Echoes Of Feelings

[zenwhips1]

No Words

He awakened to the sensation of fingernails lightly scratching the back of his neck... as he slowly came to consciousness, he felt her left thigh draped over his hip and her sex gently pressing into the back of his upper left thigh, just below the cheek of his ass. She hadn't shaved in several days and her pussy mound, with the stubble, felt like warm soft sandpaper scratching his skin. Her breasts, snuggled up against the middle of his back, dragged gently upward as her fingernails were replaced by her lips. With her mouth just behind and below his ear, she whispered "Michael... last night... you promised." She was ever-so-slowly and gently grinding her sex into his thigh, side to side , up and down, in little circles and he could feel the moisture left behind as it gyrated. He brought his hand up to his chest where hers lay, taking her wrist in his fingers, tugging it lightly up to his lips. Laying several gentle, loving kisses in the center of her palm, he whispered back to her "I love you, you know... I never want that to change...". She moaned very quietly, her left thigh squeezing his hip almost imperceptibly as her sex spasmed against his thigh.

He held her hand away from his face for a few seconds, gazing at it. She had such tiny hands... tiny and articulate; a doll's hands. That was one of the first things that had attracted him to her when they had first met. How her fingers seemed out of place with their elegant length in relation to the overall size of her hands. An artist's fingers, or a musician's... but the hands themselves were tiny and fragile and so very very feminine. They spoke of her delicate nature but that delicacy belied the nature of her desires, the dark and monstrous seed that slept deep within her, that unholy craving to be used, to be unmade... to be destroyed. It was the siren's call of that very need which had drawn him to her. That tacit agreement that had been apparent from the beginning: "Here I am... take me, use me, undo me... make me love you beyond all understanding, love me beyond all understanding... take me places the world can never know. " To which the reply came: "I will, I do, you'll see..." Her hands helped to write the music, to paint the portrait, he found so mesmerizing.

Bringing her hand back to his lips, he once more kissed her palm, then began gently biting the heel, just below her thumb. As he did this, languid little sparks flowed up her spine and her sex began spasming once again, moving in circles, pressing more firmly into his flesh, leaving trails of clear, sticky fluid on his skin. He found himself unconsciously pushing his ass back to meet her movements, enjoying the feeling of the stubble as it lightly scratched him, feeling his cock stirring and filling with blood. Another moan escaped her lips, followed closely by a muted gurgling whimper, as her face pressed into the center of his back. He chewed more firmly on the heel of her palm, his teeth nipping at the base of her thumb, causing her sex to spasm more forcefully, grinding against his thigh.

A steady mewling emanated from deep in her chest now, and he was sure her eyes were tightly closed, her bottom lip quivering as she fell into the rhythm of the moment. "Michaeeellllll, ppleeasseeeeeee... don't tease meeee" she whispered in a daze of need and expectation. "You promissedd meee, pleaseee" he smiled to himself in the darkness and whispered in reply, "What is it, child... what do you want?". A low, throaty moan came in response as her now-sloppy-wet cunt began dancing lightly yet crazily over his thigh and ass cheek, leaving a creamy mess as it moved. "Micchaeeelllllllll... please don't make me beg... you know how I hate to beg... pleaseee." He kissed her palm lovingly once more and murmured "I know... beg me."

No more words came from her, but the mewlings and gurgling whimpers ratcheted upwards in intensity, as her thigh squeezed his hip forcefully, her sticky, soaking wet cunt making tiny wet sucking noises as she raised it away then slammed it back into his upper thigh. These were the moments he loved her most. The moments when her walls came tumbling down, when her defenses became nonexistent, when her raw, animalistic need became her entire world, and she could see nothing, nothing at all, save the slavering monster of her craving... these were the moments when his desire for her, for her undoing, for her destruction, become almost overpowering in his mind. He had decided some time ago that one day... one day... he would not reconstruct her. Not rebuild her... not renew her. Some day, her destruction would be final, her sacrifice, pure, her need finally, and permanently, laid to rest... but not now. Not today. Today his lust for her continued destruction was sharp, whetted, needful. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to tear her down, restore her, tear her back down, restore her once again, destroy her, renew her, and on... and on... and on...

Taking her hand from his lips once again, he whispered to her, though he was unsure if she heard him through the whimperings and gurgled moanings, "I love you child, you know that... I never, ever want that to change." He smiled as he felt her shiver in response, her sex grinding and spasming in its rutting need.

