The shelter was just ahead of us. She resisted and thus, I struck her and sent her to the ground stunned. I stepped away from her and returned with a length of sisal twine. Carefully, I bound her ankles together. Putting the other end of the length over my shoulder, I dragged my captive the remaining distance. I knew I didn't have much for time, however I knew that I didn't need much time.
Her shoes were lost somewhere in the wood between the road and here,
deep in the green. Like a female Achilles with a female Hector, I
dragged the woman over rocks and rubble on my way to the entrance of the
ramshakle hovel. Blood seeped down from cuts to the soles of her feet
and blisters stood out prominently. The forced march was harsh on her. I
pushed her at a hard pace down three miles of the old gravel road with
out even a sock to protect her bare toes.
I pushed aside the length of tarp hanging across the entrance and
paused to look up at the sky. The sun rode high but dark clouds were
threatening. I took a breath and let the air slowly roll over my tongue. The faint musk of the forest floor contrasted with the clean smell of
the pines. There, beneath those scents, there was the faintest
suggestion of water. This, combined with the heaviness of the air told
me that rain was coming. Rain, in this moment, was my friend.
I dragged my prize into the hovel and across the sawdust strewn
floor. A pair of large shackles hung from the rings that were secured to
one of the few appropriately sturdy beams running along the ceiling of
the old smoke house. I took up a pair of handcuffs and snapped them on
her limp wrists. With a grunt of effort, I lifted my victim up and stood
on the step stool. With another grunt of effort, I passed the chain
between the cuffs through the opening of the left shackle before
I kicked the box out from beneath her feet and then untied her
ankles. As she began to make a low, pained moan with her return to
wakefulness, I busily secured her right ankle out almost 45 degrees away
from the left that hung limply. Securing the left similarly, I allowed
myself a small smile at the keening sound of pain and fear that came
from her. I stood up and stepped back. With a frown, I looked over my
work. the woman was secure and unless a blow torch was used or the wood
gave way (which was highly doubtful), she'd remain that way until I
chose to release her.
In a high, thin voice, she said, "I didn't mean to do anything to
you. I was just doing my job. Please, let me go. I... I won't..." The
anger was rising again at each of her simpering words. I let fly a sharp
back handed blow with my gloved left hand. she shrieked in terror and
pain. I struck her again with an open hand. Three, four, five blows
landed until she just sobbed. I turned away from her and walked over to
A rough woolen blanket lay over my tools. I stood before them and
sighed. I asked myself if this was truly what I wanted to do. Then she
spoke. "You're crazy. You're fucking crazy," she spat at me. That was
when I made my decision. The world would be a better place with out this
lying, treacherous bitch. She had ruined countless lives with her zeal
to "do her job" and completely failed to uphold the spirit of her work.
"I may be crazy," I said in a low voice, "But you're really in no
position to hurl insults, Miss Smythe." I knew she was looking at me and
staring at the table. Reveling in a moment of dramatic tension, I
slowly peeled back the cloth. Lengths of cord lay upon the matte black
fabric, gleaming and white like sinews. Clothespins with tacks glued to
the tips sat neatly in a row like well mannered school children. A
braided length of sisal with a stone almost the size of my fist tied at
one end waited ominously. Beside all this sat a black wooden box.
Carefully, reverently I opened the box. the heavens opened up and
heavy rain began to fall with a stark clap of thunder. I would have
laughed at the tawdry drama of it, if the situation wasn't so serious. I
stepped aside to allow Miss Smythe a clear view of what prized
possession was in that blue velvet lined box. Her face paled as she saw
the long knife.
"Oh god... you're going to kill me, aren't you?" she whimpered. I
smiled. Her eyes widened and she took a deep breath. with my gloved
right hand, I delivered a swift punch to her solar plexus. the air
rushed out as quickly as she sucked it in and utter terror was in her
eyes. "Puh.. please don't kill me," she rasped.
"Oh, I'm not going to kill you," I purred, gently moving aside a lock
of hair from her face. Relief bubbled up in her features. "Yet," I
added, satisfied by how it went out like a candle flame in a hurricane.
"First, you are going to pay for what you've done to my family," I said,
sounding as though I was discussing something mundane, like how to bake
a pie. "Then, you are going to be educated as to the meaning of the
word pain and the word terror," I continued, walking around her to the
other table where a crop sat waiting. "Then, you are going to beg me for
the release of death," I finished.
I took up the crop and struck a hard blow across her shoulders. She
gave a sudden, breathy scream of pain. I shook my head. it was too easy. It was a scream like she thought I wanted to hear. It made me suspect
that she also faked her orgasms. I took the crop and struck another
blow, this time across the lower back. this brought a genuine, gasping
scream of pain. I landed a rapid trio of more blows.
"Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn't it?" I said conversationally,
"I'm pretty sure you're trying like hell to steel yourself for another
blow. That's ok. I'm not going to hit you again." I stood there behind
her, watching as the tension slowly eased out of her shoulders.
