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The Georgia Peach II - All is Fair
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 7 – Sherman’s Tent (HQ), Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 7pm May 15th 1864
The battle around Resaca was a stalemate. It ended inconclusively, but even though the Union Army suffered almost twice as many casualties as the Confederates, Johnston was forced into retreat. Now was the time for Sherman to give chase …
However, knowing what needed to be done in terms of the war was not the only thing of certainty in Sherman’s mind. The General also knew what must be done with Catherine, despite the fact that it pained him greatly to think of it. He needed more information about the Rebel Guerrillas, and the answers to his questions rested in an infirmary bed no more than a few yards from him. They must interrogate the girl some more, and they needed to do it now.
“Lew?” Sherman called upon his adjutant.
“General?”
“Lew, we will be moving out this very day. We must become mobile and give chase if we’re to finish these damned Rebels off. When we are gone, I need the girl to be questioned further. You will summon Lieutenant Sampson. He and his men will not be joining the main force, they need to rest following their recent excellent work, we will leave them in reserve. So, he can take charge of her interrogation …” Now Sherman paused, aware of the magnitude of what he was about to say, “… and Lew, tell him I need answers, so how he gets them is up to him. Also tell him to wait until the morning before he begins. That way both Johnston and myself will be far away from this place, and so she will not be able to call on me, or harbour thoughts of escape to her Confederate compatriots. Is all of that understood?”
“Yes Sir, of course Sir.”
As always, the loyal Mulford quickly left the General’s presence to make sure that his orders were carried out to the letter.
Chapter 8 – May 16th 1864
On May 16th 1864, Sherman’s Army spent most of the day repairing the bridges destroyed in the wake of Johnston’s retreat. But by evening the Union Army was on the move and in pursuit heading towards Adairsville.
However, at around 8am that same day, a grinning Lieutenant Evans Sampson felt his groin already stiffening. He was no coward, but it was true that he and his men needed to rest after the rigours of their recent foraging expedition. Anyways, he did not mind one little bit that the Army was leaving without him. Not when he had such a specific duty to perform, an order direct from General Sherman himself!
Around the same time that Lieutenant Sampson was familiarising himself with the dilapidated brick building that was to house his prisoner, Catherine’s eyes opened slowly to be greeted by the sun’s rays creeping in through a gap in the entry flap to the only remaining field tent in the now largely abandoned camp.
The weather certainly seemed pleasant compared to the deluge of recent days … ‘recent days’ … the words echoed wistfully in her mind as Catherine groaned, feeling the tightness of the catgut that was helping to heal her body.
“Ohhhhhh, my goodness …” she cried to no one but herself, trying to shift in a position that offered just a little more comfort. She had urinated no more than once every day since arriving here and on every occasion the surgeon, Major whatever-he-was-called, had taken great delight in helping her. She did not want to think about what might happen when her excretive needs involved defecation, which they surely soon must! Her sex and bottom were still sore despite the ointments that had been applied.
Then suddenly it struck her. There was hardly any sound outside her tent. Gone was the shouting and clanking, the movement of heavy wheels and weighty limber. No horses to be heard … was she alone? Had they simply left her? A buzz of excitement germinated from the pit of her stomach. Had Uncle Billy allowed her a route for escape?
She would soon know. The Major would soon be here to check on her, she would ask him where the soldiers had gone. Despite the fact that every new day she was feeling a little better, Catherine groaned anew. She knew that there was another conversation to be had with Uncle Billy, but the longer he waited to have that with her, the further William would be away from this Army. A tear watered her eye. Physically her body was on the mend, cuts were becoming scabs and scars and welts were reducing and fading, but the mental anguish caused through humiliation and degradation would never leave her. Yet, instead of making her cower inside, the memories of her abuse fuelled Catherine’s anger. She would have her revenge on these monsters, and yes, that included damned Uncle Billy … she remained convinced of that!
The tent flap opened. She looked up expecting to see the face of the Surgeon. But that wasn’t the face she saw … Her scream remained unanswered by anyone as the atrocious Lieutenant Sampson held a revolver to her head.
“Get up bitch, it is time for you to be questioned again …”
Chapter 9 – An old, ruined station house near to the abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 10:30am May 16th 1864
They both sat, unmoving, in their chairs, each one an old, broken down, timber framed affair. He, his chin held in one rough, callused hand, rested his elbow on the smooth wood of the arm and stared at her. He just smiled, an inane grin on his face.
Catherine sat still, staring at him in reciprocation. She stared because she didn't want him to know how scared she really was. And she did not move because she really had no choice; tight rope secured her ankles and wrists to the rough, heavy wooden frame. Despite her nudity and the coolness of the dilapidated brick building, she was sweating, and the enforced position made her healing body scream out for respite.
In an attempt to disguise her fear, Catherine looked up at the broken-down roof, the collapsed beams, and the profusion of spider’s webs that were amassed in those old, wooden rafters.
Bizarrely, when gazing up at the large holes in the roof, she wondered what the Winter would be like this year. Would there be snow? Last Winter had been balmy … sunshine instead of snow. Catherine hadn’t ever seen much snow falling, which she was sad about. A covering of white meant that everything, everywhere appeared the same, and the awful war stopped for a while to let everyone look and listen. The crocus and daffodils around White Orchard had already flowered. The early crops humbled just a little by a late frost, but their beauty could not be denied. She loved the Spring and all that came with it.
Then it occurred to her. Would this be the last such season she would ever see? Would the newly hatched birds of 1865 peck at the earth atop her grave?
Catherine stifled a sob, as Sampson lowered his hand and spoke to her. "The General," he said, "needs more information. I am here to get it for him."
His quiet tone would have been almost charming under other circumstances. But in this dank place it only seemed distressing to her. Catherine turned her head, looking away.
"We have asked you repeatedly, and you lied to us Catherine, we know that now. So that must stop. General Sherman has ordered me to use whatever means are necessary to wring the truth from you."
Now he stood and began to walk around her chair. Slowly, like a shark circling a shipwrecked sailor. Once behind her he placed his hand on Catherine’s bare shoulder. Despite the automatic flinch, she was surprised to find his touch warm. She had expected the hand to be cold and penetrative, after all, she knew what horrors it had already inflicted upon her. That such a hand could feel warm to the touch was a cruel joke. Fear twisted in her gut and she had to fight to keep her stomach steady. Fortunately, it was empty. She hadn’t really eaten, not heartedly so, in almost four days.
"Tell us, Catherine," he murmured, "… where is Quantrill?" It was a gentle question, as nonchalant as if he were asking for the directions to church. "Won't you tell me please?"
"North Carolina, Lieutenant, I already told you that,” she repeated her answer from two days previous.
