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Subject: Story : Fantasia - The Screams of the Dove (2 Parts - TXT) - dove-1 [01/01]
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Date: Tue, 30 Aug 1994 06:36:10 UTC
Subject: FANTASIA: The Screams of the Dove - Part One
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WARNING: All Fantasia stories contain some or all of the                      

following: Non-consensual sex, rape, bondage, heavy pain,                     

torture, incest, degradation, underage characters. If these                   

things offend you, do not read.                                               

...............................................................



                THE SCREAMS OF THE DOVE

                    by V.P. Viddler



                       Part One



     It struck him, as he heard the screaming, that it would not 

be himself only from whom information was to be sought; although 

it was obvious that with him would be employed no such physical 

crudity. Still, it was not to be put down, that frisson of 

trepidation for himself and of horror for that other whose sounds 

of profound agony continued to ring out, hardly muffled by walls 

dividing him from its--intentionally, no doubt--proximate source.

     Now, as the screams went on--for they did go on, almost 

continuously, ringing out again and again, shrill, horrific, 

carrying such burdens of unendurable, unsupportable anguish that 

his blood ran chill--an additional, and hardly admissible, 

emotion swam to his consciousness, an emotion no sooner known 

than--as much as possible--cast out. But it would not stay out. 

Listening, it was not to be put away, that stirring of his blood, 

that small but significant tumult in his loins. For it was 

indubitable that the screams, such loud, such awful screams, so 

insistent in their unrhythmic but unceasing repetition, could 

only come from a woman. A woman, probably, from the sound of it, 

young. A woman, most probably, innocent of anything calling for 

such torment; for any information in such possession could 

without question be extracted by far less extremity. A woman, 

thus, probably attractive, on whom was practiced such arts of 

persuasion, appropriate or not, by which her inquisitors would 

gratify such lust for pain and for the thrills of knowing her 

agony as--it must, it would be admitted--he himself, hearing, 

listening, could not stop his mind and his blood from absorbing 

and even, alas, envisioning.

     No doubt she was young, no doubt attractive; no doubt, at 

this moment, as the screaming burst forth with fresh horror or 

torture, in a position of restraint, in which such twistings and 

strugglings against the bonds of her captors as would 

necessarily, on her part, be brought forth, would add to that 

lustful, lubricious happiness with which those madly obsessed and 

uniformed characters would watch her. Thinking of it, again a 

stirring of his loins partly dismayed, partly aroused him, and he 

could not but think of it. The woman would be, must be, 

unclothed; in shameful nudity must she be hanging, or tautly 

lying, or sitting, bound, in a chair of pain; twisting, writhing 

in horrible, insupportable submission to that form of punishment--

they would call it persuasion--which had been utilized for this 

purpose. 

     Was it a whip? He could not, try as he might, but ask. A 

knout? A branding iron? Or some possibly unknown to him 

instrument, causing that pain, that anguish, that his aroused 

imagination saw as producing that struggling and straining and 

lubricious, almost wanton writhing the picturing of which so took 

him from his own plight as that unknown victim screamed and 

screamed and screamed...

     And it may have occurred to him, upon his awakening from a 

sudden loss of consciousness, that his arousal was just the point 

of his having found himself in a position to witness, aurally, 

that which had passed so near to and so far away from him. It was 

that his captors, divining his proclivities in that direction--

hardly, truth to say, unusual--had, on him, utilized a particular 

form of persuasion--at least, a first or initial stage of it--in 

tandem with, if not simply as the principal spring for, that more 

obvious persuasion inflicted on that horribly, thrillingly 

screaming victim.

     For now, as it surprisingly imposed itself to his awareness, 

he was not still solitudinous. With him, sitting in unstirring 

calm to all outward appearance, was another, and a woman. 

Startling as this was, he at first almost thought of it as an 

apparition, a lingering vision from his until just now slumbering 

state. But no, it was truly as it may be said to have been seen, 

though by him only.

     His first thought, upon realizing this fact, was such a 

mental inquiry as might only naturally, if irrationally, occur, 

as to the possibility of this being that very, that same woman 

whose agony had only this morning saturated the room, through the 

walls, in which now they both sat. Nothing in that face, nothing 

in that posture, indicated such a conclusion; and still that 

inquiry was unstilled. This woman, upon whom for a long portion 

of time, as it struck him, he gazed, and who only sat, unmoving, 

unspeaking, still as that chair that held her, and yet also 

pulsing with a kind of living vibration which must at least now 

go unnamed, gave no outward show, now, of discomfort. Not, he 

further thought, looking still, in a physical form, but possibly--

that thought had to go fractional.

     This woman was, no doubt, young--to his judging, not more 

than twenty-five, nor less than twenty. And most assuredly was 

she, to his thinking, attractive, with a strongly oval face in 

which were situated a most pleasing and, he thought of it, 

striking an arrangement of features. Most striking of all, 

perhaps, her dark and soulful eyes, gazing at him, at what at any 

moment they saw, with at once a profound calm and a most vivid 

vivacity, a contradiction which struck him as absurd as it still 

struck him as singularly, exquisitely right. The calm diluted 

with a consciousness, as it might be said, of all that was vivid, 

also had its cognition in her carriage, her posture, her figure 

in all.

