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From: Fibar Fibar <faibhar@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Faena
Date: Fri, 18 May 2001 21:10:04 -0400
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                       Faena

	A pirate's life had its share of pitfalls; a woman's
perhaps even greater. It seemed as though Mother
Nature, the enemy and this strange land had all
conspired to dig Rhianna's pit deeper than any,
regardless of gender. Now there began this bizarre
bullfight, a blood sport infamous for stacking the
odds against the quarry, which, as fate would deem it,
was her. The capture and rapes were sheer misery, but
now this bizarre making her into some kind of bull for
the pleasure of the spectators pushed her to despair.

	Nature's part contributed the unexpected Atlantic
storm. Disoriented, she and her shipmates were swept
away from their fleet. Outnumbered, they were
overwhelmed by the locals when the roiling seas
finally calmed. Imprisoned on the tiny island of
Graciosa, torments over the past days and nights
disclosed Rhianna as the leader of the unwanted
intruders. Rapes that followed left the Germanic
blonde quivering in her solitary cell, violated,
starving and totally abandoned.

Tropical air flooded the rotten dark as the small door
wrenched open meaning either surcease or more horrors.
She brushed aside lank strands that covered her
swollen eyes and reflected that the way winds were
blowing, the latter was more probable than the former.
Dark figures appeared in the lighted doorway, reached
in and dragged her naked body out into the open air.
	
	Preparing her, they had done many things. Water had
been poured down her throat. The hooves of animals
securely tied to the soles of her feet and palms of
her hands. Elderly women had brushed thick coatings of
a red paint over the pinkish nipples and aureole. The
wispy patch between her legs that had been such a draw
before was shaven free of its home, now puffy and
swollen from abuse. A hand gathered head hair and
severed it at the base of her skull. It was then
tightly braided into a single strand, attached to a
dark rod and this was then hammered into Rhianna's raw
and partially distended anal opening. A loose end of
the fashioned "tail" brushed against the backs of the
sobbing female's knees. Finally, a pair of horns was
tied onto her shoulders. The sharpened ends pointed up
and even though the set were from novillos, or young
bulls, the added weight still inclined her upper torso
forward. Thus bizarrely prepared, she was pushed into
the awaiting cage.

                        ***

	A riotous crowd shook Las Ventas to the very
foundations of its mudejan style. The Grand Portal
opened and an aged mule slowly pulled in the rickety
cart carrying the rattan cage. Inside, Rhianna
balanced on all fours. The sight caused an even louder
uproar. Flags at either end of the arena rippled.
Colorful peasants' dresses shook. Brass horns blared. 

	Given the small size of the space, the horns
protruded through the bars of the front rattan door.
They scraped as the cart began to move, giving Rhianna
little movement from side to side of her head, but
once inside the ring, she was clearly able to see the
stacked bodies of her crew along the far wall. Near
them sat a platform on top of which stood a large
wrought iron X. The mangled corpses made Rhianna both
sick and filled with hate. Towering above them rose
intertwined rods of black metal that formed the cross.
Mere shards of sun squinted through where coarse iron
coiled together on the menacing edifice.

	The cart stopped. Hands unlocked the front door and
it was raised. From behind, she was prodded out.
Rhianna fell to the sand and then carefully stood.
With the hooves-platforms on her feet, she wavered
taller than the men around her. Warily glancing
around, the place rocked. She kept her hooved hands at
her sides. Before her, some yards away, arrogantly
stood a young matador. His traze de luces, or suit of
light, sparkled with the same braggadocio. The large
green cape he held outstretched beckoned.

	Rhianna tried to ignore her nudity before the raucous
crowd, and the tail fashioned from her own hair that
hung between her legs. Her focus was on the dead of
her people just beyond the cape and her eyes narrowed
on the matador. She pawed at the sand in an attempt to
get some traction from the unwieldy soles, and then
lowered her head and charged. The spectators roared
their approval as the tall blonde began to pound
across the arena.

	Little did the prisoner know that this was the
beginning of the first Faena. Her strength and courage
would now be adjudged. Little did Rhianna care as her
speed increased and head lowered. Those savvy of
bullfights, or merely lustful of pulchritude wildly
cheered. The nude charged into the billowing green.
Surprising the young man, the female abruptly pivoted.
Caught unaware, the right horn deeply stabbed into the
back of his shoulder. The matador sank to his knees,
crimson blossoms blooming over the back of his fancy
suit. Winded, the tall blonde staggered back. Rhianna
had impressed those scoring her first Faena.

