Heather

Heather found herself on a beach, pounded by the surf and lashed

by the wind and rain.  She supposed it must be the coast of Spain,

but all that mattered at that point was survival.  She crawled

upward and hid among some rocks, her shoes lost, her clothing

sodden with sea water.  At dawn, some peasants, searching for

valuable jetsam after the storm, found her.  She could not run from

them, for her bare feet and full skirts, wet, heavy, clinging,

impeded her, and she was, in any event, exhausted.

At the castle, in the great hall, the peasants  presented her to the

chatelaine, while a few  men at arms leered lustfully at the captive.

The mistress of the castle spoke to Heather in Spanish, but she did

not understand.  "Am I correct in assuming you are English?"

"Yes."

Her majordomo, the head butler, spoke.  The chatelaine responded

in Spanish and then turned to Heather:  "We are, as you know, at

war with England, and you are presumed to be a spy.  You are also

presumed to be a heretic, so when we are through with you here,

the Inquisition may wish to question you."

"No, there is no need for the Inquisition.  Madame, I am a good

Catholic, though I must keep it secret in England."

"You would say that, even if it were not true.  Your soul is not my

concern.  If, however, you are a spy, I will have it out of you, your

purposes, your contacts, your evil intentions.  You will tell me

everything you know."

"I am not a spy.  I know nothing."

"You will be treated as if you are a spy.  If you are innocent, I pray

God will accept you into heaven.  First, I must reward the peasants

who found you and brought you to me.  I propose to give them

your clothing.  Undress, now."

"No, not in front of these men."

"Your modesty is of no concern to me.  Do not struggle or damage

your clothing, for I have given it to these four peasants."

Heather could not undress herself, but the four rustics were happy

to help, carefully unlacing her bodice and removing the layers of

petticoats and chemises, until, thoroughly groped and pawed,

Heather stood, stark naked, her legs crossed, her arms across her

bosom, before the chatelaine and her men.  The woman  issued

brief orders.  The peasants left, and Heather was dragged down to

a lower room, below the great hall.  The floor was stone. Stone

columns, stone arches, and great wooden  beams supported the

floor of the hall above.  The outer wall was solid stonework and

several feet thick, but the wall which faced the inner courtyard had

a few slits high on the wall, which admitted some light.  It

appeared to be a large storage room or armory, with a blacksmith's

forge and tools, with stands of pikes and halberds, edged weapons

of all kinds, and hundreds of  bundles of barrel staves. The

presence of chains and other restraints suggested it served as a

prison when required.  The majordomo and six men-at-arms

watched, expecting to be entertained by the torture of a spy.  The

chatelaine spoke to them, and they seemed disappointed.  "I have

explained," she said in English, "that only the master of the castle

may condemn a prisoner to death, and, at any rate, it requires a

trial, a confession.  On the other hand, we require the information

you can give us in a timely manner, so the questioning must

commence immediately.  In order to assure that you remain alive,

until you can be justly sentenced, I will personally supervise the

torture.  I know how to cause  a woman pain with can be sustained

for weeks or months before leading to death."

At her direction, the men arranged two a saw horses and bound

halberds between them, forming a rectangular frame, about the

height of Heather's waist.  Halberds are an infantry weapon,

typically six or eight feet long, with an ax blade, a hook, and a

spike on one end, a spike at the butt end, and various bands and

studs  along the shaft, to improve the grip and to catch a sword

blade.  It is a versatile weapon which can be thrust like a pike,

swung as an ax, used to hook a man and drag him from his saddle,

and, close in, the studded shaft is itself a weapon..  The  men tied

cords around Heather's thumbs and led the cords over hooks in an

overhead beam, forcing  Heather to stand, her arms raised, her

thumbs coloring from the restricted flow of blood.  Heather was

humiliated, to be so displayed, but it soon got worse.  They  lifted

her, for she was light and only little over five feet tall, and they

placed her so she sat on the shaft of a halberd.  Her weight was

supported by the knobby shaft under her thighs, close by crease of

her buttocks.  Her ankles were bound, spread far apart,  to the

other horizontal halberd.  The cords on her thumbs kept Heather's

arms raised and forced her to sit erect, while the studs on the

halberd shaft pressed into her flesh.  "Now, tell me what your

mission is, here  in Spain, and who is here to help you."