     Still he could not forego that thought of this woman as 

embodying for him that same imaged victim so brightly in his mind 

that morning. That body was now fully clothed, and unbound--

though he had no illusion of liberty, for her or for himself, 

beyond the boundaries of that room--and that body, thoroughly 

still, thoroughly elegant, thoroughly poised, called to him, in a 

way, his way of looking at it, across that room; the long dark 

hair also was a part of that elegant charm, swaying so slightly, 

so softly, with no definite causality; but was that body the body 

upon which that horror had played which had resulted in such 

recalled, such agonized screams? He was burning to know; that 

question was on his tongue's tip, so compulsively that the 

impossibility of asking it translated him to silence as to 

anything to say at all to her.

     It was, finally, she who spoke first. "I am sorry to disturb 

you this way," she said, in a tone low but clear, and as with all 

of her, calm but still vivid, "but you must understand that it is 

not my choice. I am put here, and must stay as I am put."

     It was not to be said why, but having her speak, or perhaps 

what she said or how it was said, magically almost totally lifted 

from him that inhibiting access of compunction which kept him 

from voicing it all, anything. If he had again allowed a chance 

for thought, that moment must have absconded with alacrity; but 

out it came, and as he said it his blood was rushing, to his face 

and to his loins. "Was it, then--was it you--this morning--that I 

heard..." Trailing, horribly, off, he saw look into his those 

dark fathomless eyes, that calm yet all-acknowledging face.

     "Screaming?" The eyes did not drop, the voice did not 

tremble. "Yes. It was I."

     And that was all. All, that is, for many moments, in which 

again his burning, his importuning curiosity, pushing itself 

gradually, insinuatingly forward, won its slow ground, its hard 

fight, against such propriety as still hung on in him. She sat, 

as it were, waiting, knowing that he must ask.

     "What did--" He had to draw breath, as if drawing blood. 

"What did they do to you?"

     She was still, and at last, from, as he saw, that profundity 

of pain impossible to face, only shook her head. But waiting, his 

stillness matching hers, he had finally a word, and that word was 

the most chilling sound of all.

     "Nothing that they have not done before."

     Nothing, she might well have said, that they would not do 

again; and in that soft, calm, unwilling yet helpless knowledge 

of hell he found a horror unknown, unknowable, unthinkable; and 

at once an arousal, a rabid animal lust for just that horror, as 

caused him, once again, to black out...

     Drugs certainly, it had to be drugs, as floating once again 

to slow consciousness it was brought to his mind, slowly, how 

difficult it was to move his limbs. At last he found floating to 

his sharpening mind a realization that it was his condition of 

restraint which was the difficulty. His arms, his legs, tightly 

roped at wrists and ankles, pinning him, lashing him, into the 

chair he sat in, making him, so to say, a part of it, immobile as 

itself. Nor was that all of shock that was brought home to him; 

for it was with nothing less than total, than all-encompassing 

shock that he discovered his body devoid of that clothing he had 

worn, of, not to put too fine a point on it, any clothing, that 

is, at all. With this twin shock he had hardly begun to struggle 

as he swiftly bethought himself of that other with whom his 

colloquy had only how much earlier passed--he did not know. But 

swiftly glancing, in his shame and almost dread, across the room, 

he colored to his roots to find her still sitting in that chair, 

still quiet, still gracefully elegant, still watching him. Unlike 

him, her condition was not changed; that vision was still 

unbound, still clothed.

     Having caught her eye, he must most quickly look away, in 

such confusion and embarrassment that all realization of her 

fellow captivity was almost as it had not been known. But as to 

that, it took only her first words, in reply to his stumbling 

ones, to bring it back, and that most fully. "I--I'm so sorry," 

was his awkward beginning. "I hope you will not--I can't think 

why they should--it must be--"

     But she was shaking, again, that graceful head. "You mustn't 

apologize. Do you think I don't know that you have no more 

control than I of what is done to you now?" As he was again 

starting to speak, she quickly went on. "Wait. I must tell you--" 

And now for the first time she did not look at him, but cast her 

dark unfathomable eyes on the hard floor. But that soft slow 

voice was, if tightly so, unfaltering. "It is I who must 

apologize to you," she said, adding, "They told me I must. Now. 

And they told me that now I must answer, fully and without stint, 

anything you may ask me. That I must tell you, if you still wish 

to know, what they did to me this morning. So that, if you ask me 

again, I will do so."

     It struck him all in a muddle, and it took him a time to 

sort it out; during which she again raised her look to his, 

though with no betrayal of her thoughts, or emotions, which might 

in any way affect his. But, but, his could not help being wafted, 

on that look, as on a monstrous flood, or rather a whirlpool; for 

it was with no fixed, no singular direction that they moved. 

Round and round was this frail, listing boat carried, round in a 

circle of horror, of terror, of curiosity, of lust, and all in 

all, of the memory of that morning's screams. Looking at her 

watching him, amid whirling thoughts, it was this he heard.

     "What," he said at last, not looking away from her, not 

knowing why, "did they do to you--this morning. When you 

screamed."