He brought his other hand up to hers, taking the delicate wrist firmly in his fingers, firmly enough to assure she could not wrest it free. With that, his other hand moved closer to her fingers and then gripped her pinky tightly between the first and second knuckle. Gritting his teeth slightly, his brow knitting a bit in concentration, he began bending the little finger backwards, slowly... Her entire body began noticeably vibrating, her cunt, now impossibly swollen, began grinding into him in earnest, in circles, side to side, up and down, back to tiny circles, grinding hard against him. A low pitched, keening sound issued from her throat, her thigh shaking and spastically squeezing his hip. She had passed into apoplexy, a sexual suffering which belonged only to her; a private, dark and gorgeous universe where everything made perfect sense, where lay no fear, where anticipation no longer existed...

He slipped his index finger to the center of her palm, now pooled in sweat, and felt the tendon there tensed and rigid. Very, very slowly, he continued pulling the finger backward. Soon it would reach the limits of its resistance and give in to the force which enveloped it. The sounds she was making now were growing beyond human, entering into the world of primal, of animal, the reflection of total and absolute pure sensation. He knew that the tiniest sparks of magma were racing up and down her spine, teasing her, luring her into the realm of a craving that never died, that couldn't die. Like a benevolent ogre, the overpowering need she felt held her, stroked her lovingly, whispered reassurances to her hungry ears, as the drool slid from her slackened lips to flow down her chin and dripping down onto her breasts. Her sex was pulsating now, hot, swollen, aching, slamming down into his thigh over and over again, grinding against him, battering itself against him. Her eyes fluttered, mucous flowed from both nostrils and the keening grew in its desperation.

He felt her pinky at the end of its flexibility now, it would go no further backward unless made to do so. Steeling himself, setting his jaw and wrapping his fingers round her wrist more forcefully, he continued pulling back on the finger until he heard the tiniest crunching sounds and felt the small bones grate together, followed almost immediately by a louder snap, as the tendons and ligaments were torn from their moorings. She instantly went rigid, the mewlings and gurgles giving way to the highest-pitched wailings of the hopeless damned. Her screams reverberated off the ceiling and the walls, her thigh almost crushing his hip in its distress, her cunt grinding like a machine gone wild, as a gushing stream of clear, hot cream exploded from between her labia, splattering off his thighs and ass, up onto the walls and covering both their bodies, soaking the sheets, pillows and comforter. Both thighs spasmed and tensed, relaxed, tensed, relaxed, tensed and relaxed, as the endless waves rolled over her... her screams continued building toward a crescendo, her cunt still gushing, the broken finger a source of liquid fire that both bathed her and fed her...

After some time had passed, he relaxed his grip on her wrist, bringing it one last time to his lips and gently kissed her palm and each finger in turn, saving the ravaged pinky for last. She lay moaning and the moans grew louder as his lips touched the last finger. His voice still a whisper, he said to her "I love you child... some day I will give you what you crave... but not now... not today." He turned on the bed, facing her now, looking lovingly into her eyes which were wet with tears and only half open. "Someday I will destroy you... slowly, deliberately, and with love. No more renewal. No more restoration. I promise you this, my love... you have my intention and you own my word." He smiled as the tears streamed down her face once more, the rawest of emotions having their way with her. She started to say something in reply but he brought his finger to her lips and whispered, "Shhhhhhh... no words... no words."

He turned over and pulled the pillow under his head, the coolness pleasant on his cheek, as he felt her thigh drape once again over his hip. With that, he pushed his ass back, nestling it into the warmth and softness of her upper thighs and still-swollen sex. He smiled sleepily, suddenly realizing they were both laying in a sticky pool of her spent passion. As he drifted into dreams, he heard echoes in his mind, whispering... " Shhhhh... no words..."

 

[zenwhips1]

An Interlude: Love, Terror and Social Justice


She grunted under her breath as the wheel caught another rut, violently rocking the entire carriage and throwing her against the drapery covering the inside of the cabin. Grabbing the window, fingers grasping tightly, she held herself upright as a curse escaped her blood-red lips. She abhorred the trips; always long, always a nightmare of bumps, ruts, insane rocking, and always, *always* the smell of unwashed horses, unwashed men - she hated this. If not for the treasure - the gold coins and the occasional jewels, she would never have been an executioner. The torture she thrilled in, yes; the sounds, the smells, the images. The murder and violence did not disturb her; she had steeled herself to it years before, though her preferences ran to prolonging the agony, and not actually causing the death. What bothered her most, however, was the filth of the villages, the disingenuous piety of the officials, the vacant, stupid eyes of the townspeople... and the trips.

