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Review This Story || Author: Abe

The Spy

Part 1

The Spy




     "What are you doing with the lord's papers?  You are reading


them!  You are a spy,"


     "No, milady, I wasn't reading them.  I don't k now how to


read."


     "You pretend, but you are a spy!  Guards!  Guards!"  She


drew a dagger from her girdle and backed the frightened maid into a


corner.  Two men-at-arms rushed into the room.  "That slave is a spy.


Take her to the courtyard and remove her clothes.  We'll have the


truth out of her."   The lord's house was not a proper castle.  It was


more of a fortified house, a large hall forming one side of a walled


rectangle, with a gatehouse and tower opposite the hall, stables and


barracks along the other two sides.  A dozen soldiers watched as the


young woman was stripped of her clothing.  In one corner of the


courtyard stood two upright posts, with holes bored in them for ropes


to pass through.


     The lady supervised, while the soldiers bound the prisoner's


wrists and hauled her arms upward and apart, one to each post.  The


strain on her joints increased as her feet left the ground and  her arms


departed from vertical.  She clenched her teeth and tried not to


scream as the force doubled.  "Tell us who is paying you to spy.  You


were bought only weeks ago.  That was no accident.  You were


planted in our household."  The prisoner protested her innocence, so


the lady directed the soldiers in tying ropes to the victim's ankles.


When the ropes were passed though holes in the posts, the soldiers


pulled her legs apart and added more to the strain on her shoulders.


Totally naked, fully exposed to the gaze of everyone in the household


who cared to look, the maid should have experienced shame, but the


pain of taut muscles and joints almost dislocated drove petty


considerations of modesty from her head.


     First, soldiers took turns whipping her with long leather


livestock whips.  One would stand in front of her and one behind,


taking turns laying on the lash.  Sometimes the leather snake would


curl around her body, leaving a welt as long as an arm, but the


soldier soon made a game of making the whip crack, and placing the


uncoiling tip, actually going supersonic, against some tender place,


such as a breast or between her widespread legs.  The cracking whip


invariably broke the skin, and soon she was streaked with blood from


shoulders to knees, but especially over her breasts and buttocks.  The


cumulative effect was to leave the beaten victim half  in shock,


hanging limp and unable to respond as the whips flayed her alive.


The lady told the soldiers to stop, and they threw a bucket of water in


the victim's face to revive her.  The soldiers left her hanging, while


they went for their midday meal.


     In the summer, most cooking was done outdoors, in the


courtyard, where one could roast a whole ox, if need be.  The lady


played with her dagger, raping the maid with the handle.  Then the


lady went over to the cook and came back with a bunch of carrots


and a turnip.   "Tell me who placed you here, and what you were


looking for."  There was no response, so the lady pushed one carrot


into the exposed anus, until only greens were showing.  She did it


again and again, leaving the suspended maid with a bush of carrot


tops like a tail, while her rectum was painfully stretched by the bunch


of carrots.  "And do you know where the turnip goes?"  She put the


tip of the turnip, bigger than a man's fist, between the bruised lower


labia and pushed.  It did not penetrate far.  She pushed harder, finally


pounding with her fist, until the victim's vagina was incredibly


stretched to accommodate the turnip, big as a baby's head.  However,


then the lady let go, the turnip fell out.  She went back to the outdoor


kitchen and returned with a section of tree limb, as thick as her arm


and crudely pointed on each end, as it had been cut with an ax.  She


put one end on the ground as saw that the other end rested against


pubic hair.  Again she pounded the turnip into the too-tight vagina,


but she used the pointed stick to hold it in place, the lower point


embedded in the dirt, the upper point embedded in the turnip.  "You


will not be cut down until you tell what your mission was."   The


maid's answer was incomprehensible, in a croaking voice.  "You


want water?"  Her victim nodded.  The lady summoned two tall


soldiers to fetch buckets of water from the well.   "Pull her head back,


and pour the water down her throat.  Make her drink it all, both


buckets."


