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CLASSICAL WAX
"If you would, your Excellency," Monsieur de Virgin said. "There is someone that
I wish for you to see."
The ermine-clad knight of Castle Ravenguide shoved the comely redheaded wench
from his lap and grudgingly rose to follow the priest. "What is it now, de
Virgin? What you have to show better be good."
The cleric smiled as he gathered thick folds of his habit and started the
descent down the cut stone steps. He didn't have to pause or turn around to know
that Alared vande Vync, the feudal lord bastard who ran this place, was fast on
his heels. "We are going to the dungeon. Follow, please." The pig would be
pleased.
Thick wood of the dungeon door creaked open as it scraped the wet masonry.
Various torture gadgets cluttered the vaulted chamber. Several fires burned and
clouds of steam climbed around a large caldron set in one corner .Two nuns and a
monk stood against the far wall. Hung between them, a maiden whose athletic
features matched her physical beauty.
The nuns moved away as the two men approached. The soldier of Christ, whose face
was hidden by the deep hood he wore, remained where he stood and in silence.
Alaerd stopped within reaching distance to Jehanne Restault. The splendid nude
excited him greatly. Long chestnut hair flowed along the sides of her slumbering
face. He assumed it was even longer as it fell over her back. Muscles flexed
over smooth legs. Toes from tiny feet spread across stone. He could see greenish
veins running across the small bones. Funny, he thought, how things so little
could prove so fleet in eluding his men. But there they were. Pink petals of
inner lips blossomed below the small triangle of dark hair. Tits rose and fell
as she slept. Thick nipples sprung from soft ovals tainting the creamy orbs.
"Why you old holy rascal you," The Raven Knight grabbed the priest's neck and
playfully collared him. "This wench is a wonderful trophy. Is she who I think
she is?"
de Virgin extricated himself from the knight's macho hug and said, "No less than
one of the co-leaders of the bandits that have for so long plagued your forest,
kind Sire."
"Do tell... Have her brought to my quarters immediately-
"But your Excellency," the priest interrupted and chose his words tactfully.
"Wise choice, though if I might humbly offer another suggestion?"
Alaerd swung his bare hand hard at one tight buttock. The slap left a reddish
hand imprint on the white flesh. Chains rattled. The chest rocked with her
torso. Alaerd admired fine flesh, but also reluctantly saw his priest had more
to say.
"My monk has told me that females make splendid torture subjects and in the case
of this one she would be quite exceptional. We, however," Monsieur de Virgin
bowed as he said. "Have other plans that his lordship may enjoy more."
Jehanne groaned above as Alaerd slapped. It stung. Fingers digging and clawing
up her pussy further awoke her from her drugged state.
"Oh? And what might that be?"
Her brown eyes barely opened but saw the two men just below.
"Let us surprise the Raven Knight and his guests at the Grand Feast this
evening," the priest gestured up. "She will be your table's centerpiece, a
living candle sculpture, if you please."
Alaerd belched and removed his hand. The rough warrior placed fingers to his
nose and inhaled. Grunting, he said, "Very well. Just make certain that before
hand she is tortured."
"As you wish, your Excellency." Monsieur de Virgin bowed as the long-haired
egocentric stormed away. His spurs clattered over the cold flooring. Under a bow
de Virgin smiled. Turning back to the monk, he said, "She has already been
washed and prepped. I will remain to see that your chores are properly
acquitted."
The monk with the hidden face inside his deep grey hood waited for the priest to
sit nearby and then nodded to the two nuns. All of the religious had been
previously coached by de Virgin, and knew what to do. Each sister lifted long
staffs. Attached to the far end of each staff were Cat's Paws, or three-clawed
pieces of iron. They stood to either side of Jehanne's back. The deep hood
nodded and they began.
Her head jerked up to the ceiling when the metal points scratched her right
shoulder. Jehanne's face began to sweat and she bit her lip. The scratches
weren't that deep, but nonetheless shocking and another reminder of what was yet
to come. She had heard something about candles and torture. The knight left.
Jehanne now knew where she was- Castle Ravenguide, and in its dungeon no less.
The nun was not ordered to claw straight down with her tool, but rather, to wind
in a serpentine fashion down the bandit's back. Some blood bubbled and ran in
the iron's wake, but she did as instructed and did not press hard as she
continued. Her claw raked across one shoulder, bit across the spine and curved
again as it neared the swell of the female's hips. As the angle of her staff
lowered, it became easier and she traced three scarlet ribbons across the ass,
back of one thigh and stopped just above the back of the bandit's knee. The
stood back to admire the "S" patterns.