"We know that he is not, Catherine. Now tell me where he really is," he smiled dispassionately.
"North Carolina, Lieutenant, I alr ..." but she was stopped by the impact of his open palm across her mouth. Her cheek reddened from the slap but, despite the sharp movement causing new pain to her flagellated body, she did not utter a sound.
"That was not an acceptable answer, Catherine. Any response other than a correct answer to my questions will be met with pain. Each wrong answer will make the pain worse. Be smart, Catherine ... where is Quantrill?"
" North Caroli ..." this time the hand cracked twice, a forward stroke and then an immediate return slap with the knuckles, across her face. She felt the joint of her jaw pop out of and then back into place.
The bound girl screamed. She could not help it. A trickle of red ran down from the left corner of her lip.
"Catherine," he followed up, as though he were cajoling an unruly child. "I am your friend. Your ONLY friend here right now. Quantrill cannot find you, even if he tries. Your plantation and estate have gone, your slaves with it … your country has abandoned you. You might as well be dead. Even the good General knows that you should in truth be executed as an enemy agent …”
The Lieutenant paused, before adding, his intonation foreboding, “... but he has handed you over to me, and I am prepared to tie you over a chair and let my soldiers rape you one after the other. I just need to say the word …”
She wanted to quote Lincoln at him, to remind this monster of the Lieber Code, but to what end?
Another pause. “Only I can save you now .... So, Catherine, help me to help you. Where is Quantrill?"
"North ..." This time it was a punch in the mouth. The taste of blood, hot and coppery, reached her tongue. Her neck snapped and her head flew backwards, her hair wildly flailing as she took the punch yet still made no sound beyond a stunted groan!
"Still an unacceptable response, Catherine," he replied. "Where is the bastard?"
She did not speak, but merely glared at him with all the hatred she could summon. But it was a mask. She was far more scared than she was hateful. But it was more than fear of what this monster could do to her, although that was hideous enough. It was also fear of the grave responsibility she held as her burden. If she bent to Sampson’s will then the lives of so many courageous fighters, Confederates one and all, would be put in danger, not to mention William’s life amongst them.
To Be Continued ...
The battle around Resaca was a stalemate. It ended inconclusively, but even though the Union Army suffered almost twice as many casualties as the Confederates, Johnston was forced into retreat. Now was the time for Sherman to give chase …
However, knowing what needed to be done in terms of the war was not the only thing of certainty in Sherman’s mind. The General also knew what must be done with Catherine, despite the fact that it pained him greatly to think of it. He needed more information about the Rebel Guerrillas, and the answers to his questions rested in an infirmary bed no more than a few yards from him. They must interrogate the girl some more, and they needed to do it now.
“Lew?” Sherman called upon his adjutant.
“General?”
“Lew, we will be moving out this very day. We must become mobile and give chase if we’re to finish these damned Rebels off. When we are gone, I need the girl to be questioned further. You will summon Lieutenant Sampson. He and his men will not be joining the main force, they need to rest following their recent excellent work, we will leave them in reserve. So, he can take charge of her interrogation …” Now Sherman paused, aware of the magnitude of what he was about to say, “… and Lew, tell him I need answers, so how he gets them is up to him. Also tell him to wait until the morning before he begins. That way both Johnston and myself will be far away from this place, and so she will not be able to call on me, or harbour thoughts of escape to her Confederate compatriots. Is all of that understood?”
“Yes Sir, of course Sir.”
As always, the loyal Mulford quickly left the General’s presence to make sure that his orders were carried out to the letter.
Chapter 8 – May 16th 1864
On May 16th 1864, Sherman’s Army spent most of the day repairing the bridges destroyed in the wake of Johnston’s retreat. But by evening the Union Army was on the move and in pursuit heading towards Adairsville.
However, at around 8am that same day, a grinning Lieutenant Evans Sampson felt his groin already stiffening. He was no coward, but it was true that he and his men needed to rest after the rigours of their recent foraging expedition. Anyways, he did not mind one little bit that the Army was leaving without him. Not when he had such a specific duty to perform, an order direct from General Sherman himself!
Around the same time that Lieutenant Sampson was familiarising himself with the dilapidated brick building that was to house his prisoner, Catherine’s eyes opened slowly to be greeted by the sun’s rays creeping in through a gap in the entry flap to the only remaining field tent in the now largely abandoned camp.
The weather certainly seemed pleasant compared to the deluge of recent days … ‘recent days’ … the words echoed wistfully in her mind as Catherine groaned, feeling the tightness of the catgut that was helping to heal her body.
“Ohhhhhh, my goodness …” she cried to no one but herself, trying to shift in a position that offered just a little more comfort. She had urinated no more than once every day since arriving here and on every occasion the surgeon, Major whatever-he-was-called, had taken great delight in helping her. She did not want to think about what might happen when her excretive needs involved defecation, which they surely soon must! Her sex and bottom were still sore despite the ointments that had been applied.
Then suddenly it struck her. There was hardly any sound outside her tent. Gone was the shouting and clanking, the movement of heavy wheels and weighty limber. No horses to be heard … was she alone? Had they simply left her? A buzz of excitement germinated from the pit of her stomach. Had Uncle Billy allowed her a route for escape?
She would soon know. The Major would soon be here to check on her, she would ask him where the soldiers had gone. Despite the fact that every new day she was feeling a little better, Catherine groaned anew. She knew that there was another conversation to be had with Uncle Billy, but the longer he waited to have that with her, the further William would be away from this Army. A tear watered her eye. Physically her body was on the mend, cuts were becoming scabs and scars and welts were reducing and fading, but the mental anguish caused through humiliation and degradation would never leave her. Yet, instead of making her cower inside, the memories of her abuse fuelled Catherine’s anger. She would have her revenge on these monsters, and yes, that included damned Uncle Billy … she remained convinced of that!
The tent flap opened. She looked up expecting to see the face of the Surgeon. But that wasn’t the face she saw … Her scream remained unanswered by anyone as the atrocious Lieutenant Sampson held a revolver to her head.
“Get up bitch, it is time for you to be questioned again …”
Chapter 9 – An old, ruined station house near to the abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 10:30am May 16th 1864
They both sat, unmoving, in their chairs, each one an old, broken down, timber framed affair. He, his chin held in one rough, callused hand, rested his elbow on the smooth wood of the arm and stared at her. He just smiled, an inane grin on his face.
Catherine sat still, staring at him in reciprocation. She stared because she didn't want him to know how scared she really was. And she did not move because she really had no choice; tight rope secured her ankles and wrists to the rough, heavy wooden frame. Despite her nudity and the coolness of the dilapidated brick building, she was sweating, and the enforced position made her healing body scream out for respite.