     That look did not change, that gaze did not flinch, and he 

could not have said what it was that almost, in that short but 

profound split second only in which she hesitated, almost made 

him put up a hand, had he one free, to stop her. But "almost" was 

what it was. If that voice, as it began, was a bit lower than its 

previous wont, it was still most clear, most in control. Which, 

again, could only rouse all that contradiction, all that 

confusion, within him.

     "I was hung by my wrists," she said, so calmly, so 

shatteringly, "with my ankles bound widely apart, so that I was 

stretched, straining, to my limit of endurance. In this position, 

many things can be done to a woman. On this particular occasion, 

when you heard my screaming, pins were being used on my body. I 

was, of course, naked. Pins--long, thin, sharp pins, with small 

wood bottoms for handling--were slowly stuck into various parts 

of my body. Particularly into my breasts. Mostly in my nipples, 

but not only. This procedure is most painful. I can bear pain--I 

have had to learn to do that. I can absorb a good deal of it if I 

must, without making a sound. Which is why they are always 

turning to new ways to bring me pain. It inspires them to find 

original ways to destroy my will. Always they do that. Always. 

And this morning, no doubt, they wanted me particularly to 

scream. Most particularly. Thus the pins. And so what you heard 

was my unstoppable agony as they stuck pin after pin into my 

body, pin after pin, slowly, sadistically, pushing them in, 

further, always further into my nipples, twisting, turning, 

pushing--" With a gasp, suddenly, she caught herself up, going on 

more softly, as in fascination and a terrible lubriciousness he 

sat watching, listening. "And so I had to scream for them. I 

always do at last. Scream and scream for their pleasure. Until it 

stops."

     And stop was what she did, now, and was still; and it was 

now obvious that this narration had aroused him--all too obvious, 

to his humiliation, by that stiff and throbbing part of him which 

now stood tall from his crotch, asserting for all--but alas, she 

was all the all--his reaction, his uncontrollable flood of 

arousal at what she had said, to all that she had told him. And 

the woman sat watching, as it appeared to him, unsurprised, 

unjudging of this truth, simply accepting it as to be a natural 

thing, as if, yes, it would have struck her as unnatural had it 

not been so.

     And as his impulse again to apologize was at war with his 

impulse to ask her about further things, to ask dark, horrific 

questions which, as she had told him, she was bound to answer--at 

this point a door was swung open, and the military, in the body 

of a man in a captain's uniform, was in the room.

     "It was thought, and is now known," said this arrival, "that 

the agony and victimization of a woman, such as this, would find 

you--" smiling at that stiff proof of what he said-- "not 

unamenable."

     "What is it that you want?"

     "But, sir, you know that. But wait--it is not time just now 

to discuss such things. It is most obvious, sir, that Miss 

Lorna's narrative is not, to your mind, disgusting. If you wish, 

I will ask Miss Lorna to go on with that narrative, and to 

amplify it in such a way that it will affford you still more 

fascination. Miss Lorna, I would ask that you recount to our 

friend the details of what took place on that day not so long 

ago, on which you first offered that most beautiful body of yours 

to me, to use as I would."

     "No," was on his lips, if not in his heart; but the woman 

paid with her docility only the uniform.

     "I was hanging by my hair," was what first she said, again 

now without looking at him; but at once that military visitor--

for so he was thinking of that uniformed arrival, though this 

situation was truly that of his playing host to the two 

individuals who had, all unwillingly though it was, anticipated 

him in that room--had made it known, with what was introduced as 

a polite suggestion, but one which, our man was fully cognizant, 

had the authority, or threat, of a command, that it was his wish 

that she should not avoid the sight, the look, of him whom she 

was addressing. On this the woman again raised her eyes to his, 

going on with that soft, tight, vividly calm voice, in and beyond 

which lay such a limitless growth of dark impossibilities as to 

almost not allow him, on his part, to go on gazing at her steady, 

dark, immeasurable eyes.

     "I was hanging by my hair," she began again; and if, as he 

thought, in the slight, almost imperceptible hesitation that 

followed, her throat just barely had signalled a swift, 

involuntary swallowing, no sign of that was in that voice as it, 

not hastily but forthcomingly, continued. "It was most painful. 

Which, of course, was its point. In such pain, a woman will do 

almost anything. And--" again that hardly catchable pause-- 

"perhaps not almost. To hang that way is worse than--I had hung, 

that morning--that first morning of the day I was brought to 

them--by my wrists. Not, as I told you I was this morning, with 

my legs bound also, but just hanging, with all my weight on my 

wrists. For hours. That, I had thought, was the worst that could 

possibly happen. I cannot tell you all the agony of it. Hanging 

that way, all of my body pulling, straining. For hours. I 

couldn't pass out, not hanging like that, I couldn't. And all 

that time, the men. Soldiers. Watching. Just watching. Not 

touching me. Not yet. Just sitting and watching. I was not then 

naked. I was fully clothed. Still, they watched. It was my pain 

that was the attraction, I know now. Not my body. My body was an 

attraction too, certainly, but not as much as my anguish, my 

awful suffering, which excited them so much. So much. And their 

anticipation. Of my broken spirit. Of my submission. For it was 

from the first certain that I would submit. To anything. To all 

of it. And I did. Submit. But that first morning, that waiting, 

that watching, as I hung before them, not knowing what I must do 

to stop that pain. And I was, oh soon, aware that I would do 

almost, as I said, anything. Was I to beg? Was I to offer--what? 

