Lila’s tale.

Passing the Baton, Part 2

Ch 1

Marching orders.

Lila watched, on her knees, the limo taking her former master, Juggy and his new slave away. Her eyes, clouded by tears lost sight of the car long before it disappeared behind a curve on the road. Kneeling by the side of her new master, she tried to gather her strength to face the, hopefully, short weeks that remained in her young life. Al-Mansour’s voice brought her back to reality.

“Strip, slave, and kneel before me.”

Lila, obediently, removed her former master’s livery and knelt nude before the gross, obese form of Al-Mansour; she tried to keep her eyes fixed on the grass in front of her, but tears kept obscuring her sight. Try as she might, she could not keep them from overflowing her eyelids and flowing down her face.

“Do you know what will happen to you?” Al-Mansour asked.

“I shall be tortured and, eventually killed,” she stammered.

The sheik rubbed his oily face, “Hmmm; you are well trained, it seems.”

“Let’s see how well,” he said, excited.

Lila lifted her eyes to see his new master’s face, “Yes sir?”

He claps his hands. Immediately a beautiful, plump girl, clad in his dark yellow livery, ran out of the house and knelt at his feet. He addressed her:

“Aisha: Show Lila the way to the basement,” he paused, “on the way, make love to her; give her a nice, orgasm.”

“Hear and obey,” she answered bowing to the ground.

“Wait by the wall; I am not done with her yet.”

Aisha bowed again, rose and ran to the wall, out of earshot. Lisa anxiously awaited her first orders from her new master.

“Aisha will show you the way to the basement,” His words came out slowly, ponderously. “Manu works there; he is my torturer.”

Lila shivered on her knees; Al-Mansur continued; his gaze lost in the trees on the distance.

“It is a bad thing to get old; not as bad as the alternative, but bad anyway. I used to torture my girls myself; now I have to pay someone to do it for me.”

His wheezy voice continued, “Anyway; after you’ve had your last orgasm from Aisha, go down to the basement and ask Manu to give you ten cuts of the crop on your tits and ten on your pussy. Do you understand?”

“Hear and obey,” Lila learned rapidly.

Al-Mansur chuckled, “After that, tell him to burn off your clitoris.”

Lila gasped on hearing this. She bent her head to the grass once more.

“Hear and obey,” She repeated.

“He’ll know what to do,” the Sheik concluded.

In a daze, Lila walked away; Aisha waited for her.

Lila Ch 2

The mild mannered torturer.

The few steps to the house, where Aisha stood waiting, seemed like miles to Lila. A day that started so auspiciously, they were leaving, going home, even if that meant several hours crated in the hold of the jet, had turned so bad, so suddenly. When Al-Mansur requested Juggy as payment for the Chinese chick, Lila knew she was done for. She held herself up for the sake of her master, as her final tribute to her role model, Sarah. Now, the reality of her situation sinking in, her fear digging at her guts, Lila felt her grasp, her control slipping badly.

A glance at the walls, too far, and all the armed men around, meant that she would not make it. Also it meant that her discipline failed. A voice told her that it would be better to be shot by one of the assault-rifle bearing thugs than the fate that awaited her. It would be much faster, much less painful, even if she was shot in the gut. Something kept her going however. She knew not where those reserves of valor came from. Her father died, years ago, when she was a little girl, in Viet Nam, or was it Cambodia? She was too young to remember him, but was told he was killed while attacking an enemy machine gun position. He would be proud of her, advancing on the chubby girl who waited for her at the wall.

Lila’s mother had a phrase she often repeated when faced with a daunting task: “One step at a time.”

Lila kept repeating this to herself as she approached Aisha:

“One step at a time.”

Over and over again.

Aisha led her through a door into a long dark corridor. The air conditioning on her nude body made her shiver. They entered a large curtained hall carpeted with thick rugs. She led her behind a curtain and knelt in front of Lila. She licked at her sex, trying to complete her orders:

“Give her one orgasm,” the sheik had ordered, and Aisha wanted to comply. Failure at any task was not tolerated at the Al-Mansur household.

Aisha did not understand why the folds offered to her tongue were so dry, like the desert in her native Arabia, but she persevered. Lila gently caressed the slave’s head and slowly, very slowly, felt herself responding to the girl’s diligent ministrations.

“I’d better enjoy this,” she murmured “it will be my last.”

Aisha stood up, embracing the thinner, taller girl from behind, caressing her breasts with one hand and her pussy with the other.

“Why the last?” Aisha said, breathless.

Lila did not answer yet; she turned her head and kissed the Arab girl on the lips, silencing her questions.

Lila turned and embraced Aisha behind the curtain. They both fell on the floor, rolling on the carpet, exciting, exploring and kissing each other. It took time, time and tenderness for Aisha to bring Lila off; by the time Lila’s sex gushed, Aisha had come, three times under Lila’s experienced touch.

They got up and Aisha led the way, holding her hand.

“Why the last?” she asked again.

“I’m to have my clitoris burned off.”

The look of horror in Aisha’s face shocked Lila.

“Aisha, you look like you have seen a ghost,” Lila tried to comfort the girl.

Aisha opened a door and through her tears said, “Manu is down there.”

Lila kissed Aisha, “Thank you for everything.”

Lila descended the stairs; she expected the basement to be stuffy, hot with the flames of braziers, to hear the wailing of the condemned, the screams of the tortured. Instead she entered a plain, air-conditioned room, with an unlit fireplace, a leather armchair and, on the wall, instead of shackles, she saw long bookcases. A figure, a tall, dark man, sat on the armchair, a book in his hands.

“Good evening,” he said, standing up politely; he seemed to be in his thirties.

Stunned at this display of manners, Lila felt self-conscious of her nakedness for the first time since she arrived at the mansion. Her hands started to move to cover herself, before her training took over and she restrained herself.

“You must be Manu, I was ordered to come to see you.”

“I was expecting the Chinese girl; I see that your master traded you for her,” his voice was soft and deep, “I’m sorry for you.”

“He told me to tell you to give me ten cuts of the crop on my breasts and ten on my pussy.”

“Impressive; you have been well trained.”

“He said that after that…” Lila stammered, “After that, you are to burn off my clitoris.”

Manu watched Lila closely, expertly; he made his living by reading other people’s posture, body language, tone of voice. He read Lila, like a book, his reading made all the easier by her nude state.

“You know already what that means, here. He told you.”

Lila looked at him; he saw anxiety, fear, and apprehension in her eyes, but not the panic he expected.

She answered, her voice calmer now, “No; he did not,” she paused “but I do know what my fate is to be; if that’s what you mean.”

His eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. Lila could read expressions and body language as well as him; all slave girls could, their very lives depended on predicting their master’s moods and desires from the tiniest clues. She continued:

“I am to be tortured and finally snuffed for his pleasure.”

“Then you do know.”

“My fate?” Lila felt more and more at ease with this polite, soft spoken man, “I knew that, as soon as my former master sold me.”

“Ahh. I meant the meaning of having your clitoris removed,” Manu continued, “slaves are only de-clitted when they are going to be snuffed; if there is a chance that the sheik might sell them, we don’t do that; it might lessen their value.”

“That’s why Aisha had such a horrified look in her face when I told her,” Lila concluded.

Manu could not believe how calm and collected this stunningly beautiful woman appeared. He expected to see a girl, dragged or beaten into his presence, screaming and pleading for mercy; instead, here was a submissive, docile young woman. He could tell the effort it cost Lila to maintain her calm demeanor and, for once, he genuinely regretted what he had to do to her. He approached her; he noticed her trembling.

“I cannot decrease your pain; you know that,” his tone of voice reassuring her, “but I can try to make it as comfortable as possible.”

Lila nodded, “Yes sir; thank you sir.”

“Would it be better for you if I explained things?” he mused. “Maybe it would make it worse.”

“It would help me,” Lila paused, “prepare myself… if I know.”

Manu nodded. Encouraged by this, Lila continued:

“If I may, sir, if you let me help you, perhaps it would help me,” She tried to swallow through the desert in her mouth. “It would be better than just sitting and watching… and waiting.”

The torturer could not hide his amazement.

“All right then. I need to know some things about you. Did your master beat you often? When was the last time you were flogged?”

Lila hesitated; her loyalty to Paul posed her with a dilemma. Manu noticed this immediately.

“Whatever you tell me, remains between us.”

Lila exhaled, “Very rarely, until a few months ago; even then, not that often. The last time, about three weeks ago.”

“Good, good,” Manu continued “We shall start with your caning, of course; then we’ll take it from there.”

Lila followed Manu into one of the rooms. This one did look like a dungeon, with shackles on the walls, and all the trappings. There was a pillar on one corner, a suspension beam in the center and a table on the other corner. Manu gestured at the pillar; Lila walked to it, turned and stood with her back to the pillar. Manu fastened her wrists behind and above her head.

She tried to thank him, but her parched throat issued no sound.

“I’m sorry,” said Manu. “I should have noticed.” He gave her water to drink.

“Thank you.”

He picked up the cane. He wondered if he should ask her if she was ready, but decided not to. To his surprise, he heard her:

“I’m ready sir.”

Then he hit her breasts, hard. For once, he did not enjoy the screams; for once he wished he had another job.

When she thanked him through her tears, he kissed her lips passionately. When he released her hands she embraced him and kissed him again, of her own volition. For a moment he wondered if he could buy this girl from the sheik; however he knew the Mei Ling story, it was legendary in this establishment, and knew too that Al-Mansur would not agree; he would be more likely to fire him.

He let her sit on a stool and gave her a glass of lemonade. Lila drank some of it and used the cold glass to soothe her lacerated breasts. She gave him a questioning look.

“Go ahead dear,” he answered. “It is not forbidden.”

She continued cooling her breasts with the cool glass, encouraged, she asked:

“What will happen after I’m de-clitted?”

Lila found she could face her impending mutilation better using the term de-clitted, rather than saying    “Having my clitoris burned off” It seemed much milder, much more clinical; she once had a cat that had been de-clawed, that wasn’t too bad was it?

“I shall keep you here for a week, to let you heal,” Manu answered. “After that, it’s up to the sheik.”

Lila finished the lemonade and stood up, “Shall we continue?”

She went to the table and stood by it.

The table, much like an operating room table, had attachment points, so a victim could be positioned any way necessary to expose the needed area of the body.

“We will cane your pussy now; after we are done, you can help me get things ready for the… de-clitoring”

Manu had Lila lie back on the table, with her buttocks hanging over the end. He let her arms lie along her body and secured her wrists with straps by her buttocks. He placed two poles by her shoulders and brought her ankles back almost all the way to her head to strap them to the poles. Lila remained silent throughout this process, her deep, even breathing, the only noise that came out of her. There was too much motion on her knees, so he strapped them to the poles too. He picked up the cane.

He stood facing her pussy, the cane in his hand. She said:

“I’m ready sir.”

He hit her pussy, hard; it was his job. She screamed, loudly, it was hers.

Ch 3

De-clitted.

Lila’s pussy was on fire after her caning. With her legs bent back, her pussy exposed, and her wrists tied down, there was nothing she could do to relieve her violent burning. Immobile, she looked up at the ceiling, whimpered and cried. She had never been whipped there, and this was, until now, the most painful experience of her short life. Of course, something even more painful would come soon but ignoring it, or trying to, was her way of keeping herself together. She wondered what Manu, her torturer was doing right now.

He had left the room, ostensibly to fetch her some lemonade, but in truth, he could not bear to see her whimpering in pain, trying to writhe and not succeeding. How he would manage to burn her clitoris off was only one of his worries. If Al-Mansur had simply ordered her de-clitted, he could slice it off with a scalpel or cut it off with scissors, both methods that, while painful, were more humane than the horror that he had to subject her to.

He refilled her glass of lemonade, got a bag of ice, and returned to the torture room where Lila awaited. She was still crying and whimpering when he arrived. Leaving the lemonade on a table, he applied the ice bag to her pussy and was rewarded by her “Ohhh.” of relief. He admired her bound beauty for a few minutes more, before releasing her arms and legs. He pulled her up on the table to let her rest for a while and drink the lemonade.

“I’m so sorry I could not thank you before, sir,” Lila said, “but the pain was so much I could only scream and cry.”

Manu could not believe her docility, “It’s all right Lila.”

“How are you going to… you know, de-clit me?”

Manu took a deep breath, “I’m sorry that the instructions are so specific Lila. I would have preferred to slice it off with a knife or cut it off with scissors; I don’t have that choice, I hope you understand.”

“I understand sir; you are most kind.”

“It is simple, I will take three irons and place them in a lit charcoal brazier,” Lila shuddered when he said this, “I will let them heat until they are white hot, and then burn your clitoris off with them.”

Lila started to tremble and to silently cry again. Manu watched her, willing himself to be professional about this, and failing miserably.

She managed to restrain her sobs, “I’m truly sorry sir,” she said.

“How can you be so accepting, so docile?” He asked, perplexed, helping her up off the table.

He also noticed the raging erection that threatened to burst out of his underwear. He always used slips to work; it just wouldn’t do to have his victims witness his arousal, it would be unprofessional. With Lila, however, he did not want her to know that her pain and suffering was exciting him. He feared she would think less of him for that. He shook his head and helped her to her knees.

Kneeling, Lila responded, her eyes downcast and tears flowing again:

“There is nothing that can be done, so why fight? It is better to accept and submit,” her voice quavered, “besides, I deserve this.”

“What foolishness is this?” Manu sputtered, stunned. “How can anybody, much less someone as sweet as you, deserve this?”

Lila’s sobs were louder now, between them, she managed to answer:

“I was the youngest and prettiest of my master’s slaves. He used Sarah the most, he loved her of course; but when he was not using her, he would always use me.”

Lila continued crying, “When Sarah decided she was going to get snuffed, we were all devastated, but when Master chose Juggy and me to come to Brunei with him and Sarah…”

She was bawling out loud now, “I… I was glad. I thought he would pick me, to be his first girl.”

She lost all control, her hands clenched into fists, pounding at the air, “And then she climbed on the stage, and was impaled… and I wanted to die.”

Manu knelt down and embraced the sobbing girl. He patted her on the back, her nude body melding into his. It took her a long time to calm down. He stroked her hair all the time until her tears dried out and her breathing evened.

“I deserve everything I get,” Lila concluded.

Manu got up.

“Is it time?” she asked.

“Will you let me help? Please,” she added.

She followed him into another room, a storage room. There was an iron brazier filled with coals; it was on a stand with wheels, hooked up to a propane bottle. She pulled it into the torture room; opening the gas, she lit the flames.

“The gas attachment makes it much easier to get the coals going,” Manu explained. “It will still be more than an hour until the coals are ready and then the irons still need to heat up.”

Lila nodded; she started the air extractor, to blow the fumes out of the basement, and followed him to the room with the bookcases. He sat at the armchair and she kneeled at his side, leaning her head on his knee.

“Believe me, I will not hurt you more than what is strictly necessary.”

“I believe you sir, but please, do not concern yourself on my account.”

He caressed her hair. An idea began to creep into his brain: “There is no way the sheik will sell her to me now, but after she is de-clitted, I will ask him. May be then, maybe after she’s been tortured for a while” Not wishing to give her false hopes, he did not tell her about his idea, but he continued toying with it while caressing her hair in silence.

“It is time to put the irons on,” Manu said, getting up.

“I’ll do it sir.”

Lila picked up the three irons. For the first time she had a good look at the instruments that soon would sear into the very center of her womanhood. They looked very much like the pokers she used to see around New England fireplaces, except that where many of the Yankee pokers were ornamental, so many of the fireplaces burned gas nowadays, these were cruelly functional. A straight iron rod ended on one side in a wood handle; the other side, which she examined last, the business end that would burn into her most sensitive spot, was a small pyramid of iron. She touched it with her fingers and then, with as much vigor as she could muster, she thrust the three irons into the depths of the glowing red coals. She turned her back on the brazier and saw Manu at the door, looking at her. Her fear, gnawing again at her guts, threatened to possess her again. She needed to pee.

“Sir,” she asked, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He pointed to a closet. She opened it and found an old fashioned chamber pot in it.

“I am sorry; I cannot let you out before the procedure.”

She squatted over the pot, her back to him, grateful for that least measure of privacy he was granting her. Her water tinkled into the porcelain.

“I understand. Thank you sir.”

She replaced the pot in the closet and turned to face her torturer.

“After I am de-clitted, will you still be… you know, hurting, I mean torturing me, until the end?”

“Yes, most of the time; the sheik doesn’t do this things personally anymore. He may have some of his minions have a go at you, but yes, it will be me for most of it.”