In an attempt to disguise her fear, Catherine looked up at the broken-down roof, the collapsed beams, and the profusion of spider’s webs that were amassed in those old, wooden rafters.
Bizarrely, when gazing up at the large holes in the roof, she wondered what the Winter would be like this year. Would there be snow? Last Winter had been balmy … sunshine instead of snow. Catherine hadn’t ever seen much snow falling, which she was sad about. A covering of white meant that everything, everywhere appeared the same, and the awful war stopped for a while to let everyone look and listen. The crocus and daffodils around White Orchard had already flowered. The early crops humbled just a little by a late frost, but their beauty could not be denied. She loved the Spring and all that came with it.
Then it occurred to her. Would this be the last such season she would ever see? Would the newly hatched birds of 1865 peck at the earth atop her grave?
Catherine stifled a sob, as Sampson lowered his hand and spoke to her. "The General," he said, "needs more information. I am here to get it for him."
His quiet tone would have been almost charming under other circumstances. But in this dank place it only seemed distressing to her. Catherine turned her head, looking away.
"We have asked you repeatedly, and you lied to us Catherine, we know that now. So that must stop. General Sherman has ordered me to use whatever means are necessary to wring the truth from you."
Now he stood and began to walk around her chair. Slowly, like a shark circling a shipwrecked sailor. Once behind her he placed his hand on Catherine’s bare shoulder. Despite the automatic flinch, she was surprised to find his touch warm. She had expected the hand to be cold and penetrative, after all, she knew what horrors it had already inflicted upon her. That such a hand could feel warm to the touch was a cruel joke. Fear twisted in her gut and she had to fight to keep her stomach steady. Fortunately, it was empty. She hadn’t really eaten, not heartedly so, in almost four days.
"Tell us, Catherine," he murmured, "… where is Quantrill?" It was a gentle question, as nonchalant as if he were asking for the directions to church. "Won't you tell me please?"
"North Carolina, Lieutenant, I already told you that,” she repeated her answer from two days previous.
"We know that he is not, Catherine. Now tell me where he really is," he smiled dispassionately.
"North Carolina, Lieutenant, I alr ..." but she was stopped by the impact of his open palm across her mouth. Her cheek reddened from the slap but, despite the sharp movement causing new pain to her flagellated body, she did not utter a sound.
"That was not an acceptable answer, Catherine. Any response other than a correct answer to my questions will be met with pain. Each wrong answer will make the pain worse. Be smart, Catherine ... where is Quantrill?"
" North Caroli ..." this time the hand cracked twice, a forward stroke and then an immediate return slap with the knuckles, across her face. She felt the joint of her jaw pop out of and then back into place.
The bound girl screamed. She could not help it. A trickle of red ran down from the left corner of her lip.
"Catherine," he followed up, as though he were cajoling an unruly child. "I am your friend. Your ONLY friend here right now. Quantrill cannot find you, even if he tries. Your plantation and estate have gone, your slaves with it … your country has abandoned you. You might as well be dead. Even the good General knows that you should in truth be executed as an enemy agent …”
The Lieutenant paused, before adding, his intonation foreboding, “... but he has handed you over to me, and I am prepared to tie you over a chair and let my soldiers rape you one after the other. I just need to say the word …”
She wanted to quote Lincoln at him, to remind this monster of the Lieber Code, but to what end?
Another pause. “Only I can save you now .... So, Catherine, help me to help you. Where is Quantrill?"
"North ..." This time it was a punch in the mouth. The taste of blood, hot and coppery, reached her tongue. Her neck snapped and her head flew backwards, her hair wildly flailing as she took the punch yet still made no sound beyond a stunted groan!
"Still an unacceptable response, Catherine," he replied. "Where is the bastard?"
She did not speak, but merely glared at him with all the hatred she could summon. But it was a mask. She was far more scared than she was hateful. But it was more than fear of what this monster could do to her, although that was hideous enough. It was also fear of the grave responsibility she held as her burden. If she bent to Sampson’s will then the lives of so many courageous fighters, Confederates one and all, would be put in danger, not to mention William’s life amongst them.
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
This is unacceptable! 
After all that dear Cat has been through?
To be again abused by that dastardly Yankee Lieutenant? I am deeply offended, sir!
Is there more coming? Please!
After all that dear Cat has been through? To be again abused by that dastardly Yankee Lieutenant? I am deeply offended, sir!Is there more coming? Please!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
The Grant doctrine : only the result counts, not the casualties.
Keep pushing on, give the enemy no break.
That's how he won the war.
Despite his high losses at Resaca, (Sherman's losses were higher than the Confederates, but actually at the same rate as he outnumbered them), he keeps pushing on chasing his enemy. And so he keeps pushing on Catherine...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 10 – In the hills overlooking the Oostanuala at John’s Creek, sometime during the morning of May 16th 1864
“We need to hightail it, Will,” the dusty coated guerrilla standing next to William Quantrill spoke quietly, but his words were intoned with a clear, definite air.
Quantrill nodded, but replied “I ain’t leaving without her Jesse, I know the negro she sent told us to go to Kentucky, but the girl is coming with us. If ‘n you ain’t happy with that then you take them all with you and leave now. I will bring Catherine along with me as soon as I can.”
William Clarke Quantrill was one of, if not the most, notorious Confederate Guerilla leader fighting for the Southern Cause. Since the gutting of Lawrence, the previous year, his fame/infamy had grown as had his band of followers, a group of mounted Rebels that now exceeded six hundred, all hardened to ways of waging war without rules.
‘I love her Jesse, and I will make my life with her …”
Jesse James, along with his brother Frank, had ridden with Quantrill since the beginning and he was one of the commander’s most trusted Lieutenants.
“Will, I know what you think of her, I know that you love her … but …”
Quantrill looked out through his spyglass before cutting off the words from his friend. “There is no ‘but’ Jesse, I will find her, I will rescue her and I will take her with me …”
Chapter 11 – An old, ruined station house near to the abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 11:05am May 16th 1864
Lieutenant Sampson had proved himself so capable of charming deception, that it was hard to believe his appearance camouflaged a psychopathic devil. Only his eyes gave him away. Even when he looked at her with compassion in an effort to break her resolve, there was something foul and abominable coiled in their murky depths.
He had asked his question again only to be met with a profound silence.
His hand shot forward, fingers bunched together into a point, and Sampson struck her between her bare breasts, punching the nerve cluster in her breastbone, a trick he had first learned as a boy during his time boarding at the Hebron Academy back in Maine. He did not hit hard, he did not need to, but he hit skin that was healing from the whipping and so the nerves screamed in response as if they'd been thumped with a sledgehammer!