"I cannot, for I am not a spy, and, but for the storm, I would never

have set foot in Spain."  Her torturer shrugged, and began to tickle

the soles of Heather's feet.  Heather squirmed and cried out, but

she could not stop the torment.  As she writhed in torment at the

tickling, the metal adornments of the shaft upon which she sat tore

at her tender skin.  The tickling continued, until heather was

breathless and exhausted, no longer erect, and essentially

supported by her burning thumbs.

"It will only become more painful.  Tell us now what you know."

Heather protested her innocence, but the woman used a

horseman's spur, with a spiked wheel,  to draw lines across her

feet.  When Heather was still not forthcoming, she  ordered the

men to beat Heather's feet with canes.  Two men, making lewd

sounding comments as they peered at  Heather's exposed pubic

hair, began to cane her feet, one man striking each foot.  The pain,

at first, was severe, as it would be being struck anywhere with a

limber cane, but the cumulative effect increased the pain, as her

bruised feet started to swell.  After a hundred or more blows,

Heather was insane with the pain, but her brain compensated by

secreting natural pain killers and befuddling her senses.

She became aware that the beating had stopped, though her feet

radiated pain right up her legs.  She opened her eyes and saw her

tormentor holding  nooses  of strong cord.  The woman slipped a

noose over each breast, and tightened each, holding it close to

Heathers ribs, tight into the crease below, so it would constrict the

base of the breast and not slip off.  The cords were run up over the

same hooks which secured Heather's thumbs.   "Speak," said the

chatelaine.  Heather could only mumble.  Then the men removed

the halberd upon which Heather sat, so that her weight was

supported by her breasts.  Heather cried out, afraid her breasts

might be torn from her body.  The nooses tightened even more,

and her breasts swelled and turned color, so they resembled two

pomegranates.  Heather tried to relieve the strain on her breasts by

pulling up with her arms, but that increased the pain in her thumbs,

and tired the muscles of her arms until they ached.  "We don't

seem to have thumbscrews handy, but this will do."  She showed

Heather pair of blacksmith's pincers, designed to cut hot iron. The

woman pinched one nipple, then the other, eliciting cries of

anguish.   The pain Heather could bear, for a while, at least, but

the thought of being permanently disfigured, of being unable to

suckle her future children, that made her wish she had something

to say to stop the torment.  The woman went back to Heather's

feet, pinching each toenail until it turned black.

"You might as well tell me your mission and your contacts now, as

it will only get worse until you do.  You will wish for death, but it

will not come, until you reveal your secrets.  Perhaps the master of

the castle will keep you for ransom, or he will be merciful and

grant you a quick death.  Or, perhaps the Inquisition will want to

question you.  However, until he returns with his men, or you

reveal your secrets, I will keep you alive and in pain."

As she watched Heather, hanging from her deformed breasts, the

woman seemed to search for her next torture.  She sent the men

away, to perform their duties, and returned with a candle.  She

came close to Heather's right side and held the flame near the arm

pit.  Heather screamed, as the underarm hair smoked and shriveled

and was gone.  There was, in fact, no serious burn.  Heather

clenched her jaws and only moaned as the left arm pit was

similarly singed by the candle flame.  The woman smiled at

Heather and said, "You know what comes next?"

"No, My Lady, but I do not deserve it, for I am innocent."  For all

that Heather hated her tormentor, she hoped to elicit some feelings

of mercy.  The chatelaine then methodically moved the candle

flame between Heather's parted thighs, burning away the pubic

hair.  Heather struggled to move away from the flame, to raise her

hips, which strained her arms and hurt her thumbs even more, to

swing from side to side, trying to avoid the flame.  It was, of

course, a fruitless effort, and in time every hair, from her anus to

the top of her mons had been shriveled to nothing.  While the

sensitive skin of her labia hurt from the heat, glowing red like a

sunburn, there was minimal blistering.

"I see you have great courage under torture, but I am known for

my persistence. Women value the beauty of their breasts.  You

could lose yours, without fatal injury."  The candle flame lingered

a few seconds below each swollen breast, eliciting pleas for mercy

from Heather.  The woman put down the candle and took up a

cane, slashing at Heather's breasts, then beating the tops of her

horizontal thighs, then, with great skill, planting a few blows

directly on the now hairless labia.

