely sensitive right now; perfect for our next torture.  May I have a volunteer?”

The crowd murmured in hushed whispers as Sabina scanned the shadowy figures, searching for a willing participant.  Finally, she singled out an elderly gentleman near the front, thin and bespectacled, wearing a tweed jacket. “You sir, there in the front; yes, would you care to assist in the interrogation?”

The man at first shook his head, waving off the invitation before a few others around him nudged him towards the captive woman, giving whispers of encouragement.  Finally, he stepped towards the helpless victim.

Moving through the crowd, Sabina held a thin cane aloft, high enough for all to see.  As she stepped into the circle of light, she said “Perhaps you would care to use this on our unfortunate victim?”

Accepting the thin stick from Sabina, the man gave it a few short flicks, like a conductor with his symphony, gauging the feel of the terrible reed balanced between his fingers.  Placing her hand on the gentleman’s shoulder, Sabina intimated “I would suggest a few light taps on her nipples at first until you get a feel for it, then go harder until she is ready to confess.”

The man looked at Sabina, then at the blindfolded victim waiting anxiously for the blows she was about to receive.  She was breathing heavily as sweat continued to form across her entire body.

The man took a position to the side of the chair and began with a light tap across the woman’s engorged nipples, watching the pained reaction from the glistening victim pinned to the chair.  He then gave a series of quicker taps to the woman’s rose-capped tits, causing her to moan loudly in protest.  Staring intently at the puffy red targets presented to him, he continued tapping the reed against her nipples, a constant tap tap tap, silently counting out each agonizing beat of his symphony of pain as the harsh reed struck the sensitive flesh.  The woman began to gasp and pant and pull at the bonds around her wrists.  Encouraged by the reaction he received, he tapped at her captive breasts harder, causing the woman to pull harder against the restraints, trying to pull away from the source of her agony as the man tap tap tapped the reed against the taut skin, her breasts squeezed between the bars of the press.  She twitched and flexed and writhed in agony, the spikes digging into her body as she squirmed in the chair, her breasts throbbing from the constant tapping against her hyper-sensitive teats.  She tried to fight the bonds around her head, her cries for mercy muffled by the iron brank in her mouth, and sweat began to stain the dark red blindfold around her eyes.  Finally, a muffled scream tore from her throat and she sank, crying, against the metal chair.

Sabina reached forward, stopping the man’s arm in mid-swing. “I think that’s enough. I believe our witch is ready to confess her sins. Thank you very much for your assistance.  You may rejoin the audience now.”  The man handed Sabina the stick and returned to the crowd as the executioner stepped forward and began to unscrew the two bolts on the top of the vice.

Turning to the crowd as the executioner lifted the top bracket away from the woman’s breasts, Sabina said, “As you can see, the Inquisitors could employ very ornate techniques to obtain a confession.  But not all trials required such heavy and elaborate pieces of equipment.  Sometimes, even common items could be used to break a witch’s spirit, as our next demonstration will show.”

Sabina pressed a button on the remote and the spotlight on the torture chair began to dim, casting the broken woman in a gray, dying light as she sat slumped in the painful chair, her breasts still resting on the lower jaw of the vice, the soft caps of her tits now a deep, angry red.

A new light beamed over the heads of the audience to shine on a new object just to the side of the torture chair, revealing what appeared to be a large saw horse.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Spanish Horse; a common tool for carpentry modified to extract confessions from accused witches.  You will notice that it looks very much like a saw horse, or perhaps a police barricade, except that it has a triangular peak across the top, with a series of notches cut into the edge.  It was very simple to make and easy to transport, and became a favorite tool by travelling Inquisitors.  As you will now see, it was very effective.”

Sabina pressed another button on the remote.

The executioner reappeared, pulling a young woman tethered by ropes around her wrists and neck.  She was of average height with the tight muscles and compact build of a cheerleader, her well-toned legs disappearing under the hem of a short white gown.  Her shoulder-length blonde hair was pulled back from her face and held by the dark crimson blindfold covering her eyes. Her mouth was opened in protest, but she did not cry out. She stumbled forward, feeling for obstructions with her feet before committing to taking a step, causing her to occasionally lose her balance as the executioner tugged on the rope leading from the leather cuffs around her wrists.

The man then grabbed a length of chain hanging from the ceiling and began to pull.  The rattle of a winch could be heard as a large metal hook descended from the darkness above the Spanish Horse.  The executioner dragged the young woman forward until she stood next to the wooden frame, the hook resting just above her head.  The muscular man lifted the girl’s arms up and slipped the hook through two loops protruding from the cuffs, then unwrapped the ropes around her wrists and neck, leaving her standing barefoot on the floor, her arms tugged high overhead by the cuffs around her wrists, drawing the hem of her dress up until it just covered her hips.  The fabric of her gown hung loosely against her young body as she stood swaying in the bright spotlight, the muscles of her legs dancing under her smooth skin as she shifted nervously in the dark chamber, awaiting the punishment she was about to receive.

“As you know, now that we have arrested the accused witch, we must search for the Devil’s mark.”  Sabina paused, letting the anticipation build as the crowd shuffled closer to the girl. They knew what would come next.

“Mr. Executioner, strip her.”

The girl gasped with surprise as the young man grabbed her gown and pulled firmly.  The threads parted with a loud rip as he tore the light cotton dress into useless pieces of fabric, revealing the bare skin underneath.  Soon she was standing naked before the crowd, her arms imprisoned by the cuffs above her head, her breasts stretched taut against her chest.

She took short, light steps, shifting her weight nervously as the audience examined the lithe muscles of her young body.  Well-toned legs drew upward to the firm cheeks of her ass, the bare skin pale and soft.  Her lean, firm tummy was drawn tight against her ribcage.  Her breasts, capped by soft pink ovals, still showed the curves of womanhood despite being lifted by the tension on her arms.  The young woman turned, the muscles of her back twisting as she spun to hide her cleft.

Noticing her attempt to hide her modesty, the executioner stepped closer and placed his hands on her hips, turning and holding her in position so that the audience could examine the clean-shaven mound between her thighs.  Holding her from behind, he kicked her ankles apart with his boots, forcing her to spread her legs.  The crowd, attracted by the sight of her smooth pussy stretched wide, pressed closer.

