You're certainly pressing all the right sympathy buttons for me here.
I'm all for rescuing you and treating you nicely.
I'm a terrible CF member, I know. 
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For The Pleasure Of Prince Uday
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
I'm all for rescuing you and treating you nicely. I'm a terrible CF member, I know. 
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
A last walk along those places that have become so familiar...
I don't quite understand what that board is. Is it the same as the beam or are there two different pieces.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
You're certainly pressing all the right sympathy buttons for me here.
your attention to detail is so impressive Repertor!
that's an unintended mystery, yes, one and the same, I just try to avoid repertition
as I shall now demonstrate:
68
It’s a minute or two before Yasmin’s driven through the gate to emerge beside me. I’ve been made to kneel, bowed by the weight of the beam on my shoulders, to the right of the gate. As she staggers through I glance up and, although she looks desperate, strained and sweating under her burden and the whip that she’s much less used to than I am, she manages to flash a momentary smile, before she’s spun to turn left.
There’s a crowd, held back by barriers and Palace Guards in combat gear, it seems to be entirely of men, some Religious Police acting as jeer-leaders, but the atmosphere’s quite different from Shahidi Square when I was whip-stripped for the first time and the laid-back crowd of shoppers enjoying the evening sunshine saw me as an entertaining sideshow. Now the air’s heavy with tension, even if the men – well, a good many of them – are getting horny at the sight of a couple of naked females, they’re looking grim, even sullen. And, overhead, the constant buzzing, whirring and whistling of military aerial machinery, both manned and unmanned.
I’m made to stand with my back to the Palace wall a few metres along from the Gate Tower. A pair of cables dangle from a second floor window, stout hooks on these are quickly locked onto cleats on the top edge of my beam, I feel a sharp jerk tug at my bound shoulders, and my feet are lifted off the pavement, I’m hauled up and up, the winches hauling me must have arms that feed the cables a little way out from the wall as I’m swinging about freely, legs flailing in a vain attempt to keep steady, swaying from side to side, occasionally knocking back against the wall so the beam knocks my breath away and my bum’s grazed on the rough stone.
A minute or so and the hauling stops, the mechanism jerks so the beam, and me with it, are brought back against the wall. And that’s it, here I am, crucified – well, there’s no cross, but I’m hanging here in a T-shape, it makes little difference.
For a few seconds I’m just bewildered, my legs and body striving to locate themselves in space, my eyes glancing around terrified at this new, tree-top view of the world. The strain on my shoulders is hideous, although the cables are supporting me, the weight of my body is tugging at them cruelly. Soon my feet detect as narrow ridge of stonework, a decorative string course that runs across the wall between the floor-levels. It’s a bare couple of inches wide, I can’t rest my soles on it, but I reach it to press with my toes, and when I do I get some ease for my body.
So I sigh, take a few deep breaths, try to brace myself for the long, long ordeal to come. As long as I’m awake and have the strength, I’ll be able to hold this position. My legs are quite free, I soon find I can flex them in turn, pressing a sole against the rough sandstone while the toes of the other foot remain planted on the string-course. Moving my hips keeps my spine from stiffening, but any swaying or rotation is going to renew the strain on my shoulders and my rib-cage.
Something hits the wall beside me and shatters messily, moments later some soft, squelchy thing hits my abdomen – some boys have got bad eggs, rotten fruit, waste offal to fling at us, they at least are getting some fun, cheering gleefully when they score a hit on my naked target spots.
Dodging as best I can their stink-bomb missiles, I look over the space some forty feet below me – feeling a momentary sickness at the height, in my weakened state, vertigo’s unavoidable – it’s a wide street, more a long plaza, used as a market-place, but the stalls are bare now, the crowd’s packed among them. And the sense that it’s a herded crowd is reinforced by the presence of platoons of soldiers and squadrons of military vehicles parked at either end, with more at the narrow turnings and alleyways off the open area.
And across from where I am are tall buildings, shops and offices, these too showing little sign of normal business, but much of military presence, armed men stationed at upper windows, warlike equipment visible on the rooftops.