"Please, no, My Lady," heather cried.  "I know nothing to tell

you."

She beat Heather's feet again, using a thicker cane which sent

pains right up Heather's legs.  "We don't want to break the bones

just yet," she explained.  "Perhaps tomorrow."  She again applied

pincers  to the swollen nipples, smiling as she said, "There are

more sensitive spots to pinch, as well, but one of the principles of

interrogation is to allow the victim to anticipate the increase in the

pain." Tears slid down Heather's cheeks, when the woman went

upstairs with her men.  Later, writhing in pain, Heather heard

sounds of revelry, dozens of noisy diners, almost directly

overhead.

Heather wanted to make up something to tell, but she could think

of nothing.  She knew no one to inform on, and the pain in her feet

and arms and tortured breasts kept her from thinking straight.  In

time, a crowd of half-drunk diners, men and women, came down

to see the latest in amusements, the  English spy.  The chatelaine

gestured at Heather and said, "No rompa loss hueso ni dibje la

sangre.  Debemos mautenerla viva," a warning not to break bones

or draw blood, so as to keep her alive.

 

One young woman stepped across the framework and sat across

Heather's thighs, doubling the force on her breasts, but the woman

got off when the breasts began to bleed, where the cords cut into

the skin.  A young girl pulled Heather's hair, as hard as she could,

which also tightened the cords to breasts and thumbs.  A young

man had brought with him an unripe pear which, after one bite, he

decided not to eat.  He squatted down behind  Heather and

explored her vulva with the small end of the pear.  Then he pushed

the hard fruit up inside her.  She had been a virgin.  Now there was

blood.               

One of the men at arms took his sheathed sword and swung it hard

at the soles of the feet.  Heather was sure she felt bones breaking,

and her paroxysm of pain popped the pear from her vagina.

Women with canes beat heather's torso and thighs, while two or

three men joined in beating her feet, until Heather fainted.

When Heather awoke, she could see her feet were swollen and

bloody, and the pain was intense.  One little toe was missing, taken

as a souvenir by someone.  Her breasts were no longer bound, but

she could see that, while they had resumed their former shape, they

were bruised, with bleeding nipples.  While her ankles were still

bound to the horizontal halberd, most of her weight was now

supported by another halberd shaft, horizontal between her legs, so

that supporting  pressure compressed the nerves of her anus and

vagina.  Perhaps fortunately for her, the concentrated pressure

damaged, so she became progressively more numb, but she feared

she might never feel pleasure there again.  The night passed in

fitful half consciousness.

When the chatelaine returned, she asked how Heather was doing.

"I think my feet are destroyed.  I shall never walk again."

"Perhaps so, but you are still alive, to feel pain.  Tell me what I

want to know."  She squeezed one broken foot, and Heather

fainted again.

Heather awoke to find that the halberd to which her ankles were

bound was now raised hanging from an overhead beam, her

splayed legs displaying her female parts, turned upward for the

chatelaine and her men to view as closely as they wished.  Her

thumbs had been detached from the overhead hook, and her wrist

tied behind her back.  The weight of her torso was supported once

more by her breasts, though  they were bound with thicker rope

and hurt a little less than before.  She was half bent double, so she

could look between her elongated breasts and see he hairless labia.

Her experience, viewing female genitals, was limited to little girls

and, once, a slave who was punished.  She had never seen genitals

like hers.  The outer lips were thinner than the slave girl's, and her

inner lips protruded, wrinkled and ugly.  And here were two men,

discussing her most private place, pointing, even running a finger

tip along the uneven labia. 

"If you will faint every time your feet are touched, I suppose we

must find other ways to make you talk," said the woman. "Is there

any way I can make you more comfortable, before we commence

the torture?"

"Please, My Lady, water.  It has been two days since I have had a

drop."

"How nice that you should mention that, for that's exactly what

I'm going to do, give you a drink."  She pulled Heather's hair until

her head was bent back, and she forced a metal object into

Heather's mouth.  Then, with a pitcher of water, she poured water

into Heather's mouth.  Greedily, Heather swallowed and asked for

more.  The woman continued, until Heather was quite filled and

desired no more.  The woman pinched Heather's nostrils and

continued pouring, which forced Heather to swallow or drown.