“Remember, we are looking for the Devil’s mark. You should give our accused witch a thorough examination.”

Several members of the audience near the front knelt down to examine the girl’s clean-shaven slit.  Sabina overheard several conversations as the group began to whisper in multitude exchanges. Do you see anything? No, do you? No. But she’s very lovely. Yeah, I’d like to examine her in private some time. I’m enjoying examining her privates now.

The girl stood in the spotlight, waiting silently as the audience poured over every inch of her naked body, their eyes on her bare pussy, the petals of her lips parted and inviting.

Suddenly the girl jumped and yelped in pain. The Executioner turned her to reveal the pale skin of her ass to the gawking crowd.

More whispering. Do you see that?  It looks like some sort of redness.  Yes, just like the last one. That’s probably it, then.

“It appears our accused witch bears the Devil’s mark, but we must be certain of her guilt.  We must now endeavor to extract her confession.” A wave of excited anticipation passed through the crowd as Sabina continued. “Please place the accused on the Spanish Horse.”

The girl let out a frightened whimper.

The executioner now pulled at the chain, the links rattling across a winch in the ceiling as the victim was lifted by her arms, her body stretching as she struggled to maintain contact with the floor.  The man continued to pull her upwards, a slight moan escaping her throat as she was lifted into the air.  Finally, the man stopped, leaving the girl dangling helplessly by the thick leather cuffs around her wrists.  The executioner moved the wooden frame under her body, her feet on either side of the ridged beam.  The winch came to life again, now lowering the girl onto the cruel device.  The young man placed his hands on her hips, guiding her onto the angled beam as the girl was lowered down, her toned legs straddling the wooden frame, the sharp edge waiting to divide the folds of her swelling pussy as she hung only inches above it.

The muscular young man stood beside the girl’s body and reached between the smooth, shapely thighs with one hand, his fingers spreading the lips of her vulva.  He continued to toy with the girl’s snatch, slipping a probing finger into the girl’s bare slit to find the tiny nub of her clit.  She twitched and flexed as he began to rub her spot hidden beneath the hood of skin.  She began to moan as he stroked her sex, the girl enjoying the pleasure of his touch.  She gasped as his fingers found the soft pink nub hidden in her cleft, and she began to thrust her hips, trying to draw him deeper. A frustrated whimper escaped her mouth when the man withdrew his hand from her tunnel and began to turn the chain.  Soon she was whimpering in pain as the man lowered her onto the beam.

As the girl sat astride the sharp wood, the hooded man tied a length of rope around the front legs of the frame, near the floor, and looped it around the girl’s ankles, then tied it off to the rear of the frame, tight enough so that no slack existed, leaving her unable to lift her legs to relieve her discomfort.   The young woman now sat with her entire body weight concentrated on the most sensitive part of her body. Her arms tugged high above her head provided only minimal relief to the girl. She exhaled deeply and leaned back, trying to relieve the pressure on her swelling clit as the folds of her bare pussy lips clung to the rough wood.

“As you can see, this device is already starting to take effect on our suspected witch.  We could leave her here for hours, perhaps days, and eventually she would confess. But we will not do that, because Inquisitors have many tools available to them, and justice must be swift. So,” Sabina said, raising a new object high into the air, “we will make use of another tool used by Inquisitors: the whip.”

Sabina held the short whip by its handle, letting the twisted braids separate in the beam of light, “this is the Cat of Nine Tails, named because it had nine strands.  The reason for the nine strands is that it is three ropes unbraided into three more ropes.  The number three is significant because it represents the Holy Trinity.  So, our accused witch is to be whipped with a symbol of God, to purge her of the Devil.  Sometimes bits of metal or glass would be added to the strands, so that it could cut into the flesh of the victim.  In many instances, a victim could bleed to death if the cuts were deep enough and were not treated.”  Sabina paused. “But tonight, we are only going to extract a confession. Her sentence will come later.  May I have a volunteer, to help interrogate this witch?”

The girl, straddling the instrument of torture, let out a low moan.  The executioner quickly scooped up a length of the girl’s discarded clothing and twisted it into a strip of cloth.  Wrapping it across the girl’s cheeks, he pushed the improvised gag into her mouth and tied it off behind her head with a heartless jerk, muffling her sounds of pain and fear.

Sabina scanned the audience.  A man nudged the woman next to him, encouraging her.  The woman shook her head and laughed.

Sabina smiled. “You, miss? Perhaps you would care to help us interrogate this witch?”

The woman, surprised at being called out, at first shook her head.  The man continued to pressure her, and soon other members were encouraging her to accept the invitation.  Reluctantly, she passed her purse to her male companion and approached Sabina, who handed her the evil whip.  The group around her clapped softly with approval.

“Grasp the handle tight.  Good.  Now give it a few swings so you can see how it moves.  Yes, exactly. Good. You do not need to swing hard; just use your wrist and let the instrument do the job.  Ok, you may begin when you are ready.”

The woman stepped closer to the helpless girl stretched naked before the crowd; a crowd who now began to whisper in hushed tones as the woman looked over her shoulder at her companions who gave her a few last cheers of encouragement.  Lifting the whip, the woman brought the strands slowly forward, tentatively brushing the soft skin of the girl’s bare torso, a few strands clinging briefly to the girl’s hardening nipples.  A muted cry of surprise drifted from the girl’s mouth and she began to flex her hands nervously.  Again the woman brought the flogger forward weakly, the strands landing in a tangled mass against the girl’s naked hips.

“Harder!  Swing harder!” someone called from the back of the darkened chamber.

The woman smiled, bolstered by the unseen person’s cheer, and brought the whip forward again, slightly harder.

The strands landed with a dull swish against the girl’s chest, the loose strands of the whip tumbling confusedly against the curves of her breasts. She gasped, but did not cry out.

“Harder!” someone said again.  Then, more encouragement from the crowd. Swing it! You have to swing faster! Yes! Yes! You’re not hitting her hard enough! Go on, do it!

The woman glanced over her shoulder at the darkened faces in the crowd.  The shadows moved closer to her, anxiously waiting for her to do something.

The woman looked at Sabina, questioning what to do.  Sabina smiled and gave her a nod, “Go ahead,” she whispered softly, “you must extract a confession.”