Time passed slowly; the sound of the coals burning wafts over from the other room.

“Sir, please: How are we going to do this?”

She would be attached to the table, like she was before, but her legs would be strapped to knee and foot rests that would splay her legs wide open, much more than when her pussy was caned. A wide strap would go around her waist.

“Since the pain will be much worse,” Manu explained, “you have to be bound much tighter.”

Her labia needed to be held open, to expose the sensitive clitoris, he would use small steel hooks on thin rubber bungees. The hooks would hook on her labia and on the skin of her lower abdomen and mons.

“I am sorry that this will hurt you more; there is nothing I can do, I’m afraid” Manu said.

Lila placed her hand on Manu’s and smiled at him sweetly.

“I know.”

The white hot iron would then be thrust against her nub of flesh and held in place until it seared her flesh. Once it had cooled on her tissues, a second iron would be applied to char whatever would be left of her pleasure nub.

“You probably will not feel much of the third iron,” Manu explained “Most of the nerve endings will be gone by then.”

“I see,” Lila’s hand, unconsciously moved to touch her sensitive spot one last time.

For a moment, she relished the pleasurable sensation once more. “I’d better forget it,” she said to herself.

“I will keep you flat while I do it,” Manu said, “that way you won’t see.”

“I’d rather see it coming sir, if you please.”

Manu elevated the head of the bed; Lila picked up one of the irons; its tip glowed white.

“The irons are ready sir,” her voice broke when she said it.

She stood by the table, quaking in fear. He kissed her face and lips. What could he say that would comfort her? She turned and laid herself back on the table, her butt hanging over the edge.

“It’s all right sir,” she said, “I deserve this; I really do.”

He turned his head away to hide his tears. Then without a word, he tied her wrists, knees and ankles with stout leather straps. The final strap went around her waist. He placed a pillow under her head. She looked at him, tears brimming on her eyes. He busied himself opening her labia up with the little bungee hooks. She felt the cold air in her intimate folds. He wanted so much to kiss her down there, just once, but knew he couldn’t bear it. He turned to look at her face, whose lips he wanted to crush with his own, she looked back at him:

“I will be strong,” she said.

He kissed her lips again, “I’m sure you are.”

He picked up the iron; her eyes fused to the white hot tip. He did not hesitate, he was a professional, he turned around and in one fluid motion he thrust the searing metal on to the clitoris of his beloved. She screamed.

Her scream was deafening. On the sitting room upstairs, Al-Mansour, surrounded by Aisha, and two guards heard the scream while sipping tea. Aisha on her knees started shaking, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. Al-Mansour smiled and said:

“Looks like your little playmate will not be able to play with you anymore. Be careful little Aisha lest you join her.”

“Hear and obey.” She said bowing to the ground, her voice shaking. Then, at his gesture, she made her way under his robes to attend to his pleasure. It was while performing this job, with his erect member in her mouth, that Aisha heard Lila’s second scream, accompanied by Al-Mansour’s foul tasting spunk spilling into her mouth at the same time.

In the basement, the second iron burned as bad as the first. Manu could not repress his tears, but fortunately Lila could not see them. Her eyes screwed shut, all her energy used up by her scream of agony. Manu held the iron still, strong, stiff, against her soft, yielding flesh, until no further smoke rose from his beloved. How could he even dream of her, how could he even dare to aspire to her love, after the atrocity he had just committed against her innocent flesh. He pulled the iron out, and took the third. As promised, this one no longer hurt. All the dead nerve endings, turned into charred flesh she, mercifully, felt only intense heat, but not the consuming burn that had seared her tissues before. She continued screaming, her sense of loss, now, as intense as the pain that still seared her loins. He removed the third iron.

Her whimpers tore at his heart, “It’s over my love,” he said.

He applied ointment on her burned flesh, he removed the hooks, she moaned slightly at this, and finally, unable to resist, he kissed the charred hollow where her clitoris had been. She saw him doing that and resumed crying in silence, not grieving for herself; she was dead meat anyway, but for him, for what she had done to him.

She found her voice:

“Promise me.”

“What.”

“Promise me you’ll still do it.”

She guessed exactly what he was thinking. He would resign, leave, and refuse to hurt her anymore. His head shook.

“Promise me,” Her voice is louder, her plea, desperate.

“Promise me!” She almost screams now, “Promise me,” her voice ebbs in a flood of tears.

His lips meet hers, his tears mix with hers, “I promise.”

Ch 4

Intermission

Manu left her tied, on the table, for the rest of the day. He did not want her hands reaching for her scarred pussy, where they could damage the scar, or cause infection. He did bring her legs down thinking, rightly, that she would feel better if her legs were straight, even if not closed together, rather than spread out, with her pussy exposed. He did not tell her this though. He gave her some wine to drink, which was technically a violation of the rules, and the wine, on her empty stomach helped bring her to an uneasy sleep. He covered her with a sheet and left the room.

He paced the library for a while. He needed to see the sheik, needed to report. He climbed up the stairs and met the sheik in his sitting room. He was alone with Aisha, she, kneeling by his side.

He approached his employer and, unbidden, sat down. This slight disrespect did not pass unnoticed; Aisha gasped slightly, the sheik just frowned a little. Manu noticed the frown; he noticed everything, but found that he did not care too much anymore.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I am tired; I meant no disrespect.”

The sheik waved his hand, “None taken, my friend.”

“I have done as instructed.”

“So I have heard,” the sheik smiled, “so has all of Brunei heard; it seems like.”

He gestured and the slave girl rushed to bring Manu some tea. He drank the hot drink gratefully.

“How was she?” The sheik asked after his employee finished the tea.

“Very impressive,” Manu answered. “I’ve never seen such obedience and humility in a condemned slave.”

“How long should we wait to have her heal?”

Manu had to be very careful here, “A burn takes longer to heal than a cut. A week is my best guess.”

“Good, so be it.”

“With your leave,” Manu got up and left the room.

He did not return to the dungeon directly; he took a turn around the gardens, trying to collect his thoughts. He had cut or burned the clitoris off quite a few slave girls in the past; some, like Lila, were playthings, from the beginning destined to be snuffed at the Sheik’s pleasure, others were regular slave girls who, for one reason or another, had displeased Al-Mansour and were now to be de-clitted prior to their long and torturous demise. Most of them, naturally, cried in terror, begged for mercy, for their freedom, to be spared the mutilation or, at least to be given some anesthetic. Some, the ones that knew they were destined to be snuffed from the beginning, resigned to their fate, would not plea for mercy, but would never fail to struggle in their bonds, and grieve loudly before the procedure.

He never saw acceptance like Lila’s. He wished he had met her master, someone who could command such love and docility from a slave. For the first time he felt his heart tearing with desire for a slave; his need for her overwhelming his common sense, he struggled with the decision his heart was making for him.

He must have her for himself.

He would ask the master, later on, to sell her to him. His substantial savings would easily buy an undamaged slave girl; he could bid on Lila easily. But, would the Sheik sell her to him? He would try and buy her at the end of the week. A voice in his mind told him the Sheik would not sell her to him, not before she had been terribly tortured, her body torn, and her mind damaged beyond repair. The image of her restrained beauty screaming in pain under the iron in his hand came back to haunt him. Even if her body was damaged beyond repair, even if she were driven crazy by the unrelenting, merciless torture, still he would try to preserve her as best he could. In fact, he thought, he might be able to do something for her, to lessen her suffering somewhat; he smiled; he would do that under the Sheik’s own nose, even if the fat bastard refused to sell her to him; no, especially if he refused to sell her.

Happy for the first time this day, he went to eat his belated lunch; he picked up a sandwich for Lila before returning to the dungeon.

Lila heard him whistling before she saw him enter the room. The pain from her burned pussy awoke her some time before. Surprised for a moment at his change of attitude, Lila found that, in her predicament, her mind worked much faster than it ever had. Within seconds she knew why Manu was whistling, why he was happy.

“I brought you a sandwich,” He said, sitting her up on the table and releasing her hands.

“Thank you master.”

She ate her sandwich slowly, watching, discreetly, her master move about the room. She wondered when, not if, he would tell her of his decision. She guessed it would not take him long. She finished her sandwich.

“Lila,” Manu said, “I wanted… still want to quit rather than hurt you anymore.”

“But you promised…”

Lila’s tone was not pleading, rather it was the simple statement of fact that he would not quit, because he had promised not to.

“That’s right, I promised,” Manu continued, “I shall do as you want. I will continue to torture you; it is my job.”

Lila nodded.

“Please understand that I do not want to hurt you; I shall go as easy with you as I can manage,” He paused, “I’m afraid there is not much I can do.”

Lila smiled at him, her smile tearing at his insides, “No, you mustn’t.”

Manu looked at her, shocked.

“You must not risk your position, your life, for my sake. Promise me you will do everything to me that you would do to anyone else.”

His head shaking in disbelief, he remained mute.

“You must promise me, you will have no mercy; you must,” Lila continued. “If anything happened to you, because of me… It would be so much harder for me.”

Tears streaked down Lila’s face now, “Have pity on me. Promise me; promise you will have no mercy. Say it; say it to me.”

Manu could not contain his tears either. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure. Between sobs, Lila continued:

“Promise me…Promise me.”

Finally, Manu hugged her nude body and, her breasts crushed against him, he said:

“I promise you, I shall have no mercy.”

Their lips met in a passionate kiss. His lips crushed hers, and his tongue entered her mouth, looking for hers. They remained together, locked in a kiss, for a long time, their tears mixing on their faces.

He released her from the table and, for the rest of the day; she was free to move about the dungeon. He let her wrap the sheet about her waist providing a modicum of modesty for the beautiful slave girl.

“Wrap it about your waist,” he said, “but leave your breasts bare; I want to continue to look at them.”

Only at night, when he let her sleep on the couch, did Manu restrain her.

“I am not doing this to keep you from escaping,” he told her as he fastened her hands behind her waist. “I am doing it to keep you from tearing at the scab, while you sleep.”

“I understand sir,” Lila said lying down on the couch, “thank you sir.”

“Good night,” Manu turned the lights off as he went to his room.

       *                                        *                                        *

“How did you come to be a slave?”

Lila, reclining on the couch in the dungeon thought for a moment; the door to the outside was open and a little sunlight came in. It had been two days since she was de-clitted, and Manu did not bind her hands anymore at night.

“I had two brothers, one older, one younger. My mother did her best to raise us but, without a father, it was hard.”

Manu nodded encouraging her.

“By the time I turned eighteen, I was tired of living in squalor, of buying at the dollar store, of getting my clothes at Goodwill. I could get a grant to get me through college, but that would mean three more years of misery. I could not deal with that anymore. I got a job at Paul’s; I mean my master’s company. Like all the women there, I fell for him. When Sarah, she was in charge of managing the company, approached me to be Paul’s ‘personal assistant’ I jumped at the chance to be with him, to serve him.”

“Did you know, then, what it implied?”

“No, not at first, or actually, I suspected it, but was not sure. I was always quite submissive…Come to think of it, we all were,” she paused, “they probably selected the most submissive women to hire.”

“Anyway,” Lila concluded, “when I got offered the personal assistant job, I knew what it implied; perhaps not in all the details, but essentially yes, I accepted, just to be with him more.”

“He was a good master to serve, I imagine?” Manu asked.

“Oh yes, not demanding at all; he would very rarely beat us, although he would loan us to his clients,” Lila frowned, “some were not nice with us, but that’s what we were there for.”

“I think he acquired me, and the others, so he wouldn’t have to loan Sarah out.”

“Come, follow me, it is time you got some sun,” Manu stood up.

Lila stood up to follow him, “Don’t you need to leash me?”

“That will not be necessary; just take off the sheet.”

Lila removed the bed sheet she wore wrapped around her waist and, nude, followed her torturer outside. The bright sun stung her eyes for a while, she could barely see. She followed him around the gardens; the guards never failed to look at her, desire written in their faces; the officers, who knew what she was there for, licked their lips, they would get a go at her before it was all over.

“I am exercising the slave,” Manu answered when someone inquired about her.

He saw the sheik watching them from a balcony. He told her to kneel and wait. Lila knelt on the grass, knees spread, she felt the tension on the scab of her burn as her thighs opened and her skin pulled on it; she rested her hands on her thighs and, eyes downcast, back erect, showing off her firm breasts, she waited in the sun.

Al-Mansour greeted his torturer.

“She is doing fine,” Manu informed his employer.

“Everything is on schedule then?”

Manu decided this would be as good a time as any for his purpose, “Sir, if you don’t mind, I would like to buy this slave.”

The obese sheik twirled his moustache, a sick smile on his lips. He lit a cigar, sat down on a chair and puffed a cloud of smoke. On a small table were a bucket of ice and a bottle of Scotch.

“Have a drink my friend.”

Manu poured himself a stiff one and remained standing. In the hot sun, sweat beaded on his forehead, not only from the heat.

“Even damaged as she is?” The sheik asked.

“Even so.”

“Why?”

Manu had thought his answer in advance; it would not do to reveal his feelings for her, if the sheik knew his feelings he might have someone else take over from him; even though he did not want to torture Lila anymore, he did not want to escape his promises that way.

“I want her for myself.” He answered truthfully.

Al-Mansur puffed again in his cigar and nodded, “Who wouldn’t.”

Manu waited in silence. After a while, the sheik spoke again:

“You care for her.” It was not a question.

Manu remained silent. He was tempted to deny it, but decided not to; no, he could not deny it.

“I want her,” he repeated.

“No,” the sheik answered finally, “I will not sell her to you; not now. Maybe later; much later, if you still want her.”

“As you wish.”

“You may leave now,” and as his back was turned, he added, “You may enjoy the slave, while you have her.”

“My thanks.” Manu did not turn to face the sheik again. He did not want him to read his face.

It was a bit of hope, and that was more than Manu expected from the fat bastard. He rejoined Lila and returned to the cool dungeon.

That night, after dinner, he left her in the living room area and went out to get some air.

“I am going out to smoke a cigar,” he told her, “I do not want to fill this place with smoke.”

“Yes sir,” she answered dropping to her knees in front of the couch, her breasts swaying seductively.

“I will be out for about an hour or so, I guess.” He turned and left the room; purposely, he did not lock the door; in fact, he left it ajar.

Earlier, in Lila’s plain view, he opened a closet door, pretending to look for something; inside the closet were some women’s clothes and a burka. He also opened several drawers on his desk, making sure Lila saw their contents, namely, several thousand dollars in cash, his car keys and a pistol. Earlier in the day, during their walk in the garden, he pointed out his car, a white Mercedes, to her.

He walked to the opposite side of the house, puffing on his Cohiba. There will be hell to pay in the morning. He thought, but he was beyond caring now. The Cohiba he selected was a big one. He took a long time to smoke it and, after he was done, he joined two of the officers for drinks. It was more than an hour and a half when, stumbling, eyes bloodshot from the whisky, he returned to the dungeon.

Kneeling by the couch, thighs open and eyes downcast he found Lila.

Ch 5

Later he would not be proud of what he did; later he would be sorry. Bellowing his rage he grabbed Lila’s hands jerking her to her feet; he dragged her behind him to the torture room, his roars of anger waking up everyone within earshot. She tried to follow him but wasn’t given a chance. He tied her wrists to the suspension beam and raised her on tiptoe.

She did not plead, nor cry. She knew why and what was to happen. She struggled on her tiptoes to balance herself awaiting her punishment. He picked up the single tail whip and started on her back. He lashed her hard, hard and fast. Too drunk to do a proper job, too enraged to care, he lashed at her back until her grunts turned into screams of pain. When his arm tired, he stopped, drank some ice water and resumed whipping her, this time on her front.

Hearing the screams coming from the dungeon, the sheik came in and observed the whipping from the entry door. He did not know why Manu was beating Lila so hard, nor did he really care. He knew that Manu had been drinking, he knew just about everything that happened in his house, or thought he did. Perhaps the slave had been less than respectful; or perhaps Manu just wanted to hurt her.

‘In any case’, Al-Mansur said to himself, ‘perhaps Manu does not care for the slave as much as I thought.’

He waved to the two guards who had arrived, guns at the ready, to see what was happening, “Nothing to see here; he can handle it, does not need our help.”

He started up the stairs, stopped for a moment and said to a guard, “Send Aisha to my room.”

Lila hanged limp from her wrists, her back and her front a collection of angry red stripes and pink welts; she had long since stopped screaming. Only pure fatigue stopped Manu’s arm.  He poured a bucket of water over his head.

“What have I done?” He said.