Stealthily, I set the crop aside and moved up close behind her. I
reached up and took hold of the neckline of her prim and proper button
down shirt. With a hard jerk, I started to tear it off her. this evoked
a different cry of fear from her. She didn't believe I would sexually
assault her, I was a woman after all. It, however, didn't stop the images from coming to mind. She didn't know what to expect as I
continued to tear at her clothes. soon, the fabric was tattered rags at
A-- Smythe hung before me functionally naked. Her cotton panties were
wet and gave off the acrid scent of urine. I wasn't surprised. I was
annoyed with how difficult it was to unhook her strapless bra through
the thick leather work gloves. A part of me said that I should just get
rid of them but I knew that was the entirely wrong thing to do if I were
going to get away with this. Her smooth white flesh was marred with
bruises where the tree branches slapped her as we jogged through the
woods. Across her back, vivid lines stood up where the crop had landed.
It was a beginning, I thought to myself. I walked around in front of
her with the crop in hand. I tipped my head slightly to the left and
squinted. Something was missing. her face was bruising where I had
slapped her earlier. The outsides of her legs had the beginnings of
marks from her jaunt through the woods. I twirled the crop as I thought. Then inspiration struck me. I brought the crop down hard across the
inside of her thighs, striking them as though I was ringing the dinner
bell to call the menfolk in from the fields.
My victim screamed a dry, howling scream of pain as tears streamed
down her face. I set aside the crop. A part of me said that I should
just bleed her and be done with it. Instead, I turned and took up the
tack adorned clothespins. I applied one to each nipple, smiling as blood
welled up around the points that drove deep into her tender flesh. I
held the third up before her eyes.
She shook her head in a panicked gesture, her eyes wide with horror. I had to admit, there was a rough measure of beauty in her bruised face
with how she shone in her terror. I sighed inwardly. if things wouldn't
have been complicated, I could have kept her for a long while and
explored what made that light burn so brilliantly in her eyes. Instead, I
applied the third clip through her panties to her labia.
Again, she hoarsely screamed and sobbed. "Stop, please stop," she
begged, "Oh god, please stop." I smiled. her god wouldn't hear her here. This was cursed ground and I doubted that even the blessed angels of
mercy could have eased her pain by casting a shroud of mystical quality
over her senses. I turned away from her and picked up the length of
In a calm, almost pleasant tone, Isaid, "Do you know what you've
done wrong, Miss Smythe?" the woman sobbed incoherently. "I'll take that
as a no," I continued, slowly winding one end of the cord about my
hand. "You, Miss Smythe, forced my husband to leave me. You stole our
children away. And, Miss Smythe, you cast me into the world with such a
blight upon my name that i was unable to regain my life." Smythe's eyes
rolled in terror.
I stepped up to her and gripped her jaw hard , forcing her to look me
in the face. "Think, woman," I hissed, "Think where you last saw me."
Smythe attempted to cast her gaze else where when I shook her hard. Her
gaze snapped back to my face. wWe remained thus for a long moment when
she suddenly realized who I was. I was the mental health case that made
her career. I was the woman that she perjured herself to crucify for the
sake of her advancement.
"Oh my god," she whispered. I stepped back and let fly with my rough
whip. The stone caught her in the teeth. As a bloody cry escaped her, I
struck her again and again. knots of bruises began to blossom over her
body as I walked around her, swinging with fury. The sickening crunching
snap of bones breaking told me it was time to put down my current toy. I
cast it at the ground at her feet.
A rattle was in her chest as she struggled to breathe enough to sob. I knew I had broken some ribs and her legs were no longer elegant in
their restrained positions. I turned back to the table and took up the
knife. The steel gleamed like a bit of starlight in that dim hovel. Now,
Ii decided, now she would pay in blood for her crimes. I turned to face
her and she was painfully coughing up frothy blood. Upon seeing that, I decided it was better not to disgrace such a pure, beautiful blade upon
such a wretch.
I returned the blade to her box.
I picked up the box and put it under my arm. I turned to walk out of
the hovel. "Don't... don't leave me here..." Smythe scarcely managed to
plea. I looked over my shoulder.
"You won't be alone for long. The
coyotes will come. The crows and turkey vultures. Probably a bear too," I
said calmly, "if you're lucky, you'll have bled to death by then."
Smythe gave a weak, bloody sob. "Imagine it, their teeth tearing into
you. Ripping chucks out and your blood pouring on the floor. You may get
to see your entrails, blue and raw, dangling from the snout of some
carrion eater and feel the deep pull of them dragging out," I continued.
"Nooo," moaned Smythe, coughing bloodily.
"I could give you mercy. The thing you failed to give me and mine," I said.
Smythe looked at me with her perfect crystal blue eyes. abject
despair, terror, and pleading combined to give her gaze an almost
hypnotic beauty. "Please," she said.
I nodded briskly. I could see her steel herself for the kiss of the blade. I, however, was not that kind.
The flames roared high as I made my way deeper into the wood. the
look of betrayal in her eyes as I lit the fire told me that she was now
utterly broken. I had no use for a broken thing where I was going so I
granted her the release she begged for by way of purifying fire.