Delicate, elegant white fingers distractedly combed the ebon hair from her eyes as the rocking slowed, then ceased. Barely leaning her head through the window, the glossy jet-black mane wafting slightly back in the caress of a chilled morning breeze, she called impatiently to the captain, "When shall we arrive in this little cradle of filth and disease, soldier?" Sitting erect in the saddle, he turned toward the sound, nodded grimly, and in low, raspy voice, replied, "With luck, M'Lady, we are a day, a day and a half distant." "Gods!", she exclaimed, her face retreating back into the shade of the cabin's interior, while still addressing the captain, "Just... get me there, soldier." "Yes, M'Lady." came the reply, and with a hitch of heels into the horse's flanks, he spurted forward, toward the leading guard. She sighed deeply, leaned back into the brocaded pillows' softness and closed her eyes.

This is when she would play the little games in her mind, to make the endless hours pass more quickly. She would count the sessions, one after another, sifting through memory to bring only the most intense scenes to mind. As these images danced in her brain, she would squeeze her upper thighs together, moving one against the other in a slow, firm, yet almost unnoticeable scissoring motion. This would cause her nipples to crinkle and her firm, lower belly to vibrate softly and tiny rolling waves of heat to flow from under her mound of love, rippling outward to tummy, thighs and breasts. Each scene as it played would bring her closer, ever closer. The heat would build and swim, thighs rolled, breath, quickened. Gorgeous, dark images of feminine bodies swaying in sweat-soaked, raptured agony, deep, animalistic screams, pathetic mewlings and whimperings... torchlight, pain, more sweat, and especially the smell of fear. and always, just before the wave broke, at its very peak, she would stop, sit perfectly still, clear her mind, and breathe. Once calm returned, and her world had resumed its normalcy, she would begin once more, climbing slowly, more torture, more pain, more beauty, more screams... thighs scissoring, gently, til climbing the peak, the wave just ready to crest, then... stop. This was her game, and it left her exhausted. Over and over and over again. It passed the time... the endless, endless hours.

Sleep left slowly, eyes fluttering, barely open, nose twitching in awakening senses. The first thing she noticed was there was no motion. No swaying, no rocking, and no sound. No jostling of metal on leather, no labored panting of the horses, no voices. She sat up straight, bringing her face to the window. Darkness was gathering and a clammy, grayish pall lay on the countryside. Beside the carriage was the captain, his head on the neck of his horse, eyes closed, seemingly asleep. "Soldier!", she called out. "What is the meaning of this? Why are we stopped??" He didn't stir, nor did his steed. Cocking her head slightly, and taking heed of a tingling in her skin, she pushed her face farther through the window, turning forward and up, calling out to the driver, "You! Man! Why are we stopped?" Only silence replied. Sitting sharply back into the seat, she closed her eyes tightly, as if perhaps expecting, once they reopened, she would reawaken to find the carriage moving once more. As she sat, eyes closed, surrounded by silence, the world around her, still as a mouse, her puzzlement and curiousness slowly gave way to anger. Cursing under her breath, she opened the door, gathering the long, dark velvet gown around her hips, and stepping carefully out and to the ground.

The very first thing she noticed was the silence… no sound of crickets, chirping, not a bird’s lazy song, no peeping of frogs from the banks of the lake just off the trail. Just an overwhelming blanket of quiet stillness, and the tingling of her skin heightened. She stood, frozen, as her eyes swept her surroundings. The team of horses stood, heads bowed, in their normal place before the carriage. She glanced up and could clearly see the driver, his chin on chest, the reins draped over his still hands, folded in his lap, his eyes closed. Her gaze turned once again to the captain, head on his horse’s mane, sound asleep. The tingling blossomed slowly to a light buzzing, skin now damp, and the tiny hairs, just at the base of her neck, stood on end. Her nipples now crinkling, awakening, her knees suddenly weakened, vibrating softly. In frustration and fear, she turned and beat against the carriage wall with her fist, screaming “Wake up!! What is wrong with you??? Wake up!!!” Over and over her fists flailed at the carriage, in anger, impatience and a growing sense of terror.