I had no valuables. I had no information to give. I had only, I 

knew, my body. I could not offer that, although I knew it might 

be taken. I could do nothing but cry. I could do nothing but 

moan. I could do nothing but, at the last, scream. I had not been 

touched. I was not nude. I was not--not then--tortured in any way 

but by hanging as I was. And I screamed. Until I couldn't scream 

any more. And I knew that I was lost, I was nothing, and that to 

avoid that kind of pain I could be made to do anything. I told 

them that, finally. When I could not scream any longer. Begging. 

Babbling. I told them that. I would, I said, do what they said to 

do, if only I could know what that was. Saying it over and over, 

and hanging, hurting, crying."

     "Stop." It was the captain, cutting into that rising voice. 

"You grow," said this individual, "boring. Was it boring for you? 

Was it?"

     "I am sorry." And it was with that old calm that she said, 

though possibly not with that calm alone, "It was not boring. It 

was not at all boring. It was hell. I had to stop it. I couldn't, 

and I must have known I couldn't, no matter what I did. But I had 

to do it. That noon I was taken down. Unbound. And told to take 

off all of my clothing. I cried. I couldn't do that. They said I 

would be put back up. To hang. Until I did it. I cried. And I did 

it. Standing before them and crying and shaking, I did it. I took 

my clothing off. All of it. I was not touched. I was told to go 

down to my knees. I did. And I was told to crawl. On my hands and 

knees. And I did that, too. Crawling around on that floor, on all 

fours, crying. Until I was told to stop. I knew what would come. 

I knew I was to be raped. I was not hurt at that time. The 

torturing did not start until the following day. The whippings. 

The burnings. The racks. The pins."

     The captain almost, again, spoke, but found it groundless, 

for that signal was not unnoticed. "I--I was waiting, that first 

day, to be raped. But I could do nothing. If it was to be, I must 

bear it as I could. Physically, it could not be worse than what I 

had gone through. But spiritually, it was the most unimaginably 

horrible thing of all. I was a virgin. Of course. I was a virgin. 

But I was a captive, and put to awful pain, and if I was to be 

forcibly violated, helplessly taken, I could do nothing. Nothing. 

But I didn't know. What I would have to do. For him."

     "Him" was, obviously, the captain, that slim and still 

military visitor, who now took in her words with rapt, glittering 

eyes, smiling slightly, watching her, watching him, watching, 

too, him watching her.

     "I was told," the woman was saying, "told by him, that I was 

to give him my body. Not to have him take it, but to give it to 

him. Willingly, as he said. Voluntarily. I was, in truth, to ask 

him to take it. Ask him, humbly, to possess me, to destroy, as he 

put it, my virginity. I was to ask him to do this. And to assist 

him. To do things for him. With him. To him. And, of course, I 

couldn't. It was simply not possible that I should do that. 

Horrifying. Unthinkable. And so I was hung up by my hair."

     "It was a sight," now the captain put in, "to rouse any 

saint, any angel, any castrato. Dangling by that long dark hair, 

that body twisting, swaying, those legs kicking. But I interrupt. 

Our friend is far more fascinated, Miss Lorna, by your narration 

than by mine. Do go on."

     "What must I say further?" that lady said. "It was, simply, 

unbearable. How long I was that way I do not know, but at last I 

was utterly, thoroughly, completely broken. I was broken. I was 

his. I was theirs. I don't know how I was able to say anything, 

but what sounds I made were sounds of submission. I said I would 

do what he wanted. I said I would do it all. I asked him to take 

my body. I promised to give it to him, to do it for him. I begged 

him to rape me. I begged all of them to rape me. I promised I 

would do all the things that would give pleasure. I was--I--"

     "Thank you, my dear," the captain said. "Thus far, as you 

can no doubt discern, your tale has had no diminishing effect 

upon our friend's passion. To the contrary, obviously; to the 

most contrary. And now, sir, if you will, you and I may discuss 

that small business for which you find yourself in this 

involuntary but I think not totally displeasing position."

     "Why should you think I would impart to you anything at 

all?" our man watchfully said. "You will not put me to harm."

     "No, alas," and the uniform was profound in sorrowful 

courtesy. "But such information as you possess would be so 

practical in our hands. And to you it is nothing. While, as it is 

so undeniably to all our sights, your--may I again say, passion--

is not, at all, nothing. And, as it was our beauteous Miss Lorna 

who, so to say, brought it so unmistakably to light, it should be 

Miss Lorna, do you not concur, sir, who should act as its modus 

of satisfaction?"

     Looking now, unavoidably, at the woman of whom he spoke, our 

friend saw the paling, a drawing in of lip, a shifting of eyes, 

which if anything contributed its own odd thrill to that most 

general thrill which what had been said had sent through his 

body, through his soul.

     "What is it that you say?"

     Smiling was our captain now. "I say, sir, that, to begin 

with, that mouth, that sexy mouth, Miss Lorna's own most 

attractive mouth, which has narrated to you, for your edification 

and to your delight, that rousing story of her submission--a 

partial story, thus far, though a true account--should be--and 

will be, if you will allow us that bit of information so 

important to us--only that--will be, I say, the instrument, the 

receptacle, if you will, for your discharging it."