Each mouthful became harder to swallow in time to get a breath,

and Heather's stomach was painfully stretched, bulging visibly.

Still the water torture continued, and the pain grew, and the fear

that she would drown drove her nearly insane.  And then, she did

drown, sort of.  Water ran into her lungs, and she tried to cough it

out, but she couldn't, and she fainted again.

She awoke with her shoulders and head on the stone floor.  Her

torturers had detached her bound breasts from their overhead

support, so that Heather hung upside down.  The water, apparently,

had drained from her lungs and tortured stomach.  "I suppose I

could continue the water torture all day, and you would have

nothing to say.  I'm told by a priest that heretics almost always

recant, if given enough water, and it leaves no visible injuries, but

my patience is running out.  You are an attractive woman, of

childbearing age, and I'm sure you hope to have children.  Tell me

what I want to know, or I will make it so you can never bear

children, even if you should escape death."  Heather looked up at

her exposed genitals and wondered what would come next If only

she had something to tell them.  "Very well then.  Destruya sus

organos sexuales."

One of the men returned from the blacksmith's forge with pincers

and a heated knife.  While one man pulled her outer labia apart,

the other pulled one of the inner lips with the pincers, stretching it

outward.  Then, with the point of the hot knife, he began to detach

the glistening membranes from their origin on either side of the

vagina. Heather screamed, in pain and fear, as the hot knife

cauterized the wound, coagulating the blood.  There was a brief

respite, while the man went to reheat the knife, and the other tried

to see how far he could stretch the half-detached labium.  Again

she screamed as the burning knife made its way toward the apex

where the inner labia came together.  Then the labium came free,

and the torturer handed it to the chatelaine.  She examined the

wound, which bled very little, and expressed approval.  The

procedure was repeated on the other side, so that nothing but

smooth pink and red could be seen between the widespread outer

labia.  The woman explored Heather's vagina with a finger.

"Tight.  Virginal, no doubt.  Too bad you will never feel a man

inside you."  She held up a curved sailmaker's needle, with waxed

twine through the eye.  She gestured at the man with the knife,

who was heating it again at the forge.  "One thrust into your

womanly sheath, and then I will sew you up.  The scar formation

will seal your sex forever, unless, of course, you tell us why you

came here and what you intended to spy on."

Desperation cleared Heather's mind for an instant, as she looked

and saw the countless barrel staves.  "I was sent to spy out the

whereabouts of the barrel staves.  Everyone knows the Spanish

armada is preparing to sail and invade England, but it cannot sail

without water and victuals.  Destroying the barrels will delay their

sailing for a year or more."

The chatelaine threw back her head and laughed.  "Strangely, I

believe you."  She motioned the man with the glowing knife to

stand back.  "So, as a reward, I will not totally destroy your sex,

but only guard your chastity until such time as a surgeon can repair

you.  There was some sort of commotion upstairs, and the two men

went to see what it was, but the chatelaine was intent on her work.

She pulled one labium upward and thrust the curved needle

through it, and then through the other.  She pulled the twine tight,

tied it, and cut the loose ends.  Twice more she stitched to cover

the vagina.  She inserted a straw to mark the place where urine

comes out, and she was about to insert a fourth suture, forward of

the straw,  when they both heard a shout, "Piratas ingleses!  Ahh!"

Armed Englishmen swarmed down the stairs.

Later, on the pirate ship, Heather sat with her legs propped up, for

her feet were throbbing beneath the bandages.  She wore the

chatelaine's dress, too big for her,  and she had been given enough

wine to dull the pain somewhat.  She and the ship's officers looked

back at the smoke rising from the distant castle.  The seasoned

barrel staves had burned hot, burning through the floors above

until, now, flames could be seen as high as the highest battlements.

The Spanish torturer, naked now, was bent over a gun, her

discolored breasts bound tightly to hold her in place, as the sailors

took their turns raping her from behind, a reward for work well

done.  The bosun's mate stood by waiting, holding his cat o' nine

tails. 

 

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