In the stillness, an odd sound caught her ear and she turned, peering off the trail to the treeline, only a few feet from the muddy, rutted road on which the carriage now sat, unmoving. Her breath caught in her throat as the beast emerged slowly from the shadows. Her heart pounded in her chest as her eyes met the gaze of a giant wolf, its own eyes glowing deep crimson, its coat as black as night. She had never felt fear in her life but now... now, a terror slowly spiraled up from her lower belly, its icy tendrils wended around her flanks and slowly made their way up her spine. Her nostrils flared and her heart felt as if it would burst her chest. Those blood-red eyes were fixed upon her with an intelligence and a sense of purpose that made her knees turn to jelly. As the beast slowly made its way toward her, her face suddenly felt hot and a wave of nausea enveloped her. The last thing she saw and felt before darkness took her were those malevolent, scarlet eyes and the dampness of its breath at her throat.

The disheveled, filth-covered waif was taken immediately from the court to her place of execution. The crowd of villagers was already thick and an air of carnival hovered over the large square. The afternoon was slowly waning, the sun lay hazy in cloud, some way above the horizon and an early autumn chill blanketed the land. Merchants wandered through the wide, open expanse, hawking their wares to anyone with a few coins to spare. Cooks sweated over the fires that held freshly slaughtered lambs on racks and pigs slowly turned on spits, the aroma of cooking meat wafting out over the crowd. Children ran squealing through the throng of people, chasing and being chased, laughing and giggling, their faces dirty and their clothes barely more than rags. Entire families had turned out to see the witch tortured and executed; young men and women with their hands busy in each others' secret places, mothers and fathers, sitting on crudely-hewn stools and chairs while others sat on blankets spread over the grassy ground. A thick aura of expectation hung over all and there was much merriment, enhanced by the large mugs of ale and wine which were being sold by serving wenches who made their way through the ever-shifting mob.

The creaky wooden cart in which the girl was being transported slowly made its way from the court, stopping frequently to wait while children and animals slowly cleared a path for it to continue on its way. Her body was barely covered in a filthy dark gray shift of coarse cotton, dangling loosely over her shoulders, its tattered hem falling just below her sex, the large rip in its center openly exposing the cleavage of her tiny, unwashed breasts. Her hair was dirty and matted, greasy and laced with tiny pieces of straw from the crude bed of hay on which she had tossed fitfully the night before in her darkened cell. Her face was bruised and pallid, her dark eyes, swollen and reddened from crying, flitting fearfully to and fro, scanning the scene which seemed too bizarre for her to even begin to comprehend. Her nose was red and misshapen from the unending openhanded slaps she had endured while undergoing many days of interrogation and small twin streams of snot ran from each nostril adding to her dazed humiliation, unable as she was with hands tied behind her, to simply wipe the twin streams away. Her nipples were stiff with fear and her sex quivered in uneasy anticipation of the unknown. Her mind raced and reeled with the words of the judge as he had passed sentence on her. " You will be taken to a place of execution, there to be stripped like a common whore and hung up on a platform for all to see. There you will have the skin of your depraved and evil body removed, as slowly as can be done. After which you will be rolled in salt, hung up on a wheel and have every bone in your witch's body broken by the rod. May you rot in hell where all of your kind belongs... " Tears welled in her eyes again as the words echoed inside her head. Her knees were rapidly turning to soft butter and her heart pounded in her chest.

The crowd began parting before the cart now as it moved slowly toward the platform waiting in the center of the square. Her breath caught in her throat as she gained the first glimpse of it. Some forty feet by forty feet and at least 10 feet high, it was purposely erected to give the crowd an unobstructed view of her torture and death. She closed her eyes and held on tightly to the rail of the cart to keep from falling, only to open her eyes once again, unable to avert them from the place of her coming execution. In the center of the wooden platform was a sturdy oaken frame, standing at least 10 feet high, consisting of two thick posts 6 feet apart with another thick post connecting them at the top of each, forming a large square inverted "U". Hanging from chains at the top of each post were iron manacles, with matching manacles attached to each post where they rose from the platform itself. Her tummy began churning and she felt as if she could not breathe, her mind reeling and dizzy, her nipples impossibly stiff in terror. To her horror, her bladder vibrated wildly before releasing its contents, the hot yellow urine pouring down her inner thighs to puddle at her bare feet and she hung her head in utter shame.