The woman gave a quick smile of acknowledgement and raised the flogger again.

Drawing the evil leather instrument back, the woman planted her feet firmly and brought the whip forward, the braided strands making a loud whoosh as they flew through the air towards the victim. 

The black leather straps landed solidly against the soft flesh of the girl’s breasts, eliciting a yelp of shock and surprise as she recoiled backwards from the blow.  The girl’s soft pink ovals, stung by the whip’s bite, continued to pucker and contract, the nipples becoming pert and projecting outwards from her bare chest. The first glistening drops of perspiration began to form in the hollows of the girl’s shoulders as she hung from the hook above her head, the wood beam burrowing deeper into her smooth pussy.  The muscles in her arms tightened as she tugged at the cuffs around her wrists, pulling herself up, trying to take the pressure off the nerve-rich tissue hidden in the cleft between her legs.

Cheers of appreciation drifted from the crowd of onlookers as the woman smiled at the unseen faces watching the interrogation of the girl.

The woman raised the whip again and swung it sideways, lashing the girl’s breasts, causing the soft mounds to sway from the impact of the blow. Then the woman quickly struck the helpless victim again with a backhand swing, the girl wincing sharply as she reacted the strikes against her body.  The girl moaned in pain at the sudden blows against her chest, the skin reddening from the sting of the lash.

More cheers, more encouragement from the crowd as the helpless girl inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the pain of her abuse.

The woman raised the whip again and gave four quick strikes, lashing the girl’s breasts from each side, letting them bounce and recover from the impact before attacking them from the opposite direction.  The blindfolded girl, groaning with each blow against her soft flesh, tried to anticipate the speed and direction of the swing, tried to turn her body away from the blows of the whistling flogger.

The woman, seeing what the girl was doing, changed the tempo of her swing, bending her elbow  as she swung so that the tips of the flogger whispered softly against the puckered nipples of the girl, teasing the erect nubs as the braided leather whistled past.  The girl, expecting a harder strike, gasped and flinched and whimpered as the woman continued to tease her soft mounds, now criss-crossed with red stripes over pale skin, the pert nipples pronounced and inviting. 

Suddenly the woman straightened her arm and swung harder at her victim, the tails of the flogger stretching out towards the helpless girl.  The blow landed solidly against the soft mounds swaying in the harsh light, causing the girl to grunt loudly with shock and surprise as her breasts flattened and expanded from the force exerted against them.  She tugged furiously at the cuffs around her wrists, trying to lift herself up to relieve the pressure on her swollen pussy as the woman continued to attack her breasts with the flogger.

The woman swung vigorously at the helpless girl, watching the young glistening body twist and flex as her breasts bounced from each blow.  The girl grunted and pulled and hung from the cuffs around her wrists as her legs fought to prevent her from slipping farther onto the narrow edge of the horse, the rough wood pressing deeper into her swollen vulva.  The girl gasped and cried with pain and frustration as the woman continued to whip her taut, naked body, a sheen of sweat covering the reddening skin.

When the well-dressed woman began to fatigue, Sabina leaned in and suggested to her, “Perhaps you would have some success from the other side.”

The woman paused and looked at Sabina, then moved farther along the frame until she was standing behind the sobbing, sweaty girl.  With a nod from Sabina, the woman raised the flogger and took aim at the unmarked skin of girl’s bare back.

The crowd heard the now-familiar whistle of the braids through the air as the woman struck the girl a vicious blow.  A loud grunt escaped from the girl’s throat as the impact drove her body along the ridged beam, her hips rocking forward onto the sharp edge, pushing the beam deeper into her vulva and pressing against her blood-infused clit.  Wounded, the panting girl thrust her head back in pain as she drew her hips back, trying to pull the sore nub away from the hard wooden beam.

The woman let fly another lash of the whip, the braids landing with a soggy thud against the girl’s glistening back. Another anguished cry escaped from the helpless victim as the braids wrapped around her torso and licked at the soft nipples glistening in the spotlight.  Again the woman swung the instrument of pain, striking the girl across the upper part of her shoulders, the braids crossing the reddening tracks along her skin. The girl, hurt, tried to pull herself up by the cuffs around her wrists, the muscles of her thighs dancing under the light as she tried to move away from the devilish beam between her legs.

Another blow fell across the anguished girl’s shoulders; another muffled cry of pain as she rode the Spanish Horse.  The girl choked and gasped as the woman mercilessly raised the whip again and drew it forward. The leather smashed into the tenderized flesh of the girl’s back and shoulders as she hung crying and panting and sobbing from the hook above her head.

Sabina looked at the crowd that stood entranced by the scene before them.

The woman continued to swing the leather flogger, the braids lashing across the sobbing girl’s bare back as her breasts bounced from the impact , the tender nipples hard and proud as they protruded from the girl’s glistening body.  Red marks now burned in a myriad of lines across her chest, a testament to the beating the girl had endured. The pale mounds of her breasts were now covered in sweat, contrasting with the red welts of the flogger as the woman continued to whip the helpless girl. The girl’s own juices stained the wood between her parted thighs, the soft flesh of her mound spread cruelly by the sharp edge of the wooden beam.  The girl tugged and pulled at the bonds holding her fast to the hook above her head as the woman continued to swing the flogger against the naked girl’s glistening back, the crowd absorbing the sight of the youthful female body twisting and pulling from the bite of the lash.

Finally, the woman gave one full swing of the whip with all of her might, tearing an inhuman scream from the girl’s throat.

Sabina put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I think she is ready to confess now.”

The woman, breathing heavy from her exertions, nodded and handed the whip back to Sabina.

The girl, still hanging by her wrists, her legs astride the cruel wooden beam, wept in deep, choking sobs. Every curve of her naked body glowed under the light of the stage. Her skin glistened as she twitched and pulled against her bonds.

The young male stepped forward and untied her ankles, then pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling, drawing her up into the cool air of the chamber.  A cry escaped from her throat as her moist pussy lips were torn from the splinters of the wooden beam, the blood-rich tissue rubbed raw by the rough wood.  Dark stains marked where her body had ridden the sharp edge. 

