The following totally fictitious writings of Faibhar are intended for the sole
readership of those of LEGAL AGE. The ADULT ONLY material contained within is
also for personal use only where local standards permit scenes of extreme
violence, torture, sex and crucifixion. Please do not read further if any of
these subjects offend, or if you are not of legal age.
"Crux Kitana" concludes The Accidental Surgeon series of episodes. None of the
story installments are intended to be stand alone and it is recommended that
interested readers begin at the beginning.
Your sole enjoyment and cooperation in not using this story in any other
application without the express permission of the author is requested.
Thank you.
Faibhar
CRUX KITANA
Past the rusty iron gate to her cell Soporanus appeared. From the small
crack high on one wall Katana could see the morning sky of another day, one that
according to Soporanus was to be her last. Behind him two soldiers dwarfed his
frail frame. Katana crept closer to the gate and angrily wrapped her fingers
around the encrusted metal. She pointedly explained to Soporanus that all of his
talk about his peoples' respect for dealing with pain was silly, his fascination
with surgery tools bizarre, and that he was a shriveled pathetic pervert whose
only source of pleasure was her suffering and no doubt the suffering of others.
Soporanus did not disagree with his prisoner's outburst. Contorting his mouth
into something of a smile, he wiped his sleeve across his lips and gestured to
the accompanying guards. "Bring her."
The grate she remembered before slowly circled above. As if reaching for
it her arms joined at the wrists, the long tunic given for the night removed.
Lowering her chin Katana saw the bench and wall. Where other men once sat now
was empty. "I suspect she needs an example of what the scourge can do,"
Soporanus said, indicating to the one holding the menacing whip and the wooden
table Katana recognized from the day before. A loud whoosh! breezed through the
space. A crack! followed as tips of the scourge struck the wood. Dust and
splinters flew. Katana hung vulnerable and impressed. Fresh tracks appeared
across the old table. Soporanus cooed as he cupped one ringed mammary and said,
"Just imagine..."
Katana squirmed as she felt her ankles locked in position to the floor.
She determined not to allow Soporanus pleasure at her expense. Be it the heat of
the new day or watching the scourge display as she hung in chains, Katana felt
her body warm. A purplish bruise ran the width of her bare chest. A thick line
already dotted by perspiration. The beads formed with others elsewhere. Slow
trickles began to slick over and down curves. Katana shook her head clear of the
brutish demonstration on the clawed table and swore again to not give in to
Soporanus. He couldn't break her yesterday like he said he would and today was
to be no different. Resistance was hers.
Soporanus wiped his fevered brow. On the wall thrown water varied in hue
as it dribbled down the spattered brick. Before hung the female, still conscious
and unrepentant, albeit head hung low, trailing hair matted over weeping welts.
A summoned slave attempted to dab dry the cuts. Soporanus's hearing certainly
used to be better, but age had changed that. The panting of his victim now
seemed all too muffled.
Increasing amplitude would soon increase whatever age had stolen away,
he thought, as arthritic fingers ripped two sections from the wool tunic given
her last night. Major muscles atop thighs bulged. The statuesque form remained
firm but now with bruising left by the weights, bite marks from voracious
leeches and the scourge's lacerations, torture clearly showed. Passing the slave
the two torn narrow rectangles Soporanus said, "Knot these together just above
the hips." No more muffling of her sounds...
The lot in which Katana first was first held no longer was vacant but
now nearly filled. Dust made more hazy by morning sun blinded, but she made out
many military uniforms appearing as smudges of gold, red and brown. Close to one
side she made out the purple tunic of Soporanus. Hot wind flapped at the clothes
and humans. Blowing grit made the two torn pieces of wool waving between her
thighs seem that much more trivial. The gold and red and brown blurs seemed to
be laughing at her undress. This naked she should be chilled yet streaming sweat
said otherwise.
Soporanus struggled to maintain as much dignity as possible as he
hobbled into the yard. It was important before so many of his inferiors to
retain an air of authority. "Throw her down there," he commanded as they
approached the short plaster column. Stooped as he was he stood nearly eye level
as she stumbled, her knees plowing small berms in the powdery dirt as they hit.
Holding up a small wooden placard affixed along its upper edge with two eyelets
he said, "We could have written much more about you but there wasn't enough
space on this so, the carved label of "Whore!" shall suffice." He handed the
wood to a guard and made way for two others who hefted a much larger and longer
timber. Soporanus sniffled in the heat as Katana's hands were unchained, cuffs
removed and then arms wrapped over the heavier wood set on the tops of her
shoulders. The two guards helped her unsteady rise. Grabbing the placard back
from the guard, Soporanus fumbled and attached it to the two nipple rings and
then stood back to appraise his subject. The young woman now was nearly as shaky
and bent as he, though any possible similarity there ended.