All too soon the cart creaked to a halt and before she knew what was happening, several pairs of rough, strong hands grabbed her upper arms and she was quickly dragged to the base of the stairs leading up to the platform. The crowd grew loud and derisive as she was brought forth to face her fate. Catcalls and whistles assaulted her ears and she heard hundreds of drunken voices saying the most obscene things, calling her a whore and a slut, a witch and a bride of Satan... they spit on her and cursed her, some began pelting her with garbage as the guards who held her tightly pulled her to the stairs. Her legs were useless now as her terror overcame her senses and she was rudely dragged up the staircase. Upon reaching the floor of the platform, she was pushed harshly to her knees, the guard closest to her kicking her in the ribs and spitting on her with a curse. All around her she heard laughter and curses and as her eyes scanned the crowds she saw thousands of eyes peering greedily back at her, faces scowling and children screaming at her, all mixing together to form a cacophony of noise from which she could not make any sense. She tried to rise but her legs would not support her and she sank back to her knees with a sob, her body shaking violently, her breath coming in tiny gasps.

In a fog she became aware of several figures hovering close to her. She raised her head just enough to peer from under the tangled and matted hair that covered her eyes. A few paces away was a man in expensive clothes, a scroll in his left hand. She recognized him from the court and though she had no idea why, she feared him. To his right stood a figure cloaked completely in a long flowing black robe, the face hidden in the shadows of a full blowsy hood. The sight of this figure filled her with terror and she quickly diverted her eyes, staring instead at the floor upon which she cringed. The man's voice suddenly and clearly rose above the din of the crowd and their voices hushed in respect and curiosity. "People of Rosethorne! Behold the witch! Behold the instruments of her destruction and the hand by which her depraved and evil soul shall be hastened to Hell this day!" With those words, he gestured to the figure cloaked in black... "This witch has been tried and convicted of crimes against the Lord our God and the court has sentenced her to be put to the torture and executed... let the sentence be carried out!" With that he bowed to the crowd and moved to the stairs, leaving the girl to her fate.

The two guards who remained on the platform now took her, one to each arm and lifted her, dragging the writhing body to the frame as she began babbling incoherently, pleading for a merciful and quick death, her terror rising in her throat, her tongue, dry and swollen, making her words all but unintelligible. For the first time, she noticed the large table just to the side of the frame and her breath caught in her chest as she beheld the instruments laid neatly in rows upon it. There were knives of every description, some long and narrow, some blunted and short; there, also, were wire brushes, iron rods and rusted metal claws... In horror she noticed that in one corner of the platform a giant wagon wheel, at least 8 feet tall, mounted on a small frame and tilted at a 45 degree angle. Her empty belly wretched and growled as she realized this was the wheel upon which her body would be broken.

She collapsed in abject horror, her slim frame wracked by heaving sobs, her stomach no longer able to stay still, heaving forth the remains of the putrid crumbs of food she had been fed the past few days. A steady stream of vomit flowed from her lips and poured down the front of the filth-coated gray shift. The guards found this most amusing and their laughter and crude comments came freely, as did the crowd's. She felt her arms lifted over her head and her feet left the floor, her wrists now encircled by the cold confining iron of the hanging manacles. She grimaced as her body's weight now pulled on her trapped wrists, her feet dangling some two feet above the roughly-hewn wood of the platform. Quickly her ankles were encased in the irons that had rested on the floor, attached to the base of each post. She now hung in the air, her fear mounting by the second, her wrists chafing and aching as they held the weight of her quaking body, her thighs spread far apart as she realized she was spread-eagled for all to see. She tilted her head back and stared up into the sky as her chin trembled and her tongue slipped out to run over her dry, chapped lips.

 

[zenwhips1]

An Interlude: Love, Terror and Social Justice ( continued )



The cloaked figure now appeared in front of her, and though her eyes beheld it, the figure appeared to her as if shrouded in a mist. A slim, white hand, bejeweled by long, talon-like, blood-red nails, rose to the hood and drew it back and away and the most beautifully cultured face she had ever seen appeared from under it. Large dark deep yet softly cruel eyes stared into her own and held her transfixed.