Ignoring the girl’s reaction to her punishment, the man continued lifting her up until her legs cleared the beam.  She hung suspended above the cruel frame as the executioner moved the Spanish Horse off to the side.  Then the chain rattled across the winch again and the girl was slowly lowered back down towards the audience.  She sagged as her feet once more rested on the floor, her knees pressed together to protect her tender pussy, her body supported only by the hook still holding the cuffs around her wrists.

“As you can see, even the simplest devices, when employed properly, were sufficient to extract a confession,” Sabina said to the crowd staring at the figure of the naked girl, exhausted from her torture, her breasts swaying with each choking cry as she hung in the cool air of the chamber.  Sabina pressed a button on the remote and the light around the sobbing girl began to dim. “Now we will examine one of the oldest, and most evil, devices utilized by the Inquisitors.” 

A new spotlight formed, shining on a familiar square frame with drums at each end.

“I give you the rack, the most recognizable instrument of torture used during the Inquisition.  It was used during the days of the Roman Empire, modified and adapted over the centuries into a form similar to what you see here. This particular model is a compilation of several designs utilized by Inquisitors.  But I will not bore you with the technical details.  Suffice to say that in every form, it was very effective in achieving the desired result, as you will see with our third and final demonstration.”

The executioner entered the spotlighted circle, tugging a length of rope.  At the end of that rope was a noose tied around the neck of a young woman wearing a short white gown that fell just below her hips, the white material contrasting nicely with her olive skin.  Her arms were bound behind her by thick coils of rope that ran from her slender wrists up to her elbows, drawing her shoulders back and thrusting her chest outward.  The curves of her breasts were pressed against the thin fabric of the dress, the outlines of her dark nipples visible through the sheer material.  Long dark hair flowed off her shoulders, the waving mass held back by the dark crimson blindfold over her eyes.  The muscles of her toned legs rippled as she was led towards the evil frame.

Taking the young woman’s shoulders, the executioner turned her to face the audience.  The crowd whispered in anticipation of what they knew would come next.

In a clear, commanding voice, Sabina said, “Strip her.”

The young muscular man reached for the neckline of the dress and pulled firmly, the thin material ripping quickly as he opened a slit down to her waist, exposing more of the olive skin underneath.  The young woman stood defiantly facing the crowd as the man continued to rip the dress from her body, each tug revealing more of the woman’s toned figure.  Scraps of white cloth gathered in a pile around her feet but she did not move; did not struggle as her garment was viciously taken from her.  Finally, the last scrap of cloth fell to the floor and she stood naked before the excited audience, her arms bound behind her, her legs spread wide for balance.

“Examine her closely, ladies and gentlemen.  We must find the Devil’s mark.”

Long, slender legs curved with muscle ran upwards to a closely-trimmed forest of dark hair, her narrow hips supporting a tight well-toned tummy.  Two olive-skinned mounds swayed gently with her even breathing, each soft globe surrounding a dark areola that was beginning to contract in the cool air of the chamber.  A leather gag was fitted over her mouth and a dark crimson blindfold covered her eyes.  She stood silently in the dark room, waiting patiently, bravely, for the pain she knew would come.

“Remember, the Devil’s mark could be anywhere.”

A brief gasp of surprise escaped the young woman’s lips as the executioner reached forward with one hand and began to part the narrow strip of hair above her snatch. Several members the audience knelt down to get a better view of their prize.  The young woman’s breathing quickened as the man continued to toy with her forest, massaging her mound with his fingers as the audience watched her vaginal petals began to fill and separate.  She flinched as his finger slipped into the cleft of her vulva, followed quickly by another finger now probing under her clitoral hood, searching for the nerve-rich nub that he knew was beginning to swell with arousal.  She jumped slightly when he found it, his finger brushing against the hidden button of her sex.  As he continued to massage her twat, she kept her feet firmly planted on the floor; her head tilted back, her jaw set defiantly.

Suddenly she let out a yelp; quickly followed by another.

The man turned the helpless girl so that the audience could see her backside.  A patch of redness began to form on the inside of her left arm.

“Look there, ladies and gentlemen, we see the mark of the Devil.” 

The audience whispered. Is that it? Well, it looks like the other two. Yes, but it is in a different spot. I was hoping it would be on her ass.  It’s a cute one.  I agree; a very sweet ass. Yes it is, but does that matter where the spot is?  I don’t think so.  I guess not.

Sabina continued. “Now that we have found the mark, we can begin our interrogation.”

The man guided the blindfolded woman to the side of the rack, then bent down and gathered her slender legs in his arms and set her on the cylinders that comprised the bed of the frame.  Moving quickly, he buckled her ankles to the foot of the device, her legs spread wide to give the audience an unobstructed view of her pussy, the labial lips parted and swollen.  The man then uncoiled the rope from around her arms and tossed the length of heavy hemp aside. She did not resist as he pushed her back onto the bed of riveted cylinders and tugged her hands above her head. He quickly slipped the bonds of the rack around her narrow wrists, leaving her helplessly bound to the cruel machine.

The young man then spun the windlass at the top of the frame, the ropes coiling around the drum, lifting the nude girl’s arms up towards the end of the rack.  The riveted cylinders spun as her body was pulled upwards by the cuffs around her wrists, each circular piece of metal digging into her back as she was stretched across the heavy frame.  The woman moaned slightly as the ropes were slowed by the tension of her body.  Satisfied by the young woman’s discomfort, the executioner locked the windlass in place and stepped aside.

The audience murmured in hushed tones as they examined the body of the young woman bound to the rack, her legs spread wide as they gazed at the lips of her snatch.  Her hands clenched nervously as she lay waiting for the next part of her ordeal to begin.  Sabina waited, too, letting the audience soak up every moment of the young woman’s forced nudity.

“In practice, the accused witch would be stretched slowly, until she either confessed or until her joints were torn from their sockets. Typically the shoulder joints would separate first, then the hips, then the vertebrae, leaving the victim unable to walk. Sometimes the rack would be used to carry out a sentence of death when combined with other instruments.  But today we are here to extract a confession, so we will save the stretching for another time.”

A new spotlight beamed down, revealing a small cabinet near the crowd.  Sabina strode to the cabinet and held up a small silver bulb-shaped object, the narrow end capped by an ornate lion’s head, for the crowd to see.

