The cold from the February drizzle was making life miserable for the migrants in the camp.  Shirin shivered in the clothes she had worn when she fled Iran with her older brother Mehdi whom she now hugged tightly for warmth.

Having an affair with the wife of a politician had probably been a thrill because of the risk involved, but once caught out it was only thanks to Mehdi getting her out of Iran to France that Shirin was still alive.  But 3 months with little food living under a makeshift awning, trying to get onto a lorry through the Channel Tunnel had taken its toll on her health and Mehdi's 800 dollars was nowhere near the amount the gangs were asking to smuggle immigrants to England.

Finally their luck seemed to be in as a dapper little Indian calling himself Sardar said he could get them to London, where they wanted to seek asylum, for 800 dollars.  As Sardar eyed Shirin from head to toe Mehdi was aware how the wet thin silk of his little sisters only clothes showed the outline of her shapely breasts and hips, to the obvious disgust of other muslims in the camp but clearly appreciated by Sardar.  If in addition to the money Sardar demanded any sexual favours from his sister Mehdi was prepared call the deal off, knowing her abhorrence of men.  But fortunately nothing more was demanded and they were to meet Sardar the next evening at a nearby industrial estate where containers were being loaded.

Sardar showed them an empty wooden crate little more than 5 ft long and about 2 ft wide labelled Machine Parts" which had been lined by nailing bits of old blanket inside.  He explained they were to both lie in it, the lid would be secured, and when it was next opened they would be in London.  No matter what happened Sardar said they must remain silent as if caught they would be sure to be returned to Iran, where Mehdi knew Shirin would be stoned to death for her crime!  Mehdi quickly asked would they not suffocate but they were shown that there were a couple of half holes in the ends overlapped by the lid so as not to be too obvious to anyone inspecting the crate.

However once Shirin laid on her side in the crate it proved impossible for her brother to squeeze in with her sufficiently for the lid to be secured.  No problem said the little Indian, and another identical crate was produced.  The lids were quickly secured on them both and Shirin felt the crate being loaded into a lorry.  It sounded as though someone was sitting on her crate and then to her horror the little light she had seen through the air holes disappeared and she heard corks being hammered into them.

Who had done that and why?  Surely she would suffocate!  As the oxygen became depleted panic set in and she writhed, screamed and hammered in the inside of the crate but the blankets deadened the sound.  Time seemed to stand still and her breathing became short panicky panting, she began to feel detached from what was happening, a nothingness took over from the heavy darkness of the sealed crate .......

Shirin had no idea how long she had been unconscious for but when she awoke she was shivering and immediately realised her wrists and ankles were bound and her face and shoulder were lying on a cold concrete floor.  Her legs were still resting on the blankets in the crate but her bare shoulder was aching with cold from the concrete ... bare shoulder?  Why? With growing panic she realised she was now completely naked in a brightly lit warehouse just like the one where they had got into the crates.  A small group of men who had been sat talking walked towards her when they realised she had regained consciousness and one of them roughly pulled her to her feet and, without emotion, told her to stand up straight.  With his calloused hands on the bare skin of her hips and thighs he made her stand so her pelvis and breasts were thrust forward.  “Don't move at all or I cut throat” he commanded as he untied her wrists.  “Where's my brother?” she whimpered, “London” he laughed.  "So where am I?" she asked in a slightly stronger voice, he grinned then said "lost in the post" at which all the men roared with laughter, but as the door at the far end opened they fell silent.  A very tall striking looking Arab entered carrying a small square leather case in his left hand.  He strode purposefully towards them and stood staring at her, slowly moving his gaze from her sweet face framed in jet black hair down to her pert young breasts, then to her slim waist and trim belly, on down between her slender thighs and down her long legs.  Despite her utter revulsion at being looked at so by a man she froze her like a statue, in terror.  He looked up again at her breasts then reached out with his right hand and cupped her left breast squeezing it gently between his fingers and thumb, she was about to scream and spit in his face damning the consequences when he briskly pronounced "too small", turned, and strode away. 

The little group of men stood in shocked silence watching him, and his case full of dollars, leave. Then once the door had closed another door at the side of the shed opened and too her surprise the little Indian Sardar appeared looking to where the Arab had disappeared shouting "bastard, bastard" after him.  Then turning to Shirin he spat at her, then swung his clenched fist into her beautiful nose shattering the bone. She sank to her knees in a daze, blood trickling down past her mouth to drip onto her breasts, another blow to the back of her head sent her sprawling face down onto the rough concrete.  She felt only the first of the several kicks to the sides of her belly and rib cage before she lost consciousness.