He rushed to release his beloved and took her unconscious body in his arms. Gently he took her to his bedroom and laid her down on his bed. He wiped her down with a cool towel. Soon, she regained consciousness.

She looked at his face, in the dim light of the room; she saw the concern in the line of his jaw, the worry in his eyebrows. She closed her eyes.

‘Oh my God; he loves me,’ she thought.

He opened his mouth but she touched her finger to his lips, “I am sorry I disappointed you,” she said, “but you would have been blamed. I could not bear that.”

He hugged her body to him and then, hearing her whimper in pain, released her.

“Hold me; don’t let me go,” she asked.

He held her close, for a long time, until, silently, they fell asleep in each other’s arms; the first time they shared a bed.

Lila woke up alone in bed; she stepped off, still sore from the previous evenings lashing, and sought out Manu. She found him sitting at his desk, in the room he used as an office. His head resting on his hand, elbows on the table, and his face, a picture of dejection.

“Why so gloomy master?” She always called him master, even in private.

“I need to meet the sheik today and show him the plans for your torture and execution.”

Still nude, she started making coffee for both, “What have you planned for me?” her voice belied the butterflies in her stomach.

He shook his head, “Nothing.”

After a moment he added, “I fully expected you to escape yesterday; I could not have made it any easier for you.”

She brought him a mug of coffee; they both liked it the American way for breakfast.

“You know why I stayed.”

He nodded. She sat across from him; his eyes strayed to her firm breasts, noticing the angry stripes that crossed their fair skin. He reached out and touched them; she grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips.

“I could help you.”

He looked at her, startled.

She continued, “I do know a bit about this and I have been reading your books and records.”

“I have not found anything about Mei Ling and what happened to her,” she concluded.

“That was before my time here,” Manu answered, “I do not have any records from back then.”

She stood up and wrapped a sheet about her waist. This was the only item of clothing that she wore in the dungeon. Had she asked, Manu would allow her to wear the sheet as a sarong, covering her breasts, but Lila knew he liked to look at them and she did not want to deny him this, or any other pleasure.

“After I go to the bathroom I shall help you,” she said, “If you let me.”

Manu let her use his bathroom now, he  only made her use the bucket on the first day; Lila though grateful, worried about what the sheik would do if he found out Manu cared so much for her.

She showered; the warm water soothing to her lacerated breasts and back. Her hand strayed to her pussy, which she soaped up. The scab from her de-clitting fell off when she touched it. She noticed her hair beginning to grow; she had not shaved in a few days. She picked up one of Manu’s razors and carefully shaved her pubes off. Once she was smooth again, she dressed herself and went into the office.

She sat beside her beloved, and began to help him plan her destruction.

It took them both most of the day, but by the afternoon, the first half of her last week on earth was neatly planned and choreographed.

“Enough,” Manu said, “this will be enough to satisfy Al-Mansur for now; we can do the rest tomorrow, or the day after.”

He left with the plans and went to see his boss. Lila sat in the living room and perused his books. His collection of torture and pain literature was extensive and lavishly illustrated. She studied the books and records and pretended she was planning someone else’s painful demise, not her own.

The days passed fast, faster than either Manu or Lila wanted. Lila thought of those peaceful last days as some of the best of her life. They spent most of the time together, in the dungeon, or, once a day, taking a stroll on the garden. They knew they had only a few days left of this peaceful existence, so they tried to make the most of it. At night they slept together, in each other’s arms. Strangely enough, they had not had sex yet.

One day, Colette sat perusing Manu’s records; he transcribing their notes, two slave girls entered the dungeon. Colette observed them critically. They were both of an age, too young to have been slaves for long she figured, unless they had been since birth. Perhaps twenty years old, no more. One was a tall blonde, thin, but with voluptuous breasts tipped by large pink areolas and small nipples. The second one had shoulder length, smooth black hair and brown eyes. She was pleasantly tanned and sported medium sized breasts, very firm and tipped with dark pointed nipples. They were both very scared.

Manu raised his head from his work and observed the two trembling girls.

“Well, what is it?”He asked firmly.

The blonde answered first “We come for punishment.”

Manu remained silent.

The brunette then stammered “We were caught… Have pity sir; it is the first time.”

Still Manu kept his silence, just watching the two trembling and crying women, fixing them with his eyes.

The blonde spoke again, “We were caught kissing. They told us to come. It is the first time…please.”

Yes, Lila thought, young slaves, no discipline, scared, rightfully so, in a place like this, but undisciplined, cannot take the consequences.

Finally, Manu stood up. He seemed to tower over the two blubbering girls. His voice seemed deeper, as if coming from the depths of Hell.

“It is the first time… you get caught,” He roared.

The two sobbing girls fell to their knees trembling visibly. Lila left the couch to stand by the torturer, in the process leaving her wrap behind. She stood completely nude besides the angry man. The two girls on their knees noticed the raw red patch, where her clitoris had been and cried even harder.

Manu thought for a while, or pretended to think, and finally sentenced:

“I shall be merciful to you, since it is the first time you are caught.”

The two girls exhaled.

“As many strokes of the rattan cane to your asses and to your breasts, as needed, until you bleed freely.”

The girls’ eyes opened wide in fear.

“And then, each one of you will strike the other’s pussy, until the rattan rod shatters,” he concluded, “That will teach you what your pussies are for.”

Lila was shocked at the severity of this punishment, but she said nothing. Both of the girls were crying out loud.

Manu continued:

“The next time, I shall have your clitoris burned off. You know what that means.”

The sobbing girls nodded.

“What are your names?”

Still sobbing they answered, “Maya,” said the blond, and “Lucinda,” said the brunette.

“Stop that blubbering already!” Manu was getting angry.

“Lila, take these worthless sluts to the torture room; show them your pussy while you are at it,” he ordered, irritated, “maybe they will realize how lucky they are.”

The two girls held back their tears and followed Lila into the torture dungeon.

Lila attached Maya by the wrists to one of the wall shackles and Lucinda to the pillar, her ass facing out. She presumed that they would first be caned on their butts, and then on their soft breasts.

Lucinda asked Lila, “How can you bear it, so calmly?”

“There is nothing I can do about it, neither can you, so you might as well resign yourselves to it, you are slave girls, that’s all there is; the sooner you accept it, the better for you,” she paused and turned around.

“You might even enjoy it, a little.”

Manu arrived in the room and approved of Lila’s arrangements. He gave Lila a long, hard bamboo cane.

“You might as well start on her,” he ordered.

Ch 6

“Why?” she asked.

“Have you ever beaten somebody?”

Lila shook her head.

“Well,” he answered, “perhaps you should have the experience before…”

She shook her head sadly, “Yes, perhaps I should.”

Her first strokes were hesitant, Lucinda screamed, perhaps to try to convince Manu that she it hurt, but he was too experienced for that. He judged progress by the number, depth and color of the cuts, not by the slave’s reaction to them.

“Don’t go easy on her,” Manu instructed, “it will take longer if you do.”

“I understand.”

Then Lila began to strike in earnest. Lucinda’s screams turned into pitiful shrieks as her ass was covered by pink stripes that soon turned into deep purple welts. Even though Lila hit her as hard as she could, she lacked experience as well as strength, and it took her quite a while to draw first blood.

By the time the first drops of blood appeared, Lila’s nude body was covered in sweat; she had dropped the sheet that she had wrapped around her waist. Lucinda’s body was also glistening with sweat, although for totally different reasons.

Manu contemplated the Amazon that wielded the cane more skillfully each time. His desire for her burned his insides, he so much wanted to have her, before the end, but the knowledge of what he had done, and was bound to do to her, gripped his heart and turned his desire to ashes.

Lila swung the crop, hitting her target, Lucinda’s sweet ass, and noting her shrieks of pain. Her breathing became heavier, more labored from the exercise and, to her surprise and shock, from something else. She noticed a heaviness, a sense of want, deep inside. Her pussy lips, opening, her moisture, dripping from her insides. She swung the cane faster, harder, in unconscious rhythm with her galloping desire. Manu noticed this, his hand slowly stroking his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

Her need taking over, her left hand slowly moved to her pleasure center and reaching there, found only emptiness. Her shriek of frustration set off a harder series of cuts to poor Lucinda’s tortured cheeks. Lisa, no longer conscious of her victim’s screaming, only sensed her building wave, her damned flood, and with no way to relieve her pent up tension, her vicious need to come. In her frustration, she no longer saw Lucinda or her striped buttocks, the cuts of her cane just as soon falling on her ass as on the table, or on Lila’s own thighs.

“Enough!” said Manu, holding her wrist.

Lila fell on her knees, her fists punching her thighs, her face full of tears, her head falling on her hands, sobbing in frustration, despair, or perhaps both.

Manu let her cry herself out on the floor; it was he that removed Lucinda from the pillar and shackled her crying, tortured body to the wall. It was he that removed the pleading, frightened Maya and shackled her to the pillar.

“We will do your breasts before we do hers” Manu told her, as a small measure of consolation.

Between sobs of anguish and terror, Maya had enough presence of mind to answer:

“Thank you.”

Only after Maya was prepared did Manu kneel besides Lila to console her. She did not want to cane Maya’s ass; she did not like what she found while doing Lucinda. Manu listened to her pleas but he insisted.

“It would be unfair to Lucinda if I were to cane Maya,” he said.

Lila stopped crying and shot him a questioning look.

“I am stronger and more experienced; it would be done faster.”

Reluctantly, Lila picked up a new cane.

She tried to be professional about it; she tried not to feel, not to let the power carry her away. Vain hope; Maya’s piercing shrieks, her screams, her pleas for mercy, and the stripes growing on her small, firm ass, pushed Lila deeper and deeper into the fire. She felt her blood, rushing to her center, piling up, behind a dam that would not open. She hit harder, faster, until again, her eyes no longer saw the room, or Maya, or her ass. A red fog surrounded her, until she felt that she only needed just one more, one more strike, just one more and she would reach, she would be able.

“Crack!”

A sharp pain cut across her nipples.

Lila fell on the ground, her hands at her pussy, her fingers pushed deep inside her. Her insides churning; sloppy, slurping noises coming out as she tried to push both her fists inside her depths. She felt the waves coming; once, twice, three times, more. Her legs thrashed, her ass bounced on the floor. It took her a long time to finish. When she was done, breathless, she looked at Manu.

“How did you know?” she asked him.

He simply shook his head sadly.

He picked up the cane. He swung at Maya’s breasts slowly, hard. He ignored her pitiful wailing, her tears and her pleas. He hit her mammaries with swift, precise strokes. Despite appearances, the punishment was efficient. It did not take ten minutes or more than twenty strokes for the blood to flow freely from her lacerated bosom. Lila appreciated his efficiency although she wondered how he could be so cool, so professional. She took a furtive glance at his crotch. Nothing was going on down there.

While Manu moved Maya to the wall, Lila tied the crying Lucinda to the table. When Manu approached her with her cane the poor girl pissed herself in fear.

“I wonder if I will do the same, when it’s my turn,” Lila thought.

Manu shredded Lucinda’s breasts as efficiently as he had Maya’s. By now, Lila could take no more. She did not stay to watch each girl cane her lover’s sweet pussy; there was no need. She had enough; Manu let her go.

From the bed she now shared with Manu, she could hear the muffled screams. It lasted a long time, longer still, until Manu entered the bed where she lay naked waiting for him.

She turned, embracing him, kissing him, her hands seeking his hardness, guiding it into her depths.

She did not come, she did not expect to. He did, but he wished he hadn’t.

“I am sorry,” he said, “I do not deserve this, after what I did to you.”

“Hush my love,” she whispered, “thank you,” she added.

Manu kissed her neck, to hide the tears that came to his eyes.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to come again,” she said. “You gave me one last gift.”

She might not have seen his tears, but his shudders were unmistakable.

*                        *                        *                        *

Finally Manu and Lila had finished the plans for her termination.  Manu stood up by the table when Lila approached him. She embraced his neck and kissed him; they kissed a lot, couldn’t get enough of each other’s taste in their mouths.

With only two days left in the week, Manu prepared to leave the dungeon, as he usually did in the morning. He had not locked the door, or secured Lila, since that day when, drunk and angry he had lashed her body so cruelly.

“Please master,” Lila asked from her knees.

“What have you, my love?”

“Before you leave, won’t you secure me, and lock the door,” her voice was small, trembling, tears were brimming in her eyes.

“Huh?”

“Please master,” Lila asked, “Please chain me. It is so hard to wait… to not try to escape…”

“It would be so much easier if I was chained.”

Her face fell on her chest, tears dripping down her cheeks, falling on her breasts. She tried to restrain her sobs, but the harder she tried, the harder she cried. He knelt beside her and took her in his arms. She cried on his shoulder.

“You are so good to me.”

His silent tears joined hers, and still he held her in silence.

She sat on the sofa reading. A noise startled her; she turned around and, immediately, dropped to her knees, her head to the ground.

“I see Manu doesn’t chain you when he leaves,” Al-Mansour said.

“No master,” Lila shivered.

“He doesn’t lock the door either,” he added, walking into the living room; Aisha followed him, hesitantly; always afraid to enter the torturer’s dungeon.

“Kneel back on your heels,” The sheik ordered.

Lila felt her insides freeze. Afraid more for Manu rather than for herself; after all, what could be worse than the fate that Manu and she had planned already?

Al-Mansour wandered, apparently aimlessly through the room, picking up a book here, or a magazine there, his slippers silent on the carpeted floor.

“Almost seems like he wanted you to escape,” he said, as if talking to himself.

“He knows I wouldn’t try,” Lila answered, “Where would I escape to? And how far would I get, naked, on foot, with no money?”

“Oh, I’m sure there are clothes around here somewhere,” the sheik said, looking at Lila, “money and his car keys too, I dare say.”

Lila tried not to, but the poor girl was no match for the wily Arab. He watched her eyes closely and simply walked to the closet where the clothes and burka were stored and opened the door.

“See,” he said with a smile.

He then opened the drawer on the desk. The car keys, money and even the gun were in clear evidence.

He made a gesture with his hand as if saying: I told you.

Lila started to cry, “I wouldn’t go a mile before you caught me.”

He caressed his beard slowly, “You wouldn’t; but what if you could?”

She just looked up at him.

“A slave tried to escape, a few years ago. Much like you,” he said. “Her torturer allowed her to try.”

He picked up a notebook from one of the upper shelves, Lila hadn’t seen it before. He opened it.

“Yes; this is the story. You should read it. It won’t take long.”

“Yes master.”

“Ahh, yes,” he continued, “Manu will be out the rest of the day, I sent him on an errand and he won’t be back until the evening.”

He left the notebook on the desk, “See how docile, Aisha? You should learn from her.” He stroked the slave girl’s hair.

“Where was I?” he toyed with Lila, “There will be no guards at the front of the garden, or on the main gates.”

Lila stared, shocked.

“In the patio, my white sport Mercedes sits, doors unlocked. The keys are in the ignition. There is a carry on bag in the front seat,” his smile was malignant, “There is $50,000 in cash, an American Express card and an airplane ticket for the flight to Sidney that leaves at 20:00. Also a US passport in your name.”

Lila shook her head, “I don’t understand.”

“I mean, you will get away. I guarantee it,” he picked up the notebook for a moment, “Manu will be punished, of course, for neglecting my property.”

He turned around and walked towards the door, “Come Aisha.”

The slave girl followed him, “But why should you care.”

His laughter remained in Lila’s ears long after he left.

Ch 7

She recognized Manu’s hand.

“Ali should not have let Azim escape. He has been demoted and I shall replace him. I am the new torturer for the Sheik. My first job is to organize the execution of Ali and his beloved.”

Cold sweat dripped between Lila’s shoulder blades.

“Azim must die first, in front of Ali, so he knows before his death, not only that it was fruitless, but also what kind of horror he has brought upon her”

Lila skipped forward:

“He was not tortured. We held him and impaled him with a thick sharp pole. It took five men to hold him down. I placed a traverse on the pole so it only entered his ass for two feet. He will take a long time to die from this.”

Her shudders now racked her body.

“We sat him on his pole, planted in the garden. I placed a taller pole behind him and tied his chest to it, so he won’t fall.

We brought Azim and tied her to a pole in front of him. I whipped her with a bull whip forty times on her back. He cursed us all and asked me to kill him, to kill her, but I ignored his pleas for mercy. I had no choice.

On all fours, Azim then had to service the entire garrison, the officers first and then the enlisted men. Some fucked her ass, some her mouth, most used her more than once. Ali had to watch all the men have their way with his beloved.

When they finished, her buttocks, face and hair were covered in cum. It was dripping from her cunt and ass and falling on the grass. She had stopped screaming a long time ago.