“The first instrument we will use,” Sabina said, holding up the gleaming silver artifact, “is called ‘the pear’.  It is composed of three ‘slices’, which were revealed by the turn of this key set in the bottom.  Watch as I turn the key and you will notice that each slice includes a small tooth at the end.  This device was intended to not only cause discomfort by pressure, but to impale the tissue as well.  When extended, it could rip and tear the victim’s insides as it was extracted.” Sabina paused, letting the crowd absorb the suggestive image. “It was typically used to damage women’s vaginas, but it could also be used on the anus of both women and men.” With a theatrical flourish, Sabina screwed the device closed.

Sabina next lifted a small flask from the cabinet and poured some clear fluid into her palm.  She then wiped the fluid around the exterior of the silver pear until it was evenly coated.

“May I have a volunteer?”

A few hands quickly shot in the air, but Sabina disregarded them as being too eager. Instead, she chose a heavy-set man in a pinstripe suit, with an overgrown beard and scraggly haircut, who stood passively watching the rest of the audience.  He reminded her of a street bum dressed in a business suit; the consummate image of a pervert trying to not look like one. “You, sir, with the full beard.  Would you care to assist?”

The man pointed to himself. Me?

“Yes, sir; you.  Would you care to assist in this interrogation of the witch?”

Slowly the man stepped over to Sabina, who handed him a pair of vinyl gloves before handing him the pear. “You never know what diseases a witch might be carrying, and we can never be too careful, true?”  The man grunted in agreement and pulled on the gloves, then accepted the glistening pear from his host.

Labored breathing came from the man as he made his way over to where the nude woman lay bound to the rack, her breasts rising and falling as she listened to his approach.  He stood over her for a moment and looked down at her young body stretched out beneath him, her legs spread wide and lashed to the foot of the device, unable to escape the pain he was about to inflict on her.  The young woman’s feet twisted nervously, anxiously waiting for whatever he was about to do to her.  Blindfolded, she could only guess at his movements.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” the man said apologetically, “I … I just can’t.”

Sabina, surprised by the turn of events, stepped over to the reluctant volunteer. “Very well,” Sabina said, accepting the pear back from the man, “perhaps the woman in the dark suit would care to participate?”

An older woman, well-dressed in a fashionable grey pants suit and diamond earrings that dangled below grey-flecked hair stepped over to Sabina who was applying another coat of lubricant to the pear.  The woman, not waiting for direction, quickly pulled on a set of vinyl gloves and accepted the cold metal device from her host with both hands.

The woman walked quickly over to the nude body of the young female, the heels of her shoes echoing off the walls of the chamber. She positioned herself directly over the girl’s bare hips and transferred the heavy pear to one hand.  Leaning down, the elder woman inserted a plastic-covered finger into the helpless girl’s swollen slit, causing her to gasp with surprise.  The woman slid her hand up and down the girl’s opening; the naked victim squirming as the woman stroked the swollen pussy presented to her.  Pressing deeper, the woman knew she had found her target when the girl let out a sudden gasp and pulled at the bonds around her wrists and ankles.  Slowly, the older woman began to rub the hidden spot, letting the young girl’s vagina wrap around her fingers as she poked and prodded the tender flesh within.  The young girl’s chest rose and fell with deep breaths as the muscles of her lean tummy began to flex with the movement of her hips.  The woman watched as the girl responded to her gentle caresses, the younger female trying to bring the pleasurable touch deeper into her body.

Satisfied that the girl was in the throes of arousal, the woman lowered the pear between the girl’s legs and pressed it forcefully against the lips of her snatch.

The young girl moaned at the intruding pressure of the evil device, feeling it slip past her opening and into her tunnel.  She tried to push it out, her tummy rippling as she tried to dislodge the foreign object inside her.  A cry of frustration passed through the gag around her mouth as she flexed on the rack.  The elder woman smiled at the success of her ministrations and stood up, waiting for her next command. 

Sabina let the crowd absorb the site of the olive-skinned young woman stretched nude on the frame, the gleaming silver knob of the pear protruding from the dark folds of skin between the wide-forked thighs, and said to the elder woman, “Thank you for your assistance. You have done a very good job of preparing our subject for her interrogation. You may rejoin your party.”  The woman nodded and returned to the mass of shadows moving in the gloom of the chamber.  “May I have another volunteer please, to help with the next phase of our examination of this witch?”

Again, more hands shot into the air.  The heavy-set man who had declined earlier backed nervously away, disappearing into the crowd of excited attendees.  The woman who had taken his place smiled with her friends and encouraged another woman to volunteer.  Her friend tentatively raised a hand.

“Yes; you there. Please help us interrogate this prisoner,” Sabina said presenting the woman with a pair of gloves.  The woman pulled the gloves across her hands as she approached the bound body of the girl.  Taking her place beside the rack, she waited for Sabina’s instructions.

“Would you please give the pear one clock-wise turn.”

The young olive-skinned woman squirmed in fear at Sabina’s command as the older woman bent down and grasped the ornate lion’s head protruding from the dark, swollen petals of the girl’s pussy.  The older woman quickly turned the key, as if she were unlocking a door.  The girl on the rack squealed instantly and bucked her hips at the sudden pressure, trying to absorb the force of the evil tool pressing against her tunnel.  Her firm mounds rose and fell as she took quick, pained breaths, the dark nipples erect and proud.  Her body began to glow with the first droplets of perspiration drawn from her body by the tension of the rack and the pressure of the pear.

The older woman, somewhat frightened by the girl’s reaction, let out a gasp of surprise and straightened herself.

“Perhaps in the future you should go more slowly,” Sabina cautioned.  The woman glanced over to her and nodded.

“As you can see, the pear is very effective, but our witch has not yet confessed,” Sabina said, “would you please give the key one full turn.”

The crowd, titillated by the response of the naked young woman bound to the rack, shuffled closer as the older woman reached a hand down to again turn the crank on the pear buried within the girl’s loins.  The older woman grasped the key between her thumb and forefinger and slowly gave it a full turn, causing the naked girl to give a low moan and throw her head back, arching her spine and raising her olive-skinned tits higher into the air of the darkened chamber.  Sweat began to glisten on her chest and forehead as she lay squirming in pain on the rack.  The older woman let go of the key and slowly straightened, mesmerized by the well-toned body of the girl twisting and panting on the cruel frame.