	A more seasoned matador was summoned as slaves ran
out to Rhianna. Other slaves bearing a litter ran to
assist the fallen matador. Between the two of them
hurrying to the prisoner sloshed a wooden bucket of
water. With a scoop, they submerged it, and then gave
her drink. One of them wiped clear the prisoner's face
while the other set the bucket down and helped the
female to stand up straighter. Their missions
accomplished, they fled the ring leaving only Rhianna
standing in the middle. The fallen matador long sense
carried off.

	Three mounted baderillos announced the beginning of
the second Faena. Their galloping cutting horses burst
through the Great Portal and circled around the
curious prey with the painted tits, hooves, braided
tail and horns above her head. This was unlike any
they had encountered before. Alongside each saddle,
the riders carried brightly-colored barbed sticks.
These were smaller than the usual banderillas used on
bulls. Like the actual ones, however, they were
designed not to kill, but rather, to harm or
infuriate. With this occasion, today their targets
would not merely confined to the back as was normal
with a four-legged beast.

	Rhianna spun in the sand as she tried to keep each
horse and its rider in sight. The hooves still made
her legs stumble, but she was getting more used to
having them on. She jumped to the side as the first
stick flew. It landed harmlessly in the sand. She
sidestepped the next. Sweat drenched her face-she felt
the rest of her slick as well. Seeing a moment, she
ran head lowered at the hatless rider. Not wanting to
hurt the steed, she aimed for the human's leg,
misjudged and lost her balance. The sand hit hard but
she regained her footing. Her animal instincts now
prevailed.

	With the crowd, the second rider also saw his chance.
Shoulder blades glistened as they arose from the ring
floor. A perfect target. He threw out his first
banderilla. It hit and stuck. Saluting the crowd with
his freed hand, he circled his mount but kept an eye
on the blonde whose screech was heard above all as she
continued to arch her back in a futile attempt to
shake off the pain. The stick he had thrown now wedged
between ribs in her lower back. She tried to reach
behind and get it, but the hooves on her hands proved
too cumbersome. Blood now streamed down the sheen of
tortured female flesh. The rider lowered the brim of
his sombrero and wrapped his fingers around another
shaft.

	Rhianna stumbled as the fire in her back exploded.
Whirling around, she watched the leering rider gallop
around her as he waved to the crowd. She lost sight of
the first. Furiously, she whipped her horned head
around. The sharpened points with its bloodied tusk
sliced through the hot air. The tail swished backs of
thighs. Sweat combined with paint on bulging breasts.
Tanned limbs and pink flesh, normally covered but now
painfully exposed, ran slick with sweat. It turned out
the paint covering and ringing her nipples also
contained a chipotle chili sauce. Spices mixed with
the growing heat caused all flesh it came in contact
with to swell as if branded.

	Rhianna wiped perspiration from stinging eyes using
only the inside of her forearm. It helped some, but
still vision remained blurred. Somewhere, in the ring,
she envisioned the bodies plus the cross that she knew
was ultimately meant for her.

                       ***

	Chipolte mixed tomatoes, garlic, chili and other
stuff. Rhianna only made the sting sharper by
attempting to wipe the heat away with an arm across
the breasts. The thought did cross her mind that there
actually was very little paint applied as she had
earlier assumed. Most of the red had been the hot mix.
Already, Rhianna's own body betrayed her, allowing
deeper penetration as her pores opened. Swelling of
the reddened mammaries increased as the heat further
deepened.

	The naval princess jumped away from another thrown
banderilla but awkwardly tripped. This time, the white
bitch would not be so lucky as before the horsemen all
thought as another of them aimed for an exposed thigh
and let fly the barbed stick. Blood spurted from just
beneath the left buttock. The shaft remained imbedded.

	There was little she could do, other than cry out and
dodge away. It was bad enough running naked with a
plug up your butt and burning tits. Now she had two
spears of fire stuck in her backside. Rhianna fell to
one knee. In that moment, she glanced up into the
packed stands and saw that there were some that
actually were cheering for her. Tired though she was,
support from the audience and her own personal sense
of never being a quitter drove her on. Quickly
regaining her footing, she ran from the first
horseman.