When we brought out the cross she remained numb. She obeyed me when I told her to place her arms on the cross. When we nailed her first arm, she started to fight us again.”

Lila could not continue, she skipped to the end.

“She lasted until the evening of the second day. It was night when she finally expired. Ali watched her die in silence. I could see him burning with fever, his eyes full of tears. When Azim died, everyone left the garden. I crept silently and threw a garrote around his neck. Before I strangled him I heard him whisper:

‘Thank you Manu’

May Allah preserve me from loving a slave!”

Lila closed the notebook and replaced it on the shelf. Manu must not know she read it. He must never know she read it.

She sat again on the couch. He must have known when he left her alone, unbound, what he risked. What price he would pay, and what the chances were. They would both die.

“May Allah preserve me from loving a slave.”

The clock struck four.

“Allah did not preserve you, my love,” Lila said aloud, “but he provided for the slave to love you.”

She knelt on the floor and tried to relax and empty her thoughts; to reach a peaceful place.

“More than life itself,” she whispered.

Ch 8

It was a warm October afternoon; she remembers the date, October 14th. Colette watched her Grandfather sitting in the backyard, drinking whiskey. She played with her Barbie dolls, only bothered a little by her nine year old Brother, Lou, running about with a large plastic model of a B17 bomber. The boy flew about the garden with his toy bomber, attacking whatever it is that nine year old boys attack with toy bombers. She concentrated on her dolls, ignoring him, as she usually did.

She doesn’t know what made her look up, at her grandfather. There was something wrong, she sensed it. Perhaps it was the way he held his shot glass, perhaps it was something else. She looked at the old man’s face. She dropped her dolls and approached her grandfather silently. He no longer watched Lou, his eyes lost in the distance. His face trembled.

Nothing like this had ever happened, but she sensed, as girls do, that there was something wrong, very wrong. The glass dropped from his hand, to roll on the grass, unnoticed. The old man stood up and turned to run into the house. She rushed to follow him, what she saw on his face freezing her with fear.

Grand Pa was crying.

“What’s wrong Grand Pa?” She cried as she ran behind him.

Her brother did not even notice.

The old man ran to his room with his granddaughter hard on his heels. He sat in the armchair, and tried to wave her off, but she would not be dissuaded.

“What’s wrong Grand Pa? Why are you crying?”

He waved at her to leave.

“Shall I call Mommy? Are you sick?”

“Don’t call your mother. I’m OK.”

“No you are not. You are crying,” She knelt by his chair.

His hand fondled her hair sadly, “I just remembered something sad.”

“Mommy says that if you share your sad memories, they feel better.”

“Your Mommy is wise Colette.”

“So tell me, what happened?”

The old man tried to contain a sob, and failed miserably.

“What is it Grand Pa?” the girl insisted, “You can tell me, I won’t tell.”

She took his hand from her hair and kissed it, “You’ll feel better.”

“Yes, perhaps I will; perhaps I will.”

His eyes, streaming tears, he asked his granddaughter to bring him the glass he dropped,

“Bring me the bottle too, and I shall tell you the story.”

Colette ran to obey her Grandfather, but not before she heard him say:

“I never told anyone.”

After he downed another shot of Jack Daniels he told her his story. She sat on the floor at his feet.

“I was only 20 in October 14, 1943. It was only my third mission. We were flying B17 bombers against Germany. The target for the day was Schweinfurt, the ball bearing plants…”

Colette did not know what ball bearings were, or where Schweinfurt was; she did know not to ask.

“…The German fighters waited until our escorts turned back, out of fuel. Then they came at us. Wave after wave,” The old man’s frame shook, “They threw everything they had at us. They murdered us. Some of our aircraft just exploded…No survivors.”

Colette could only hold her Grandpa’s hand to comfort him.

“Our group left England with 15 aircraft. I was the Bombardier, my position was at the nose of the plane, I handled a machine gun except just before we bombed. I saw one of our planes catch fire. The men bailed out, one by one, all ten of them,” he shuddered again. “As soon as their chutes opened, they were gone in a flash of fire. I watched the men falling.”

He drank another glass.

“Only two of the fifteen returned. Thirteen crews died that day from my group. My friends, gone.”

The old man seemed to recover some of his strength, “Two weeks later, I had to fly again against Germany. I could not get back in the plane. I could not face the flight to Hamburg. I told my pilot, I was shaking all over. He told me: Can you get to Dover?”

“I answered: Yes sir, of course I can get to Dover.”

“Then he told me: Then fly to Dover, when you get there, think about getting to the French coast, and once there to the German border, and only there, think about getting to the target.”

He raised his frame and looked his Granddaughter in the eye:

“When faced with an impossible task, break it in pieces.”

Ch 9

The dungeon was dark, lit only by the muted glow of the fireplace; the fire had died down to red embers. The smell of incense touched his nostrils. He walked down to the living room, his heart beating hard with a faint hope. Maybe she had finally done it.

She sat in the lotus position, in front of a lit brazier, tendrils of aromatic smoke twirling in front of her, oblivious to his arrival. He stared at her, unwilling to break her trance. He watched her for a long time, trying to etch her features, her body into his memory.

She opened her eyes.

As soon as she saw him she struggled to get on her knees, a bit stiffly after sitting for so long in lotus. He bent over her and kissed her lips. He opened a bottle of wine and sat beside her. She remained kneeling. They drank the wine. They did not speak for a long time, there was no need. All that needed to be said had been said, nothing could change the future that loomed in front of them, less than two days away. Only the here and now mattered.

Her hand moved from her thighs, creeping towards him on the carpet. He covered her hand with his and squeezed. She smiled.

“Let me please you.”

She leaned over, prostrate on the carpet and reached into his pants. He was erect already. Lila looked up at him, her love spilling from her eyes, and smiled. He shrugged off his pants and sat down again only now his dick stood at attention from his groin. She crept up on him and took the head into her mouth. With her lips she peeled the foreskin back; with her tongue she explored every crevice, every vein, every ripple. His sighs of pleasure rewarded her efforts. His fingers sought her hair, soft, silky, smooth; he saw her lips, wrapped around his shaft, languidly bobbing up and down along his length. Her fine hand around his base, her other arm wrapped around his waist, her hand holding his buttock. Every so often, at the top of her movement, her eyes strayed up to his face, as if watching the effect of her ministrations on her beloved. At this moment, he could see her breasts, lifting slightly from the carpet, her nipples brushing the pile, erect too.

He did not want to miss a single moment, yet his eyes would close, his world centered in her mouth. He wanted to prolong the moment but knew that it would not last; he would not last. She dived in again, taking him deep.

She took him deep, she felt him at the entrance to her throat, her nostrils filled with the musky aroma of his pubes, his smell setting her on fire. She pulled back again, until only the head remained confined in her mouth, retained by the muscular O of her lips. She felt his hands on her hair but he did not guide her. He just touched her head.

She bobbed faster, sucking on his cock as if her life depended on it. Her hand held his balls, caressing them, attentive to the moment when, his own release imminent, they would retract, closer to his belly. She sensed his restlessness and knew the moment was near. She moved faster, trying to bring him off. He tried to restrain her, but she held on to his buttocks and dived deeper. She would have him, tonight, she would please him tonight.

He could no longer hold back. His hips moved in time with her head, his seed erupted deep into her mouth; he could feel her tongue sucking him dry as she swallowed. She did not release him until she drank the last drop of his essence. Then she sat back on her heels and licked her lips, a mischievous smile on her face.

Manu watched Lila, kneeling in front of him, still smiling, her body erect, her thighs open, her breathing even. If he were a sculptor, he would sculpt her as she was, now, and call her statue Irene, the goddess of peace.

He had to say it:

“I love you Lila.”

Her eyes came down, her smile slowly faded, “I know. I love you too.”

He led her to the bed. She sucked him again and then led him inside her.

“Enjoy me.”

He did. His hands explored every nook and cranny of her body. He tasted her skin, all over. His lips kissed her neck, her breasts, her back, her belly. He licked her from the nape of her neck to the soles of her feet enjoying the salty taste of her smooth skin, noticing the subtle nuances in flavor, how it changed from salty on her back to musky on the pit of her arms, to cheesy on her feet.

And she responded. Her juices flowed like never before. She wanted him more than anything. Even if she would not reach her climax, Lila could not care less. She wanted him to take her, as much of her as he wanted and then some. He took her first from the front, then doggy stile.

“You don’t like anal?” she asked after the second time.

“Do you?”

“No. I always hated it. My master didn’t use me that way, but his friends or clients that he loaned me to usually did.”

She paused for a while, “They were never gentle. It always hurt like hell. If my master had used my ass, I am sure he would be careful and I might enjoy it, or at least not mind, but that’s not the way it was.”

“No” he answered, “I won’t use you that way.”

“You don’t like it then?”

“I like it, of course,” he finally answered. “I don’t want to hurt you, is all.”

“It’s OK, if you want me that way.”

“No,” His tone was adamant, “I am not going to hurt you any more than I have to. Don’t argue with me. That’s final.”

She melted into his arms kissing him tenderly. They fell asleep, naked, in each other’s arms. They did not see the sheik who came in, silently, through the unlocked door.

The sun rose, as it must, on her last day of comfort. Lila started making coffee in the nude. Manu, naked too approached her from behind and embraced her, his hands finding her breasts, his lips her neck.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, her eyes closed.

While waiting for the coffee she knelt in front of him laughing and took his semi erect cock into her mouth. After he had squirted into her, she saw his eyes, looking into hers, wondering. He did not ask, did not dare. She answered anyway.

“I learned it from my Grandpa. If you are faced with an impossible task, break it into pieces.”

He did not seem to get it.

“I don’t think beyond tonight,” she explained. “Or try to.”

Ch 10

“I’m afraid it’s time for your piercings.”

“Why should you be?” Lila asked tartly, “I’m the one getting them.”

“The Sheik will be here to watch. I can’t do anything to make it better; I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t let you anyway,” Colette concluded.

Colette set up the brazier with the iron rods that would be used to cauterize her piercings. She also set up the piercing clamp. It was a punch borer, much like the device leather smiths use to punch holes in pieces of leather, only it was sharper, larger, and meant for softer, more pliable tissues.

Manu called up the Sheik to let him know they awaited his pleasure. He soon arrived accompanied by his apparent favorite slave Aisha. It wasn’t clear that she appreciated that honor was Lila’s thought on seeing her. The curvaceous girl always seemed to be on the verge of panic when the fat man was around; that was, of course, hardly surprising.

Aisha and Lila pushed one of the easy chairs into the dungeon area so Al-Mansour could remain comfortably seated while watching the events. In the center of the dungeon there sat a simple and ingenious device. It consisted of a wood backboard, rectangular at the top that tapered at the bottom that sat at a slant on the floor; it was held in place by a wide beam. Lila knelt in front of it so that her back rested on the board and the narrow bottom part fit nicely between her legs. A notch, carved at the top, for her neck, allowed her to recline her head back on the device. On the sides of the device two metal manacles immobilized her wrists and, higher up, two leather straps did the same for her arms. Her ankles were attached to the beam by another set of straps. Despite knowing what atrocities were to follow, Lila docilely knelt by the device and let Aisha attach her arms and legs to the instrument.

When Manu asked her to, she reclined her head back into the wooden notch and calmly watched as he fixed her head in place with a tight leather strap across her forehead.

“The rings we are going to use is much larger than the rings usually used on slave girls,” Manu’s voice was even, didactic, “also we do not have time for the usual healing time, so we shall cauterize the holes with these little red hot iron rods.”

Lila tried to concentrate on her breathing, forcing herself to take even, deep breaths, although she felt panic churning in her stomach. She feared losing control, even though, now, tied as she was, it would not make a difference. Still, she retained a measure of pride and, for her it meant not losing it.

“We shall start with her nose,” He placed two bungee equipped hooks at her nostrils pulling her nares open.

Manu took the punch borer and placed both ends of it inside defenseless Lila’s nose. The tips of the instrument sought, not the little space between the cartilage and the tip, where it wouldn’t fit anyway, but the solid cartilage of the septum. Lila closed her eyes.

The sickening crunch of the punch cutting through her nose hit her, a fraction of a second before the pain bore into her eyeballs. She screamed, fighting her straps, as the taste of her blood dripped into her mouth. Between screams she swallowed her own blood. Of course, the worst was yet to come.

In a rapid motion, Manu removed the punch borer from her nose and deftly inserted the red hot iron rod he held in a pair of fine tip pliers into the bloody hole he had created. She felt as if half of her face was burned off. Her deafening shrieks lasted a long time, even after Manu had removed the rod from her scorched nasal passage and replaced it by a heavy copper ring, a little larger than a quarter in diameter and about half a centimeter in thickness. Her shrieks became cries, which then became whimpers; finally, when only tears remained, Manu released her head strap and she was able to raise her head.

The heavy copper ring, hanging from her nose, brought a different sort of sharp pain every time it moved. The pain, intense, seemed to drive a nail directly into her brain. She struggled to contain her tears. She knew the next two rings would go on her breasts, right through the areola, behind her sensitive nipples.

“Release her,” said the sheik, “I want to use her mouth.”

Aisha released her straps and helped her to her feet. Lila knelt in front of Al-Mansour and, hiding her reluctance, dived under his robe to find his erect penis. Never very clean, the sheik enjoyed receiving oral sex from his slaves finding their disgust and humiliation stimulating.

Lila set upon her master’s erect, dick. She licked his length and caressed his balls with her hands, she took his length in her mouth, which wasn’t difficult due to his small size, and sucked vigorously. She wondered at his trust in her; she could emasculate him with a single bite; what more could he do to her? But she knew that Manu would be the recipient of the sheik’s ire, so she concentrated on pleasing the obese man, her head bobbing up and down on his cock until she felt his balls retract and two or three drops of his acrid spunk spurt in her mouth. After she convinced herself he was properly spent, she licked him clean and withdrew.

“Very good,” the sheik said, “Let’s continue then.”

Lila stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed.

“OK Lila,” Manu said. “Kneel at the device.”

“Nooo!” she screamed.

Something snapped inside her; the control she had maintained for so long broke. Her eyes darted to one side and the other, she saw Manu, standing by the device, watching her, Aisha’s eyes full of fear, and Al-Mansour sitting down, an evil leer in his face.

She ran. She dashed towards the door of the dungeon, opened it, finding it unlocked and ran, nude, into the living room and up the stairs. Aisha and Manu ran in pursuit. Lila dashed up the stairs and out into the garden. She did not look around but headed straight out towards the wall; she had no plan, no idea, just fear eating her soul, panic giving her wings. She ran straight into one of the guards who was as surprised to be charged by a nude girl with a thick nose ring as she was to crash into him.

In a second Aisha and Manu were by her, holding her arms, taking her back. After her outburst Lila recovered rapidly. Crying she said:

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Aisha remained silent but Manu tried to comfort her, “It’s all right.”

They returned her to the dungeon. She let herself be led, still crying, back to the chamber. Once she arrived she bowed to the sheik.

“I am sorry for my outburst. It shall not happen again.”

She knelt in position on the device and closed her eyes. Aisha and Manu reattached her as she was before except that, this time, they did not strap her head in.

Manu clamped the first nipple with a surgical clamp and pulled it tight. Lila screamed loudly. He then applied the punch borer to the areola, just where it joined the lighter skin of the nipple.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s all right,” she said; then she screamed.

She screamed even louder when the red hot rod followed the borer. Manu left it in place as they repeated the process on her other tit. Her screams just merged into one another until the rods were removed and the rings (these ones larger than the nose one) were placed.

By the time she calmed down and stopped crying, the sheik and Aisha had left the dungeon and only Manu stood by her kneeling form, offering her a glass of watered wine which she accepted and drank greedily.

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” she said.

“You did nothing of the sort,” he answered, “I am glad to see that you are human. I am sorry you didn’t make it.”

He started to release her straps.

“You aren’t going to set me free?” she asked, “I might try to escape again during the night.”

“If you do,” he said sadly, “you know where the burka, the clothes and the car keys are.”

Her arms embraced his neck, a whimper when her breast rings bounced on his chest, “I wouldn’t get very far.”

He shook his head.

She followed him to his bed, for the last time.

He made love to her, tenderly, sweetly. She responded to him with all the love she could muster, receiving his seed in her mouth first, then in her love tunnel. If she could not climax with him, she did not mind anyway. She just wanted to see his pleasure once more. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

Twice during the night she woke, and twice, her lips sought his member, her mouth his essence to drink.

Tomorrow would be a long day.