“Another full turn, please.”

The woman dutifully bent over the body of the naked girl and placed her hand between the spread-eagled thighs, then slowly gave the key another full twist.  The girl, hurt by the increased pressure, squealed again and breathed deeply, her muscles rippling beneath the glistening skin as she twisted and flexed and gasped and panted, trying to absorb the pain exerted on her body.

“Thank you, miss.  You may rejoin your friends.”

The woman turned and quickly walked back into the darkened mass of shadows waiting outside the spotlight’s beam.  Her friend whispered congratulatory words to her as she settled back into the audience.

Sabina turned and spoke to the waiting crowd.  “The pear is a very good tool for extracting confessions, and can be used in combination with other tools as well.  For example, for stubborn cases, the combination of the Cat of Nine Tails with the pear could bring extraordinary results.”  Sabina raised the flogger for the crowd to see.

“May I have one, final volunteer?”

Hands quickly shot up. Sabina recognized one from earlier and selected him. “You, sir, in the striped tie. Would you care to extract a confession from our witch?”

The man gave an enthusiastic nod and eagerly accepted the multi-tailed whip from the host. Sabine pulled him close and whispered, “I ask that you only focus on her torso, for now.  If she does not confess, then we will work on … the other part of her body.”  The man gave a knowing smile and leaned away from Sabine.

The man strode over to the rack, studying the glistening form of the nude woman stretched across the frame.  Taking his place near the top of the machine, he stood smiling and waiting for his instructions.

“You may begin your interrogation.”

The man lifted the flogger by the handle and shook it slightly, letting the individual strands separate.  He then lowered it until it just lightly touched the bosom of the young woman bound to the rack. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, the two mounds pressed flat by gravity and the tension on her body, the soft skin dotted by the two dark nipples standing up towards him.  He began to swing the flogger slowly, letting the strands whisper across the girl’s chest, letting the tips kiss her erect nubs as she lay panting on the rack.  He continued the gentle swishing of the braids across her chest, each strand brushing across her naked torso.  The girl gasped and panted and flinched with each pass of the leather straps across her chest, waiting nervously for the blows she knew would come.

She would not have to wait long.

The man raised the flogger and brought it down hard against the girl’s body, the leather landing with a solid thud against her chest.  Her tits pressed flat against her body, then bounced and trembled with the impact, the nipples contracting even tighter into hard nubs of nerve-rich skin. 

Again the man raised the flogger and brought it down against her body, the braids clumping around the dark areolas as she grunted in pain from the blow. The man watched as fresh sweat began to form on the nude girl’s body; her muscles churning as he again brought the whip down against her olive-skin mounds, the curves of her breasts shifting from the impact of the leather whip. 

The young woman lay gasping and panting on the rack, her skin reddened by the beating she was receiving, but she did not cry out. 

He raised the whip again and struck her four times quickly, each blow viciously biting into her sensitive nipples.  He then struck her sideways across her bare torso, the leather strands crossing over the reddening welts along her breasts.  The woman coughed and choked and wept with pain, but she did not cry out.  She would not give him the confession he was trying to pull from her.

The man again raised the whip and brought it down against her chest, lashing her nipples with the cruel leather braids. The young woman squirmed and cried and pulled at the bonds holding her to the rack, the cuffs of her wrists and ankles tied securely to ropes coiled around the drums at the ends of the frame. The man swung the dark leather whip repeatedly, flogging the nude woman bound helplessly before him. Sweat matted her long dark hair that hung, swaying, through the cylinders of the rack.  Her hands were clutched into tight fists, the muscles of her arms dancing under the spotlight as she pulled against the leather cuffs. 

The whip continued to fall against her glistening mounds.  Red welts crossed over her breasts, showing where the whip had marked her skin with its painful touch, even as the leather strands continued to lash at her body.  The cords of her belly twitched and flexed from the strain exerted on her muscles.  A gleaming silver lion’s head protruded from her slit between her wide-forked thighs.

The man paused as the woman lay gasping and panting beneath him.  He raised the whip but did not strike her; choosing instead to let the strands dangle freely from his hand.  He brushed the leather braids along the length of the girl’s sweat-covered body, the leather absorbing the drops of perspiration that coated her taut, olive skin.  She twitched as the whip tickled her flesh, reminding her of her nakedness and vulnerability as the whip slowly ran down her body and brushed the lion’s head knob wedged between her petals.  She cried and gasped and her legs pulled at the cuffs around her ankles.

The man reached down and stroked the matted fur above her snatch, the close-cropped forest of tangled fur gleaming with her juices.  He pressed her Mound of Venus gently with his fingers, eliciting a high-pitched squeal from the helpless girl as the talons of the pear pierced the sensitive lining of her pussy.

He could resist no longer.  He raised the whip and brought it down between her thighs, lashing her mound, the braids biting and grabbing the swollen lips of her snatch as the force of the blow travelled deep into her body.  An inhuman scream echoed off the walls of the chamber as the girl arched her back, pulling with all of her strength against the bonds around her wrists and ankles, then collapsed limply against the bed of riveted cylinders.  Her head rolled lazily to the side as her tits, the sweat-covered skin crisscrossed with angry red welts, rose and fell with her heavy breathing.

“Congratulations, you have broken this witch,” Sabina said, “You may rejoin your companions.”

The man handed the flogger back to Sabina and returned to the mass of moving shadows behind her.

“This concludes this portion of our exhibit,” she said, pressing a button that opened the exit doors, “if you will please proceed to the next room, we can see how the Crusades have impacted our political landscape.”

The crowd reluctantly began to shuffle towards the exit, more than a few members pausing to get one last look at the three nude women still bound to their instruments of torture.  Sabina politely shooed the crowd out of the chamber and into the next room.

***

Shannon stood in the showers with her eyes closed, the warm water cascading off her shoulders and streaming through the valley of her breasts before landing with a loud splash on the tiled floor of the shower room.  The other two models were there as well, washing and cleaning themselves after the demonstration.

Jenny was a jazz musician, older than the other two women, and taller, with the full curves of a mature woman.  Her skin still bore the dimpled creases from the chair, but Sabina had said those would subside within an hour.  Ridley had told Jenny that she looked like a human golf ball.