Breath flushed from her lungs and her heart lost its rhythm for a moment. Gasping for air, she doubled over.
"Silence is not an acceptable response, Catherine," he said. "Now, why don't you spare yourself anymore pain ... where is Quantrill?"
Then, in most uncharacteristically sardonic manner, she replied, "He is nowhere Lieutenant, he is merely a figment inside your stupid, empty skull."
Sampson looked at the girl with such sadness in his face that she could almost believe he really felt the emotion. Shaking his head, he replied, "Poor Catherine, making such bad decisions and causing herself such pain ... how sad."
Then he reached into his jacket pocket and removed two spring levered wooden pegs. Catherine cocked her head when she saw the little devices.
“You have no idea what these are do you, huh?” He grinned. “Well you have a man from Vermont to thank for them. Clothespins, we’ve had them for several years now, your slaves would know what they are, but they would never have seen them used like this …”
Stepping closer to her, he grasped her head in his arm and pulled her backwards. Catherine’s yell was muffled as his movement took her by surprise. Sampson used his free hand to grip one of her eyelids between his finger and thumb, before trapping the thin folds painfully between the pin’s gripping parts! Bright sparks of pain danced through the thin layer of sensitive skin as the wood bit into the delicate flesh! But before she could react, he snapped the other pin on the tender stretch of flesh and bone that separated her nostrils.
“Ohhhhh … my God, what are you …?” Her speech sounded nasally, her eyes opened wide, the pain already excruciating … Catherine was taken by total surprise. The Lieutenant had avoided her healing scars and gone straight for areas that were, thus far unmarked …
More pinching, biting pain penetrated her nerves. But, gathering her senses, Catherine clenched her teeth, determined not to let him see how much it hurt, and promised herself that she would NOT cry again in front of this beast.
He stepped back, briefly surveying his handiwork. "I will let you think about this for a while, Catherine ... alone. Then I will return …" he turned towards the broken-down door in the derelict wall, before adding, "… with new, more painful, tortures for you to enjoy, unless of course you wish to share with me the truth about what you know?"
There was a slight pause, then the Lieutenant smiled, and left her alone, roped, naked to this damn chair … her sense of distress mounting by the second.
Chapter 12 – The abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 11:30 am May 16th 1864
“You got her naked Lieutenant?”
Sampson smiled at the remark without offering a specific response.
“We gonna get a turn at her, huh?” Private Ebenezer Dolan piped up gripping his crotch as he spoke.
“We better. I ain’t missing this fighting we should be doing right now without getting myself inside that bitch!” It was Private Blake, one of the soldiers who had discovered the buttons and coins in the Peach Orchard back at the plantation, who added to Dolan’s request.
“All in good time boys … I need to hurt her a little first. Make her squeal and yell, and beg …”
“And suck your dick, huh Lieutenant?” The troopers laughed heartedly.
“Listen boys, this here is a serious undertaking with which I have been entrusted, and by no one less than Gen’l Sherman himself. So, I got to make her talk. She has to tell me where the bastard Quantrill is, and she has to do that before we have our fun, or else she will be no good for nuthin’!”
The excitement in the tent calmed down momentarily. Each man lost for a minute or two in his own thoughts. Then a voice spoke.
“Tell us what she looks like Lieutenant.”
“You know what she looks like. You all saw her on the post with that wooden cock inside her.”
“No, I mean now. With the catgut and the bruises and whatnot.”
Sampson laughed, “You’re all just a bunch of no good perverts, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, we know Lieutenant, but still …”
“She is like a dream fantasy, boys. I have her tied naked to a chair. Her tits are pushed out, her back straight and her legs apart.”
“You can see her cunt?”
“I can see everything, and she is still smooth where we shaved her, more or less …”
“We can shave her again maybe?” It was Sergeant Oak’s turn to speak.
“Maybe we can, we will have to see. For now, she is suffering with one of them new-fangled clothespins clipped to her eyelid and another right here between her nostrils. I left her thinking about what she might want to tell me, and so now boys I need to return to our damsel in distress!”
To Be Continued ...
Footnote - Today, many clothes-pegs (also clothespins) are manufactured very cheaply by creating two interlocking plastic or wooden prongs, in between which is often wedged a small spring. This design was invented by David M. Smith of Springfield, Vermont, in 1853. By a lever action, when the two prongs are pinched at the top of the peg, the prongs open up, and when released, the spring draws the two prongs shut, creating the action necessary for gripping. Smith was also known for being an excellent violin player. It was one of his hobbies. He used to think clearly whenever playing violin, thinking about every day problems. That was how he came up with the idea to invent a clothespin. (Source Wikipedia)
“We need to hightail it, Will,” the dusty coated guerrilla standing next to William Quantrill spoke quietly, but his words were intoned with a clear, definite air.
Quantrill nodded, but replied “I ain’t leaving without her Jesse, I know the negro she sent told us to go to Kentucky, but the girl is coming with us. If ‘n you ain’t happy with that then you take them all with you and leave now. I will bring Catherine along with me as soon as I can.”
William Clarke Quantrill was one of, if not the most, notorious Confederate Guerilla leader fighting for the Southern Cause. Since the gutting of Lawrence, the previous year, his fame/infamy had grown as had his band of followers, a group of mounted Rebels that now exceeded six hundred, all hardened to ways of waging war without rules.
‘I love her Jesse, and I will make my life with her …”
Jesse James, along with his brother Frank, had ridden with Quantrill since the beginning and he was one of the commander’s most trusted Lieutenants.
“Will, I know what you think of her, I know that you love her … but …”
Quantrill looked out through his spyglass before cutting off the words from his friend. “There is no ‘but’ Jesse, I will find her, I will rescue her and I will take her with me …”
Chapter 11 – An old, ruined station house near to the abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 11:05am May 16th 1864
Lieutenant Sampson had proved himself so capable of charming deception, that it was hard to believe his appearance camouflaged a psychopathic devil. Only his eyes gave him away. Even when he looked at her with compassion in an effort to break her resolve, there was something foul and abominable coiled in their murky depths.
He had asked his question again only to be met with a profound silence.
His hand shot forward, fingers bunched together into a point, and Sampson struck her between her bare breasts, punching the nerve cluster in her breastbone, a trick he had first learned as a boy during his time boarding at the Hebron Academy back in Maine. He did not hit hard, he did not need to, but he hit skin that was healing from the whipping and so the nerves screamed in response as if they'd been thumped with a sledgehammer!
Breath flushed from her lungs and her heart lost its rhythm for a moment. Gasping for air, she doubled over.
"Silence is not an acceptable response, Catherine," he said. "Now, why don't you spare yourself anymore pain ... where is Quantrill?"
