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The following fantasy fiction is intended solely for ADULT ONLY personal enjoyment and only where local standards permit such content. Should you be in any way troubled by themes dealing with extreme torture and abuse please do not read any further.
Use of the "Faibhar" name any or all posted works for uses other than personal without the author's expressed permission is strongly discouraged.
Thank you.
Faibhar
Layla's Judge Jury
And
Crucifixion
The one good eye Brocchus had left glinted with something akin to self-satisfaction as the three first fingers of his right hand formed a gnarled wedge and easily slipped between the flared lips dividing the mossy hairs. The prisoner proved much more docile following the rapes and being abused as a punching bag of sorts. Scale armor, stubbornly worn though his fight days were long past, rustled as the dungeon assistant knelt over the nude. Semen from various donors squished free from the intruding digits. Once inside Brocchus hooked the fingers up, grunted and got to his feet. The prisoner moaned as her pelvis was lifted. Long arms trailed along her sides as she was dragged to another end of the dungeon.
"Time to stand, bitch. There's someone here you should meet."
Oppius Gellius Sorae nonchalantly waited for the defendant's wobbling to cease. The female before him did excite. He took great pains not to show his lustful ardor and thereby show any human weakness to his minions. He was, after all a great governor. Stroking a well-maintained beard he indifferently sipped more excellent wine from the gilded chalice. Absently examining the five gaudy rings on one hand he conceded that while good taste might dictate only one ring to be worn by respectable males such decorum was not for him. He was style, glam, bling-bling and so what? Besides she already was steadying herself, no one the wiser to his insouciant pose.
Gellius at last spoke. "As an enemy of Caesar, I sentence you to death by crucifixion." Clearing his throat more for drama than for any malady, the silver-haired governor continued. "But as an acclaimed leader of your…barbarous people you will first be tortured." He leaned purposefully forward from his chair for emphasis. Concerned that his words seemingly had little effect on the restored countenance of the female before him, he further menaced his baritone and sternly said, "Consider the rapes and beatings you have already received just the beginning of more to come. All leading to your execution on the cross." Looking at the overweight dungeon assistant with his silly armor bracing the prisoner he puzzled. "Despite the split lip and other bruises she does look fine, but what about those?"
Layla fought to keep her own balance. She was hurt and in the enemy's' hands but otherwise her head was clearing. What she saw seated before her disgusted. Her fate was to be decided by this flagrant violator of every code held dear by the fashion police. In defiance she shook back fallen strands of dark hair and glared at the one they called Gellius.
Eager to please as a lap dog is for his dinner bowl Brocchus hoped to gain what favor he could by directly being of service and anticipating his leader's every wish. "You mean those?" He indicated the prisoner's large pink aureoles.
"Yes those! Or more exactly those…those…whatever they are called. Where are those things at the tips of her tits?" Consternation mingled with impatience colored Gellius' bark.
Layla held her gaze. What she saw was a much-agitated old man ludicrously attired. The earrings and rings lent a bad name to accessorizing. "Are you referring," she calmly said, "To my inverted nipples?"
Relieved that rescue had come from such an unexpected source Brocchus attempted to further placate Gellius and said, "Oh those. They're there. All it takes is a little fixing…"
"Then do it and make it quick. I wish to see."
The tone of the command left little time to contemplate. Grabbing her shoulder Brocchus drew the prisoner away. To the far wall he chained her arms up and out. Looping thick rope around an ankle he passed an end through an iron loop set into the stone floor and used his back for added force as he pulled. Quickly the naked prisoner was stretched across the wall. Wiping a brow sweating from such speedy and tedious work, Brocchus reached for his small dagger.
Layla tested the bonds, but could not move. She looked down her chest to see stained fingers wrap around a breast and then squeeze. Sucking in her breath she turned her head up and shut her eyes. She felt a sharp tip prick her right breast followed by excruciating pain that blinded her senses.
The dagger clattered on the stone as it fell from his hand. Brocchus needed to catch his breath. Sitting on the floor he wearily looked up. Sweat covered him. The prisoner's bowed head did not move. Only the slight beat of her stomach showed him that life remained. Twin rivers of blood cascaded down each flank. Amongst the shiny crimson Brocchus knew there stood two nipples that he himself had dug out. Blood seemed to coat the floor, his hands, and armor everywhere.
"Well wash her down so that I can see," the bark sneered.
He recognized the voice of Gellius and started. It sounded just behind him. Twisting around he saw that Opius Gellius Sorae had left his seat and now stood almost on top of him. Brocchus grabbed a bucket of water and threw it at the hanging figure.
Slowly making long strokes of his beard Gellius smiled and said, "You have done well" Two red dots appeared in the center of pink pools set high on each full tit. "Give her three days to recover in a cell, but first dress her in this gown."
Layla felt her arms being lowered and feet freed. She still could not raise her head and cringed as the light gown was passed over her head and across her raw chest. She did not protest as she was led away. Each waft of air hurt the now extracted nipples. Diaphanous though the material may be it still felt like lead. The silky fabric rubbed as sand and glass shards across freshly exposed nerves. Layla stumbled, hoping that the journey through the dim hall to her cell would be short.
It was too tight. What must have been some sort of decoration along the scoop neckline had been torn away. The sleeves barely reached to her elbows. Transparency of the material hid nothing. Bleeding stopped, replaced by a darkening of the entire area. Layla's chest throbbed in agony, the rest of her body one massive bruise. The dress she had been given would prove no help-a bitter commentary on the price some had to pay for fashion. Shifting position in the cramp cell proved a challenge.
She spent most of her confined time imaging the forest steppes of her childhood dodging around the many hiding places amongst the craggy ravines and tall oaks, feeling her body grow victorious as she scaled the mountains. Unfortunately such dreams too often were interrupted by the recent ambush, the capture of the hunting party she led, and the merciless dispatch of everyone, save for her.
They came on the third day with a signal that further tortures were on the way…
To be continued…
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