CH 11

Lila awoke startled; the aroma of freshly made coffee on her nose, yet, Manu was lying beside her, still asleep. She rolled off the bed, the heavy rings on her breasts swinging painfully, and walked to the kitchen area. She found Aisha there, preparing breakfast for them.

“The sheik sent me to help you out,” the chubby girl said.

“I see,” Lila answered suspicious of anything the sheik did.

Aisha knelt in front of Lila, “I am to remain with you and Master Manu, and to assist you until…” her voice faltered, “the end.”

Lila’s face could not hide a frown, “Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,” she murmured almost to herself.

The kneeling slave girl looked up at her, a question in her face, but Lila did not translate the Latin phrase.

“Did he want to plant a spy on us!” she said angrily.

Aisha brought her face to the ground, “Mistress,” she cried, “I am to report on whatever I see, true, but you can always restrain me elsewhere, blindfold me or cover my ears; I cannot report on what I haven’t seen or heard.”

The crying slave girl kissed Lila’s feet, her tears falling on her toes, “I am afraid of the sheik. I am not like you. I am not a good slave; I am always afraid. Please don’t send me away.”

Lila bent down and pulled Aisha to her feet. She hugged the sobbing girl to her chest, even though the rings in her breasts hurt her.

“It’s all right,” she comforted her. “You will be OK.”

Aisha, calmer now, served the coffee, “I fear he will kill me. I wish I could be as docile as you are.”

Lila sipped at her coffee, “It is easier, perhaps, when you know your destiny.”

When Manu arrived Lila explained what Aisha was doing there. The two lovers sat at the table drinking coffee while Aisha knelt as far from them as the room allowed; she asked permission to turn her back on them, despite the disrespect this represented, so that she would not see what they were doing, trying to give them the most privacy.

“I want you to do something for me,” Lila asked.

“Anything.”

“I want you to have anal sex with me.”

Manu stared at her, surprised, “You want that? I thought you did not like it.”

“I don’t,” she whispered, “It is uncomfortable at best and quite painful at worst.”

“Why then?” he said, perplexed, “I don’t understand.”

Lila answered, “Before I die, I want to do it, with someone who loves me; just this once.”

“Didn’t your former master love you? I think he did.”

“I think he did too,” she touched his arm. “Not as much as you, of course, but he did.”

“He never used my ass; only the men he gave me too did,” she concluded.

He took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly, “As you wish.”

They shackled the kneeling Aisha to a wall in the torture dungeon, and left her there, smiling at them.

Manu kissed Lila on her lips not realizing that the slightest touch on her heavy nose ring would bring tears to her eyes. Nevertheless, when he tried to pull back, her arms around his neck brought his lips back on to hers which parted to receive him. Her eyes smarting from the pain, her tongue sought his and brought him down, on top of her, crushing her breasts with his body.

He felt the thick rings on her breasts, and knew the pain this embrace was causing his beloved. He also knew that her arms around him squeezed them even tighter, and that the expression of his love mattered to her more than any pain the rings caused her. Her breath, hot on his ear, he kissed her neck and made his way down to her chest.

Avoiding the rings, he kissed her nipples, and squeezed the breasts that so filled his dreams. His hand slid to her shaved pussy and found her already wet. Her hand wrapped around his cock, feeling his passion. She turned around, not releasing him, and lay down, prone, on the bed. He took a tube of lubricant and squeezed a large glob of jelly on her rear entrance. Lila sighed, excited, squirming in pleasure at his touch, and in pain at the touch of the rings. With one hand on her crotch, teasing her petals open, he inserted one finger into her ass. Lila pushed back against his hand, coaxing him deeper and, at the same time, squeezing the base of his hard rod. His finger went in, all the way to the knuckle, massaging, stretching, slowly, carefully.

She responded to his hand, gushing moisture, a whimper on her lips, not of pain, not entirely.

“Another,” she gasped.

He removed his finger and inserted the tip of two, flowing around her puckered hole, slowly, rhythmically. Her breath, deep, even; her pussy, despite her cruel mutilation, responding to his hand, rewarding him with a river of juice.

“More,” she demanded.

A third finger joined in, and her ass stretched, relaxed, to accommodate him.

His cock quivered in her hand; still he delayed, teasing, coaxing her ass. His lips on her neck nibbling, his breath burning.

“Now. Do it now.”

He mounted her back, her hand guiding him into her dark tunnel. He tried to enter her slowly, to let her tight ring accept his girth; her moans, not only of pain fired his lust, his need. He pushed harder, only to stop at her squeal of pain. But it was too late for him, too late for her, he could not stop. He tried. He slowed his thrust.

“Do it!” she panted, “Go!”

He could hold back no longer. His cock buried itself into her ass. His thrusts met hers, her screams now fueled his ardor; he pumped deep, he pumped fast. When his spunk filled her bowels, his scream of pleasure matched her scream of, not only pain.

Her arms wrapped around his waist behind her, holding him in her rear, her head turned to meet his eyes.

“I always thought it could be like this,” she said. “Thank you.”

In the dungeon, kneeling, Aisha’s cheeks glistened with tears, not only of sorrow; no, not only of sorrow.

Ch 12

Lila kissed Manu tenderly one last time and followed Aisha out of the dungeon. She saw the grass; she felt the heat of the midday sun on her naked skin. Her cuffed wrists chained together in front of her, were also attached, by a single chain to the two rings on her unhealed breasts and to her nose ring. A second, longer, leash led from her nose ring to Aisha’s hand. Not that she needed it, she would follow the slave girl willingly, but it added to her humiliation and discomfort.

Her nose smarted with every step she took. She kept her hands as high as she could, straining her breasts to the maximum she could tolerate. That was the first of her quandaries. If she lowered her hands, relieving the pain in her breasts, the pain from her nose ring would be intolerable. She had to balance both discomforts, while following Aisha to her first destination. At least, for this part of her degradation Manu would not be there to see it.

The officers would have her first. In the privacy of their own homes, each would have her for an hour. Aisha would lead her to each one, naked, bound as she was now. Lila tried not to think about what would happen later that day.

The commander of the guard would have her first. Two girls approached his house, the largest, aside from the palace, of course; the one in the lead, clad in gauzy pants and a short vest, in the sheik’s dark yellow, livery colors, knocked on the door; the second one, completely naked, except for the rings on her breasts and nose, knelt at her side.

They did not have long to wait. The door opened and a veil clad woman let them in. She did not return Aisha’s Salaam. Her voice was a snarl as she directed them to wait in the commander’s study.

In the study, Aisha remained standing, the leash in her hand, while Lila promptly knelt again trying, in vain, to achieve a relief in one of her ringed organs that did not provide intolerable pain on the others. They did not have long to wait.

The officer, a tall, vicious man, entered the study, clad only in his bathrobe. In his hand he carried a crop. He took in the sight of the kneeling slave girl, a cruel sneer splitting his face.

At his orders, Aisha fastened with thin chains, Lila’s breasts and nose to a board on the wall. The chains were of enough length that, immobile and bent at the waist, they hung loose, barely, only their weight adding to Lila’s discomfort. Her wrists she fastened together in front of her.

Bent over at the waist, Lila pressed her forehead against the board to relieve the tension in her lower back. The commander’s cruelty in leaving her arms dangling in front of her did not fail to register in her mind. Had her arms been fastened, like her nose and breasts, she could use them for support. Now, she must endure whatever came at her, for the next hour, in this uncomfortable position. She had seen his crop and his sneer. She need not see more.

“Leave us,” the commander’s harsh voice rang in Lila’s ears.

His hand slapping her on the rump startled her. Her involuntary jerk snapped the ring in her nose bringing tears to her eyes. He did not make a sound. In the silent room, Lila’s ears heard the swish of the crop cutting through the air; her only warning that, however, allowed her to tense up for the cut of the crop on her ass cheeks. She yelped in pain but managed not to move. It became easier later. She found that resting her forehead against the wall helped keep her nose ring from pulling painfully at her nose. Despite the fiery pain across her butt, she relished this minimal measure of control.

The officer hit her ass harder and harder, in silent rage. Her whimpers of pain were not satisfactory enough for his sadistic impulses. Used to untrained girls, who cowered in fear and screamed at the least touch of the cane, his frustration grew. He could not understand the lack of visible fear on his victim, or the docility that she showed, immobile, presenting her ass for his abuse. The crop broke in his hand so hard were his strokes. He seized a whip and hit Lila once, twice with it; then he saw the time and threw the lash aside. He needed to finish with Lila during his assigned time.

Lila heard the lash hit the floor. Her ass on fire, she cried in silence as she waited for the next assault which, if she guessed right would be with a different instrument.

He shoved his hard prick right up her back way; her sphincter cramped under this violent assault, and the officer, finally, heard her scream, once. Under Manu’s instructions she had generously lubed her Khyber Pass with petrolatum and, at least for this first assault, it held up well. The dick invading her guts was not of unusual size and, once the initial shock wore off, it was not too bad. The man spurted in her depths and tried to get her to clean him, forgetting, for a moment that her nose and nipples were attached to the wall. His failed attempt to get her to turn around finally produced the wailing screams his crop could not.

Tears running down her eyes, Lila, finally freed of the wall, knelt and sucked and licked at the man’s shrinking dick, until he was satisfied. Just at this time, Aisha knocked on the door to retrieve her. Her wrists chained together and to her breasts and nose, as before, she followed the plumper girl. On her way out Lila caught sight of her ass on a mirror. A twitch of sadness crossed her face when she realized that the cuts on her bottom would never have time to heal.

It was time for the second officer.

When Aisha knocked on the door, the officer’s wife, unveiled opened the door for them. Lila noticed that she was young, and of great beauty. There was no hatred in her green, kohl lined eyes, when she guided them both to her husband’s study. Indeed, despite knowing that her husband would be plowing the naked slave’s ass or pussy in only minutes, there was a deep sadness, and perhaps even pity.

“May Allah protect you,” she said, leaving.

For some reason, this kindness brought tears to Lila’s eyes. She knelt on the floor of the study waiting for the officer. The floor was lined with carpets, soft under her knees.

“His name is Ahmed,” Aisha said.

She knelt at her side until the second officer came in, and at that point, she stood up, bowing to him.

“I shall return in an hour sir,” Aisha said, leaving her alone.

Ahmed, younger and in better shape than the chief officer, lifted her chin, the tension on her nose chain bringing tears to her eyes. He sat on a chair and pulled Lila, not ungently, by her chain. Lila responded promptly taking him into her mouth, her hands around the base of his cock, cradling his balls. In this position there was no tension on the chain, which Lila was grateful for.

Her relief was short lived for, as his climax approached, he seized the chain and pulled her in with it. The sudden pain in her nose and in her breasts broke her concentration; she choked on his load, sputtering, coughing, struggling to breathe, and spitting his semen all over his belly. He ordered her to clean it all up which she did with her tongue. He then released her breast rings from the chain, keeping her wrists and nose chained together.

He ordered her to stand by the wall, her hands above her head, her legs open. Lila did so watching him with submissive, downcast eyes. She saw the bull whip in his hands.

The crack of the bull whip preceded the wheal of fire on her breasts. She screamed and writhed with the pain, the fire of the lash on her tender flesh. She did not break position however, not even when the lash hit her thick nipple rings bringing a new level of torment to her breasts. Her shrieks of agony carried though and, kneeling outside the house, Aisha heard her. The young woman could not contain her tears, her sobs in synch with Lila’s soul rending shrieks.

Not soon enough, Ahmed’s cock rose to the occasion again. He stopped lashing Lila’s breasts; he grabbed a yard ruler and lay supine on the carpeted floor. His cock towered over his body, like an oil derrick in the desert. Lila straddled him, taking his girth, to her relief, in her front. She impaled herself on his dick, feeling him hit her cervix, deep inside; the deep pain, which would have bothered her on any other occasion, she barely felt today. The pain from her lacerated breasts, and her ringed nipples demanding precedence, even from the cuts on her ass.

He began to beat her breasts again with the yard ruler. The slaps of the wooden slat, hitting her rings every time, again brought screams to her throat. She had to ride him, to bring him off, and he controlled her with his ruler, hitting her breasts cruelly, to make her go faster. His arousal greater and greater, his ruler hit her harder and faster. Her screams now melded into a long, piercing wail; no longer in time with his blows, just in time with her ragged breaths.

Finally, when her breasts were two mounds of purple and red tissue, and her blood splattered over his chest from her nipple rings, now red from her blood, his member erupted in her tunnel. He stopped.

“Get off” he ordered, his only words to her.

He left her, untied, hands over her head, his jism dripping out of her pussy, standing in the middle of the room. Lila saw the sperm, drip from her lips, and fall on the expensive carpet on the floor; her nipples, bleeding through her rings also dripped blood on the rug. Through the haze of pain that crossed her body she managed a chuckle. The expensive, hand woven rug was ruined.

“That feels right,” she mumbled, just as Aisha came to take her to her next appointment. There were two officers more.

The third officer was a thin, almost emaciated man, he was already waiting for her when she arrived and did not seem pleased at the delay. Aisha apologized profusely, hoping against hope that he would not take revenge on Lila. Lila, on the other hand, remained kneeling, eyes cast down, submissively, awaiting her fate. Aisha admired her detachment and hoped that, when and if her turn came, she could be so calm and docile.

His penis already erect, he wasted no time placing Lila on all fours and entering her roughly from behind. Lila grunted at this assault but, this, by now, was nothing to write home about. After a couple of minutes of intense thrusting, the man stopped and threw a smooth silk rope around her neck; there was a large knot on the middle of the rope, that laid right at the base of her windpipe. He started thrusting again and, at the same time, tightening the rope around Lila’s neck.

She could not control her panic when she first felt the rope around her throat and, when it began to tighten, choking her; she desperately began to struggle for air. Her breath wheezed in her throat as the knot threatened to close off her windpipe. Only when her chest muscles, burning with the effort to inhale a thin, insufficient, stream of air into her starving lungs, began to cramp, and her vision, starved for oxygen, began to narrow, did Lila realize that her impending death by strangulation, instead of a threat to be avoided, was a release, to be welcomed. She tried to will her body to cease fighting, her chest to abandon the struggle against the rope, but the will to live was strong in her young body, and her body continued its fight for survival despite her. Gratefully she observed the darkness creep in around her, and her vision fade to black.

And with a gasp, air, welcome, cool air, penetrated her lungs, and with it, light, conscience, and despair. She went to the edge, and was brought back. The officer, already out of her tunnel, must have achieved his climax for, ignoring her labored breath, her coughing, was already presenting her with a cock, dripping come, for her to clean.

After a few stolen seconds, to catch her breath, she licked his organ clean, noticing, to her renewed despair that it was recovering, hardening already.

This time it went into her ass, painfully pounding in her rear. The rope again began its slow constriction, her lungs, again, their fight for air, and far, far away, someone pounding at her ass. She barely noticed. All her energy, all her attention lay in her throat, the burning, the hissing of air, forced through her windpipe, nothing else mattered.

The officer knew his business; this time, he took his time. He knew how tight was too tight and how tight was just enough. Just enough, to keep Lila on the verge, desperate for air, her whole body, and her asshole, thrashing for just…another…breath. But not tight enough to let the darkness come to her aid, to let blessed oblivion come to set her free.

Deep inside her hellish struggle for air, deep, at the bottom, she knew. She knew that he would hold her there, just at the ragged edge, until he was ready and only then, when he was about to spurt his evil seed inside her ass, only at that moment, would he close down her throat, letting the darkness in. She could only hope he misjudged it enough, enough so that once it came, it would not leave.

Her endless struggle lasted for hours, hours of a constant, sibilant hiss, in, and out, just one more time; just one more breath. She noticed him pumping harder, and her trickle of air came no more. The darkness began to creep, and she welcomed it. Her body struggled, convulsed, seeking the molecules of oxygen it craved, but she watched the dark edge around her world coming closer, and welcomed it. Until it took over her world and she saw no more.

Ch 13

The last officer.

The light hurt her eyes. Her breath hurt her throat. She tried to speak but only a rasp came out of her parched lips. It wasn’t over.

She saw Aisha, a desperate look of worry in her eyes, replaced by relief.

“Lila, I thought you were dead!”

“I wish I was,” she tried to answer, but no words came out, only a hiss, like a viper.

She helped her up and took her out. In the garden, both girls kneeled on the grass; Aisha gave her sugared water to drink, her face showing her concern.

If she took Lila, in this condition to the next officer, she might not survive this, her last encounter with the officers.  Aisha feared that if Lila died, Al-Mansour would make her take her place. But she was afraid, too, of being late.