The second nun did likewise, except her lines snaked opposite to the other
colleague's.
"Very fine, sisters," de Virgin said from his chair. "Now do straight down her
sides and then her front." He shifted his weight. The torn back-side glistened
in the gloomy dungeon. Still, he had heard not a peep from the bandit, which was
just as well: His hearing need not be stressed by screams booming within the
echoing walls.
Jehanne put more weight on her toes. The cutting hurt, but she held her tongue.
Her head tried to turn sideways as her eyes darted, but she could not see where
they were. The rustle of habits from the nuns changing positions reached her
ears.
Three welts appeared as they descended from one shaven armpit, cut over defined
ribs, sliced into the flank, over the hip and the side of the thigh. More
rivulets of blood chased the Cat's Paw but this time, they flowed along the
straight lines.
Sweat beaded her brow. She threw her head back. Jehanne started to cry out, but
shut her mouth. Fright encroached as she felt herself being flayed. Rapid beats
of her heart pounded.
She was brought down and secured to a heavy chair with no seat. Jehanne's head
hung down. Grime obscured most of the opposing patterns crossing the tops of
each breast. Someone jerked her head back and she saw one of the nuns flinging a
bucket of water her way.
The icy blast chilled, she coughed and choked. At least it removed most of the
grime. Jehanne looked down. Serpentine cuts contrasted as they wound down the
white skin of her front. She knew similar lines now traced around all of her
body.
"Riveting scrollwork. Too bad you had to be the canvas." de Virgin grimly joked
as he watched the nuns dab wet spots and use towels to wrap the bandit's
cascading hair up in a turban.
"As you know, most of those cuts you might consider disfiguring, are strictly
superficial.
This second phase of your preparations, however, less to your liking." He nodded
to the hooded monk, who in turn signaled the nuns.
Jehanne watched one nun kneel alongside the chair she was strapped in. The face
was craggy and eyes bereft of life. From her palm she took one small wooden
flute. A gnarled hand grabbed Jehanne's breast. The flute had a pointed end, and
this was positioned in the middle of her nipple.
"Of course you have many tiny openings available in each nipple," de Virgin said
from his chair. " What the good sister has will make use of all of them."
The nun shoved the flute with a vengeance. Jehanne's head flew back. She bit a
lower lip to keep from yelling out. With powerful thrusts from her forearm, the
nun pushed and twisted the flute into the nipple. It slowly began to sink deeper
into the depressed flesh. Dark blood grew to cover the area. The nun wiped the
thick stream away along with the fresh sweat before going over to the other side
of Jehanne's chair.
Tears clouded her eyes. Sticking out from her enlarged nipple poked 2/3's of the
wooden flute. Fire burned deep into her chest. She ignored the nun's movement
until Jehanne felt the same treatment given to her other nipple.
It proved much easier, however humiliating to the victim, to insert the two
flutes into Jehanne's vagina and rectum.
Monsieur de Virgin stood and walked over to Jehanne.
"I am afraid that this will be your last time to hear as you have before. Take
confidence, child, that you will not be missing much. Not much, really." The
priest mocked a paternal smile and poured himself some wine before returning to
his seat to enjoy the rest of the preparations.
Jehanne felt both eardrums pierced. She may have screamed-she wasn't sure, but
did feel each ear filled with wooden flutes. She suspected they stuck out from
her ears like the others protruded from other places..
The silent monk observed as thick leather straps held the turbaned head to the
backrest. The pretty bandit's brown eyes swung from side to side. Once her head
was secured, pincers clamped on the full lips. Metal pulled the clamped lips
slightly away from the wide mouth. One of the sisters inserted another flute in
the middle of the Jehanne's mouth. The other gray habit rushed forth with a
thick needle and thread.
Salty tears stung Jehanne's eyes. She saw nothing else in the chamber except the
needle and thread poised just next to her nose. She grimace and pulled at the
restraints as the needle sunk in. Excruciating pain overwhelmed her as her lips
were sewn. She fought the manacles and wrist chains, but they held. Sometime,
her bladder released, but she did not care.
Jehanne shivered and chanced to open her eyes when she felt flutes stuffed into
each nostril. The sewing had stopped. Beneath her cheeks was a thicket of black
thread. She could no longer mover her lips. Air sucked and exhaled through the
three openings in her nose and mouth as she hyperventilated. Wildly, she cast
her eyes about the room, but saw no source of rescue.