	Another scream was heard above the roar of the
stadium. The third rider was waiting and launched his
missile. This one's barb buried itself into the right
shoulder blade, bringing the dripping nude to her
knees. Three orange-wrapped sticks stuck out at odd
angles as muscled bare arms pressed forward. Hooves
tied to palms dug furrows in the sand. Points from the
horns landed on either side.

	Alert for any deception, the second rider rapidly
fired another banderilla at the upturned ass. The
prisoner bellowed as it sank into her flesh. Arching
her stabbed back, she unsuccessfully tried wiggling
her hips to shake the stick free. The action brought
the crowd to its feet. Not wishing to be outdone by
his colleague, the first rider brought his horse
alongside, leaned down from his saddle and shoved the
2 1/2-foot lance in his hands toward hanging tit,
pushing it forward until the shaft sunk deeply into
the engorged flesh.

	Rhianna nearly fell over, but remained on her hands
and knees. Ignoring the searing pains proved
impossible. Sweat rained from her lowered head and
formed a muddy puddle in the sand between her hands.
Looking down and backward, she saw more puddles formed
under her nearly defeated body. The slightest movement
brought sheer agony from the piercing barbs. Only when
she heard her name being repeatedly called did she
raise her wearied head. When she did, she saw that a
new matador stood in front of her, and that the riders
had departed. Faena 2 was over and now Faena 3 was
about to begin. Her body wanted so much to lie on its
side, but she refused the temptation and remained on
her hands and knees, the now darkened tail hanging
limply between her thighs, the right leg lengthened
behind the other.

	At his repeated entreaty, she finally amassed enough
strength to move her knees and arms toward the figure
with the red cape. Agonizingly, she crawled ever
closer.

	White handkerchiefs waved from the gallery. Never had
they witnessed such a lustful spectacle. Chants began
and were seconded. They cried as if with one voice:
The beautiful pirate was to get the cross-not that her
life should be spared, but instead, that she should
die upon the iron figure towering above the wooden
platform.

	Rhianna reached the red cape. Almost pleadingly, she
looked up at its owner. This matador looked different
than the first: Not only was his fancy suit a
different color, but as he looked down at her he
seemed wiser and more experienced. Prepared to die,
she looked for the sharp saber in his hand and was
surprised when she saw none.. The new man instead bent
down, caressed her cheek and then gripped the shaft
protruding from her swinging breast and yanked.

	Fatty tissue and bloody gore ripped out as the barb
pulled free. Rhianna did then fall to her side.
Assistants to the matador rushed out and jerked out
the other banderillas leaving the female sprawled flat
on the sand. More blood flowed from the fallen. They
pulled off the horns and untied the hooves from her
feet and palms. Two of them each lifted up an ankle
and they pulled. A dark wide wake left its swath in
the ring as the condemned was dragged closer to the
platform. One of them reached down and pulled out the
soggy tail fashioned from human hair. It had been
pulled underneath the female during the dragging.

	Arms trailing behind, the massive breasts caught each
step as she was dragged up to the platform stage. A
crimson trail stained the gray wood. Those pulling the
female unceremoniously let free the ankles they were
pulling and her lower legs limply fell to the floor.

                          ***

	Unencumbered by the hooves heels and rack of horns,
they pulled Rhianna to her bare feet. She still stood
at least a head above those who had dragged her up to
the top of the wooden platform. The great iron
sculpture behind radiated heat from the day's sun.
Without resistance, she stood as a rope was passed
under her reddened breasts, then tightly cinched from
behind. 

	From the opposite side of the ring, a figure grew
closer. It was that of a stocky, bare-chested man. As
he grew closer, Rhianna could see that the man wore a
ribbed helmet made of some metal. A plume of feathers
lay across its crest. Sweaty chest hairs came closer
into view. Leather worked a lattice pattern across the
bare top. The man signaled and a crude derrick was
wheeled out. Rhianna watched it as she stood until it
disappeared from sight behind her.

	The cinched rope suddenly tightened around her ribs.
Jeers from the crowd rang out. Impulsively, she looked
down. Reddened breasts ballooned. Almost immediately,
two shining nipples looked back up at her. Rhianna
twisted, but the rope continued to pull. Her body
started to lift. Her head jerked up, but all she saw
was the still sky above. Looking back down, her
breasts now looked bigger and their reddish color was
darkening. 