     He could but stare. "You say that--"

     "I do, sir. I say that at that moment in which that 

information is in my hands, I will ask Miss Lorna to use that 

mouth on your so longing, so aching stiffness. Must I, sir, put 

it more vulgarly?"

     "No. Not at all. But why would--what makes you think she 

would--"

     "Can you doubt that now?" He was, smiling, astounded. "Ask 

her, if you wish."

     But he could not.

     "So? Allow me. Miss Lorna, my dear, if I should ask you to 

use your so fine mouth to bring our friend to satisfaction, would 

you not do so?"

     Waiting, both waiting, they still watched. But the woman 

said nothing.

     "Miss Lorna?" Smiling. Waiting. And the woman said nothing.

     "Ah," our military man said at last. "But, you see, sir, I 

say she will. I give you my word on that. I promise you she will. 

I promise that. On my honor. I can promise it absolutely."

     "And if not?"

     "And if not," the captain, still smiling, said, "it may call 

for a bit of persuasion. Just a bit. You may, sir, wish to watch 

that persuasion. You may wish to watch it for a long time."

     "I may," he said, "wish to participate."

     "Ah," the captain sighed. "That could probably be arranged. 

No doubt it could."

     "All right." And now with this, finding himself a traitor, 

and all uncaring, he looked straight at the girl. "I will do it."

     Looking at that dark gaze he saw all of it, horror, fear, 

submission, all that calm, his now to do with as pleased him. 

That swallowing of the throat now was not surreptitious. And the 

woman got up from that chair in which she had sat from his 

initial sight of her, got up slowly, and stood, straight, 

elegant, graceful. So clear was that voice now. So high that 

head. So almost still that slim body, but only for the tiniest, 

slightest tremor.

     "Do you wish me," she said, "to undress?"

     Her military captor was making the most of this, to him, 

victory. "Do you mean," he said, drawing it out for her, for him, 

for our friend, "first?"

     "Yes," she said, and her look was still on him. "First."

     Our captain, now, in triumph, deferred to him. "Sir?"

     Considering, watching her, waiting, he was all in all.

     "Can she still," his inquiry to our military friend went, 

"later?"

     "Most of course," said that party. "She will be, sir, at 

your disposal."

     "Ah. At my...disposal?"

     "For as long," said the captain, "as you wish." And now, 

only now, the girl closed her eyes, standing still as she could, 

before him, waiting, but now not looking at him, at anything.

     "Then, no," said our friend. "Do not undress."

     But without looking she could not go on, and those eyes met 

his again. Moving slowly toward him, that elegant carriage as 

arousing to him as was that awful dark gaze and that softly 

rounded mouth, she stood just in front of his chair; then, slowly 

still, went down, her body sinking with an awful grace to the 

floor, and she knelt for him. He caught again her eyes for a last 

long, lingering look, and then that head bowed to him, that hair 

was touching his thighs, those lips closing with his throbbing 

instrument, and as he found himself arching his body toward that 

lowering mouth, arching with anticipation, he suddenly lapsed, 

sitting still, wanting her to go after him, wanting her to do it 

all. And now, with a groan, he was taken as that soft, soft mouth 

found him, took him into it, and her lips closed around him, and 

soon her mouth was moving, moving, and as the captain, watching, 

took down in his book the information, it was for him as though 

his world was swaying, rolling, and that mouth, which had told 

him of her awful agony, was, although forcibly, giving him such 

joy as had not in past days been known to him. Now, shouting, he 

erupted into that still taking mouth, filling it with his awful 

joy, as he heard again in his mind that morning's screams, 

knowing he would hear that sound again... 



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	**_MOUSE_**
	"Remember the Lion"
	ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au

From ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au Thu Apr 03 18:03:56 1997
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From: ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au (**_MOUSE_**)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story : Fantasia - The Screams of the Dove (2 Parts - TXT) - dove-2 [01/01]
Date: Thu, 03 Apr 97 23:03:56 GMT
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Message-ID: <031302Z26081994@anon.penet.fi>
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From: an117711@anon.penet.fi
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Organization: Anonymous contact service
Reply-To: an117711@anon.penet.fi
Date: Fri, 26 Aug 1994 03:11:55 UTC
Subject: FANTASIA: The Screams of the Dove - Part Two
Lines: 647

WARNING: All Fantasia stories contain some or all of the                      

following: Non-consensual sex, rape, bondage, heavy pain,                     

torture, incest, degradation, underage characters. If these                   

things offend you, do not read.                                               

...............................................................



              THE SCREAMS OF THE DOVE

                  by V.P. Viddler



                     Part Two



     "And now you know, sir, why I am in this position. And why I 

was instructed to tell you my story."

     "Yes. So that that account of your brutalization, your 

victimization, your submission, and your agony should stir my 

blood to a point at which my lust for you--and for your pain--

would conquer my patriotism."

     "That is what our captors had in mind, I am certain."

     "And, as you to your misfortune know all too well, that plan 

was successful, was it not?"

     "It was, sir."

     "Your performance was most enjoyable, I must say. Truly--if 

I may--delicious."