"Here it is," de Virgin said as two guild workers swung open a metal grate and
rolled into the chamber a tall wooden structure. "Your mold."
Jehanne's chin dropped as the leather band across her forehead was released. She
was helped to her feet. Already, her sewn lips swelled and began to discolor.
Only her lower legs and face were speared from the Cat's Paws. Torn flesh made
it difficult to move, but she was assisted toward the upright wood.
As she neared, the workmen chanced curious glances her way to see the tortured
nude, but then sheepishly returned to their structure. It parted like a
clamshell. She was guided inside. The two halves then closed around as she
stood. The fit was tight. Her arms were extended out, and someone pulled down
her long mane. Jehanne felt it tied to the interior of the container. Her face
tilted up, but saw only the molted stones of the vaulted ceiling.
The nuns went to check the contents of the steaming kettles. They nodded to the
monk that all was ready. He nodded back.
Jehanne fought inside the tight container, but she was held. Hands at the ends
of her outstretched arms outside of the wood flexed, all to no avail. The pitch
of the ceiling further darkened as she saw the round kettle bottom appear. She
closed her eyes.
The one nun slowly poured the melted mixture onto the bandit's upturned face.
Chunks of tallow and beeswax had earlier been placed in the heated pots. Not to
her surprise, strange sounds gurgled from the mold as the melted wax hit. She
tilted more of the thick golden liquid into the case.
Monsieur de Virgin poured himself a brandy. The sight of the bandit encased and
then covered with wax called for stronger stuff than the wine. He uncapped a
flask of cognac and poured it into his glass as he watched the second nun step
on the box next to the mold to empty her pot.
"Time now to see what we have." De Virgin gestured to the monk who walked over
and pried open the wooden mold.
Already, the wax had cooled sufficiently so that it was semi-hard. Before them
stood a living statue. Faint swirls beneath the opaque covering revealed the
tracks made by the Cat's Paws. Immediately, an iron frame was placed behind the
bandit's back. De Virgin was so pleased with what stood before him, he finished
the flask and toasted his own ingenuity.
The wax further cooled and the nuns used sculptors' knives to smooth, trim and
cut away any excesses. All of the little wooden flutes were removed as the
bandit's wrists were anchored to the iron's cross beams. Carefully, so as not to
disturb the covering, they pulled her waxed hair lower. Cords tied its ends to
the upright.
Jehanne no longer had any movement. The covering of wax shut her eyes tightly.
The only way to breath was through the openings in her nostrils and middle of
her mouth. She felt the first wick screwed into her right nipple. Her back
arched over the crossbeam, but she could not scream.
Monsieur de Virgin explained to all, though most seemed to already be aware,
that added rigidity had been given to the wicks by a salt bath. He watched as
another rigid wick was inserted into the hole of the other tit. Beneath it he
could just barely make out the faint swirls scratched in before. They looked
pink under the ivory-gold wax.
More wicks were inserted between legs, into ears and the tied ends of waxed
hair. Two fat bees wax candles were brought and placed in the crook of each
outstretched hand. Leather bands fastened fingers in place.
"Well. I think our centerpiece for the Grand Feast is ready. Indulgences to all
of you for your exemplary work."
Colors burst forth in the Great Hall. Alaerd toasted various lords and ladies,
other knights and even some commoners from his seat at the head of the long
table. Garlands abounded. Raucous merriment ensued. Roasted delicacies were
devoured as soon as they were carved. Sea-bream joined other foods on platters
crafted in gold, silver and pewter. Minstrels entertained. Jewels sparkled more
color.
All present, however, awaited the lighting of the living candle. It was
impossible to ignore. The figure stood on a slowly rotating base in the center
of the table, offering a splendid view to any in attendance. Many prided
themselves to their dinner mates on spotting the intricate flow of lines beneath
the waxed sculpture. Men and women alike fantasized over the ideal female form.
The blare of trumpets was somewhat absorbed by the heavy tapestries, but all
knew what their sound indicated and their announcement eagerly anticipated.
Alaerd arose to speak as a heavy silence hushed the hall.
Great applause greeted the end of his toast. Servants extinguished many of the
hall's candles. Acolytes touched lit tapers to the wicks of each candle held by
the bandit's hands. Breeze flickered small flames as the candles were lit and
Jehanne continued to slowly revolve. Alaerd's blue eyes glittered at the sight.
Wicks sticking out from jutting breasts were then lit. Many of the guests
applauded. Those closest speculated in hushed tones over which scent, if any,
would come as more of the candle melted.