     The soldiers had seen the water torture before, and they


forced their victim to swallow until her stomach was more than full,


and her belly was swollen as if in pregnancy.  When they stopped


pouring, the victim spewed her stomach contents and hung there,


coughing and gagging.  The lady nodded, and the soldiers repeated


the torture twice more.  "This can go on all afternoon.  Tell me what


I want to know."


     "I cannot. I am innocent."


     The prisoner's breasts were about the level of the lady's chin.


"Fetch the barber," she said.  "Tell him to bring his surgical


instruments, needles and thread.  You, heat some irons in the fire."


While the barber stood by, the lady played with a red hot iron,


singing the pubic hair, searing some of the still-bleeding whip


wounds, which elicited loud screams but did staunch the flow of


blood.  Between the widespread thighs, the now naked genital cleft


gaped open, the labia spread wide by the turnip.  Forward of the


turnip was a triangular area of gleaming pink.  The lady probed with


her finger tip, satisfying herself that she understood the anatomy of


the prisoner's sex.  Then, with a freshly heated iron, she laid the hot


metal between the spread labia, boiling, then burning, the hidden


nubbin which is the focus of sexual pleasure.


     Next to receive her attention was the right breast.  With her


left hand and the barber's pinchers, she grasped the nipple and pulled


it toward her, drawing the breast into a conical shape.  With her right


hand and her sharp dagger, she cut through the skin above the nipple


and horizontally on either side to the chest wall, as if she meant to


halve an apple.  The blade made a semicircular cut along the crease


where the breast met the chest.  There was some blood, but the hot


iron stopped the worst of it.  With care and determination, she peeled


the skin off the lower part of the breast,  pulling it forward until it


hung free from the still attached nipple. Exposed was the creamy fat


of the inner breast.  Soldiers kept bringing heated irons as the torturer


literally melted away the fatty tissue, using the dagger to cut through


the ducts and suspensary ligaments which had given the breast its


shape.  While the barber held the nipple up, she cut and burned most


of what had been within the skin.  Then she cut off the areola and


nipple, leaving only a flap of skin and gleaming fascia where the


mammary gland had been.  "Sew that skin to close the wound," said


the lady, stepping back to admire her work.  When the barber was


through stitching, there was hardly any blood, and the prisoner's


chest was smooth and flat, like a boy's, except there was no nipple.


     Still the spy did not cooperate, so the left breast had to go.


This time, the lady cut off the nipple first and then operated through


the hole, melting and scooping out the fatty tissue while the more or


less intact skin contained the bleeding.  When all that was left was an


empty bag of skin, the barber sewed it up and trimmed away the


surplus skin.  On the left side, therefore, instead of a long curved line


of stitches, there was only a little laced-up pucker where the nipple


might have been, had the prisoner been a boy.


     There were other things to do, such as the meal in the great


hall, with some revelry following, so the mutilated maid was left


stretched between the poles, limbs extended painfully, cunt and ass


distended by vegetables, the places of sexual pleasure utterly


destroyed, her breasts scraps of fat in the dirt, already food for rats.


The sharpened shaft of wood still pressed the turnip against her


cervix, displacing her womb.  Night fell, and while sleep was


impossible, her mind wandered in a sort of delirium of pain and grief,


mourning for her lost womanhood.


     Then in the dark, she heard a familiar voice.  "Did you find


what you were sent to find?"


     "Yes, the former lord did not die in the Holy Land.  His


younger brother had him imprisoned in his cousin's dungeon, and has


illegally assumed his title.  Please, cut me down and take me away


from here."  Her accomplice sized up the situation.  He might once


have loved this maid, but she held no allure for him now, a maid no


longer.  He reached up  and loosened the ropes which held her writsts.


"No, no.  Release the feet first."  He let the ropes slip a bit more.


all the captive's weight was supported by the stake in her vagina.


She felt the turnip split open, expanding inside her as the wooden


point penetrated it, penetrated the fundus of her vagina, and began to


pierce her intestines.  Her almost useless tortured arms tried


tried to stop her inevitable  slide down the sharpened shaft.


She knew she would be dead before dawn.              




Review This Story || Author: Abe
Back to Content & Review of this story Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home