Katana fell again, this time landing one knee. The weight she carried
and the stretching of her wounded nipples felt too great. A heavy strap across
her injured back whapped out wind as it hit her ribs. Wind or not, the sting
forced her back to her feet. She shuffled closer to the gate leading out of the
military yard.
The town was not large but well populated and virtually all of its
population turned out. Golden and bronze insignias mounted atop tall poles
carried by infantrymen swayed. The parade winded its way through simmering
narrow streets. Soporanus rode inside a shaded litter carried by four slaves.
His regal gestures did little to dissipate vitriol aimed at the condemned. All
manner of insults launched from a crowd inwardly happy that it was someone else
and not them being tortured. The mob hurled missiles of whatever proved handy to
exorcize their heated emotions. Infantry and mounted steeds bearing gilded
riders stepped over rotted fruit, pottery shards, and excrement strewn along the
twisted way
Katana slipped and crashed. A knee landed in a street drain. A fierce
cauldron burned inside and all around. Faces glowered, invectives shouted, her
chest and lungs felt like bursting. More lashes fell. From the corner of her eye
she saw help in the unlikely form of a soldier. He lifted one end of the beam.
Almost grateful for his assistance, she rose back to her feet. A hopelessly
confused puzzle of matted hair covering most of her face obscured hope of seeing
much more. Each movement shifted added stabs of agony. Back on her feet, the
best she could manage was a staggering shuffle motivated mainly by the solid
smack of the lash. The breast wrenching sign bounced from side to side, the
weighty wood beam seemed more massive with every step.
Wind that had gusted in the early morning hours subsided. Desolation
surrounding the tall upright replaced what noise the wind provided. Implanted on
barren land near the highway leading into the town, a lone omen to all who
passed lest they too be unfortunate to hang from its height. This day the eerie
silence would be replaced by sounds to challenge whatever the wind could muster.
Sounds of the jostling, angry mob began to build as they grew closer to the
upright.
Katana breathed deeply as she lay. Glare from the sun high over her
right shoulder was nothing compared to the latest trials. Soldiers pulled arms
no longer willing to resist out along the wood beam she had carried. The placard
rocked as it lay atop her panting abdomen. One of the men detached it and then
scaled a ladder. Squinting up she saw his figure nailing the sign near the top
of the soaring upright.
Soporanus wiped his brow with a stained sleeve. Reaching into one of the
recesses of his sedan he withdrew a smaller version of the bronze cupping vessel
he used before. The band of his ring clinked the metal. A grin flanked by gray
bristles broadened as his focus returned to the naked female. "Hope you don't
mind being simply labeled as a whore," he said to her as a hammer hitting a nail
sounded on what was to be her most dramatic torture device. "You are much more
but as I mentioned before, there was only so much room on which to write."
Attaching the titulus to her nipple rings had been another idea of his. Now
little bloated towers nearly obscured the rings. Swollen and stretched nipples
poked skyward from their bountiful mounds of scourged breast flesh, a most
generous amount marked by the deep bruise running across their base. The sight
made his mouth parched.
One of them pressing her elbow down with his knee laughed and tweaked an
erect nipple. Katana bent her neck forward raising her head and saw a man's hand
squeezing one sweaty breast. A prick stung her wrist drawing away her attention.
The swiftly moving object blocked out the sun. Her head fell back hard against
the dirt. Sheets of needles behind her eyes rocketed, to be followed by more
multicolored bursts.
Katana barely recovered. Panic nearly seized. Far below were male and
female shapes. A helmet seemed larger than most until she realized that it was a
soldier climbing a ladder up to her. Looking down her glistening chest she saw
the man taking a knife and cutting away the two knots holding the last vestiges
of clothing between her legs.
A gasp arose as the two rags, weighted by too much fell to earth.
Soporanus smiled his satisfaction. His addition to the nude clearly entertained
the mob. Before leaving the garrison he had a cord tie the clit ring tightly so
that beads inside its circumference pressed into and rubbed the shaven lips.
Another end of the cord was attached to a rectal dildo. Every step the female
took moved something. He handed the cupping vessel to the soldier stepping down
from the ladder. The man returned up the rungs, pressing the vessel into the
female's wet crotch. Filling it with her juices he climbed back down and gave
the vessel with its musky contents back to Soporanus.
Katana screamed and shook. She strained and forced her hips out. Waves
upon waves of passion mixed with pain crashed down upon her body. The rushing
flood consumed her psyche. Her cries were of one who instinctively knew the
passions she felt were to be her final ones.
Release followed release, until she could bear no more. Her legs bent
outward and she hung. Soporanus signaled his slaves. There existed no further
need to remain. Besides, it was cooler elsewhere.