As soon as Lila was able to walk she took her to the last officer. Still unable to talk, Lila kneeled in the foyer of the house. This was the most junior of the officers in Al-Mansour’s domain; not the youngest though. The officer was an obese man, way past his prime, whose bulbous red nose betrayed that he ignored, at least one of the prohibitions that a good Muslim should follow. His slurred speech showed why, at his age, he was still such a junior officer.

Aisha bowed her head to the ground, “Sir, I brought you this slave, for your use.”

He started to stagger towards Lila, but Aisha continued, “However she has been greatly damaged by her previous user, and cannot serve you as you deserve.”

The man unsteadily turned around and watched the kneeling slave girl who, in front of him was removing her scanty clothing.

“I will serve you in her place, so she can recover.”

Nude, plump, sweet Aisha, knelt face to the ground, in front of the drunken officer. He was as surprised as Lila was; Aisha was reserved for the sheik’s use and no one, officer or soldier, had ever been granted her favors. His cock, despite his alcoholic inebriation, rose at the thought of despoiling the sheik’s favorite slave. What a way to pay him back for the years of humiliation, of passed promotions, of younger, lesser men, passing him, on the way up the ladder.

He knelt behind the chubby girl and spread her ass cheeks. Lila, kneeling, watched him try to enter her, and heard her scream as he tried to force his way into her dry ass. He spat on his hand and moistened his pecker with spit. Aisha’s squeal of pain announced his entry into her rear passageway. He thrust into her as she continued to cry out. Angry, he slapped her ass, once, and again, over and over. He would forget to thrust in and out, at times, carried away in his thrashing of the slaves soft, white cheeks. Aisha’s ass turned first pink, then red, when he remembered and resumed his pounding into it. He yelled out when he came and pushed his dick, coated with sperm and shit into Aisha’s face. The desperate girl licked it clean. He slapped her breasts, until she screamed again.

He got up and picked up a cane. He began to beat her with the cane, not carefully, not methodically. No, he just hit her wherever the cane would fall, not aiming for the globes of her ass, or the heavy roundness of her swaying breasts. He just caned whatever happened to be fall under his rattan rod. Aisha curled in the floor, covering her face with her hands and rolled under the rain of blows. Her screams were so loud, and lasted so long, that Ahmed burst in.

“Attention!” he screamed.

The obese man ignored him and continued beating the slave girl with his cane.

Ahmed’s face turned red with anger, “Attention Mahmoud!” he said once more.

But Mahmoud did not hear him or, in his anger ignored him. That was his last mistake.

Ahmed pulled his pistol out of his holster, cocked it and, without hesitation shot the man in the head. Blood, brain and bone sprayed out of Mahmoud’s head, coating Aisha and Lila’s bodies with fine drops of gore. The bronze casing hit the wall of the room with a loud ping before rolling silently on the carpet.

Lila and Aisha watched Ahmed, in terrified silence; Aisha pissed herself in fear. He replaced the pistol in the holster and looked at them:

“Aisha, get dressed and take her back to the dungeon,”

“Hear and obey.”

“And get cleaned up before the sheik sees you.”

“Yes, right away.”

He looked out of the window, “Tell Manu to send someone to clean this mess,” then; he turned on his heel and left the house.

On the floor, blood slowly seeped out of where the side of Mahmoud’s head used to be. The carpet was ruined; it was not an expensive one.

Aisha took the, still mute, slave back to the dungeon. The thin fabric of her clothing let the stripes of her caning show through. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It had seemed a good idea at the time but what would happen if the sheik found out? They walked back slowly, Lila still had trouble breathing.

“What happened to you?” Manu asked.

Aisha explained everything; how Lila had been almost strangled, how she took her place with Mahmoud, and Ahmed rescuing them. Lila, on her knees struggled to breathe, still mute.

Manu opened an emergency kit and mixed two drugs, he then sprayed them down Lila’s throat. She choked on them but found, almost immediately that she could breathe better and the pain in her throat improved some.

“It’s adrenalin and a steroid,” Manu said, “The steroid will weaken the rings on your throat, but …”

“That won’t be a problem for me,” Lila’s voice was a faint rasp.

“Now what do we do with you?” Manu asked Aisha.

“Maybe the sheik will not find out?” she asked.

“He will find out,” Manu scratched his head.

“Ahmed will tell him?”

“No. He will just tell him that he killed Mahmoud for insubordination; that is all. The sheik will be happy to be rid of him. He only kept him because he was his first wife’s cousin. He might even promote Ahmed.”

Manu paced up and down, “He will know, as he knows everything.”

He looked at the trembling slave girl, “The best thing is for you to tell him, now.”

Aisha looked up at him, “He will have me killed.”

“Yes, that is most likely; on the other hand, this is your best shot. He might be merciful, if you tell him yourself.”

Aisha dragged herself to her feet and left the dungeon on slow, hesitating steps.

He took Lila to the couch and had her lie there to rest. He covered her nude body with a sheet and dimmed the lights.

“You have three hours before the evening. Try and get some rest.”

Ch 14

Put out.

Aisha came back into the basement, her eyes red from crying. Manu looked up at her from his desk. As expected, he had feared the worst. The chubby slave girl descended the last steps into Manu’s realm. He was actually surprised at how brave this, formerly timid, slave girl had been today, and how strong she was showing herself to be.

He looked at her; he couldn’t really bring himself to ask her the question. She looked at him, her face a mask of despair.

“He said you are to take mi clit.”

She knew full well the implications of this. Aside from the obvious, it meant that she would not leave this place alive. Al-Mansour only traded or sold his intact slaves; most of them, actually; he never sold the mutilated ones.

“Did he say when, or how?”

“No,” she sobbed.

“Ok,” Manu said, “I can cut it out then.”

Then, seeing her haunted face, he added, “It’s less painful that way.”

Aisha nodded, “I see. Thanks, I guess.”

“We shall do it, after we take care of Lila. Come, help me,” It would help take her mind off her upcoming mutilation, and what would inevitably come afterwards, at some point.

They woke Lila up and, after she freshened up, Aisha clipped a chain to her nose ring and nipple rings, and a leash to the chain. Thus secured, she followed them out of the dungeon to the gymnasium.

The gymnasium was already filled with men. In the center, a wooden sawhorse sat awaiting its victim.

Lila’s face went pale when she saw it. She followed Aisha down to the center, where she waited while the slave girl unclipped her breasts and nose rings. At her gentle urge, Lila draped herself over the length of the sawhorse, her ass hanging over one side, her face resting on the crosspiece, neck extended, on the other, her breasts, with their nipple rings, dropping on each side.  She extended her legs along the legs of the sawhorse where Aisha attached them at the ankles and knees, on both sides, with lengths of rope looped several times around her limbs. She then moved to the head and, after kissing Lila on the lips, she attached her arms to the legs, in a similar fashion at the wrists and elbows. She noticed the fast gasping breath of the bound slave girl, and wondered why she was so anxious. A noise behind her revealed the answer.

Manu extracted a long nail and a hammer from his pocket and knelt on the right side of the sawhorse, by the right breast.

“Wait for me in the dungeon,” he told Aisha.

The nails, two on each side went in through the areolas, right behind the rings firmly attaching her breasts to the sawhorse. Her screams of pain, with each nail, had every man in the gymnasium, even, to his sorrow, Manu, erect and ready to go in a matter of seconds.

The men lined up in two lines, one for her mouth and one for her cunt or ass. Each man could have as many turns as he wanted, or was able to, two officers were in the gym to maintain order. Keeping the men at a distance, one of the officers gestured for Manu to take the first turn. He was about to refuse when he heard Lila’s rasping voice:

“Please take me, one last time.”

He kissed her, and then entered her pussy. It was easy; she had lubricated it well again, before she left the dungeon. He started thrusting, he would not last long.

Her voice interrupted him, “Use my ass; I know you want to.”

He tried to refuse but she insisted, “I would remember you, once more.”

He could not deny himself. He entered her rear portal and felt her spasms of pain, her ass muscle, squeezing despite herself. He did not thrust more than a dozen times before he spilled his seed inside her.

He was leaving the gym when he heard her first scream, muffled soon by the first man to enter her throat.

He saw Al-Mansour in the seats, watching his men enjoying themselves. He approached him.

Ch 15

Dungeon

Aisha approached the dungeon door. When she left the gymnasium she heard Lila’s screams, and she looked back; she wished she didn’t.  She saw Manu as he nailed her breasts to the sawhorse; and then she left.

Over the parched grass she saw the high walls that surrounded the sheik’s property. They were thinly guarded today; most of the guards were enjoying themselves with Lila in the gymnasium; the only guards on the walls were those who had been punished by missing the festivities, or the officers that, having already enjoyed Lila in private, now watched over the watchers. She saw a guard, sullenly pacing the parapet. If only she could be as docile, as accepting of her fate as Lila. Lila who, she knew, had had a chance to avoid her doom, and did not take it.

It took all her willpower to descend the steps into the cool dungeon area. Her body shook with fear; not only of her upcoming mutilation, she knew most women in Somalia and other places in Africa had this done routinely, as a coming of age ritual, but of what it meant. She would not leave this place alive. Her last gleam of hope would be gone. All the slave girls, in the compound, lived in the hope, not of being freed, that just did not happen, but of being sold to some other, perhaps less cruel, less sadistic master; anyone, they believed, would be better than Al-Mansour.

Inside the dungeon, she felt a bit calmer, although she could feel her heart racing. She paced through the library, and peeked at the dormitory where Lila and Manu had slept together; she dared not look at the torture chamber, the dungeon proper.

Where was Manu? He was taking his time coming; was he toying with her? On one hand she dreaded his arrival because of what was to happen, but on the other hand, deep inside she wished to have it over and done with. Still, Manu did not return.

Aisha crept to the dungeon door; the dark wood repelled and beckoned to her at the same time. She touched its rough surface, and pushed it open. The dungeon, dimly lit by a roof bulb, was even cooler than the living area. She entered it.

She saw the table where Lila’s body had been mutilated, placed to a side, against a wall. She saw an X shaped cross against a wall; she hadn’t seen that one before. Perhaps Manu planned to use it on Lila later today. She approached it; she extended her hand and touched the wood with trembling fingers. She left the dungeon, and ran to the stairs; she stopped half way up.

If Manu doesn’t come soon I will try to escape, she thought; the inevitable consequences of being caught however restrained her. She walked back into the living area and, after a few moments, she undressed. Perhaps being nude would help her control her fear, would prevent her from trying to escape; at least that is what she hoped.

How does Lila do it?

Of course, Aisha had never loved a master; she had been sold as a thirteen year old, when her mother saw her flirting with her stepfather, back in Saudi Arabia. The next day, she handed her over to a Yemeni trader, who raped her that very evening; on finding she had been a virgin, he got very angry and lashed her for not telling him. He would have made more money selling her untouched apparently.

After two masters, each one worse than the previous one, she ended up with Al-Mansour. She could not understand Lila, or her devotion to the master that traded her to the sheik.

In an effort to be as far away from the steps leading to the outside, Aisha crept, slowly, hesitantly, to the dungeon proper again. Even there, her feet kept trying to lead her out, to the sun, to the faint hope of freedom. Trying to distract herself, she examined the cross where, she assumed, Lila would suffer some kind of torture, in the near future.

It was an ordinary St. Andrews cross, with heavy iron manacles at the top and bottom, to hold the ankles and wrists. The manacles shut with an automatic latch, needing no keys. Aisha extended her arms and legs along the cross beams and rested her back against the unyielding wood. Somehow, being spread-eagled there, against the cross where Lila, by now her role model, would be stretched and suffer, in perhaps a few hours, gave her an injection of courage. She felt her heart and her breath slow down and an inner calm surround her.

She stood, in the middle of the dungeon. The feeling of peace she felt when stretched on the cross continued to expand through her mind and body. A measure of understanding and, she hoped, acceptance, began to creep into her mind.

Action, she thought; it was action what sustained Lila; that was it, instead of being a passive victim, she became an active participant in her own sacrifice.

She now knew what to do.

CH 16

Imitating Lila

Aisha considered the cross; yes, that was appropriate, she thought. She brought a small tray on wheels close to the cross and searched around the drawers until she found what she needed. The stories told her by the Somali slaves she knew showed her what was required.

She set on the table a sharp knife and a pair of sharp scissors and placed them on the tray. He can decide what to use on me when he gets here.

She looked for something to staunch the bleeding; the slaves were definite about that. After a long, almost fruitless search she decided that the soldering iron would have to do; an extension cord allowed it to reach the power outlet on the wall. She did not turn it on; she did not know how long Manu would take to arrive, and was afraid of it burning up.

Now came the hard part.

She took her place in the cross and opened her legs as far as she could. With difficulty she reached the shackles and closed them on her own ankles. That was easy, they snapped closed when the ankle pressed on them.

She extended her arms on the cross and found that the manacles snapped closed on her wrists easily. Now that she was helpless, unable to escape anymore, for she had placed herself in that position, now, she could let her fear run over her.

And it did; like a wave, it soaked her body. Her heart raced, her breath came in labored gasps. She struggled, futilely, against her manacles. Her body covered in sweat, Aisha now was able to dwell in her fear.

But after the wave of fear passed, Aisha still remained, manacled and shackled to her cross, waiting.

She heard the door open and steps coming down the stairs.

“Aisha; where are you?” Manu’s voice came through the door.

“I’m in the dungeon master.”

He entered the dungeon, his face showing the surprise he felt at seeing the, formerly, timid and self effacing slave, naked, bound to a cross and, when he approached and saw the instruments on the table, ready for her mutilation.

He looked at her plum, attractive nude body. Her clitoris, covered by its hood of flesh protruded from her pussy, right at the top of her slit.

He grasped it, through its hood, with his index and thumb, pinching it uncomfortably.

“Why are you on that cross?” he asked.

She responded with a question, “Were you planning to use it on Lila?”

His eyes widened, a little; with her senses heightened by fear, Aisha could see his dark pupils, in the dimly lit dungeon, dilate. He began to understand.

He nodded, “Later today.”

Aisha nodded, “I want to have it done on the cross where she will suffer; it is important to me.”

Yes; he understood now. He pinched her sensitive clitoris a little harder. She whimpered.

“So, what did the sheik tell you, exactly?”

“That you are to take my clitoris, master.” Her body writhed in the cross with the pain in her clit.

Manu nodded, releasing her sensitive nub and turning his back on her, his hand picking the knife.

Aisha closed her eyes.

“You are really dumber than a truckload of rocks,” she heard.

She opened her eyes; in his hand he held the scissors.

“You are a total idiot,” he continued. “Fortunately Allah favors fools and children.”

She did not understand. He turned on her, his voice loud, his spit hitting her scared face.

“What he said, you little fool, was: We shall have to think about taking this off!” He laughed.

“That’s what he said. You are fortunate I went to talk to him before I came over, otherwise you would be lacking a clitoris now, and I would have some explaining to do.”

He turned away, laughing, and left her on the cross; before he left the dungeon he turned around again:

“Don’t get too attached to it Aisha; he might still order it taken from you,” and he left the dungeon.

Ch 17

Night

It was still daylight when Manu released Aisha from the cross and led her back to the gym. The gym was empty except for the still form of Lila, tied and nailed, motionless to the horse. Her pale skin, covered with dry spunk, which also dribbled from her anus and vagina, bore witness to the repeated rapings she had endured.  Aisha approached her body, with her fist in her mouth, in horror.

On Lila’s nailed breasts, trickles of blood dribbled down to the nipples where, beading in crimson pearls, they hanged, like some demonic milk, before dropping to the floor below.

Her face, mouth open, eyes closed, gave no sign of life, no voice, no movement; the dried spunk of countless men glazed her skin, her eyes, her lips.

Aisha ran to approach the inert slave girl, thinking she was dead; when she came close though, at the nostrils, a small bubble of sperm, moving ever so slightly, proved that life still struggled within the slave girl’s unfortunate body.

“She’s alive,” Alisha said, turning to Manu who, with a large pair of pliers was removing the nails that skewered Lila’s breasts.

“I knew that,” he answered, without stopping his work. “The blood is still flowing you see, it wouldn’t otherwise.”

Lila was so exhausted, so worn out, that she voiced no complained, demonstrated no reaction to the, surely painful, manipulation that Manu was doing on the nails and on her breasts. Once they had freed her from the horse, they deposited her on a gurney and wheeled her out, back to the dungeon.

Aisha drew a warm bath and, with Manu’s help, got Lila’s limp body into the warm water. She cleaned the sperm off her, and saw the exhausted girl revive under her ministrations.