Ridley, a trained dancer, was about Shannon’s height, but slightly more muscular.  The warm shower had caused the welts from her whipping to brighten slightly, but Sabina had said these would also fade with time.  Shannon didn’t feel comfortable with asking her if the wooden beam had done any major damage.  She guessed that it hadn’t, because Ridley seemed to be taking it in stride.

“Shannon, are you ok?” Jenny asked, noticing the girl’s closed eyes.

“Yeah, just relaxing and enjoying the water,” she replied.

“Well, don’t take too long,” Ridley said, turning the chrome lever as the flow of water from her shower head slowed to a trickle, “Sabina wants to review the tape with us.”

“Ok, I’ll be there in a sec.”

Jenny turned off her shower as Ridley exited towards the metal doors of the dressing area, not bothering to wrap herself in a towel.

“Hey,” Jenny said, “seriously, are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Really,” Shannon replied.  She opened her dark eyes and looked at Jenny.  Smiling, she said “and thanks for asking.”

“Sure,” the other woman answered, “that was quite a beating you took.”

Shannon wasn’t sure how to respond. “Yeah; it was.”

“Are you sure you’re ok? Inside and out?”

“Yeah, he didn’t break the skin. It felt like it though.”

“Hey, you know what I’m talking about.” Jenny gave her a knowledgeable look.  “Have you cleaned yourself out?”

Shannon blushed, smiled and said, “not yet, but I will later, ok?”

Jenny noticed the girl’s discomfort and let it go. “Ok, I won’t pester you any more.”  She smiled, grabbed a towel, and headed for the dressing room.

***

Shannon settled into a chair next to Ridley, her hair still damp as she folded one toned leg beneath her and brought the other one up under her face, using her hand to pad her chin.  She could feel her blouse sticking to her moist skin as the other girl welcomed her into the small group clustered in the conference center of the exhibit hall.  Sabina and Jenny were talking casually, waiting for Shannon’s arrival.

The large flat-screen monitor blinked as the recorder came on-line.  Sabina raised the rectangular remote and pointed it towards a small box mounted in the ceiling.  “Okay” Sabina said, “show time!  Let’s see how we did.”

Shannon recognized the red lights of the floor, but couldn’t figure out the proportions of the room.  Then she saw a door open to the left and the silhouettes of people begin to file in.  Suddenly, the spotlight shone on the torture chair.  She realized that the camera must’ve been mounted into the wall behind the audience, about 7 feet up.  A graphic appeared across the bottom of the screen as Sabina turned up the volume.

A disembodied female voice said “…paid for it in blood and bone.”

“Nice drama, you think?” Sabina said, “I changed the opening myself.  The usual one is too boring.”  She dropped her voice to a deep baritone and said ominously, “Blood and bone”.  Jenny and Ridley giggled. Shannon smiled, and started to reflect on what had happened to her.

She had shown some reservations about doing it.  She’d never done anything like this before.  Nudity. In public. And certainly not tied up. Sabina had assured her that nobody would recognize her with the blindfold on.  “It is better than a criminal’s mask,” she had said, “because nobody can see your eyes.”  Sabina had further explained that anonymity was another reason why it was important that the models not have any tattoos, piercings, or identifiable marks.

Shannon re-focused on the screen. Jenny was sitting in the torture chair now, about to have her breasts squeezed.  As they watched the video, Sabina leaned over said something to her, and Jenny nodded affirmation.  Sabina pressed the button to mute the sound. “We don’t need to hear the audible,” she explained.

“I think you mean ‘audio’ “, Jenny suggested.

Shannon had taken some comfort in knowing that there would be other models there.  She had talked to Jenny and Ridley at the rehearsal and they seemed nice.  Jenny was a musician and had done some bikini modeling on the side for extra money, sometimes with cut-outs and crotchless panties if she felt comfortable with the photographer. Jenny had described it as being nude without feeling naked.  Ridley had danced topless at a gentlemen’s club for about a month during the previous summer for “tuition gravy” as she had called it.  Both girls had told Shannon that getting naked would be difficult at first, but once you got over being self-conscious about your body, it was much easier.  And it wasn’t like people would be having sex with her or anything.

Ridley was straddling the beam now, being fondled by the executioner.

“God, I almost came right there,” she said, “that was a lot more intense than I thought it would be.”  Sabina and Jenny smiled at her.  Sabina replied, “Maybe we should change the script?  So maybe you do?”

“Oh, God! No!”

Sabina laughed. “Do not worry.  This is not a sex show.”

The woman from the audience was approaching Ridley now, looking over her shoulder at the shadowy crowd.

“It is interesting, I think,” Sabina said, “how she was not sure she was doing the right thing and had to look at the others for approval. Like they had more authority about right and wrong than she did.  This is one of the concepts I put in my thesis.”

Ridley ignored her, studying the film of the woman raising the whip and clumsily brushing her with it for the first time. “Right there.  Right there I started to cum.  When that flogger first touched me I just about exploded.  You can hear it in my voice, right?”

Sabina gave an overdramatic look of surprise.  Jenny smiled.

The woman was flogging Ridley’s breasts in earnest now.  Ridley watched the film of herself trying to dodge the whip and said, “That old bat! How old was she?”

Sabina shrugged her shoulders, prompting Ridley to continue. “She was tricky, changing her swing like that.”

“Why did you let her beat you so long?” Sabina asked.

“I wanted to see if I could last longer than her.  I probably could’ve done it if somebody hadn’t suggested changing sides.”

Sabina gave her an innocent look.

Now the film showed Sabina leaning towards the woman, and the woman moving behind Ridley.  The woman then raised the whip and continued flogging the naked girl.

“Busted!” Ridley shouted victoriously.

“Yes, but you probably liked it,” Sabina replied.

“Yeah, actually I did.  I came again,” she admitted coyly, like a child giving away a secret, “but it sure hurt like hell after I did.”

Now it was Shannon’s turn, as the executioner brought her into the room.  Shannon watched as her electronic self was stripped naked.

“I really like how you have your legs set,” Sabina said, “That is a very artistic pose.  It shows off your legs and shoulders nicely.” 

Shannon smiled, quietly accepting the compliment.

Jenny asked, “have you ever modeled before?”  Shannon shook her head. “You should consider trying it,” Jenny said encouragingly. 