Then, in most uncharacteristically sardonic manner, she replied, "He is nowhere Lieutenant, he is merely a figment inside your stupid, empty skull."
Sampson looked at the girl with such sadness in his face that she could almost believe he really felt the emotion. Shaking his head, he replied, "Poor Catherine, making such bad decisions and causing herself such pain ... how sad."
Then he reached into his jacket pocket and removed two spring levered wooden pegs. Catherine cocked her head when she saw the little devices.
“You have no idea what these are do you, huh?” He grinned. “Well you have a man from Vermont to thank for them. Clothespins, we’ve had them for several years now, your slaves would know what they are, but they would never have seen them used like this …”
Stepping closer to her, he grasped her head in his arm and pulled her backwards. Catherine’s yell was muffled as his movement took her by surprise. Sampson used his free hand to grip one of her eyelids between his finger and thumb, before trapping the thin folds painfully between the pin’s gripping parts! Bright sparks of pain danced through the thin layer of sensitive skin as the wood bit into the delicate flesh! But before she could react, he snapped the other pin on the tender stretch of flesh and bone that separated her nostrils.
“Ohhhhh … my God, what are you …?” Her speech sounded nasally, her eyes opened wide, the pain already excruciating … Catherine was taken by total surprise. The Lieutenant had avoided her healing scars and gone straight for areas that were, thus far unmarked …
More pinching, biting pain penetrated her nerves. But, gathering her senses, Catherine clenched her teeth, determined not to let him see how much it hurt, and promised herself that she would NOT cry again in front of this beast.
He stepped back, briefly surveying his handiwork. "I will let you think about this for a while, Catherine ... alone. Then I will return …" he turned towards the broken-down door in the derelict wall, before adding, "… with new, more painful, tortures for you to enjoy, unless of course you wish to share with me the truth about what you know?"
There was a slight pause, then the Lieutenant smiled, and left her alone, roped, naked to this damn chair … her sense of distress mounting by the second.
Chapter 12 – The abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 11:30 am May 16th 1864
“You got her naked Lieutenant?”
Sampson smiled at the remark without offering a specific response.
“We gonna get a turn at her, huh?” Private Ebenezer Dolan piped up gripping his crotch as he spoke.
“We better. I ain’t missing this fighting we should be doing right now without getting myself inside that bitch!” It was Private Blake, one of the soldiers who had discovered the buttons and coins in the Peach Orchard back at the plantation, who added to Dolan’s request.
“All in good time boys … I need to hurt her a little first. Make her squeal and yell, and beg …”
“And suck your dick, huh Lieutenant?” The troopers laughed heartedly.
“Listen boys, this here is a serious undertaking with which I have been entrusted, and by no one less than Gen’l Sherman himself. So, I got to make her talk. She has to tell me where the bastard Quantrill is, and she has to do that before we have our fun, or else she will be no good for nuthin’!”
The excitement in the tent calmed down momentarily. Each man lost for a minute or two in his own thoughts. Then a voice spoke.
“Tell us what she looks like Lieutenant.”
“You know what she looks like. You all saw her on the post with that wooden cock inside her.”
“No, I mean now. With the catgut and the bruises and whatnot.”
Sampson laughed, “You’re all just a bunch of no good perverts, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, we know Lieutenant, but still …”
“She is like a dream fantasy, boys. I have her tied naked to a chair. Her tits are pushed out, her back straight and her legs apart.”
“You can see her cunt?”
“I can see everything, and she is still smooth where we shaved her, more or less …”
“We can shave her again maybe?” It was Sergeant Oak’s turn to speak.
“Maybe we can, we will have to see. For now, she is suffering with one of them new-fangled clothespins clipped to her eyelid and another right here between her nostrils. I left her thinking about what she might want to tell me, and so now boys I need to return to our damsel in distress!”
To Be Continued ...
Footnote - Today, many clothes-pegs (also clothespins) are manufactured very cheaply by creating two interlocking plastic or wooden prongs, in between which is often wedged a small spring. This design was invented by David M. Smith of Springfield, Vermont, in 1853. By a lever action, when the two prongs are pinched at the top of the peg, the prongs open up, and when released, the spring draws the two prongs shut, creating the action necessary for gripping. Smith was also known for being an excellent violin player. It was one of his hobbies. He used to think clearly whenever playing violin, thinking about every day problems. That was how he came up with the idea to invent a clothespin. (Source Wikipedia)
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Here is another celebrity making his appearance!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 13 – An old, ruined station house near to the abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, 11:35 am May 16th 1864
Trying to ignore the pain she felt, Catherine forced herself to concentrate on the evaluation of her situation, and soon realised that her only weapon was her wits.
The poor girl could not even close her left eye properly, but despite this she willed the pain from the clothes pins to go away. It didn't help much. In her mind, she could not stop from picturing the evil little contraptions and their construction. The wood nipped at her sensitive flesh, and the sting was getting worse.
Even if she could use the pins to her advantage, there was no way to reach them. Sampson had restrained her well, and she could barely move at all, let alone shift her hands upwards to grasp the offending little devices.
For just a moment the thought that she should give in to the growing agony and tell him what he wanted to know seemed very compelling. It would be so easy, she thought, to tell him that Quantrill was heading to Kentucky. He already had a start on them, they would never find him.
Her mind pictured William Quantrill. She knew what people said, knew of the outrage at Lawrence, and what that made him to many, but in her mind, he was a courageous hero, fighting for the cause that she held dear to her heart. She wanted to help him … and over time, since he first appeared at White Orchard last October, she had fallen in love with the man she saw as a dashing, Southern Cavalry Officer. When Ewing had issued his General Order Number 11 and burnt land and buildings in three and a half counties East of Missouri, Quantrill had become incensed and his desire for revenge was contagious … it was an infection that Catherine had wholeheartedly caught!
Tears came to her eyes, both of them, when she thought of her dream to give her maidenhead to William. But now Uncle Billy and his evil Army had taken that away from her. She sobbed quietly as an image of the wooden pole that they had raped her with came bounding into her tortured mind …
But if she told the Lieutenant what he wanted to know then she could escape more torment, avoid more torture … or worse! She could get food and sleep and be cared for, maybe even have an opportunity to escape, if she'd just tell them what they wanted to know.
No ... Catherine steeled herself. She was not a traitor and she'd never tell them anything! With this contention resolved in her mind, the pain in her eye and nose began to lessen to a dull ache. She could live with that, she decided. Her courage had risen to give her relief!
“I will not betray you William, my love,” she whispered to herself.
She heard boots on gravel and Lieutenant Sampson entered the broken-down room again. He was smiling, and carrying a large valise, rather like a doctor's bag. He set the valise onto the dusty ground and once more took a rickety seat in front of her.