They fed her and gave her large amounts of water and fruit juice. She drank the water and juice but refused most of the food.  Her body hurt, all over; her breasts, swollen, felt like globes of lead on her chest. Her ass and vagina seemed reamed with sandpaper. She barely could move her jaws, and could barely speak in a hoarse whisper.

There was, in any case, nothing for her to say. Tenderly Manu laid her down on his bed and covered her with warm blankets. Tomorrow, another day of torture awaited her. Without telling her, he slipped a sleeping pill in her juice. When it took effect, it knocked her out for eight hours straight.

Ch 18

The cross.

Lila woke up, the following day, to find the dungeon empty. She could barely walk, her breasts, swollen and in pain, seemed to have gotten infected from the nail wounds. She looked at them, detachedly.

“It will not matter anyway, in one or two days,” she said to herself.

She made it to the bathroom and then, still nude, sat on an armchair to wait for her torturer to arrive.

Manu, with his de-facto assistant Aisha found her sitting up in the chair, drinking juice.

“Is it time?” Her voice had recovered a little, and she could now speak, not too loudly.

“Yes my love; it is.”

She got up, with some effort. She faced the stairs that led out of the dungeon. If she was lucky, she might not make it back tonight. If she was lucky.

With Aisha at her said, supporting her, Lila slowly walked up the steps.

In the open air, there was the cross that Aisha found in the basement. Surrounding it, bleachers had been placed to accommodate the sheik and his men.

Aisha led Lila to the cross. A stepping stool was at the bottom of the device and Lila climbed onto it. Facing the cross, she raised her arms, to reach the shackles that Aisha then fastened on her wrists. Aisha then removed the stool leaving her to hang, momentarily, by the wrists. This extra pain, though uncomfortable, did not bother Lila too much. All things relative, it paled in comparison to what she knew would come next.

Aisha fastened her ankles to the shackles at the two beams at the bottom of the cross. Unprotesting, facing the cross, Lila hanged from it, her breath deep and even.

Manu appeared with the whip that would be used to flay Lila’s back and he showed it to the sheik and his men. From a distance it was an ordinary bullwhip made of black braided leather, with a stiff handle. When examined up close however, it was a very different animal. The whole length of the whip’s tail was embedded with small pieces of razor blades; in between the sharp shards were tiny wire hooks. It would cut into the skin, and rip it on the way back. While examining the tool, several of the men cut themselves on the sharp pieces of metal, yelping in surprise.

Manu stepped up to the cross and explained:

“We shall, this morning, whip our victim’s back, ass and thighs, until she is covered with blood. After that, I shall spray her back with alcohol to cauterize the wounds and keep her from bleeding to death.”

A small ovation from the seated men followed his words.

“Then we shall do it again, on her front,” he concluded.

If those words had any effect on Lila, it wasn’t visible. She continued to hang, meekly from her cross, as if she had not heard. When Manu gave her the whip to kiss, she did so. Before he left her side, he asked her forgiveness.

“Whip my back,” she answered, “flay the skin from my breasts; I’d have you do that a hundred times over, instead of anything milder, done by anyone else.”

“I love you, don’t show me any mercy. Don’t let me die in vain.” she concluded.

He started on the back of her thighs. The first lash drew blood from her skin, but only a muffled grunt from her. He struck again, and again drew blood. She only started to scream with the tenth cut. On the fifteenth, he moved to her ass. She screamed louder when the metal shards began to rip the tender skin of her cheeks. She fainted after the whip had hit her ass twenty times.

Manu would have continued, indeed, he whipped her ass twice more, in rapid succession. He would have continued, his victim unconscious, until he was done. But he was not allowed to.

Aisha brought the smelling salts, when the sheik ordered Lila revived. She placed them under Lila’s nose, and, once awake, gave her water and an energy drink. Lila drank, obedient, what she was given.

She looked at her lover, standing at her side, the bloodied whip in his hands. Her face, streaked with tears, exhausted by pain, looked at him, in the sun, and blew him a kiss.

He saw her eyes, her face, and finally her lips, blowing him a kiss. He turned, whip in hand, and saw, on his seat, at the center of the bleachers, the obese sheik, sitting among his men. He ran to the edge of the stage, dragging his whip behind him. The stage was set very close to the bleachers.  When he reached the end of the stage, he could reach the sheik’s face with the razor studded whip. He swung the whip with all his might.

“Don’t let me die in vain.” He heard her voice, again, in his mind.

He pivoted on his foot, the whip flying over the astonished heads of the sheik and the men, and brought the cruel tail, snapping and cutting across Lila’s shoulders.

Her animal scream lacerated his ears. He no longer saw his lover through the blur of his tears. The whip found its target, by some miracle, that he no longer could fathom. When Lila stopped screaming, he stopped swinging. His arm, limp at his side, he did not hear Aisha approach, did not hear her words, telling him she was unconscious. He followed her to the side of the cross; he did not see Aisha reviving the woman on the cross, with salts and water.

Only when Aisha whispered: “It is time for the alcohol, master.”

Only then, did he wipe his tears away and, standing by the side of the cross, facing his beloved, whose back he had shredded, and whose face looked at him, with love and forgiveness, he said:

“You do it Aisha. You do it.”

The slave girl, her face a mask of horror, picked up the bucket of alcohol, and her eyes closed, tossed it on the bloodied body, stretched out on the cross in front of her. She fell on her knees, empty bucket dropping from her hand, her hands rising to her ears to blot out the wailing scream that brought her to the edge of insanity.

Ch 19

Lila hung, senseless, from the cross. That last scream took her beyond the realm of consciousness, into the blackness of oblivion. Aisha let her hang, mercifully unconscious, while she awaited instructions from Manu.

It took a long time for him to stand and approach the inert hanging body.

“Help me,” he asked Aisha.

Together they released the Lila’s tortured body and laid her, face down, on the floor. She did not regain consciousness during this process, and only faint moans revealed that she was, as yet, still alive. Her back was a raw, seeping wound; a mute omen to what her front would be, in a short time.

“We will let our victim recover her strength,” Manu informed the public.

It did not take long, for Lila to return to the world of pain that now was her entire universe. Her flayed back, burned by the alcohol first, and now also by the fierce tropical sun, screamed its agony into her brain. Her arms moved, weakly on the stage, her legs writhed, in a futile effort to relieve the fire grilling her back and ass.

Aisha approached her and helped her to her knees. She could not stand, and to make her sit on her raw ass would be unnecessarily cruel. On her knees, Lila drank the fluids she was offered; the water and sugar that would, if she was unfortunate enough, keep her alive until the evening. She wished she was able to refuse them, to accelerate the end, but her thirst would not be denied and, despite her better judgment, she drank deeply.

After about an hour, Manu and Aisha helped her to her feet. Still unable to stand on her own, much less walk to the cross, they had to carry her to the wooden X. Her weak moans of pain, when her back touched the rough wood were heart rending to Manu and Aisha; the rest of the spectators however did not hear them.

They fastened her wrists to the cross beams and let her body hang, limp, until her ankles were duly attached to the cross. Her head, fallen on her chest, partially hid her nose ring, but her breasts, although inflamed and swollen, still stood proudly on her heaving chest, the heavy rings, hanging from her areolas.

Aisha kissed her on the lips, and presented her with the blood and gore crusted whip. Lila kissed it again.

Aisha offered the whip to Manu who picked it up with unwilling hands.

On another day, on a different victim, he would have started on the front of the thighs, where the less sensitive and thicker skin would have allowed for an elegant crescendo of pain, first the thighs, then the soft skin of the belly, and for the last act, the breasts with their sensitive nipples. On a different day, on a different victim.

The first lash fell across her breasts, ripping their skin and tearing the soft tissue. She screamed weakly, not having the strength, or breath, to do more.

On a different day, on a different victim, he would have timed the lashes, to let the pain from each one crest, and then ebb, to let the victim savor each lash, to the fullest; the timing also would be irregular, to exact further torment from the victim, who would not be able to predict, or prepare for each successive lash.

It is doubtful that Lila would have appreciated such niceties, had Manu bothered with them; she would not have responded differently; she had not the strength.

As it was, the lashes fell on her breasts, fast and furious, as the blood streamed down, in red rivulets over her white belly, and splashed in crimson droplets across the stage and even on to the white robes of the sheik.

Blinded by his own tears, Manu now targeted the soft belly of his beloved; the strength of his lashes hitting her limp body hid, for a while, the fact that she no longer responded to each cut, not even with a whimper.

Aisha restored her with smelling salts, and brought her water to drink. Lila refused the water, not out of strength of will, rather she was so short of breath that she could not drink, only breathe, gasp for air.

Manu resumed her lashing, but it did not last long. He lashed her thighs, almost perfunctorily, and, as before, let Aisha spray the limp body with alcohol. Lila barely writhed when the burning liquid hit her raw flesh.

He did not hear the ovation the spectators gave him. He took a cursory bow and, with Aisha’s help, he released the, now mercifully unconscious, body from the frame. Placing her on a gurney, they took her back to the dungeon.

They covered her body with a sheet, and placed a small pillow under her head. Unresponsive, barely breathing, Lila remained, lying on the gurney, inert, almost lifeless.

When Lila crafted the whole plan of torture that would lead to her inevitable demise, she knew that, by this time, she might be unable to drink much, and that dehydration would greatly speed her on her way. She also knew that the sheik would interpret a speedy death as treason from his employee. Thus, the plans, as written, called for her to receive large amounts of IV fluids at this time.

Manu, however did not follow the plan.

“Aisha, let’s go to bed.” And he turned off the lights, leaving the unconscious Lila lying on the gurney.

Ch 20

Disobedience.

She brought him a cup of mint tea before joining him in bed. As she slipped under the covers at his side, the sheik had allowed him her use for the duration, Aisha hoped he would drink it, and was relieved to see that he downed it in just a few, thirsty, gulps.

It did not take long; the sleeping pill she had dissolved in the tea, Rohypnol, worked fast, very fast. When his deep, even, breathing told her the draught had taken effect, Aisha left the bed and turning on a dim light, approached the gurney.

Lila had not regained consciousness; not entirely. Her body still lay on the gurney, covered by a thin sheet. Her chest rose and fell, irregularly, in time with her weak, sibilant breaths. Between tortured breaths, faint moans escaped her parched lips. She had been right; she would not last an hour tomorrow, not in this state.

She brought a bottle of water from the kitchen and, cradling Lila’s head in her arm, brought the bottle to her cracked lips. Lila moaned in pain, and began to drink.

“Do you want me to do, what you asked me to?” Aisha asked, in a whisper.

A hoarse rasp answered her, “Do it.”

Aisha silently went up to a closet, and rapidly set up to IVs which she hooked up to veins on each of Lila’s arms. She hung up two bags of IV fluid which she opened wide. Once the sugar and salt solution flowed briskly into Lila’s arms, she resumed her position, by her head, helping the suffering girl drink, when she was able to.

Time passed slowly, and Aisha replaced the IV bags with new ones as they emptied. After five liters had gone in, Lila, feeling stronger now, asked:

“I need to pee.”

Aisha did not let the unfortunate girl try to stand. She simply dove between her thighs and pressed her lips to Lila’s shaved mound. The slave girl understood what was required and why. She relieved herself in Aisha’s mouth, without the added torture of having to move.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You were right,” said Aisha after she finished, “How did you guess he would not hook you up to the IVs?”

“He loves me,” she answered.

Aisha nodded. That was the reason, of course. He loves her; he wants her to die as soon as possible. And that was the reason Lila asked her to place the IVs. She loves him and fears the sheik’s retaliation upon him, if she does not last long enough.

“And I love them both,” she thought, as she took out a small ampoule, loaded a syringe and injected it into one of the IV lines.

The Valium took effect swiftly; Lila fell into a deeper sleep, far away from her pain, from the dungeon, from Brunei. “Perhaps she dreams of her master,” Aisha thought, changing one of the IV bags.

She remained at her side, most of the night. Only when the first light of dawn began to creep along the eastern sky, outside of the dungeon, did she slow down the IVs, and return to sleep, for a few hours, besides her temporary master. He did not notice her nude body sliding beside his, he too, continued in his dreamless sleep.

In the warm bed, Aisha cried silently.

She would have to be whipped, in the morning. For once, she did not care.

Maybe some of Lila’s spirit was seeping into her soul.

Maybe.

Aisha turned around and she, also, fell asleep.

Ch 21

Aisha woke up to an empty bed. She had overslept. Panicked, she jumped out of the bed; for sure Manu would be angry, she disobeyed him last night; she also overslept and failed to have his coffee ready, though understandable, this was another infraction that had to be punished. She rushed into the living room, to find Manu drinking a mug of coffee and Lila, semi-reclined on a pillow, on her gurney, still hooked up to a full IV bag, drinking another. He must have changed the bags while she overslept.

Indeed, Aisha realized, it was the smell of fresh coffee that woke her up, otherwise she would still be asleep. She approached Manu, with her eyes downcast, humbly apologized for her tardiness and begged to be punished for it.

“It is not for oversleeping that I shall punish you,” Manu’s angry words did not match his calm demeanor. “You disobeyed me last night.”

She fell to her knees tears exploding from her face and kissed his feet, “Yes, master; I did. I know I must be punished,” and, in a barely audible voice, she added. “Have no mercy on me, I deserve none.”

She herself did not know where those words, or the strength to utter them, came from. Manu, looking down on her prostrate form, smiled faintly; he did know.

Today’s program would start at 11:00. The hands on the clock, on the wall, made their way, inexorably, towards the appointed hour. Lila drank, water, juice and coffee, while Aisha kept her IVs going. Both of them noted Manu’s frown whenever the IV bag was renewed. While visibly unhappy about it, he did not argue, nor did he directly order Aisha to refrain from changing the bags as they emptied themselves into Lila’s veins. Aisha wondered how Lila managed to convince Manu to allow this hydration, which he had expressly forbidden the night before.

In the perverse nature of their relationship, it was perhaps, strangely appropriate that Manu’s love for Lila be manifested in his efforts to weaken her, so she would succumb to her death faster, sparing her longer hours of agony. It was also heart-breakingly appropriate too, that her love for him translated into prolonging her suffering, so the sheik would be pleased, and her lover avoid the retribution that was sure to come, if she died too soon.

A few minutes before eleven, Aisha helped Lila to the bathroom; it would be her last chance to use a bathroom like a human, and her last moments of privacy. In the lavatory, her tears flowed, her knees shook, all of her body trembled.

“I can’t do it, “she wept.

Then, composed, she stood up, opened the door and stepped back into the living room. It was 10:50

“Let us go,” she said.

Aisha joined her nipple rings with a short chain; a second chain, attached to the center, and leading through the nose ring, served as a leash.

She followed Aisha up the stairs and into the lawn. The sun, already merciless at this hour, beat on her lacerated skin.

The bleachers surrounded an empty space in the lawn. She followed Aisha closely, to avoid having the leash pull painfully on her nose ring. Studiously, she avoided looking at the object she knew laid on the grass, at the center of the bleachers. When Aisha stopped, she did too.

Aisha removed the chain from her nose, and nipple rings. Freed from the weight of the chain, her breasts rose up proudly on her chest. Her eyes remained focused on the grass in front of her, her attention riveted on each blade of grass, her shoulders slumped, defeated. She wished her ankles were shackled, she wished her wrists were manacled to each other. Instead, she stood, nude, her skin torn, lacerated, her breathing ragged, in the center of this open air theater.

Her arms hung at her sides, her legs shook, her knees trembled, threatening to give way and let her fall to the ground. She did not care, she wished she would fall, and never stand up again. Tears streamed silently from her eyes, coursing down her cheeks, dropping, like cool dewdrops on her naked breasts.

“It is time,” Aisha said, her voice breaking.

Aisha helped her kneel on the grass, beside the wooden cross she could no longer ignore.

Kneeling on the grass, her training and composure finally left her. She knelt, knees together, her hands over her face, crying, her frame shuddering with her loud sobs.

Slowly, she regained control; her hands came down from her face to lie on her knees; her knees opened, her thighs spread, and finally, with a supreme effort, her head rose, and she faced the public that watched her, sitting on the bleachers. She now knelt as a slave girl, ready to fulfill her master’s wishes.

Manu wore dark glasses, not so much as protection against the sun, which he did not need; he wore them in an effort to hide his tears. He needn’t have bothered; all eyes were riveted on the naked slave girl that knelt, so valiantly besides the implement of her torture.

At 11:00 precisely, Aisha touched her shoulder. Lila turned towards her friend and kissed her deeply on the mouth. She then turned towards Manu, who knelt on the far side of the wooden cross. She leaned forward and, embracing him, kissed him too, on the mouth. When she let him go, she whispered:

“Thanks for everything; truly. I love you.”

