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The Spy
"What are you doing with the lord's papers? You are reading
them! You are a spy,"
"No, milady, I wasn't reading them. I don't k now how to
read."
"You pretend, but you are a spy! Guards! Guards!" She
drew a dagger from her girdle and backed the frightened maid into a
corner. Two men-at-arms rushed into the room. "That slave is a spy.
Take her to the courtyard and remove her clothes. We'll have the
truth out of her." The lord's house was not a proper castle. It was
more of a fortified house, a large hall forming one side of a walled
rectangle, with a gatehouse and tower opposite the hall, stables and
barracks along the other two sides. A dozen soldiers watched as the
young woman was stripped of her clothing. In one corner of the
courtyard stood two upright posts, with holes bored in them for ropes
to pass through.
The lady supervised, while the soldiers bound the prisoner's
wrists and hauled her arms upward and apart, one to each post. The
strain on her joints increased as her feet left the ground and her arms
departed from vertical. She clenched her teeth and tried not to
scream as the force doubled. "Tell us who is paying you to spy. You
were bought only weeks ago. That was no accident. You were
planted in our household." The prisoner protested her innocence, so
the lady directed the soldiers in tying ropes to the victim's ankles.
When the ropes were passed though holes in the posts, the soldiers
pulled her legs apart and added more to the strain on her shoulders.
Totally naked, fully exposed to the gaze of everyone in the household
who cared to look, the maid should have experienced shame, but the
pain of taut muscles and joints almost dislocated drove petty
considerations of modesty from her head.
First, soldiers took turns whipping her with long leather
livestock whips. One would stand in front of her and one behind,
taking turns laying on the lash. Sometimes the leather snake would
curl around her body, leaving a welt as long as an arm, but the
soldier soon made a game of making the whip crack, and placing the
uncoiling tip, actually going supersonic, against some tender place,
such as a breast or between her widespread legs. The cracking whip
invariably broke the skin, and soon she was streaked with blood from
shoulders to knees, but especially over her breasts and buttocks. The
cumulative effect was to leave the beaten victim half in shock,
hanging limp and unable to respond as the whips flayed her alive.
The lady told the soldiers to stop, and they threw a bucket of water in
the victim's face to revive her. The soldiers left her hanging, while
they went for their midday meal.
In the summer, most cooking was done outdoors, in the
courtyard, where one could roast a whole ox, if need be. The lady
played with her dagger, raping the maid with the handle. Then the
lady went over to the cook and came back with a bunch of carrots
and a turnip. "Tell me who placed you here, and what you were
looking for." There was no response, so the lady pushed one carrot
into the exposed anus, until only greens were showing. She did it
again and again, leaving the suspended maid with a bush of carrot
tops like a tail, while her rectum was painfully stretched by the bunch
of carrots. "And do you know where the turnip goes?" She put the
tip of the turnip, bigger than a man's fist, between the bruised lower
labia and pushed. It did not penetrate far. She pushed harder, finally
pounding with her fist, until the victim's vagina was incredibly
stretched to accommodate the turnip, big as a baby's head. However,
then the lady let go, the turnip fell out. She went back to the outdoor
kitchen and returned with a section of tree limb, as thick as her arm
and crudely pointed on each end, as it had been cut with an ax. She
put one end on the ground as saw that the other end rested against
pubic hair. Again she pounded the turnip into the too-tight vagina,
but she used the pointed stick to hold it in place, the lower point
embedded in the dirt, the upper point embedded in the turnip. "You
will not be cut down until you tell what your mission was." The
maid's answer was incomprehensible, in a croaking voice. "You
want water?" Her victim nodded. The lady summoned two tall
soldiers to fetch buckets of water from the well. "Pull her head back,
and pour the water down her throat. Make her drink it all, both
buckets."