The finely sculptured face was turned to her, and the full red lips were set in a grim line of nonchalance, the elegant aquiline nose in perfect harmony with the deep-set eyes that held her in their gaze. The woman's hair was jet black and thick, pulled back from her face and held by small chains of silver and jeweled pins. As if from far far away her melodic voice spoke to her in almost-whisper, yet with an unmistakable air of absolute authority. " Hello, little one... my my, but you are such a pretty little thing. How came you to this, child, that you would be here to meet your death in agony and terror? Such are the playthings of Satan, that he would bring you here to me this day. I shall take the greatest pleasure in taking you to the darkest places you have ever imagined, little pig. You and I will dance this day, oh yes, how we shall dance."

As the soft voice washed over her, a single red-nailed finger luxuriously trailed down the traumatized girl's button nose, and she felt the most intense fear she had ever known, her nipples stiffening again, unconsciously, her inner thighs quivering in terror at the imaginings of what would come. The words slipped inside her brain and gripped her in a muted horror she had never thought possible. She began wailing softly, mewling like a lost kitten, begging this beautiful woman to spare her, promising her anything, anything if she would but spare her this... In response, the same long white finger raised to her trembling lips, as the soft voice washed over her once again. "Shhhhhh... hush little one, hush. I will take good care of you my sweet, pretty baby, I promise. There is no escape for you now, no pardon, no respite. You are mine, now. Soon, I will give you something to drink that will help you in the coming hours. You will drink and then I will remove this horrid, filthy thing that covers you. I will wash you then, and you shall be clean for us, for me and for my knives... you want that, do you not, my little one? To be clean for me and my knives? Tell me, child, nod your head if you understand me."

Slowly, through her tears, the terrified girl nodded her head, almost imperceptibly. For reasons she could not understand, she was almost calmed by the soft, soothing voice of the mesmerizing creature before her. She was almost relieved that this beautiful thing was to be her executioner and not some ugly hairy brute like the ones she had seen at the executions she had witnessed in the past. The tightness in her chest began to relax a tiny bit and she found herself crazily wishing this woman had owned her before this nightmare had swept her to this place. Perhaps belonging to this person would have prevented her from the cruel hand of the fate which had brought her here.

The woman's eyes never left her as, with a slight gesture, she summoned one of the guards who brought a large wooden bowl to her. As those soft white hands took it from him, she saw it was filled with a milky white liquid... her eyes began to close slightly as those hands held the bowl to her lips, that far away voice almost whispering to her, "Drink, little pig, drink it all down like a good girl... it will help you when the pain begins."

Those words sent shivers down her spine and she felt her nipples stiffen once again, though this time she wasn't entirely sure it was from fear as much as from the hypnotic, almost loving tone of the voice that drifted to her ears. To her surprise, she began greedily gulping the thick brew, the wetness of it sliding over her lips and down her throat. It immediately left a soft tingling in her belly and made her eyes heavy, her limbs stopped shaking and her head began slowly spinning in a comforting, sleepy manner. Then the voice again, cooing, "Such a good girl, so pretty, so docile... just the way I need my girls to be. You will be a delight for us, child, for my knives and me. You're perfect, you know, soft and white and oh so pretty... this will be delicious, and perhaps, if you wish hard enough, you just might enjoy it before the pain becomes overwhelming."

With that she leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, pressing her body lightly against the hanging form in front of her. As if in a dream, the girl shivered and pressed herself into the woman as much as the chains allowed. Whimpering quietly, she felt as if she was floating above the scene, as if she was watching her own bedraggled, dirty form hanging from the chains, the drone of the crowd now far off and almost unheard. This mysterious, beautiful woman was the only being in her entire universe now and it was almost comforting to her. Startling herself, she felt a surrendering taking place, a giving of herself to this woman, this vastly superior, ethereal being, resigning her body and her soul to the care of this soft-spoken stranger.

Still in a fog, though now much more relaxed, her eyes followed the woman as she stepped to the table and removed one of the long knives, returning to stand in front of her once again. She felt herself taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes as she steeled her mind to the inevitable.

The soft voice came to her once more, gently shaking her from her dream-like state. "No my child, not yet... there is a time to dance, little one, and it is not right now and when I visit it upon your softness, you shall not close your eyes, my pet, no... your pretty eyes shall stay locked on mine. I am merely going to undress you now and rid us of this horrible, ugly little cloth. I am going to wash you my pretty baby... now nod if you understand me."

With that, she slid the blade up under the short hem of the shift and slowly drew it upward, the coarse material melting away before the sharpness of the knife's edge, as the child mewled and softly gurgled, nodding her head dreamily. The knife continued rising up the front of her body until it left the material parted completely, the front of the shift falling gently away from her body. The cool air wafted over her breasts, tummy and upper thighs, her aching nipples stiffening even more than before and beginning to itch, deep inside her swelling breasts.