"Well, Catherine," he asked, "… did you consider my offer? There are so many unpleasant things ahead for you if you continue to be stubborn. Tell me, Catherine …" and he leaned down into her face, "… where is the bastard Quantrill?"
Catherine spat a thick glob of saliva at him!
Chapter 14 – The Oostanuala Valley at John’s Creek, sometime during the morning of May 16th 1864
Quantrill surveyed the group and let his gaze settle on Jesse. "Alright, we will go through Tennessee and onto Kentucky."
Jesse James stepped forward. "I agree with Will. Seems like a waste of time to ride anywhere else when we got Yankee do-gooders right up the road in Kentucky, there's plenty of Union families around there."
"We will head to Kentucky," Quantrill repeated. He stepped toward his horse without looking back and swung into the saddle like a man who fully expected to be followed.
Starting out, the band forded the Oostanuala and rode five miles west towards the Dalton Road, where they paused to give themselves and their horses a drink before crossing the river at a known crossing point.
The men dismounted and relaxed beneath the spreading limbs of a huge white oak tree. Quantrill leaned lazily against the trunk and gazed up. "Look there, Jesse." He pointed to a large limb with little foliage, twelve to fifteen feet above the ground, which forked from the tree in a position almost perfectly horizontal to the earth. "Look at the size of that limb. Hell, we could hang Sherman and six of his Yankee bastards up there at the same time." His words fuelled by the hatred he felt for his enemy, especially after what he believed they had done to Catherine.
Quantrill’s eyes had a cloudy film that seemed to act as a translucent screen through which he could see out, but no one could see in. Although the Raider’s chief was sitting right beside him, Frank had the eerie feeling that the man's mind was somewhere else.
"While we're here," Jesse suggested, "we should decide what our target is, before we reach the border, cross into Tennessee and head on up to Kentucky."
"Anybody got anything in mind?" Quantrill asked. Nobody spoke at first.
"Let's just ride," said Frank, "… and decide when we get there. The place will be crawling with abolitionists. We just need to find them. The Jayhawkers are heading out of Kansas now and we will encounter them for sure. They are everywhere helping slaves escape, giving them a stopover point out of Kentucky and Missouri."
"Sounds like we will be busy," Quantrill agreed. "What do you say, Jesse?"
"I ain't particular, long as we get to kill some of them bastards!”
Quantrill threw back a shot of whiskey, exhaled a long sigh, plugged the flask, and started toward his horse. “But here’s where I head off for a while. I am going to find Catherine. When I have her, I will re-join you. I will head for the Ohio Falls and get a message to you. Stay around Louisville if you can do so safely …”
With that, and without staying to hear any objection from the James brothers, Quantrill headed out to find and rescue his beloved Catherine.
To Be Continued ...
Footnote - General Order No. 11 is the title of a Union Army directive issued during the American Civil War on August 25, 1863, forcing the evacuation of rural areas in four counties in western Missouri. The order, issued by Union General Thomas Ewing, Jr., affected all rural residents regardless of their allegiance. Those who could prove their loyalty to the Union were permitted to stay in the affected area, but had to leave their farms and move to communities near military outposts. Those who could not do so had to vacate the area altogether. While intended to deprive pro-Confederate guerrillas of material support from the rural countryside, the severity of the Order's provisions and the nature of its enforcement alienated vast numbers of civilians, and ultimately led to conditions in which guerrillas were given greater support and access to supplies than before.
Trying to ignore the pain she felt, Catherine forced herself to concentrate on the evaluation of her situation, and soon realised that her only weapon was her wits.
The poor girl could not even close her left eye properly, but despite this she willed the pain from the clothes pins to go away. It didn't help much. In her mind, she could not stop from picturing the evil little contraptions and their construction. The wood nipped at her sensitive flesh, and the sting was getting worse.
Even if she could use the pins to her advantage, there was no way to reach them. Sampson had restrained her well, and she could barely move at all, let alone shift her hands upwards to grasp the offending little devices.
For just a moment the thought that she should give in to the growing agony and tell him what he wanted to know seemed very compelling. It would be so easy, she thought, to tell him that Quantrill was heading to Kentucky. He already had a start on them, they would never find him.
Her mind pictured William Quantrill. She knew what people said, knew of the outrage at Lawrence, and what that made him to many, but in her mind, he was a courageous hero, fighting for the cause that she held dear to her heart. She wanted to help him … and over time, since he first appeared at White Orchard last October, she had fallen in love with the man she saw as a dashing, Southern Cavalry Officer. When Ewing had issued his General Order Number 11 and burnt land and buildings in three and a half counties East of Missouri, Quantrill had become incensed and his desire for revenge was contagious … it was an infection that Catherine had wholeheartedly caught!
Tears came to her eyes, both of them, when she thought of her dream to give her maidenhead to William. But now Uncle Billy and his evil Army had taken that away from her. She sobbed quietly as an image of the wooden pole that they had raped her with came bounding into her tortured mind …
But if she told the Lieutenant what he wanted to know then she could escape more torment, avoid more torture … or worse! She could get food and sleep and be cared for, maybe even have an opportunity to escape, if she'd just tell them what they wanted to know.
No ... Catherine steeled herself. She was not a traitor and she'd never tell them anything! With this contention resolved in her mind, the pain in her eye and nose began to lessen to a dull ache. She could live with that, she decided. Her courage had risen to give her relief!
“I will not betray you William, my love,” she whispered to herself.
She heard boots on gravel and Lieutenant Sampson entered the broken-down room again. He was smiling, and carrying a large valise, rather like a doctor's bag. He set the valise onto the dusty ground and once more took a rickety seat in front of her.
"Well, Catherine," he asked, "… did you consider my offer? There are so many unpleasant things ahead for you if you continue to be stubborn. Tell me, Catherine …" and he leaned down into her face, "… where is the bastard Quantrill?"
Catherine spat a thick glob of saliva at him!
Chapter 14 – The Oostanuala Valley at John’s Creek, sometime during the morning of May 16th 1864
Quantrill surveyed the group and let his gaze settle on Jesse. "Alright, we will go through Tennessee and onto Kentucky."
Jesse James stepped forward. "I agree with Will. Seems like a waste of time to ride anywhere else when we got Yankee do-gooders right up the road in Kentucky, there's plenty of Union families around there."
"We will head to Kentucky," Quantrill repeated. He stepped toward his horse without looking back and swung into the saddle like a man who fully expected to be followed.
Starting out, the band forded the Oostanuala and rode five miles west towards the Dalton Road, where they paused to give themselves and their horses a drink before crossing the river at a known crossing point.