Raucous marching music is playing through loudspeakers. Suddenly it stops, and the evening Call to Prayer sounds out from the Mosque, I can just see one end of it a hundred yards or so to my right, where a road turns down the side of the Palace towards Shahidi Square. The entire crowd turns to the east, to my left – though I notice the watching soldiers don’t stir – there’s a group of grand buildings beyond that end of the market-place, I recognise from films we watched at the Academy of great state occasions when the Sheikh greeted foreign dignitaries or handed out honours and awards to loyal subjects. But the crucifixion of a couple of slave-sluts isn’t quite in that league.
All the same, when the prayers are finished, the crowd stands and its attention is focused on a window on the first floor of the Gate Tower, there’s a balcony, but no-one’s on it, I can’t see the window, nor can I see Yasmin who must be hanging against the wall like me on the other side of the Tower. I take another deep breath, relieved to be spared the attention of the fruit-flinging brats, already beginning to feel thirsty. It seems something ‘important’ is about to happen.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Indeed. That's a very unconventional crucifixion.I just try to avoid repertition
as I shall now demonstrate:
It's one of them damn non-union crucifixions. Where do I send a formal complaint?
Good chapter Eul!!!
Have these bunglers licences for crucifixions and executions? Where she that learn, what she doe. I fear, bloody amatuers.
I admire a woman with better business sense than I...
...what, Ulrika? What do you mean that includes every woman that has reached puberty?!?!?!
Madi, this is problem that happens when you don't look for the union label...
Goodnight friends an good morning to those waking up...
T
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
I'll do study this country to envisage a future business for my Premium French Crucifixion Wood ...
Messa is a clever businesswoman with a business plan adapted to the geo-political situation. 
And Premium Islamic Crucifixion Wood is a good product. Success ensured!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
A very good, detailed description of the anticipation, and building up the tension in this chapter.
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
We like a change of style..........
..........but no less traumatic and potentially fatal.........
...........with a little hope, especially after the dance training ...........
..................but suffering alone.
You've painted a very vivid picture there, Eulalia, one that will stay with this reader longer than three days and three nights.
A opportunistic but not foolish devise. I turn me with, in this direction, which the wind the flag blow.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
You should only one tradition beware.
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
A good advice for Eul on her punishment to come : 'Hold fast to the rope of faith, and Allah will turn the ropes into flower strings.'
I'm not sure, hanging 40' above the pavement, I think I'd prefer the security of ropes! 
As to the non-standard crucifixion, under the present extraordinary circumstances,
it's not that easy to order Premium French Crucifixion Wood on the internet and get it delivered overnight,
nor even to send a squad of hefty slaves down to the builders' yard to commandeer some stock.
No, Prince Uday's household carpenters have had to carve up some very hard and solid old oak benches
that student bums perched on at mealtimes in the days when it was a seat of learning,
but have been stacked in the cellars since it was upgraded to a palace!
69
A brief burst of a fanfare is played through the speakers, then I hear the voice of Prince Uday. He hasn’t come out on the balcony, must be inside behind the window, bullet-proof I don’t doubt...
‘Salaam aleikum, fellow Muslims, and greetings to all friends and citizens of Masrurabad and of Inglistan. I have serious matters to share with you.
First, Sheikh Masrur, on whom be blessings, is in declining health, doctors at the Al Dakhm Palace say he may be called away by Allah at any time now. It is necessary the reins of power be taken up without delay, and as the sole heir to the al-Masruri Sheikhdom, that duty falls upon me.
I have already received solemn oaths of allegiance from leading members of the Supreme Council of Clerics, from the Commander of the Religious Police, and from Commanding Officers of the Palace Guard and other military units stationed in and around Masrurabad. I expect – and hereby command as a fatwa – that I shall receive similar assurances of loyalty from all officers of the armed forces of Inglistan of the rank of Colonel or its equivalent or above.
It is imperative that our country, all its people, and especially its armed forces, unite to maintain the peaceful, prosperous and blessed conditions we have enjoyed under Sheikh Masrur, and which it is my firm intention, inshallah, to preserve.
I do not need to tell you why this is so grave a need. Our land is threatened by dark and dangerous forces, determined to disrupt the rightful succession, hell-bent – yes, I mean that literally friends, marching towards Jahannam – to divert our nation from the True Path.