A tiny gasp escaped from the lips of her executioner and in the softest voice yet, the woman almost whispered, "In all creation, I have never seen a more gorgeous child. You are simply incredible, little one. Were you were not condemned, I would take you down this instant and carry you home with me to serve. I promise you we will make the sweetest love to you, child, my knives and I. You are breathtaking and I tell you now, never have these eyes beheld such beauty. This dance will carry me home in joy."

The words melted into her ears and she felt her face turning crimson, her breasts swelling more and her sex tingling, madly. She was horrified at her own reaction but she found herself helpless to the feeling. An energy she never known existed now began surging softly between her and the woman who spoke. She had never known love in her short life but what she felt now was what she had always imagined it to be; that sense of giving one's self to another, her life belonging to that special One, all other things becoming distant and unimportant. The terror she had felt earlier was now diminishing and floating languidly off to the horizon. She found her fog-filled brain yearning to give herself to this stranger, to give her all in, as the woman had whispered to her, joy. It made no sense as she knew her life would end this day, but now, for some inexplicable reason, she didn't care.

With soothing gentleness, the woman finished cutting away the shift, from the neckline, up both sleeves and at last the entire, filthy rag fell from her to the floor. The woman kicked it in disgust toward one of the guards and said with derision, "Burn it." Turning back to her, that voice once more drifted over the short distance between them, saying softly, "Now, little one, let us clean the filth from you... with the scrapes and cuts on your skin, this may pain you some, but let your mind cling to the thought that I will have you fresh and warm and clean before we make love. Remember that, child." She watched as the beauty took a large clean cloth and dropped it into a vat of water that sat over a brazier, stream rising from the water that filled it. Taking it carefully once it was soaked, those agile, delicate hands brought the dripping cloth to her hanging form. With a sharp intake of breath, she felt the wet heat pressed to her body, starting with her breasts. Again, as in a dream, the voice came to her, only this time in a hushed song, in a language she did not understand. The quiet lilt continued as the woman gently cleansed her breasts, her belly, her neck and shoulders. "Open your eyes my pet, I wish to look into them as I wash you..." came the voice, softly, as if over a great distance.

At her command, she opened them and gazed into the deep, glowing eyes that peered into her very soul. Those eyes never left her own as the cloth wiped her face clean, the back of her neck and then her back, hips and bottom. Returning to the vat of steaming water, the woman dipped the cloth in once more, wringing the filth out and replacing it to wet it again. Standing before her once more, she now placed it gently between the child's thighs, pressing the wetness into her tingling sex. A long breathy sigh trailed from between the girl's lips as she arched her back slightly and opened her thighs even wider than the chains held them, pressing herself into the woman's touch. "My sweet child, so beautiful and so very full of lust and life, you're the most precious thing I have ever encountered. How my knives long for you, little pig. How *I* long for you."

As she pressed the wetness into her sex and rubbed in tiny circles. A quiet raspy moaning sound flooded forth from deep in the girl's throat as her eyes closed once again, her belly twisting slowly and her breasts itching and swelling. The woman now brought a low stool and a pitcher filled with the steaming water, climbing gracefully up and slowly pouring the water over the girl's matted hair, streaming over her face and drenching her body as it flowed to the floor. Taking a tiny vial, she spilled a small amount of thick fragrant liquid into her palm and began lathering the girl's hair, the aroma of it as the fingers massaged it in carried her away to some soft shadowed place of which she had only ever dreamed before. After too short a time, the lathering was done and those hands tipped the pitcher up and spilled clear hot water over her head once again, washing away the suds and leaving only the enchanting scent behind.

During the extended time this process had taken, the crowd had grown loud and restless. The taunts and curses were more vehement and foul now and occasional pieces of garbage had been thrown onto the platform. The woman suddenly turned and, without a word spoken, glared at the crowd, and almost at once the garbage had ceased to be tossed. She returned to her work without again looking at the throng. The milky brew the woman had given her had taken the crowd's voices away from her ears, and for what seemed hours now, the only person in her existence was this strange and beautiful woman who soothed her and whispered to her. Her dizziness had turned to a soft, low fire that glowed in her loins, bringing a muted fever to her brain that centered on the woman who washed her and sang to her. She had never felt this before and in spite of the reality of knowing this terrible, gorgeous creature would soon take her life in the most monstrous way imaginable, she could not but feel the strongest emotions for her... it was confusing to her but so comforting that she stopped attempting to reason it out in her head.

