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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.
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