Jon Smithie
Tribune
Meatier (conclusion)
"What the hell you doing boy?" Albert cried, "Don't you see that's what she wants? You're mocking God with your lust, and he won't be mocked! You're bringing fire down on us boy, just as she did!"
Albert kicked George again and leaned down and smacked him with his fist again and again.
He left George groaning on the ground and turned his attention to Imogene. "Whore of Babylon," he mumbled. He pushed her up into a sitting position and looped the chain he'd used to fasten her yoke to the stocks around her neck. He took up the slack until she was leaning forward, grunting and pleading with the strain, her legs splayed and pushed deeply into the stocks, flexing her pinned feet more acutely. He uncuffed her wrists, but refastened the cuffs above her elbows, straining her sore shoulders and wringing another groan from the suffering woman.
She began to moan and plead when he produced the leather and metal contraption that was the brank. There was no way to fight him as he slipped it over her head, trying primarily by feel to get the straps straightened out.
"George!" he ordered, "Get up boy, take the flashlight and give me a hand with this."
George groggily got to his feet, and stumbled over to Albert.
"Hold this," Albert said, handing him the flashlight. With the light beating down directly in her face, Albert finished securing the brank as he had done earlier that day. He scooped up a handful of dirt and gravel and poured it in her mouth.
"Whore of Babylon," he said. "God mocker, now you see how the Lord requites you for sins of the flesh. Tempt not the righteous."
He took the flashlight from George and played it over his face. "Let's get you cleaned up." He said. The two men walked away, leaving her alone to suffer.
Agony and despair crashed into Imogene like a tidal wave. Cramps tore into her calves and hips from the unnatural strain; her butt, unbearably sore from the hours on the beam, was now planted firmly in the sharp gravel. Her vagina was raw from the violent fucking she'd endured. Her breasts felt like they'd been in a wringer. Her shoulders burned and her head and jaws and tongue ached and throbbed in a crescendo that threatened her sanity. She wondered how much more she would have to endure, how much more she could endure. She was exhausted physically and mentally. She was at the end of her rope, and would gladly have let go of the rope, if it hadn't been tied around her wrists. Had they wanted something from her, some information, a confession, sexual services, anything at all, she would have complied immediately. Interrogators pride themselves on their techniques for breaking prisoners. Imogene was broken. But no one cared.
At some point that night Imogene came to a realization. It happened after perhaps an hour, perhaps a thousand years, but somewhere in her pain fevered mind she realized that she could have saved the world, but failed, and now the suffering of the world was inflicted on her. She saw that this was only fair. She accepted that she deserved this, that it was all part of a plan. That she had to expiate her great failure. The insight that she deserved her suffering suddenly made it bearable.
Moisture sprang into her eyes and leaked down her face. She choked helplessly on dirt and swallowed some. And choked again and swallowed to keep from aspirating it and dying. She couldn't let herself die, for she hadn't finished suffering.
Then her legs cramped again and she grunted and huffed with pain, the physical imperative of acute agony displacing for the moment her hard won understanding.
Sometime later, after another thousand years, as Imogene experienced time, the overcast began to lighten. The clouds were darker than normal. As the sun rose it brought light enough to see, as though rather than the sun rising into dawn, it rose into dusk.
She heard the men inside the store, the sounds of breakfast, and whispered prayers. The static of the radio.
Eventually they walked out of the store, boots crunching on the gravel, to stand in front of the stocks. George's face was swollen and bruised. Bloody cotton hung from his nostrils. Albert looked at her, his hard face expressionless.
"The Lord Almighty has given his law unto my hands," Albert said. "His law is righteous in every way and I am to be his instrument on earth. He does not tolerate sin forever, and will wipe it away. The Lord saith to me that I should take you and stretch you on that frame, and punish you with stripes upon your body, that I should mortify your flesh with hot irons, and I should burn you, flesh and bone, for your sins are a stench in the nostrils of the Lord."
Albert's eyes were bright while he recited the sentence. Now he nodded to George and bowed his head. "Amen," he said.
While Albert uncuffed her arms and put the handcuffs on her wrists in front of her, George found a pair of pliers and pulled the staples from around her big toes. He lifted the upper half of the stocks and freed her ankles. Both men had to pull her to her feet, for her long hours cramped and strained had weakened her to the point she could not stand on her own.
Between them they marched her to the frame. Albert secured the rope to her cuffs and began hauling on the the free end. Imogene's arms lifted higher and higher until the strain burned into her shoulders and she was lifted off the ground. Albert secured the rope to a stanchion. He bound Imogene's ankles tightly together. He looked at her, the large full breasts lifted up with the strain on her chest muscles, her ribs etched against the sides of her torso, the belly flat, emphasizing the feminine curves of her hips and butt. Albert reveled in that the beauty of her body no longer afflicted him with lust, but righteous indignation. He tied a cinderblock to her ankles and let it drop. He ignored the agonized huffing and puffing of the girl.
He handed a leather plaited whip to George. "Do your duty," Albert said.