Just as she was running these things through her mind, the woman leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear, " Before we begin, my little treasure, I want you to know my name. When you die this day, I want my name on your lips, do you understand? Nod if you do." Feeling dreamy and warm and, yes, most bizarrely, even safe, she nodded slowly. "Good girl, you are such a good girl.", kissing her ear gently, she again whispered "I am your Mother, now. Say it for me, little one... say it now for me, I want to hear it from your pretty lips." In a raspy, hushed whisper, she repeated slowly,"You are my Mother, my Lady..." With a glowing, loving smile, the woman brought her full red lips to the girl's own and kissed her deeply." Yes child, I am your Maker, your Keeper, your Guardian, your Teacher, your Mother... and I am soon to be your Destroyer. I shall make love to you now. Ready yourself my gorgeous little pig, you and I are going to begin the Dance..."

Without another word, the woman turned to the nearby table and returned once again to the hazy-eyed young girl, now hanging limply in her bonds, the softness of her breasts gently rising and falling in a slow, dizzying rhythm. In the woman's hands, cradled lovingly, was the same wooden bowl, filled once more with the milky nectar... with those elegant fingers steadying it, the bowl was brought to the girl's quivering lips, and, as before, she guzzled drunkenly, moaning softly deep in her chest as the magical elixir found its way down her throat to bathe the inside of her tummy, its warm intoxication slowly spreading outward to every inch of her body. Her eyes never left the hypnotic, glittering orbs that stared deeply into her soul, and a love she had never known or felt coursed through her every fiber and she once again gurgled softly, but now in joy, only joy, all fear gone and replaced by an adoring, giving resignation.

All eyes were upon her, yet she was unaware, her mind buzzing softly, her ears hearing only a low drone far off in the distance... As the potion caressed her entire body, the thoughts echoing inside her were strange, yet idyllic...comforting. Images of her childhood danced rhythmically behind her half closed eyes, of lost dreams, of an awakening of sexuality, the dawn of her yet untested womanhood... the first time she had touched herself... there... the damp, dizzying swell of desire and a heightened awareness of herself as something more than a silly, playful child. All these things gathered together inside her as in a mist through which she could see, but remained half-hidden, the truths she had learned yet to be tested... she moaned quietly, whimpering in a need she felt growing deep inside. Unconsciously, her slim back arched slightly, gently pushing the softness of her bare breasts upward and outward, searching for the touch of a phasm lover, the chill of half-night washing over nipples that ached in itchy, inner warmth, ever-growing, reaching out... thighs, tingling, vibrating, pulsating, a growing heat deep within her loins, a gentle buzzing in her ears, her lips half closed, trembling, just the very tip of her soft tongue slipping languidly along her lower lip.

The woman smiled, knowingly, and, slowly, she leaned close to the girl, wondrously and sensually kissing her ear, whispering, " Now you may know me, my pet, for I am not the one these fools here think me to be. That one is gone, her mind and soul taken somewhere far away - this body is merely a vessel of which I have need, for a short time. I am Lilith, and I am here not only to feast on your body and your pain, but to feed on your soul. As this day turns to night, piglet, and these drunken fools’ eyes grow heavy with drink and spent lust, I will take you to our Mother, the One who sent me here; the Ruler of Darkness. And we will fly to Her in rapture, and there you will serve Her, and me, until time ends and all things are still and quiet. She owns you now, as She owns me. Before Her, you will know the depth of our love, and you will gaze upon Her face and feel love and fear and desire. Soon, little pig, very soon... Now I want you to whisper my name, child, my real name, and you will know me, and hunger for me, when I take your soul." With a dreamy, dizzy gaze, the girl looked into those glittering, bottomless ebon eyes, with all fear now gone, and her face glowed with love, contentment and joy. Staring intently, she raised her face slowly and whispered, " You are Lilith, my Lady. Please... please take me home." Smiling softly, gazing down at the trembling, naked waif, she replied quietly, “Yes, little pig, I will take you home now.” and then leaned in even more closely, her lips to the girl’s ear “But first we have our dance, my precious little thing… and it’s far past time we began…” The girl mewed pathetically as tiny spasms flowed down from her nipples to the swollen little cleft between her thighs.