     "I will not, sir, thank you for that compliment, for any 

skill I may have demonstrated in regard to that humiiating act 

was acquired with as much compulsion as was my doing of it."

     "I know that. But I cannot but marvel that suck exquisite 

joy, such almost fantastic pleasure as that which was given, 

however forcibly, by your--if I may--your truly luscious mouth, 

could have come about as a result of that most horrible anguished 

pain with which you have so arousingly--the accout of which, I 

should in fact say--so arousingly entertained me."

     "But you must know that it is the truth, sir, for as I have 

said, and as our captain has corroborated, I was, prior to my 

arrival at this place, utterly virginal. That long and, as I 

would have thought, truly insupportable course of training--which 

is what our captors are pleased to call it--training, or 

persuasion, or anything but what it is--torture, horror, inhuman 

suffering and degradation--that awful training has taught me, 

most forcibly, to be skillful at what I must do, always. For it 

is intimated, if not said outright, that the giving of pleasure 

will limit, will minimize, that agony to which I must always look 

forward. Of course, that is not always the case. At times, no 

matter how I try, no matter how skillful I am at satisfying all 

their lusts, all appetite for debasement and humiliation and 

submission, still that yet stronger appetite, that hunger for my 

pain, my agony, that desire to watch my helplessness and 

suffering, will not be put down, and all my efforts to assuage 

are in vain. And still I must try. I must submit, always, to do 

what they want of me; for it is unthinkable, impossible, that I 

should not grasp at any small chance, any tiny possibility, of 

avoiding, even of postponing, any part, any small bit, of the 

things that are done to me; that fact rules my life, my brain, my 

soul. Of what is done to my body, you have heard part of it in 

detail, and part only in summary; and part of it you as yet have 

not known; although I have no doubt that I will be told to 

recount it all to you in time. This is why, sir, I am able to 

acquit myself with such skill as I may, in acts such as that 

which I was required to perform on you."

     "And that, if I may be so bold, is why I was told that you 

will do for me--anything. Is it not?"

     "That is why."

     "And will you?"

     "You put me, sir, in a most difficult position. It is, I 

must suppose, obvious to you that if my choice is to submit to 

you in all things or to be again put to torture, I must, as you 

know, submit."

     "As I have known."

     "As you, as you say, have known. That, indeed, is why our 

captain could promise you my docility. I shall, I must, do 

anything, I stress again to you, sir, anything to avoid what will 

be done to me. And thus, sir, if it is my docility, my obedience, 

my subjection you wish, you shall, as you are told, have that for 

as long as you want it."

     "That is most gratifying, I must say. Most gratifying, and 

most tempting. For it is not to be gainsaid that your charms are 

most attractive. You are a beautiful woman, Miss Lorna; and no 

man would fail to desire your favors. Your face is a vision of 

angelic loveliness; you possess an elegance and a grace which 

stir a man's blood, if I may so say; and, although I am not, 

alas, in a position to fairly appraise the glory of that luscious 

body, I am most positive that it, too, is a repository of 

delights that would warm any man's blood. I am sure of that."

     "As for that, sir, I cannot say. You will, no doubt, if you 

wish, find that out for yourself."

     "Indeed, I might have found it out, as you say, earlier 

today, when you inquired as to whether you should undress, if you 

recall, previous to your--doing what it was that you did."

     "That is so."

     "And I suppose I could find it out, for that matter, now, if 

I wish to do so."

     "That is so. For, as I told you, I am, sir, in your power. I 

have no alternative."

     "Again, Miss Lorna, I must say you afford much 

gratification. And yet, I must tell you, it is not only your body 

which is arousing to my thoughts--to my lusts, if you will 

forgive my bluntness--in this strangely unusual situation in 

which you and I find ourselves. It is, that is to say, not simply 

the fleshly delights, sumptuous and fabulous though they most 

indubitably are, which attract my strongest curiosity; not just 

carnal satisfaction which arouses my blood and, I must admit it, 

allows me, if not compels me, to play into the hands of our 

captors, and to furnish them with all that information which they 

would extract through this unique ploy. That, assuredly, has its 

temptations, but it is not my main, my central, my overriding 

motivation. What that driving motivation may be, I am sure you 

will have, by now, an idea."

     "I am afraid, sir, that I can have no doubt of it."

     "Of course. And this idea, I can well understand, cannot, 

shall I say, fill your soul with joy."

     "Hardly, sir. In fact it fills me with, as I'm sure you 

know, horror, terror, and dread--to put that in ordinary terms 

which cannot truly be told in any words at all. It fills my 

throat right now with such awful fright that I can barely talk. 

And yet I must. It is so horrifying to my mind, to my spirit, and 

to my body, that if only I believed it would do any good, have 

any possible effect upon your decision, I would plead with you, 

with all my strength, to consider what it is you say. I would, 

sir, go to my knees and most humbly, most abjectly beg for your 

mercy. I would promise you anything you desire of me, anything I 

could do, could give, could in any way bring about to please your 

smallest whim--except that you have that of me now; and nothing I 

can do or say will, I know to my most profound horror, give you 

pause. I am, sir, yours."

