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Ch 23
It took Lila a long time to stop her wild thrashing. It was exhaustion that stopped her, not a conscious effort.
After she stopped thrashing, her head lolling on her chest, Lila remained, hanging, with her eyes closed, for long minutes, conscious only of the pain in her wrists and her feet, where all her weight was resting on the nails piercing her flesh. For a long time, since her nailing started, she belonged, body and mind, to the nails that pierced her flesh, to the pain that took over her body. Now, hanging quiet, her mind returned to her body; the pain, while still unbearable, decreased a fraction, so long as she did not move. She tried to take a deep breath, but she could not. Her lungs, in her hanging position, remained expanded, mostly filled with air. To inhale, to breathe, she would have to empty them, to expel the stale air that filled them. She would do that, she knew, later; not now.
She opened her eyes. Manu stood in front of her, watching her.
She hung from her wrists; arms outstretched, the only movement were the tremors that agitated her fingers. Twin rivulets of blood dripped from the nails in her wrists. Her arms, carrying her weight extended from the nails, to join her body. Her struggles to breathe, without moving, caused her breasts, and the rings hanging from them, to lift and fall, as her chest flailed, up and down, trying to move air in, and mostly out of her lungs. The nipple rings quivered on her breasts; Manu wondered if she could notice them.
The afternoon sun shone on her sweat, surrounding her body with a luminous halo. Her skin already turning pink from the sun’s scorching rays seemed almost radiant. His eyes noticed her armpits, gloriously exposed by the arm bones bulging underneath.
She remained silent, breathing, looking at her lover and executioner.
He watched her silently. There was such beauty in her suffering, he could not deny it. Her body, racked on the cross, pierced by the cruel iron spikes, barely moving, shone in the early afternoon sun. He became aware of a stirring in his groin. He saw her open eyes and was glad that his loose pants covered his incipient erection. He could not hold her eyes and his sight strayed down to her belly, sucked in by her suspension. Her thighs, splayed open by her nailing, exposed her sex obscenely, and the small red scar, at its top, that brought back memories from that first day. He knew then, already, that she was special.
His eyes wandered down those long, perfect legs, to find the nails on her insteps. His vision blurred with unshed tears.
The sky began to darken, with the approaching storm. A few sentinel drops fell on his neck and he looked up at the threatening sky, at the rapidly forming, towering clouds that blotted out the sun. He was glad for the shade that the storm would provide for his beloved, glad for the cooling rain that would soothe her overheated body. He was angry at the sky that, by clouding the sun and cooling the air, would extend the suffering of the girl that writhed on the cross.
He approached her, leaving Aisha behind.
“We will be offering you water in a little while,” he said. “Try not to drink it, if you can.”
She turned her head to look at him; silently she mouthed the words, “Why?”
He had to steel himself to answer, tears threatened to break out of his eyes again, “It will extend your suffering.”
She gasped again for air. Soon she would have to raise herself to take a real breath. She would be able to speak then. One more gasp; he was so near, might as well do it now.
She screamed when she pulled herself up, the nails on her wrist bruising the nerve against the bone, and the nails on her feet, tearing at her, when she pushed on them. She held herself up, muscles cramping, air rushing out and into her lungs.
“This is so hard on you love; you don’t have to stay,” and, with a whimper she dropped back, to hung from her arms.
He kissed her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears, and of her sweat.
“I shall never leave you,” he said, stepping back.
The rain began to fall, harder.
“Take cover.”
The little slave girl obeyed, running to the house, the thin fabric of her clothes already sticking to her skin.
Thunder rumbled in the clouds overhead. Manu looked up at the turmoil in the sky, and prayed that a bolt of lightning would strike his beloved and end her agony.
The rain pelted him with increasing fury, the drops stinging his skin through the cotton of his shirt. Her nipples now erect from the cold rain, she pulled herself up once more.
“Go!” she said.
But he did not.
He stayed out, standing in the heavy rain that drenched him. The sight of Lila, crucified, shivering in the rain, whimpering in pain every time she raised herself up on the cross to breathe, both excited and appalled him. How could he leave her out here, after nailing her on the cross? How could he miss even a moment of her pain, when he caused it?
She closed her eyes against the pelting drops of rain. The pain that radiated from her wrists and feet extended all over her body. Mostly her arms and shoulders, unnaturally bearing most of her weight, burned and hurt. The pain in her legs, mostly when she was holding up her weight on them, was mild in comparison. Dropping down on the cross, as slowly as possible, she felt, for the first time since her arrival, a measure of relief.