	The crowd screamed its delight as the executioner
ordered the rope leading from the derrick to lift the
tall blonde higher still. The squirming hips and
bulging tits electrified them. Between the long legs,
the single braid wildly swished. This "bull" was at
last to be crucified. Higher up she was lifted. Sweat
streamed down the writhing contours along with new
rivers of blood from the many puncture wounds. The
dark cavern of the female's navel, topped with the
tiny dome of flesh many had noticed before, now
stretched to a narrow slit from its home in the sunken
belly. They applauded her every cry. 

	He needed the help of another to grip an ankle and
press its sole onto one leg of the iron cross.
Heedless of the burn such action might cause the
condemned, he quickly wrapped the foot secure with a
short length of chain and did the same with the other
leg. Allowing himself the liberty of looking up, he
thinly smiled at the protruding ribs and purpled tits
above before ascending a short ladder with a block of
wood, hammer and nail.

	Once in position, the executioner extended the
condemned's left arm outwards and upwards until it was
pressed flat onto the heated iron bars that interwove
as part of the sculpture. A short length of rope was
used to secure the wrist. With one hand the
executioner placed the wood on the other side and
pressed the nail firmly into the upturned wrist. The
other heavy arm drove the mallet down onto the nail
head. Positioned correctly, nail passed through flesh,
a hole in the wrapped iron, and then into the wooden
block, effectively locking the arm in place. Just to
be sure, the mallet crashed and crashed upon the nail.

	Ecstatically, hysteria ensued. The crucifixion
reverberated tensions of all sorts. To the white body,
the black cross had become less a backdrop and now
more an engine of torture as the nail was further
pounded in. Gleaming muscles, tendons and veins pumped
in stark relief. The entire structure shook. Bright
blood spurted out and ran down the executioner's
positioned arms. Flexed knees straightened and the
enemy leader's neck stretched ever higher as her chin
raised to the sky.

	He moved to the right side, and then repeated the
same sequence with the other arm. Before climbing
down, the executioner cut free all ropes. As he did,
the purpled breasts that had so grown in dimension
lowered slightly and regained some of their natural
color. Standing on the platform, the heavy fellow then
nailed both feet to the X.

	Rhianna tearfully squinted and tried to relax the
contortions made by her face muscles but found that
she could only grimace as she peeked. Her limbs
contracted and the verge of panic presented itself as
she now felt herself pinned. Hanging from nails in her
wrists, she fought to keep her head up. 

	Breathing was difficult as inhaling came in short
gasps, and exhaling was impossible. Gritting her
teeth, she made ready to use her legs again and pull
herself up. The try failed. It proved too demanding,
and yet it was either that or asphyxiate. She tried
again and this time gasped quickly before her knees
bent once more and she slumped lower. Sweat ran.
Already exhaustion consumed. Rhianna made ready for
the effort once more. Clenching her jaw and then
screaming in a voice that sounded altogether foreign,
she repeated the process. Regardless of sapped
strength, the will to breathe to live became supreme.

	Resounding cheers met every thrust upward by the
crucified. From down at his perspective on the sand,
the executioner looked up at the figure nailed to the
cross on the platform. The flexing thighs now parted
enough to show the female's inner sex. The sight
inspired. Next to his sandal lay one of the bloodied
banderilla earlier removed from her back. He bent down
and grabbed it and stepped back up onto the platform.
The pink and black shone as an easy target. Turning
back to the crowd, he waved the barbed stick high
above his head and then turning back to face the nude,
took the shaft and plunged it up between the legs.

	Rhianna screeched as it entered her. No longer did
lack of strength in her legs concern as her entire
being reached skyward. Arms pulled her higher as feet
stood upon the nails piercing them. She felt the barb
being twisted inside her. When it pulled out, her body
sank.

	The bloody stick yanked free. He reached in and
yanked out the hanging hair pulling the plug that held
it out. Crimson rivers flowed down the muscular legs.
He jammed the stick back into her, twisted and again
pulled it out. More blood flowed. The small crown now
shown with a necklace of liquid rubies.

	High up the iron cross, the gleaming globes thrust
out invitingly. Two more banderillas were snatched up
from the sand. Again, the executioner took particular
aim.


                         ***
	
	The captain encountered noticeable chop in the seas
as the wooden sailing vessel headed towards what
appeared to be a small bay on the tiny island in the
Atlantic. Beyond, a village or small town sprawled.
Visible near its center arose a plume that further
darkened the waning light. There had to be a
connection to their leader and her crew, he thought,
and willed his ship to sail faster through the bucking
waves.