The soldiers had seen the water torture before, and they
forced their victim to swallow until her stomach was more than full,
and her belly was swollen as if in pregnancy. When they stopped
pouring, the victim spewed her stomach contents and hung there,
coughing and gagging. The lady nodded, and the soldiers repeated
the torture twice more. "This can go on all afternoon. Tell me what
I want to know."
"I cannot. I am innocent."
The prisoner's breasts were about the level of the lady's chin.
"Fetch the barber," she said. "Tell him to bring his surgical
instruments, needles and thread. You, heat some irons in the fire."
While the barber stood by, the lady played with a red hot iron,
singing the pubic hair, searing some of the still-bleeding whip
wounds, which elicited loud screams but did staunch the flow of
blood. Between the widespread thighs, the now naked genital cleft
gaped open, the labia spread wide by the turnip. Forward of the
turnip was a triangular area of gleaming pink. The lady probed with
her finger tip, satisfying herself that she understood the anatomy of
the prisoner's sex. Then, with a freshly heated iron, she laid the hot
metal between the spread labia, boiling, then burning, the hidden
nubbin which is the focus of sexual pleasure.
Next to receive her attention was the right breast. With her
left hand and the barber's pinchers, she grasped the nipple and pulled
it toward her, drawing the breast into a conical shape. With her right
hand and her sharp dagger, she cut through the skin above the nipple
and horizontally on either side to the chest wall, as if she meant to
halve an apple. The blade made a semicircular cut along the crease
where the breast met the chest. There was some blood, but the hot
iron stopped the worst of it. With care and determination, she peeled
the skin off the lower part of the breast, pulling it forward until it
hung free from the still attached nipple. Exposed was the creamy fat
of the inner breast. Soldiers kept bringing heated irons as the torturer
literally melted away the fatty tissue, using the dagger to cut through
the ducts and suspensary ligaments which had given the breast its
shape. While the barber held the nipple up, she cut and burned most
of what had been within the skin. Then she cut off the areola and
nipple, leaving only a flap of skin and gleaming fascia where the
mammary gland had been. "Sew that skin to close the wound," said
the lady, stepping back to admire her work. When the barber was
through stitching, there was hardly any blood, and the prisoner's
chest was smooth and flat, like a boy's, except there was no nipple.
Still the spy did not cooperate, so the left breast had to go.
This time, the lady cut off the nipple first and then operated through
the hole, melting and scooping out the fatty tissue while the more or
less intact skin contained the bleeding. When all that was left was an
empty bag of skin, the barber sewed it up and trimmed away the
surplus skin. On the left side, therefore, instead of a long curved line
of stitches, there was only a little laced-up pucker where the nipple
might have been, had the prisoner been a boy.
There were other things to do, such as the meal in the great
hall, with some revelry following, so the mutilated maid was left
stretched between the poles, limbs extended painfully, cunt and ass
distended by vegetables, the places of sexual pleasure utterly
destroyed, her breasts scraps of fat in the dirt, already food for rats.
The sharpened shaft of wood still pressed the turnip against her
cervix, displacing her womb. Night fell, and while sleep was
impossible, her mind wandered in a sort of delirium of pain and grief,
mourning for her lost womanhood.
Then in the dark, she heard a familiar voice. "Did you find
what you were sent to find?"
"Yes, the former lord did not die in the Holy Land. His
younger brother had him imprisoned in his cousin's dungeon, and has
illegally assumed his title. Please, cut me down and take me away
from here." Her accomplice sized up the situation. He might once
have loved this maid, but she held no allure for him now, a maid no
longer. He reached up and loosened the ropes which held her writsts.
"No, no. Release the feet first." He let the ropes slip a bit more.
all the captive's weight was supported by the stake in her vagina.
She felt the turnip split open, expanding inside her as the wooden
point penetrated it, penetrated the fundus of her vagina, and began to
pierce her intestines. Her almost useless tortured arms tried
tried to stop her inevitable slide down the sharpened shaft.
She knew she would be dead before dawn.
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