     "You are correct, Miss Lorna. I must ask you to forgive me 

if you can; but the fact is that from that instant, this morning, 

when I, sitting in this room, heard you screaming; heard, to my, 

I must say, guilty but excitedly appreciative delectation, those 

shrill, agonized, frantic, desperate, ear-splitting yet 

absolutely delicious, to my mind, sounds of pain, anguish and 

truly inhuman torture; from that moment, I say, that sound has 

remained a part of my consciousness; has rung in my brain with 

that melody, rhythm and harmony usually associated only with 

music, music of the highest and most rarified spiritual essence. 

That shrill music of pain will not abscond from my thoughts, or 

from my blood. It has filled my soul with but one single thought, 

a bright, particular craving, to which all--all--is subordinate. 

Patriotism. Honor. Gallantry. Consideration. Sportsmanship. 

Humanity. Nothing, nothing will stand up to it. You know, do you 

not, Miss Lorna, what that importunate desire is."

     "I am most afraid I do, sir."

     "It is, Miss Lorna, nothing more--or I should say nothing 

less, for undoubtedly there is, will be, more--than to hear that 

sound again. To hear those screams, those marvellous, awful 

screams--again. And again. And again."

     "That, sir, is just as I had thought. Is there, sir, I must 

ask you, is there nothing--nothing at all--that I can do to 

allay, even to diminish, that wish?"

     "I am most sorry, Miss Lorna. Hypocritical as that must 

sound to you, I am truly sorry for you. But the fact is that, 

having been given by our captors this unmatchable opportunity to 

absorb, to witness, to participate in such pain as I may wish to 

impose upon you, I find it impossible to pass up. It is, as you 

know, your pain that I want. It is your frantic agony that I look 

so forward to experiencing, and this time in an activist 

position. Nothing in this life, Miss Lorna, has made me as 

ecstatic as your screaming has done; and nothing but that ecstasy 

can satisfy me now."

     "I could, sir, if it is my screams that so pleasure you, 

scream for you on command. I could scream for you any time you 

may wish, and my screaming, I promise you, will sound as painful, 

as agonized, as shrill and frantic as you might wish. Thus any 

necessity for actually putting my body to torture would be 

superfluous."

     "Alas, I do not, in all truth, feel that in that 

circumstance your screaming would have that authentic, that 

realistic sound which--"

     "Oh, sir, it would, I swear to you it would! I will scream, 

I will shout, I will emit such sounds of horror and unfathomable 

agony as to sear your soul. I will, sir, cry, sob, plead for 

mercy, so that if you should close your eyes you would think 

yourself back in this room this morning, listening to my anguish; 

and, sir--"

     "Please do not go on with this; I assure you it can do no 

good. For you will surely understand, Miss Lorna, that my lust 

has soared beyond just desiring that sound again, however sweet 

that may remain. For as I sat in this chair, listening to your 

marvellous shouts, I could not but envision what was happening to 

you at that moment. And, further, when, later, you narrated to 

me, as that captain had commanded you to do, the details of that 

morning--that violation of your body with the pins, which you 

recounted so accurately and so thrillingly--and then your 

narration of all those other things that you had undergone--that 

hanging by your hair; that binding of your wrists and legs; that 

talk of whipping and burning; that account of you, in your 

anguish, finally constrained to bare your body, and to submit, 

nay, to ask for, and to participate in, your own violation, shame 

and degradation--all this, most naturally--or unnaturally, if you 

will, it is not for me to say--all this could only build up in my 

soul an overwhelming lust to be myself a part of such a scenario. 

I must, Miss Lorna, I must and I will, watch with my own eyes, 

watch and listen and enjoy, as you hang in agony from your bound 

wrists; watch as your body, naked, helpless, whip-marked, swings 

from that taut rope, straining, twisting, writhing; kicking 

vainly; listen as you, in the midst of that wonderful screaming, 

beg and plead with frantic, frenzied desperation for surcease, 

for a moment's pause, for mercy, which is not, Miss Lorna, 

forthcoming; thrill as I, I myself, push the long thin pins deep, 

deep into your aching nipples, or press the glowing red-hot 

cigarette against that soft, vulnerable, squirming flesh. Again 

and again and again. And only then, Miss Lorna, only after many 

hours, after you have gotten hoarse from pleading so frantically, 

so vainly for mercy, for surcease, finally for death if nothing 

else; only at that time will I allow you to show your, as you 

call it, docility; will I allow you to please me with your body, 

at my command; will I allow you to utilize, for my entertainment 

and at my whim, that fine, skillful mouth which I have today 

found such a soothing source of delight; as well as those other 

parts of your luscious body which I have not as of now partaken 

of. Can you understand that, Miss Lorna? Can you resign your body 

and your soul to this difficult vicissitude?"

     "I can, sir, understand; but, alas, I cannot resign myself. 

Not, as you know, that I may choose. But, sir, have I not shown 

you today that I will submit myself to your lusts; that my body 

and my will are at your command? Did I not perform for you, and 

with the captain looking on, that most humiliating, shaming, 

spirit-breaking act? Did I not offer of my own will to take off 

my clothes for you; and did I not go down on my knees to you; and 

did I not most totally serve you with my mouth, my lips, my 

tongue, and my throat? And did I not, as you gave up to me that 

fruit of your passion, swallow it down, swallow until I had drunk 

it all? What more must I do, sir, I ask knowingly in vain, but 

what more can I possibly do to abase my spirit, to make of myself 

nothing but a slave, a plaything for your pleasure?"