“I love you too,” his words were drowned by the applause from the tiers, as she laid her nude body, along the vertical plank. She rested her head on the upright behind and looked up to the blue, cloudless sky.

After a few moments, she closed her eyes.

Lila felt hands, lifting one of her wrists, extending her arm, along the cross beam; small hands, that had to belong to Aisha. She felt coarse rope, across her palm, and across her forearm, attaching them, firmly, to the cross. She kept her eyes closed. Of all the atrocities that were done to her, this one, was the only one she had not planned in full detail.

“Crucify me,” was all she told Manu, and left most of the details to him.

Now she wondered if he was planning to just have her hang, tied from the cross, until she died. She would last longer that way, certainly, but that was not what the crowd expected.

Her other arm was tied, too, to the crossbeam, in the same fashion. She felt ropes at her knees, tying them also to the unyielding wood. She opened her eyes.

Manu was at her right wrist, in his hands, the nail, at least six inches long and half an inch in diameter. She looked at his face, sorry that the sunglasses covered his eyes; she wished to see them once more.

He placed the nail against the hollow of her wrist; he held it with his hand, while in his other hand he held a heavy mace. She knew that, once he swung the mace, once the nail sunk itself in her flesh, she would no longer be herself, or his’; she would belong to the pain alone. Before he swung the mace, she made her last request:

“Promise me something,” she asked.

“Anything,”

“After you nail my arms to the cross, before you nail my feet… fuck me one last time.”

Unable to speak, he nodded.

Ch 22

Hung

She was right!

It was not the first time Manu nailed someone to a cross, or to another device. He knew that any hesitation on his part would only cause more suffering, to the helpless victim. That the victim who, arms extended, was his one true love, really did not make a difference.

But it did.

He waited, hammer upraised, not hearing the ovation coming from the stands, by the men who, foolishly, thought he was just prolonging the tension, and the fear of the victim. Lila, her heart beating an irregular, rapid, tattoo, in her ears, opened her eyes, unwillingly drawn to look at the nail, dimpling the skin on her wrist. She noticed his hand, holding the cruel iron spike steady, even the small hairs, on the back of his fingers; hairs that she liked to taste with her tongue. Lila knew that, whatever else, Manu was not delaying for her benefit; she looked up at his tortured face and saw the tears, crawling down his cheeks, dropping, slowly, from his chin.

And then the hammer came down.

Her world became white. White, as in the white explosion of pain that replaced her arm.  The white wave of pain that crashed into her, only to return in an even stronger wave, shook her entire body, bound as it was to the cross, by her arms and knees.

Her shriek of horror, scattered the birds from the trees, and drew an unheard ovation from the crowd. Manu’s strike was true, strong. It drove the nail cleanly through her wrist, and partly into the wood. Well bound at the palm and forearm, her arm could not move, so the nail remained stuck, on the wood. Only two more, well placed, strokes of the hammer and the wide nail head was flush with the skin of her wrist. Only a few drops of blood had splattered from the wound, so fast had the nailing been, and so well sealed was the wound by the bulk of the nail.

The second nail went into her wrist, while she still writhed and screamed from the agony of the first. Rather than giving her time to recover, Manu moved rapidly to the other arm and in three or four heavy blows, he had the poor girl nailed by her wrists to the crossbeam.

Now he had to wait. To fulfill his promise to her, he needed to untie her legs; he could not do that until she regained, at least some, control of herself. He would have preferred to just nail her feet now and be done with it, while her brain suffered under sensory overload; the pain of her new nailing lost in the prior horror.

But he had promised.

She knew not how long she screamed, how long she writhed, in agony. In the end, it was not of her will that she regained control of her body; it was sheer exhaustion. Her lungs, burning from the effort, her throat, raw from the screams, and her muscles, cramping in protest, all of them, at the same time, gave up.

She lay, upon the wooden board, defeated.

He knelt at her side.

“Forgive me, I should have done,” he quailed at saying ‘nailed’, “your feet, while you were screaming; but you made me promise…”

Lila looked at him, her eyes empty, now lying motionless,  she looked down one arm, then the other; she only realized now that both her wrists were now nailed to the wooden crossbeam. She looked back at his face, her memory returning, as the worst lashes of agony receded, slightly.

“Please, do it to me, once more.”

Manu and Aisha started to untie her legs, bound at the knees to the cross. The crowd craned their necks forward to see what was going on.

Aisha had to coax Manu’s member into erection with her mouth, and it took her a while to achieve this. Manu, standing by the cross that held his beloved Lila, tried to close his eyes and imagine Lila, with him, in the Morocco of his youth. Somehow, this figment of his imagination did the trick, and as he saw her, and their children romping around, he lifted her legs, and entered her.

She held back a cry of pain as he lifted and spread her thighs, any movement, even one as slight as that, bringing new waves of pain from her skewered arms. She could not hold back her whimpers when he started thrusting in her. She wondered why, suddenly, his face was so peaceful. She felt the warmth of his seed inside her, and felt it drip, when he finally withdrew.

Where the feet were to be nailed, a foot long piece of wood had been firmly attached to the cross; this rectangular piece was triangular in cross section and would insure that, once nailed, the knees of the victim would fall to the sides, exposing her genitals. After placing Lila’s feet on the oblique surface,  he tied them to the cross by the ankles and hammered a U shaped clamp around each big toe, into the wood. This would not only help to keep the feet in place, for the nailing, but also provide some extra support for her feet.

He located the place on the first foot, the right one, between the bone of the first and second metatarsal. He could not bear to look at her again. It was bad enough that he had to hear her screams when he hammered the nail in place, as hard as he could, against the rough, unyielding wood.

Then, he had to do it again.

“Aisha help me untie her,” he yelled at the slave girl who had watched, numb, the proceedings. “Hurry!”

They both frantically undid the bindings that had helped immobilize her arms and legs during the nailing. Aisha wanted to ask what the hurry was, but Manu anticipated her question.

“I want to get her hung up, while she is still screaming, she will feel less pain that way.”

She was still screaming when he and a volunteer from the crowd pushed the cross upright, into the hole that had been prepared for it.

Lila thought that there could be no worse pain than the nailing of her feet. The sick thump, when the cross fell into its hole, and the sudden jerk on her wrists and feet, as they took the whole weight of her body, brought her to new heights of agony. That she did not scream even more loudly was not due to any presence of mind on her part; it was simply lack of air.

She continued to scream for long minutes, each scream, a little weaker than the last. After perhaps half an hour hanging from the cross, her head fell on her chest, and she was silent. Only the sound of her strained breathing broke the stillness of the air.

The crowd cheered wildly. Some of the soldiers now returned to their posts, others sought refreshment elsewhere. They would return, on and off, as the evening progressed to witness the victim’s struggle on the cross.

Manu stood, with Aisha at his side, his expression grim, contemplating his handiwork. The cross was not too high, only 6 and a half feet tall; as opposed to the old penal crosses used by the Romans, where the intent was for the hanging criminal to be visible for long distances, this one was meant for a more intimate execution. The victim could be seen, up close, touched, and the least of her gasps for breath heard, in vivid clarity. Al-Mansour waddled off to eat his belated lunch, a scantily dressed slave girl following close behind him.

Aisha saw the pretty young girl following her master, the role she used to perform before being “loaned” to Manu for the duration. Only a short time ago, the sight of another girl performing her duties, would make her feel threatened, she would fear losing the sheik’s favor. Now, she watched her pass without changing her expression. She noted her presence, as she could notice a bird, picking out seeds on the ground. She resumed watching Lila’s mute struggle on the cross.

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.

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.

Ch 24

The Cornu

The setting sun bathed all the figures in the garden an orange glow. Lila, between gasping breaths could not appreciate the beauty of the sunset, which she hoped would be her last. Aisha brought the cornu from the workshop and gave it to Manu.

It was a curved rod of metal, iron, to be precise, tipped by a four bladed arrow of steel. Like a broadhead arrow, the blades shone malevolently in the setting sunlight. The blades would be blunt, Lila knew, to stretch without cutting, to hurt without tearing. She shuddered at the thought of the broad blades inserted, stretching, perhaps even rupturing her sphincter. She could of course take it in the vagina; it would hurt less that way.

She drunk again of the Gatorade Aisha offered her, in short sips, interrupted by gasping, labored breaths. Again she regretted drinking it, but there was nothing she could do. After the need for air came the need for water, and her body betrayed her every time, drinking the proffered fluid, as greedily as her tortured body would allow.

Manu approached her with the cornu. Aisha helped her up, holding her by the waist, and Manu placed the cornu on the cross. She could feel the tip of the instrument, at her pussy’s entrance.

“Remember,” he whispered in her ear, “take it in the ass.”

She had very little breath to answer, and what breath she had, she did not want to waste in answering; instead, she gasped, hoarsely:

“I love you.”

She let herself down on the bladed head. She found out she did have enough breath to scream.

It was tearing her asshole. The four blades were not blunt as she expected; they were sharp, razor sharp. She screamed as each blade cut through her anus, and tore through her sphincter. She fell on the cornu violently, surprised. Why did Manu tell her to do that? And why were the blades sharp? They were supposed to be blunt. Did someone make a mistake? Why did he do that to her?

She felt a warm liquid, blood filling her rectum and spilling out of her. Then she understood. She opened her eyes and looked at the figure of her lover, standing, dejected in front of her. She gave him a weak smile and mouthed the words:

“Thank you.”

Of course. The sharp blades that replaced the blunt ones had been ordered by Manu. He also recommended that she take it up her ass. The pain would be more, both at the first, brutal, insertion, and each time she rose up, to breathe. But also, the sharp blades would cut, each time, deeply into her ass, tearing open the blood vessels that surrounded it. She might even bleed to death; that would be a faster, more merciful death than the agony that she would endure otherwise. She pulled herself up, once more, feeling the blades inside her, turning her ass into hamburger.

It was dark; in the night, several torches lit the scene in the garden. The executioner, standing in front of his creation, the slave girl, barely moving now, hanging from her nails and, kneeling beside him, a second slave girl, tears on her eyes.

The sheik waddled in, unnoticed by the tortured figure on the cross.

The three of them approached the cross, and stood around Lila. Her eyes opened, her vision blurry; it would be soon now.

“Manu, my friend,” the sheik’s voice had a more than a trace of irony in it. “You once asked me to sell you the slave. Are you still interested now?”

Oblivious to the irony Manu did not even think it for a moment, “Yes; I’ll give you $250,000 for her.”

That was almost all the money he had saved. A generous offer for just about any prime slave, but an absolutely foolish one for a girl as destroyed as this one.

The sheik raised an eyebrow, looking at his torturer, “A generous offer indeed.”

He gestured Aisha closer to the cross and helped her lift the exhausted slave up. Lila gasped for breath, drawing deep, thirsty breaths into her starved lungs. Despite the renewed pain on her wrists, feet and ass, she did not even moan, unable to waste the energy, or breath that a moan or complaint would take.

“Let’s ask our victim, shall we?” he said with an evil grin on his face.

“Lila,” he said, “I have offered to sell you to Manu here, and he has offered $250,000 for you.”

She looked at him, uncomprehending.

“Shall I sell you to him, or shall I let you hang on the cross, until you die?” He asked her.

“I said I will buy her!” Manu interrupted. “Sell her to me.”

Lila shook her head, her vision clearing. Tears came to her eyes; she smiled at her lover:

“Let me hang.”

Her body, released by the sheik, fell with a jolt that shook her to the bones. The pain that coursed up her arms and legs and up her ass too, lashed her worn out frame with a new lash of agony. Despite her exhaustion she could not help screaming once more.

The sheik turned around, “Come see me when she’s done.”

And gesturing to Aisha to follow him, he left the yard and returned to his palace.

On the cross, Lila blew a kiss towards her lover/executioner.

She would not last long, her ass bled freely again, and the wounds on her feet and wrists, reopened by the last jolt, resumed bleeding briskly. The air she had breathed, when supported by the sheik, only took her so far. Her vision blurry from hypoxia, she gathered all her strength and, braving the pain that raced up her arms and legs, she pulled herself up on her nails:

“I love you.”

She said before falling, utterly exhausted, to hang, limp, from the nails. Then all went black.

She did not last much longer. The shallow flickers of breath that still shook her worn frame gave way to final, terminal spasms that did not move air as much as they shook her chest. Her final gasp, when it came, silent, gurgling, was an anticlimax of sorts.

Manu, eyes blurred by tears, felt it more than heard it. He held her head tenderly and kissed the blood stained lips, already turning blue, of his beloved. He sought for help, to take her off the cross but no one was around. Somehow, it felt improper to leave her body hanging there, under the night sky. After a while, two guardsmen passed by and he ordered them to take the cross down. One look at his face and they saluted and did his bidding without any comments.

Once the cross lay flat on the grass, it was technically easy for him to remove the nails from her hands and feet. He cried when, removing her from the cornu, he saw the ragged mess the four bladed arrow head had made of her anus. He laid her on the gurney, legs straight together, and her hands crossed over her belly. He covered her inert body with a sheet and stopped to kiss her lips once more before covering her face, now finally at peace. Alone, he wheeled her body back to the basement.

He deplored leaving her alone, even for the few minutes he expected his interview with the sheik would take. He was getting fired, he was sure. After that, he would return and make sure she was properly buried. There was just the spot, in the garden, in a place few people went to, but it was shady and had nice flowers. She would like that.

His heart heavy, he went up the stairs.

Ch 25

Epilogue

The Sheik sat on a divan with Aisha, nude, kneeling at his side. Manu approached them; he knew that despite his efforts at self-control, anger must be written all over his face. To tell the truth, he did not much care at this point.

The sheik gestured him to a divan next to him and, at a further gesture, Aisha served him tea.

“Stand between us, Aisha,” he commanded.

He then addressed Manu:

“I know what you lost today; also I know much more than you think about your relationship with Lila.”

Manu nodded, wondering how much of this was true.

“I know that you tried to let her escape,” he continued, “despite knowing full well what you risked.”

Manu nodded again, in silence.

“I don’t think you can serve me in your present position anymore.”

Manu again assented silently.

The sheik took a deep breath, “I wish to honor your years of faithful service though. I shall make you a present, if she is willing.”

He tilted his head, questioning.

“I shall give you Aisha, if she chooses to go with you.”

Surprised, Aisha was about to answer, when, with his hand, the sheik stopped her.

“Yes, Aisha, you may go with Manu, or stay with me and, maybe, be sold to someone else,” he paused.

“If you stay with me,” he continued, “all shall be as it was. Except that I shall have a different executioner.”

“You can also go with Manu, as my parting gift to him,” he paused for effect. Aisha shuddered, there had to be something.

“But before he takes you with him,” he paused again, “he shall cut off your clitoris, in front of me.”

Manu blanched on hearing this. What kind of a choice was that?

Aisha, on the other hand, although pale, did not seem as disturbed.

“I shall go with Manu sir, if you permit it.”

Both men looked at her, although only Manu seemed surprised at her choice.

She followed him to the basement. The Sheik would join them in a few minutes.

“Why?”

Aisha smiled, “You are a good man Manu, I couldn’t ask for a better master.”

“But the price…”

“Quite a few of the girls from the horn of Africa have had this done to them, when they come of age,” she shuddered, “It is not such a big deal, really.”

The Sheik sat on a chair, near the table that would hold Aisha. At her request, she herself prepared a tray with the instruments Manu would need. These were simple: A pair of needle nose pliers, a razor sharp scalpel (Aisha shuddered when she placed it on the tray) some swabs with disinfectant, and a small pot of Vaseline. Nearby, a brazier of coals burned, in it, an iron with a thin tip, to cauterize the wound.

When all was ready, Aisha climbed on the table and placed her legs on the stirrups. Manu fastened her legs at the thighs and calves with leather straps and also attached her hands to the table with leather manacles.

Once thus immobilized, he cleaned her nether regions carefully with the disinfectant. He could not fail to notice her shivering and knew that it was not from cold. She however remained silent, although her breathing, fast and irregular betrayed her fear.

With his finger he pulled back her hood, exposing the small nub. Aisha screamed for the first time when he grabbed it with the pliers, pulling on it. She screamed even louder when with a single swoop of the razor sharp blade, he cut it off; and when he touched the red hot iron to the bleeding wound, her scream rose to a blood curdling shriek.

Then it was over.

A few days later, the two of them, master and slave, or perhaps something more, climbed into the Air France jet that would take them to Morocco.

The End.