Sabina added, “I also like the defiance you bring.  Very strong, very brave. I think that it works well for you.”

Now Shannon was being bound to the rack. She could feel the familiar tingling between her legs again as she watched her electronic self being fondled by the young man.  Ridley looked over at her and grinned. Shannon shot her a naive “What?” look.

Now the heavyset man was approaching her, standing over her with the pear cradled in his plastic-covered hands.  Then he turned and said something to Sabina and walked away.  Shannon felt a bit of sympathy for the man, who was clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“He surprised me,” Sabina said, “I thought, ‘here is a man who dreams of this’. And then he walks away.”

“He looks kinda creepy to me,” Ridley replied, “I wouldn’t want him to touch me, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, be nice,” Jenny scolded her, “look, he might be creepy, but at least he had some morals. He’s the only one that refused to participate.”

She had a point.  Shannon thought about it and really began to feel sorry for the man. Nobody should be put in a situation where they aren’t comfortable.  She’d certainly been made to feel uncomfortable often enough in the past week.

Now the older woman was hunched over Shannon’s privates.  Shannon cringed, remembering the feeling of the woman’s fingers on her genitals.

Sabina said, “I think this one has some experience, yes?”

Shannon fidgeted in her chair.

“You’re being awful quiet back there, Shannon,” Jenny said, “Cat got your tongue?”

Shannon shrugged and shifted her legs. “No, just … thinking.”

The first woman was walking away. Soon the other woman was stepping forward and reaching between Shannon’s legs.  Shannon’s electronic self suddenly gasped and pulled hard against the rack, every muscle in her body springing to life.

“Ouch!” the other girls said in unison.  Ridley added, “That hurts just to watch!”

Shannon piped up, “Oh, it hurt like High Holy Hell!”

Sabina laughed at Shannon’s creative euphemism.  Shannon wadded up a piece of paper from the notepad on her desk and tossed it at Sabina, “Next time tell them to go slowly!”

Jenny giggled and said, “Oh, now you decide to talk!”

Sabina smiled. “So there will be a next time for you?”

Shannon retorted, “Well, if not me, then the next girl!”

The older woman was now reaching between Shannon’s legs again.  Shannon studied the image of her electronic self on the monitor, the definition of her muscles standing out against her glowing skin.  “I guess I do look kinda hot,” she whispered.

“I told you.  You should seriously consider modeling,” Jenny replied.

Now the man was standing over Shannon’s electronic body, whipping her electronic tits.

“Ok, flogging contest!” Ridley cheerfully announced, “I want to know who lasted longer: me or her.  Rewind the tape so we can take a count!”

Jenny groaned her displeasure.  Sabina moved the remote farther away from Ridley.

The man continued to flog Shannon’s electronic tits.  And continued.  And continued.

“Holy shit, Shannon. He really let you have it,” Ridley said, “I guess you do win.”

Sabina added. “There is no guess.  She did win.”

Turning to Shannon, Sabina paused the video, the man’s arm frozen in mid-swing as Shannon’s body gleamed on the bed of cylinders. “Why did you not scream sooner?  I could have stopped him.”

Shannon thought about it. How could she tell them that she was testing her limits, without sounding like some sort of sicko? “I guess it just never occurred to me.”

“Never occurred to you? Never occurred to you?!” Ridley said, incredulous, as Sabina continued the video.

Now the man was letting the whip drape over Shannon’s spread-eagled body.  All of the girls sat quietly, waiting for what they knew came next.  The man raised the whip and brought it down hard against the cleft between Shannon’s outstretched legs.  A collective “Ooooh!” of pain echoed through the room.

“I am sorry, Shannon, I should have known it would happen!” Sabina said quickly, “He had been too eager earlier.  Normally those people are not selected. It was my mistake. I am so sorry! I do not know what … ” She paused, mouth open, searching for words, “I… what do …”

Shannon smiled, and held her hands up, accepting the apology.  At least Sabina had admitted that it was not a regular part of the presentation. “Sabina, Sabina,” Shannon said, interrupting the woman, “It’s ok, Sabina, it’s ok. Honest. I’m fine, ok? I’m fine.”

Sabina closed her mouth and nodded, “Okay, next time I will be more careful, okay? I will choose maybe someone older.”

Shannon nodded, “I trust you.”

“Shannon,” Sabina said to her, “if you do not wish to continue with the exhibit, it is okay. I understand.  I can tell your school to give you credit and some money, ok? Or maybe I change you to take tickets?”

“That’s ok. I’m fine.  I think.  Let me see how I feel tomorrow.”

“Okay but please let me know something, okay?”

Shannon nodded that she would.

“Shan,” Jenny intimated to her, “please, get checked out. Take care of yourself, ok? Promise me?”

Shannon grinned and said, “I promise, Mother.”

“Jesus,” Ridley said, “Shannon, that was some scary shit.”

Before Shannon could respond, Sabina said, “Yes, that is the idea.  The next part of the exhibit is where I talk about how easy it is for normal people to do evil things to other people, if they think it is approved by society.  Not just genocide but all persecutions. It really affects the audience when they see the video of themselves torturing you as they leave.”

The film ended and the girls began to stand up, gathering their bags.  As they prepared to leave, Sabina announced, “Tomorrow we start our regular run.  So you know, there will not be any audience participation.  I am changing that part of the presentation for now.  Maybe later we will go back to how it was tonight,” Sabina paused and looked directly at Shannon, “but without the mistakes.  I hope that you will all … that you …” Sabina foundered, struggling to find the right words, “Sorry for my English. We have a good group and I think we can make a good exhibit. So please, I will see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sabina,” Shannon, standing with her backpack over her shoulder, said “I think if you change the exhibit, the last part won’t be as effective.  I think you should keep it the way it is.”

Sabina stood facing the three women, contemplating her response.

Jenny spoke first. “If Shannon is ok with it, then I’m ok with it.”

“Me, too,” Ridley added.

Sabina smiled. “Then, we will keep it the way it is now,” she said with relief, “thank you very much for helping me.”

The girls replied in unison, “You’re welcome.”

Sabina replied, “It has been a very busy day for us.  Time to go home.”

The four women turned and walked towards the door to the main hall.  Sabina, the last to leave, locked the door and followed her models into the darkness.