     "Nothing, Miss Lorna. There is, as you say, nothing."

     "But still you will--"

     "But still I must have your pain. To the utmost."

     "I see."

     "I know you do. I'm sorry. But do you know, Miss Lorna, your 

astounding recapitulation of your actions on that occasion has 

awakened my importuning lusts once again. As, I think, you could 

discern if it were not for that tearful mist which you appear 

unable to dissipate. That recapitulation has, unsurprisingly to 

my mind, aroused a most strong urge to have you do that again, 

all of it, just exactly as you did it earlier. Can you wonder at 

that, Miss Lorna?"

     "No, sir. And, if you so wish, I will, of course, do it 

again for you."

     "I do wish it. But, I think, with one variation. I do wish 

you, this time, to undress for me. First. Do you recall, Miss 

Lorna, how, when you saw that I had given in to our captain's 

terms so that I could gain my will of you, and saw that to obtain 

any possibility of escaping instant persuasion, you must do as 

our captain had promised me you would, and had thus so 

reluctantly but so gracefully and proudly risen from that chair 

and stood before me--do you recall how you then asked, hardly 

showing an iota of your shame and humiliation, if you were 

desired to undress? And do you recall how the captain, wishing to 

draw out and to emphasize your submission, and to further mortify 

your spirit, said, as in reply, Do you mean, first? Thus bringing 

out into the air, so to say, the rhapsodic fact that now you had 

shown yourself prepared, forcibly though it was, to submit to 

that act at which you had at first hesitated. And do you recall 

how you, for your own reply, knowing that you were, perforce, 

acknowledging that fact, that submission, lifting your head, 

lifting your eyes, said, splendidly, Yes. First. Do you recall 

that, Miss Lorna?"

     "I do."

     "The captain, having thus gained his triumph, passed your 

inquiry on to me. I then, not wishing at that point to burn all 

my bridges at once, put, in my turn, a question to him. Do you 

recall what that inquiry was?"

     "I do, sir. You asked him if I could still--later."

     "That is the form my inquiry took, that is right. And what 

did it mean, Miss Lorna? I ask, you understand, simply for the 

pleasure it gives me to oblige you to answer."

     "I understand that fully, sir. It meant, as I took it, that 

if you did not command me to undress at that time, you would wish 

to retain the option of making me do so in future."

     "That is quite right, Miss Lorna. And, our captain having 

given this assurance, I chose to enjoy your ministrations with 

your body still fully clothed. But now--stand up, please, Miss 

Lorna."

     "Is this satisfactory, sir?"

     "It is. And now I would like you to ask that question again, 

just as you did earlier."

     "Yes, sir. Do you wish me to undress?"

     "Do you mean--first?"

     "Yes. First."

     "Ah. Thank you, Miss Lorna. This time my answer is yes. Yes, 

I do wish you to undress. I am now anxious, most anxious, I will 

say, to look at that body naked. To watch you as you take that 

clothing off for me, baring yourself to my sight. Will you do 

that for me now, Miss Lorna?"

     "I will, sir, if you wish it."

     "I know you will. Reluctantly, though, is that not so? 

Unwillingly?"

     "Indeed, sir, yes. But I think you will enjoy it all the 

more for that, will you not?"

     "Of course I will. How perspicacious of you. I will 

thoroughly relish every moment, every move, every inch of bared 

skin as you strip that body as I watch, knowing how degrading it 

is for you, knowing how you, by your own actions, are allowing 

your spirit to be ground into dust, knowing how you debase 

yourself in front of me in vain hope of pardon, knowing how your 

mouth, your body, will labor to bring me joy with your own 

destruction, all to postpone that time of screaming, writhing, 

helpless torture to which I look forward, and the ecstatic vision 

of which will turn in my mind, and the shrilling sounds of which 

will ring in my ears, as you bow to me and caress me with that 

fabulous docile mouth. And now you may begin."

     "Yes, sir."

     "Slowly, please. Ah. Such skin. Such breasts. Such nipples. 

Such legs. Such thighs. Such calves. Such buttocks. Such a body."

     "It is, sir, yours."

     "I know that. To hurt."

     "If you wish, sir."

     "Kneel. As you did before."

     "Yes, sir."

     "That is good, Miss Lorna. That is wonderful. Slowly, 

please. Just do it slowly. And as you do, I want you to think of 

what I'm going to do to you. I want you to think of hanging by 

your hair. Screaming. I want you to think of hanging by your 

wrists, first with your legs spread wide, ankles bound far apart, 

body straining, taut, stretching, throbbing; and then just 

hanging free, kicking, thrashing, twisting, as I push those pins 

into you, painful, agonizing pins sinking so slowly, so 

relentlessly into your breasts, again and again, as you scream 

and squirm and shout and writhe and yell and twist, so good, 

screaming, yes, take it, begging me to stop, now, do it, swallow 

it, now, screaming for me forever, AH AH AH..."

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	**_MOUSE_**
	"Remember the Lion"
	ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au