The men dismounted and relaxed beneath the spreading limbs of a huge white oak tree. Quantrill leaned lazily against the trunk and gazed up. "Look there, Jesse." He pointed to a large limb with little foliage, twelve to fifteen feet above the ground, which forked from the tree in a position almost perfectly horizontal to the earth. "Look at the size of that limb. Hell, we could hang Sherman and six of his Yankee bastards up there at the same time." His words fuelled by the hatred he felt for his enemy, especially after what he believed they had done to Catherine.
Quantrill’s eyes had a cloudy film that seemed to act as a translucent screen through which he could see out, but no one could see in. Although the Raider’s chief was sitting right beside him, Frank had the eerie feeling that the man's mind was somewhere else.
"While we're here," Jesse suggested, "we should decide what our target is, before we reach the border, cross into Tennessee and head on up to Kentucky."
"Anybody got anything in mind?" Quantrill asked. Nobody spoke at first.
"Let's just ride," said Frank, "… and decide when we get there. The place will be crawling with abolitionists. We just need to find them. The Jayhawkers are heading out of Kansas now and we will encounter them for sure. They are everywhere helping slaves escape, giving them a stopover point out of Kentucky and Missouri."
"Sounds like we will be busy," Quantrill agreed. "What do you say, Jesse?"
"I ain't particular, long as we get to kill some of them bastards!”
Quantrill threw back a shot of whiskey, exhaled a long sigh, plugged the flask, and started toward his horse. “But here’s where I head off for a while. I am going to find Catherine. When I have her, I will re-join you. I will head for the Ohio Falls and get a message to you. Stay around Louisville if you can do so safely …”
With that, and without staying to hear any objection from the James brothers, Quantrill headed out to find and rescue his beloved Catherine.
To Be Continued ...
Footnote - General Order No. 11 is the title of a Union Army directive issued during the American Civil War on August 25, 1863, forcing the evacuation of rural areas in four counties in western Missouri. The order, issued by Union General Thomas Ewing, Jr., affected all rural residents regardless of their allegiance. Those who could prove their loyalty to the Union were permitted to stay in the affected area, but had to leave their farms and move to communities near military outposts. Those who could not do so had to vacate the area altogether. While intended to deprive pro-Confederate guerrillas of material support from the rural countryside, the severity of the Order's provisions and the nature of its enforcement alienated vast numbers of civilians, and ultimately led to conditions in which guerrillas were given greater support and access to supplies than before.
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
It needs more than a few clothespins to break Catherine!
That is usually the side-effect of such harsh measures. You don't turn the affected people into allies, for sure.
twonines
LIMERICUS
The weak often equate force with power which is a different animal.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 15 - An old, ruined station house near to the abandoned Union Encampment on the Banks of the Oostanuala River near Lay’s Ferry, Around Midday, May 16th 1864
Wiping the dripping Saliva from his face, Sampson did not react with surprise or anger. Catherine had hoped he would, so she could feel that at least some kind of blow against him had been struck. But he merely stood up and drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle away.
"Of course," he said, "we can do it that way if you wish." Then he grabbed the clip on her nose and viciously yanked it away! It was surprisingly painless ... for about five seconds. Then the flames of agony returned to her flesh, worse than before! He repeated the motion as he snatched the clothespin from her eyelid. The pain was so intense she wondered if he'd torn the lid off!
"You see, Catherine, the nerves become numb quickly. Then the pain is easier to take. But we must not let that happen. So, now we have wakened the nerves again. Enjoy the pain as the blood flows freely Catherine."
Turning to his bag, he withdrew a packet of medical pins. Larger than regular, dress pins, the sharp stems were nearly the size of toothpicks with a rounded head. He also removed a small bowl and a bottle of surgeon’s alcohol.
“Major Watson, you remember him Catherine? He is surprisingly well equipped with some very useful accessories. And he was so kind to leave them for me.”
Catherine watched in terrified silence as the Lieutenant poured the alcohol into the bowl, and dropped the pins, one by one, into it. "I must use sterilized instruments," he commented. "Don't want to give you an infection and kill you, now do we?” Much to Catherine’s sickened chagrin, he laughed out loud at his own irony.
“After all, the Major found you quite attractive. He may want to keep you for his pleasures after I'm done with you, and he'd be upset if you were too badly damaged. Now tell me, Catherine ... before I have to get really unpleasant ..." and he lifted a dripping pin from the alcohol, "... where is Quantrill?"
By now, the burning in her eye and nose had lessened somewhat, but Catherine’s mind was dancing with thoughts of what he might do with that pin. Her heart was racing in her chest and pounding in her ears, but she would not talk. She would NOT!
When he began to use the sharp pin to pick at a scabbed lash mark just above her left breast, she winced. As he flicked at the skin Catherine gasped, but when he slowly pushed it into her flesh the sharp pain registered immediately and she cried out.
“Noooooooo, ohhhh my God, please stop, arggghhh!” … it hurt so badly. He did not cease until the pin was embedded enough to stay in place without him holding it. Then he used another pin and stabbed on her beaten body, once more finding a healing weak spot to take advantage of.
“Arrrggggggggghhhhh, stop this … stop … STOP!”
Leaving the first two rooted in her body, he took more pins and pierced her thighs in several places, sliding the sharp points into the soft skin folds, and then out again.
“Thighs are the worst Miss McCown, the skin is so yielding, so sensitive …” the next pin went in very close to her shaven mons.
Catherine bit her lip to keep from crying out, managing to stoically limit her sounds to a quiet whimper.
"Where is the bastard, Catherine?"
"Fuck you." It was the first time he had heard her curse like this, and it turned him on.
"A pleasant idea, little girl. But I hate to mix my personal pleasures with those tasks that the Army burdens me with. But don't worry. Keep being stubborn and you'll get all the fucking you need when I tie you to a table and let the men loose on you. Or you could be smart and tell me ... where is Quantrill?"
"Go to hell."
"I have a better idea. I will send you there instead ... bit by painful little bit." In so saying, he gripped one of the pins in her shoulder, pushed it in to make sure it was deep, and began to wiggle it around.
“Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Noooooooooo!”
Catherine cried out in agony, it hurt so much! She had never felt anything so awful before in her young life, not even the flogging had created moments of such focussed and intense pain!
Unwitting tears flooded her eyes and dripped down her cheeks … fear shrieked inside her. Sampson had made her cry with these pins, and surely there were worse torments in his bag! How much could she endure?
He watched her impassively as she writhed in agony, before offering up a smirk. "Now, Catherine," he said, scratching the point of a pin against the hardened teat of her right nipple, "where is Quantrill hiding?" But Catherine still did not reply.