George didn't ask where Albert had gotten the whip. And Albert didn't tell him it was from his days as a sinner, when he would go down to the big city to chastise prostitutes. He bought the handcuffs and the whip to be used as toys in a lustful game. But those days were gone. Now the whip was an instrument of righteousness.
George flailed with the whip, striking the sweating, suspended woman a few times, but leaving no mark.
Albert took it away from him. It had been awhile for Albert. But after a few practice swings, getting the feel back, reestablishing the right rhythm and timing and balance he glanced at George.
"Now watch this," he said.
The lash uncoiled like a striking rattlesnake and with a loud "Whack!" left a livid red welt across Imogene's back
The effect on her was immediate. She writhed as though a child were making a marionette dance. Indescribable sounds of agony came from her mouth. Albert let her twitch a few seconds and then struck again. "Whack!"
The whip ripped across her back again, a little lower this time. Again the agonized twisting. The cinderblock bounced and swung. Albert lashed her again and again, covering her back with welts and cuts. When she no longer responded he stopped.
"She's fainted." Albert said. "Let's bring her down, give her some water. We've only just started."
George had to be careful how he stood, because he did not want Albert to see the bulge in his trousers. He was careful not to touch Imogene in places he wasn't supposed to. They dropped Imogene to the ground. Albert took off the brank and they slapped her and poured water over her face until she came around. They gave her some water to drink and then hoisted her back up.
George took over with the whip. He learned quickly. Soon he was making it crack on Imogene's flesh just as Albert had. He whipped her across her ass and the backs of her thighs. With the brank off, Imogene screamed with the impacts of the whip on her naked, suspended form.
"Albert," George asked, "Could I whip her on the front too?"
Albert nodded. "Don't spare her; it's the Lord's will."
George was not good enough with the whip to do surgery, but he could hit her across her breasts or belly or hips when he wanted. He had her twisting and screaming as he snapped the lash over her sweating body. He lashed her into unconsciousness several times.
While George whipped Imogene, Albert set up the grill. He got the charcoal going and stuck a poker and the pair of pliers in the middle of the coals.
Imogene was crisscrossed with welts and cuts front and back. George had lost count of the number of lashes he gave her. His arm was tired, but he was aroused. He felt like he was going to pop off in his trousers any second.
"That's enough George, "Albert said.
Albert lowered Imogene to her feet, kneeled and untied the bindings around her ankles. He retied one ankle and then pulled the rope to the post, wrapping it around to hold her leg up. He did the same to her other leg, splaying her legs open.
Imogene stared at them, her eyes dull, hair matted with sweat.
George stared at the gaping cunt mouth. The pubic hair was matted and dirty around her labia. "I fucked that last night," George thought to himself. Was the beating he took worth it? Oh hell yeah.
"You're weak boy, but you'll learn," Albert said. He took the poker from the coals and pressed it against the inside of Imogene's thigh.
She screamed and wrenched in her bonds, bucking and arching her back. Her heart fluttered like a wounded bird. She thought for a moment she was going to die, and welcomed it. But she was young and strong, despite her suffering. Her heart steadied. When Albert took the poker away her silken skin was blistered and raw.
About the time her breathing slowed to normal Albert branded her again on the other thigh.
He took his time, giving her several minutes to recover between each branding. He touched the poker to the soles of her feet, her belly, her chest between her breasts. She lost control of her bladder and bowels, and vomited helplessly under the pitiless torture.
After a time he gave her a bottle of water, holding it patiently as he tipped small swallows into her mouth.
She mumbled something. Albert bent his ear to her mouth. "What did you say?"
"Thank you."
Albert was surprised and pleased. The Lord's work was mysterious, he decided, and gratifying to those who had the strength to do it.
"Albert," George asked, "Are you going to kill her?"
"It's the Lord's will," Albert said. He put on a pair of gloves and pulled the pliers from the coals. "But first I will mortify her womanly parts."
George's heart sank. It was just his luck. She was probably the only fuck he'd have for a long time. Albert could've let him have one more go at her what with her legs spread and all, but Albert just wasn't in the mood for that sort of thing now. What a waste. Still, there was going to be some fireworks when he put the hot pliers to her pussy. Albert stepped up to the outstretched legs and vulnerable sex of the young woman. He showed her the pliers, held them to her face so she could feel the heat. He spread her labia with his fingers and slowly lowered the pliers as her eyes widened and she groaned and and mewled and twisted. . .
"Stop right there and drop those fucking pliers!" a voice ordered from behind them.
Albert and George spun around and looked into the rifle barrels of four men.
"What the fuck are you assholes doing to that woman?"
"Nothing mister. . ." George said.
"We're doing the work of the Lord." Albert said. "You mustn't interfere."
"Drop the pliers! Do it now!" the leader said "And keep your hands up! Matt, you and Charlie untie her, let her down from there. And one of you give her your jacket. Jesus Christ"
The two men quickly had Imogene down from the frame while the other two held their rifles on Albert and George.
"Get on your knees," the leader said.
"Please mister, I didn't want any part of this, he made me. . ."
"I only get on my knees to pray," Albert said.
"Well pray I don't shoot your ass here and now."
Slowly Albert lowered himself.