You know that my dear brother, Prince Qusay, on whom be peace, was cruelly killed a week ago by agents of a wicked conspiracy. The foul bodies you see shaking in their fear of death on the wall of my Palace...’ he pauses, the crowd’s eyes turn towards Yasmin and me, I’m not shaking in fear of death, but I’m beginning to long for it... ‘they were the spawn of Shaitan who carried out the hideous crime, but of course they were mere tools of a much more powerful and dangerous cabal of traitors. Our intelligence services are in relentless pursuit, they will find no hiding-place, they will suffer as these two slaves of their malice are suffering now – and worse!
I know, my friends, the vast majority of you wish me well, I am grateful for your loyalty. But I take this opportunity to warn any who have any doubts, any thoughts of rebellion or foolish disobedience, not only you, but all your families will suffer – you will see your women, your mothers, wives, daughters, concubines and slavegirls tortured to death just as these pigs’ turds are dying now.’
He pauses, before growling, ‘Be warned. Allahu akbar!’
The National Anthem drones through the speakers. Everyone is standing to attention, everyone is silent. A big, black car catches my eye, as it speeds past the far side of the mosque, heading in the direction of the Al Dakhm Palace.
As to the non-standard crucifixion, under the present extraordinary circumstances,
it's not that easy to order Premium French Crucifixion Wood on the internet and get it delivered overnight,
nor even to send a squad of hefty slaves down to the builders' yard to commandeer some stock.
No, Prince Uday's household carpenters have had to carve up some very hard and solid old oak benches
that student bums perched on at mealtimes in the days when it was a seat of learning,
but have been stacked in the cellars since it was upgraded to a palace!
69
A brief burst of a fanfare is played through the speakers, then I hear the voice of Prince Uday. He hasn’t come out on the balcony, must be inside behind the window, bullet-proof I don’t doubt...
‘Salaam aleikum, fellow Muslims, and greetings to all friends and citizens of Masrurabad and of Inglistan. I have serious matters to share with you.
First, Sheikh Masrur, on whom be blessings, is in declining health, doctors at the Al Dakhm Palace say he may be called away by Allah at any time now. It is necessary the reins of power be taken up without delay, and as the sole heir to the al-Masruri Sheikhdom, that duty falls upon me.
I have already received solemn oaths of allegiance from leading members of the Supreme Council of Clerics, from the Commander of the Religious Police, and from Commanding Officers of the Palace Guard and other military units stationed in and around Masrurabad. I expect – and hereby command as a fatwa – that I shall receive similar assurances of loyalty from all officers of the armed forces of Inglistan of the rank of Colonel or its equivalent or above.
It is imperative that our country, all its people, and especially its armed forces, unite to maintain the peaceful, prosperous and blessed conditions we have enjoyed under Sheikh Masrur, and which it is my firm intention, inshallah, to preserve.
I do not need to tell you why this is so grave a need. Our land is threatened by dark and dangerous forces, determined to disrupt the rightful succession, hell-bent – yes, I mean that literally friends, marching towards Jahannam – to divert our nation from the True Path.
You know that my dear brother, Prince Qusay, on whom be peace, was cruelly killed a week ago by agents of a wicked conspiracy. The foul bodies you see shaking in their fear of death on the wall of my Palace...’ he pauses, the crowd’s eyes turn towards Yasmin and me, I’m not shaking in fear of death, but I’m beginning to long for it... ‘they were the spawn of Shaitan who carried out the hideous crime, but of course they were mere tools of a much more powerful and dangerous cabal of traitors. Our intelligence services are in relentless pursuit, they will find no hiding-place, they will suffer as these two slaves of their malice are suffering now – and worse!
I know, my friends, the vast majority of you wish me well, I am grateful for your loyalty. But I take this opportunity to warn any who have any doubts, any thoughts of rebellion or foolish disobedience, not only you, but all your families will suffer – you will see your women, your mothers, wives, daughters, concubines and slavegirls tortured to death just as these pigs’ turds are dying now.’
He pauses, before growling, ‘Be warned. Allahu akbar!’
The National Anthem drones through the speakers. Everyone is standing to attention, everyone is silent. A big, black car catches my eye, as it speeds past the far side of the mosque, heading in the direction of the Al Dakhm Palace.
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