With a sigh he drew his chair close and once again sat down in it. Reaching out to her, he cupped the firm fullness of the same breast in his hand. Curling his fingers around it, he caressed it like the gentlest of lovers. His touch was warm and temperate and for a moment she wondered if he might be revealing a weakness which she could exploit.
But with his next words, any such hope shrivelled inside her.
"Beautiful tits, Catherine, and healing so well from the flogging. It will be such a shame to damage them again."
Cold tendrils of fear moved hurriedly down her back as he reached once more to the plastic bowl for the pins. Her courage almost left her as he drove more steel needles through the soft red flesh of her hardened nipples.
“Ohhhhhh my Godddddd! Stop please Sir, please you bastarddddd!”
Pain ravaged her body at the stab of the fortified pin, and as her cries faded to a quiet moan, small droplets of blood fell from her breasts. "Catherine," he whispered, and she looked up at him, gasping for breath, chest heaving …
"… why do you fight me? There is no need for all this. Untold agony still awaits you. I can burn your flesh, cut you, cut parts off you ... so many things which would sicken the devil himself. Or I can save you. Stop the pain and the fear and the humiliation. All you have to do is tell me one thing … and you know what that is."
To Be Continued ...
Wiping the dripping Saliva from his face, Sampson did not react with surprise or anger. Catherine had hoped he would, so she could feel that at least some kind of blow against him had been struck. But he merely stood up and drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle away.
"Of course," he said, "we can do it that way if you wish." Then he grabbed the clip on her nose and viciously yanked it away! It was surprisingly painless ... for about five seconds. Then the flames of agony returned to her flesh, worse than before! He repeated the motion as he snatched the clothespin from her eyelid. The pain was so intense she wondered if he'd torn the lid off!
"You see, Catherine, the nerves become numb quickly. Then the pain is easier to take. But we must not let that happen. So, now we have wakened the nerves again. Enjoy the pain as the blood flows freely Catherine."
Turning to his bag, he withdrew a packet of medical pins. Larger than regular, dress pins, the sharp stems were nearly the size of toothpicks with a rounded head. He also removed a small bowl and a bottle of surgeon’s alcohol.
“Major Watson, you remember him Catherine? He is surprisingly well equipped with some very useful accessories. And he was so kind to leave them for me.”
Catherine watched in terrified silence as the Lieutenant poured the alcohol into the bowl, and dropped the pins, one by one, into it. "I must use sterilized instruments," he commented. "Don't want to give you an infection and kill you, now do we?” Much to Catherine’s sickened chagrin, he laughed out loud at his own irony.
“After all, the Major found you quite attractive. He may want to keep you for his pleasures after I'm done with you, and he'd be upset if you were too badly damaged. Now tell me, Catherine ... before I have to get really unpleasant ..." and he lifted a dripping pin from the alcohol, "... where is Quantrill?"
By now, the burning in her eye and nose had lessened somewhat, but Catherine’s mind was dancing with thoughts of what he might do with that pin. Her heart was racing in her chest and pounding in her ears, but she would not talk. She would NOT!
When he began to use the sharp pin to pick at a scabbed lash mark just above her left breast, she winced. As he flicked at the skin Catherine gasped, but when he slowly pushed it into her flesh the sharp pain registered immediately and she cried out.
“Noooooooo, ohhhh my God, please stop, arggghhh!” … it hurt so badly. He did not cease until the pin was embedded enough to stay in place without him holding it. Then he used another pin and stabbed on her beaten body, once more finding a healing weak spot to take advantage of.
“Arrrggggggggghhhhh, stop this … stop … STOP!”
Leaving the first two rooted in her body, he took more pins and pierced her thighs in several places, sliding the sharp points into the soft skin folds, and then out again.
“Thighs are the worst Miss McCown, the skin is so yielding, so sensitive …” the next pin went in very close to her shaven mons.
Catherine bit her lip to keep from crying out, managing to stoically limit her sounds to a quiet whimper.
"Where is the bastard, Catherine?"
"Fuck you." It was the first time he had heard her curse like this, and it turned him on.
"A pleasant idea, little girl. But I hate to mix my personal pleasures with those tasks that the Army burdens me with. But don't worry. Keep being stubborn and you'll get all the fucking you need when I tie you to a table and let the men loose on you. Or you could be smart and tell me ... where is Quantrill?"
"Go to hell."
"I have a better idea. I will send you there instead ... bit by painful little bit." In so saying, he gripped one of the pins in her shoulder, pushed it in to make sure it was deep, and began to wiggle it around.
“Aaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Noooooooooo!”
Catherine cried out in agony, it hurt so much! She had never felt anything so awful before in her young life, not even the flogging had created moments of such focussed and intense pain!
Unwitting tears flooded her eyes and dripped down her cheeks … fear shrieked inside her. Sampson had made her cry with these pins, and surely there were worse torments in his bag! How much could she endure?
He watched her impassively as she writhed in agony, before offering up a smirk. "Now, Catherine," he said, scratching the point of a pin against the hardened teat of her right nipple, "where is Quantrill hiding?" But Catherine still did not reply.
With a sigh he drew his chair close and once again sat down in it. Reaching out to her, he cupped the firm fullness of the same breast in his hand. Curling his fingers around it, he caressed it like the gentlest of lovers. His touch was warm and temperate and for a moment she wondered if he might be revealing a weakness which she could exploit.
But with his next words, any such hope shrivelled inside her.
"Beautiful tits, Catherine, and healing so well from the flogging. It will be such a shame to damage them again."
Cold tendrils of fear moved hurriedly down her back as he reached once more to the plastic bowl for the pins. Her courage almost left her as he drove more steel needles through the soft red flesh of her hardened nipples.
“Ohhhhhh my Godddddd! Stop please Sir, please you bastarddddd!”
Pain ravaged her body at the stab of the fortified pin, and as her cries faded to a quiet moan, small droplets of blood fell from her breasts. "Catherine," he whispered, and she looked up at him, gasping for breath, chest heaving …
"… why do you fight me? There is no need for all this. Untold agony still awaits you. I can burn your flesh, cut you, cut parts off you ... so many things which would sicken the devil himself. Or I can save you. Stop the pain and the fear and the humiliation. All you have to do is tell me one thing … and you know what that is."
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
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Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thanks 99, you may recall from book 1 that as well as being a monstrous sadist, Sampson is quite an educated man ...
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Damnation! - Why? Why? Why? - I read and re-read it and still managed not to spot that I had written 'plastic bowl'- auto writing influenced by contemporary thinking ... can't believe I wrote it and unfortunately I can't edit it ... will need to ask the readers to gloss over it ...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thank you Barb ... just leave it at 'small' bowl please. Brilliant you're a star!