Jehanne could not open her caked eyes. She felt the new burning reaching into
her chest. Her head spun with the rest of her. She breathed faster through the
three holes.
The two wicks between her upper thighs sputtered and then caught as they also
were lit. The ignited wicks burned shorter. The tongue of the front flame
between her thighs licked upwards. More wax heated and dripped down. Jehanne
began to twist her hips as the tiny flames reached higher.
Invited guests applauded as wax dripped from one upturned breast. The uncovered
portion glistened. Monsieur de Virgin quietly smiled. He too watched, though
knew the now exposed area to originally have been a small pink oval. The shining
flesh presently glowed an angry red, the base of the wick swollen to thrice its
original dimensions.
Jehanne felt the flickering flame tickle, and change to sting her clitoris. Her
twisting increased in a feverish attempt to avoid its kiss. Sewn lips stretched
and pulled with each grimace .
Seated next to his lady, a duke directed her attention to the revolving maid's
face. Growing stain mushroomed under the wax covering her chin as stitches
pulled the swollen lips further apart. There was much to see. He also pointed to
the melting wax between the thighs.
Just as he did, tight curls forming the triangle burst into flame. The bandit
arched her back more. Flowing scarlet gushed from the opened stitches. It
drenched the pale wax. Bloody bubbles popped from the hole set between her lips
as she struggled between breathing and choking on her own blood.
Jehanne tried to open her eyes, but they remained glued shut. She felt heat as
the tapers extending from her ears were lit.
Guests cheered the human candle illuminating their table. Acolytes lit the
remaining wicks. Shadows danced around the glitterati from the glow of flames
cast mostly from the large fireplace and the unique centerpiece. Almost all
other candles and lamps in the hall were extinguished; to better display the
Raven Knight's truly spectacular finish for the Grand Feast.
Flames shot upward as the wicks ignited her hair. More wax dripped from swollen
breasts. Soot marked where singed hair had covered the female's pubis. She
continued to slowly twirl, as if in some macabre exhibition. As wax continued to
melt, more scratches showed over the proffered body.
Many of the ladies nearest wrinkled their noses. They and their escorts agreed
that this was truly one scented candle. Fumes and odors from the bandit exuded.
Alaerd fingered the silver table knife. He sat very pleased, and if the reaction
of his guest were any indication, they would gladly continue to be his subjects.
On the wall nearest the roaring fireplace, he admired his heraldic shield, and
then turned his attention back to the glowing bandit.
Every ounce of his impeccable sense of timing would be called into play at this
occasion: Remove the bandit too soon, and he would risk raising the ire of his
guests; leave her too long on display and his femme flambe would become less
appealing to the senses.
He sat on the horns of this dilemma while at the same time savoring the sight of
the twin flames flickering upwards from atop the two tits. The upturned globes
shone in the firelight. Most of the wax melted down. Broad circles topped each
breast, darkening in hue as they met the base of each nipple. Curiously, his
insouciant glance noticed that sentries he earlier posted were no longer visible
in the surrounding shadows of the hall.
So be it, he thought. The men deserved their fun too. Alaerd prepared to make
his final decision on the bandit when the first arrow pierced the table next to
his table knife with a loud "Thunk!"
Alaerd removed his sword from its scabbard and rose in one fluid movement.
Screams rent the hall. Platters of food splattered as more arrows rained down on
the dinner party. Many of the well-dressed set fell where they sat: arrows
protruding from their bodies as they slumped forward. Others panicked and
scurried about.
The blood of many feudal lords and ladies, knights and merchants flowed amongst
the floral arrangements.
From all sides war cries shouted over the screams. Alaerd hastily checked from
side to side and then ran for the large stone mantle bordering the hall
fireplace. It was there that he knew of the entrance to a secret passage.
Reaching it, he slipped into the darkened tunnel. The sounds of dying dinner
guests were the last to reach his ears as hidden stone door closed and covered
his escape.
The other leader of the forest bandits, Saturin Tremoux, bounded up onto the
banquet. He sheathed his sword and rushed to aid Jehanne Restault. Reaching into
his belt, he withdrew the small dagger she had given him on his 21st birthday
two years ago. He cut the binds wrapping her fingers and worked the manacles
over her wrists free. His tears flowed as he ran his fingertips lightly over her
closed eyelids. His lover's condition was frightful.
Wrapping her in his arms, he carried Jehanne away. The two left Castle
Ravenguide with the rest of Saturin's force. Jehanne, given time, would
recuperate and once more be herself.
Flakes of falling wax trailed the exit from the Great Hall.
The End