When Shirin regained consciousness she was again out in the cold winter drizzle but now sprawled,  still naked and numb with cold, on a wet woodland floor.  Sardar stood watching as one of the other men kicked her in the belly shouting "stand".  After a second harder kick from behind by a steel capped boot to her buttock she reluctantly stood.  Sardar handed her a shovel and said slowly but firmly "dig".  She looked at his face without comprehension, then down to his right hand which held a revolver pointed at her belly.   “You die now or dig and die a little bit later” she heard the other men laughing as she slowly understood.  He wanted her to dig her own grave.  Her mind told her to let him shoot her now and get it over with and yet her arms slowly started to dig.   The drizzle turned to rain and the digging was the only thing keeping her warm.  Her empty stomach craved for food but she knew she daren't speak.   Why should they feed her when she was about to die anyway, any request to them might make them demand favours of her and she couldn't bear the thought of being penetrated by a man.

For five hours she kept digging in the pouring rain.  She was appalled and ashamed that the pains from the previous the blows and kicks to her body now had a sensuous aspect as she swung the shovel.  Perhaps the people who had always said she was perverted and sinful were indeed right.  The hole was now about 5 ft deep and filling with muddy water even though the rain had stopped.

Shirin heard a car pull up, she twisted to look behind and saw a short curly haired man carrying a large beige bag running towards them.  "Pierre?" shouted Sardar.  "Stop, my friend" shouted the little Frenchman, and he waved a fistful of Euros.  Her first feeling of immense relief was followed by one of dread that he wanted to violate her body, battered, muddy and bleeding as it must appear.  She was dragged out of the hole and her wrists again bound as Pierre directed the men to firmly set a rough wooden post about 7 ft long upright in the base of her intended grave.   With a warm feeling between her thighs she wondered if the were planning to crucify her as she watched Pierre set up two cameras on tripods.   Two more heavy branches were placed across the pit close to the upright.  Was one of these to be the crossbar to which her wrists would be bound?  Or nailed?  First she felt shame that other men would watch her, but suddenly she felt damp with excitement down below as she wondered would women also watch Pierre's video of her on the cross.

To her surprise she was instead dragged across to stand on the branches across the pit and realised with horror that the top of the post was at crotch height.  Her wrists were first unbound then each re-tied to a rope extending to trees either side.  Rough hands scrabbled at the skin of her torso and thighs, fingers entered her vagina, she screamed as a fist forcefully followed it, painfully stretching the place where only her own delicate fingers had ever entered.  The fist was swiftly withdrawn to be replaced by the tip of the post and she screamed in agony and terror.  Sardar, who had for some time been imploring her to "shut up", roughly pulled her head back by her long black hair, grabbed her tongue, then with a swift stroke of his knife deep into her mouth, tore it out and held it, dripping with blood, in front of her wide terrified eyes.  Her next attempt to scream, as the post juddered painfully within her canal, caused a fountain of blood to spout from between her once sensuous lips.  The juddering was caused by two very long nails being driven at a slight upwards angle through the post little more than a foot down, her mind swam uncompreherndingly with pain.  The two branches across the pit were suddenly kicked away and the post thrust up through her cervix into her womb.  As her body shuddered blood both spurted from her mouth and trickled down the post.  Her feet gripped the post tightly to prevent further, more damaging, penetration but two men leaped into the pit, grabbed her calves and pulled down.  The ropes from her wrists served only to painfully stretch her arms from her shoulders without much helping support the weight of her body.  Her belly felt as if it had exploded from within as the tip of the post burst through the top of her womb only to be be stopped just below her heart by the nails, whose purpose now became apparent as they gouged into her groin.  Spasms racked her body as the ropes holding her wrists were untied from the trees and instead used to pull her body over to the left, then to the right causing the top of the post to plough its way through her vital organs.  Its movement and the rippling stirring of her organs visible on the surface of her hollow belly. 

Sardar then grabbed her hair pulling her head and torso backwards, the other two men in the pit joining in so her skin bulged as the tip of the post tried to escape from her abdomen just below her rib cage.  Shirin's last thought might have been that having any man’s penis inside her could never have been as bad as her fate now, was this was a better judgement than any execution that the Iranian clerics could devise?

At Pierre's direction the two nails were withdrawn, the claw hammers used carelessly crushing the flesh of her inner thighs.  Sardar and his two helpers grabbed her hair and shoulders and swung them back and down with their full weight causing the post to finally burst out of her body just below the sternum in a fountain of blood.  The girl's bloody battered body still quivered as it slid into the shallow muddy water at the base of the pole. 

Pierre packed away his film equipment smiling at the priceless recording he had obtained for only a few hundred Euros, leaving Sardar and his assistants to saw off the pole just above Shirin's cold wet carcass and to backfill the grave.  Sardar wasn't really happy as the pittance from Pierre couldn't compare with the hoped for five figure sum he had expected the Arab to pay.  On top of all that they had forgotten to bring Mehdi's corpse with them so would have to dig another grave themselves.