	La Ventas was not a large bullring but making the
circuit around the perimeter seemed endless to
Rhianna. Siesta time was spent in the stands for many
of the onlookers and now that sunset was almost upon
them, a renewed excitement buzzed amongst the
awakening crowd. They cheered as the oxen team turned
the platform with the black cross and the white female
crucified to it toward the center of the arena. It
stopped and the animals were released from their
harnesses to be taken back to the barn. More horns
blared. From the Grand Portal rode colorfully garbed
picaderos. The three horsemen each carried burning
torches that lit up the twilight and trailed showers
of sparks as they galloped around the ring. Slaves
stuffed kindling under the platform as the riders
paraded. 

	A landing by sea on strange soil was precarious any
time of the day, but when reduced visibility was added
to the many pitfalls, all men and women aboard the
ship knew that their chances for success were greatly
reduced. Regardless, the chance to rescue their own
had all keenly prepared for whatever they might face.
Armor bumped armor as the pitching and rolling
continued. Fingers tightly gripped spears; swords were
sharpened again and again. All concentration was
focused on getting ashore.

	The stadium reacted as one voice and shouted. One of
the riders leaned down from his saddle and set the
burning flame on the torch he carried to the brush
stuffed beneath the wooden platform. Sparks flew in
many directions. The brush ignited. One orange flame
appeared, and then another licked up between the
wooden slats atop which the corpses had been tossed.

	Rhianna was forced to look down. From the darkened
bodies near her bloodied left foot she saw the smoke,
and then the flame that almost blinded. The sight
caused panic. Exhausted knees stiffened. Her body
lifted up a little. The naked torso twisted as more
smoke climbed. It choked. She coughed. Spittle flew.
Her lungs seared.

	Another of the riders bent down with his blazing
torch on the other side and ignited kindling under
that end of the platform while the third stopped his
horse, dismounted and held his torch under the front
center of the platform. Three small fires quickly
grew.

	Spectators stood again and wildly cheered the
activity. Fascination captivated them as the fires
quickly grew. Soon, the fires melded into one blaze.
The wooden platform started to smoke and then burn.
High on the X cross, the maiden rocked in fright,
shaking her splendid body as well as the banderillas
stuck from it. One of the dead limbs hung over the
platform, just over where flames licked. It too
ignited.

	Darkness was falling out at sea and visibility was
poor as the pirate's ship approached the bay. As soon
as they could, men and women from the vessel jumped
over the side and waded to shore, their helmets and
chest-plates wetly gleaming in the surf. On the beach,
the intruders met with little resistance from the
small band of locals. Fighting ensued, but their
superior numbers quickly overtook the defenders.
Grouping together, they animatedly pointed toward the
center of the town. That seemed to be where all of the
action was. The captain led the crew through the
narrow streets at double time.

	Rhianna cried out. Billowing smoke gagged. Toes that
could not flee began to feel hot fingers lancing their
tips as they desperately curled. She wretchedly
coughed. Her entire being hurt from so much that had
happened, but this newest threat took precedence.
Burning alive was impossible to embrace. Skin began to
crinkle. Blisters erupted then cracked as fissures
formed. Any semblance of composure became a forgotten
memory. The nails held fast.

	Stomping feet pounded the stadium stands. Wildness
ignited with every corpse that sprang to life in
flame. The crucified began to be burned upon a pyre of
her own. First one of the lower legs blackened as more
smoke and flames reached it. Scorching fire flickered
its ascent. It lapped at the wooden stick, quickly
exploding into flames its paper and cloth wrapping.
Another body on the platform flamed and burned the
next living leg.. Riotous fans pointed to the second
banderilla, also now aflame and the shriveling breast
to which it was forever joined. Still the crucified's
head could be seen to shake from side to side. A balmy
breeze from the sea blew much of the smoke from the
flaming pyre. It also further stoked the raging
flames. Passions of the populace were well fired.

	The Great Portal doors swung open and there entered a
group of more foreigners. Those cheering from the
stands stood silent for a moment. All appeared
stunned. Only the crackling of the burning bodies, and
platform along with Rhianna's continuing cries from
the conflagration were heard in the muted moment.

         Horns blasted again. The people looked on in
awe. Surrounding the shocked foreigners were
Graciosa's finest, weapons at the ready. The mass
capture seemed to confirm that La Ventas would once
more play host to bizarre blood sports, though surely,
none as grand as the mock bull fight they had
witnessed this day. For that, they could thank the
blonde they called Rhianna.


                       -30-

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