“It is over,” she said to herself.
Of course she knew it wasn’t, not by a long haul. When she tired of the effort to pull herself up, Manu would place the cornu on the cross; it would support some of her weight, once she decided whether to take it in her vagina or rectum, and help her breathe. She knew the one he would use, she had suggested it herself; it was a short horn, with a cruel four bladed tip; like a broad head arrow, but the blades were blunt instead of sharp. It would distend her vagina or her ass, but not cut into it. She would last much longer that way. She tried to breathe and failed.
She pulled herself up again; the bolts of pain shot like lightning down her arms, her hands clenching in a spasm of pain. The pain from her feet provided a counterpoint to the crash from her arms. She held herself up with the large muscles of her thighs, relaxing her arms a bit. She took in deep gulps of air.
On the other hand, she thought, a big part was over. She no longer had to control herself, to force herself to remain calm, to submit, to be docile. The need for obedience, docility and acceptance disappeared with the first blow of the hammer on the spike at her wrist. Now she just needed to hang, from the spikes; she could scream if she wanted and had the air for it. She could struggle if she felt like it, which she did, but would not do, since every movement sent new waves of pain through her body. If her mind and body were still racked by unyielding pain, at least her will was no longer tested. The rain slackened, and she felt the welcome warmth of the sun’s rays on her skin. She opened her eyes.
Manu was still there, soaking wet. He did not leave. She knew how much it hurt him to be there, witnessing her struggles and knowing that, it was him that did it to her. She felt sorry for him, but at the same time felt a pleasant warmth, knowing that she was not left alone on her cross. She saw Aisha walking across the wet lawn, bringing him dry clothes.
Men began to return to their duties from lunch; some dismantled the stands that surrounded Lila. Her torture now would be too protracted to provide that much entertainment. They might return, later that day, when it would be time to place the cornu. They might even bet on where she would take it, cunt or ass; the last choice she would make in her short life. Lila thought she would probably take it in her cunt; it would hurt less, probably.
Lila’s throat was a desert, it had been at least two hours, may be more, since she was nailed, now, her bladder was full to the bursting point, and at the same time, she was so thirsty. There was only Manu and Aisha watching her now, and it was not as if she had any choice anyway. She released a stream of urine that splashed on the grass, in front of her. Soon Aisha approached her with a cold glass, and a straw; despite Manu’s advice, Lila knew she would drink; she could not stand the thirst, even though it would prolong her agony, she drank deeply; she recognized the taste, Gatorade, probably with added sugar; it would sustain her a long time, she feared. As soon as she finished drinking, her legs gave way and she dropped on the cross, the lurch on her wrists sending fresh lances of agony through her arms. She saw Manu’s face and wanted to apologize to him for ignoring his advice.
“I am too weak,” she thought.
Manu could not hide his displeasure when Lila drank the beverage that Aisha gave her, of course he understood, but it displeased him nonetheless. She drank the whole large glass of liquid before her knees gave way. He felt the jerk on her wrists in the depths of his soul. He saw the sorrow on her face, superimposed on the pain and thought, correctly, that she was sorry to have disappointed him. He decided to wait until the next time she would rise to approach her and try to comfort her as best as he could.
The sheik watched these events from his air conditioned room. His new slave, a cute young girl from Eastern Europe rested her arms against the windowpane, also watching the scene playing out in the garden, while her owner ravaged her ass painfully. She was so scared that she did not dare to complain or even whimper. When she felt his jism spurting in her rectum, she waited for him to finish, turned around and, on her knees, cleaned him carefully. She then followed him down to the garden.
Lila could barely lift her body enough to take one or two hurried breaths, using both her arms and legs; despite the pain, she could only maintain her position for only seconds before falling. She no longer attempted to ease her descent, her cramping muscles useless after a moment of two; every time she raised her body to take one or two hurried breaths, it would fall with a sickening jerk, to hang from her wrists. She could feel more blood trickling from her wrists and, she suspected, her feet too.
The next time she rose, she felt strong hands holding her up by the armpits. Manu held her up for a few moments letting her breathe.
She tried to apologize for the drink she had, but he stopped her.
“I know you have to drink. You can not disappoint me my love. I’ll do the cornu soon. Follow my advice and take it in your ass.”
He, very gently let her down, to hang from her wrists again, “I am not going to hold you up; it would lengthen your suffering too much. I hope you understand.” His voice broke.
She nodded.
Aisha brought her a glass of Gatorade again but short of breath she could take only a few sips.
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