"What we going to do with 'em?" the man next to the leader asked.
"I don't know. Shoot 'em, hang 'em."
"Shouldn't we give 'em a trial?"
"Are you kidding me John? A trial?"
Imogene limped towards the leader. Every step hurt her burned feet, but the leader's sidearm attracted her. She hadn't been around guns that much but it looked just like the one she'd threatened Albert with a thousand odd years ago.
It broke the leader's heart to watch her. She was obviously in a lot of pain, and the jacket that Charlie had put around her shoulders did not cover her nakedness. She met his eyes and put her hand on his arm to support herself.
Slowly she pulled the Glock from his holster. The leader glanced up at the other men and reached an unspoken agreement.
He delicately took the handgun from her and racked the slide. "Now there's a round in the chamber," he said. He thumbed a switch. "Now it's off safe. It's ready to fire. Just point and pull the trigger."
She nodded and stepped away from him towards Albert and George. Then she turned back towards him and he thought she was going to ask him a question and at the same time he was going to remind her, gently, not to flag him with the gun when she brought the gun up and shot him through the head. Imogene turned to the man next to him and shot him twice, the first missing, the second hitting him in the head and dropping him. The other two men had been eyeing her with a curious regard, which had turned to stunned surprise as she turned the gun on them, but the third man grabbed his rifle as the second man fell and got off a shot. Imogene saw the barrel pointed at her, and she felt a hornet go by and pluck at her hair. Her gun bucked in her hand again and again and again and the third man spun and stumbled towards the dumpster. The fourth man had panicked and was trying to run up the embankment beyond the frame, trying to make it to the trees at the top of the embankment. She fired at him until he fell and slid back down. She would have kept firing, but the gun didn't work anymore. She looked at it curiously. The slide was back past the end of the gun, exposing the shiny barrel. She didn't know what she should do with it. She supposed she should give it to Albert, but Albert was busy shooting the third and fourth man with the leader's rifle. When he was done with that Imogene handed him the gun.
"What the hell you doing boy?" Albert cried, "Don't you see that's what she wants? You're mocking God with your lust, and he won't be mocked! You're bringing fire down on us boy, just as she did!"
Albert kicked George again and leaned down and smacked him with his fist again and again.
He left George groaning on the ground and turned his attention to Imogene. "Whore of Babylon," he mumbled. He pushed her up into a sitting position and looped the chain he'd used to fasten her yoke to the stocks around her neck. He took up the slack until she was leaning forward, grunting and pleading with the strain, her legs splayed and pushed deeply into the stocks, flexing her pinned feet more acutely. He uncuffed her wrists, but refastened the cuffs above her elbows, straining her sore shoulders and wringing another groan from the suffering woman.
She began to moan and plead when he produced the leather and metal contraption that was the brank. There was no way to fight him as he slipped it over her head, trying primarily by feel to get the straps straightened out.
"George!" he ordered, "Get up boy, take the flashlight and give me a hand with this."
George groggily got to his feet, and stumbled over to Albert.
"Hold this," Albert said, handing him the flashlight. With the light beating down directly in her face, Albert finished securing the brank as he had done earlier that day. He scooped up a handful of dirt and gravel and poured it in her mouth.
"Whore of Babylon," he said. "God mocker, now you see how the Lord requites you for sins of the flesh. Tempt not the righteous."
He took the flashlight from George and played it over his face. "Let's get you cleaned up." He said. The two men walked away, leaving her alone to suffer.
Agony and despair crashed into Imogene like a tidal wave. Cramps tore into her calves and hips from the unnatural strain; her butt, unbearably sore from the hours on the beam, was now planted firmly in the sharp gravel. Her vagina was raw from the violent fucking she'd endured. Her breasts felt like they'd been in a wringer. Her shoulders burned and her head and jaws and tongue ached and throbbed in a crescendo that threatened her sanity. She wondered how much more she would have to endure, how much more she could endure. She was exhausted physically and mentally. She was at the end of her rope, and would gladly have let go of the rope, if it hadn't been tied around her wrists. Had they wanted something from her, some information, a confession, sexual services, anything at all, she would have complied immediately. Interrogators pride themselves on their techniques for breaking prisoners. Imogene was broken. But no one cared.
At some point that night Imogene came to a realization. It happened after perhaps an hour, perhaps a thousand years, but somewhere in her pain fevered mind she realized that she could have saved the world, but failed, and now the suffering of the world was inflicted on her. She saw that this was only fair. She accepted that she deserved this, that it was all part of a plan. That she had to expiate her great failure. The insight that she deserved her suffering suddenly made it bearable.
Moisture sprang into her eyes and leaked down her face. She choked helplessly on dirt and swallowed some. And choked again and swallowed to keep from aspirating it and dying. She couldn't let herself die, for she hadn't finished suffering.
Then her legs cramped again and she grunted and huffed with pain, the physical imperative of acute agony displacing for the moment her hard won understanding.
Sometime later, after another thousand years, as Imogene experienced time, the overcast began to lighten. The clouds were darker than normal. As the sun rose it brought light enough to see, as though rather than the sun rising into dawn, it rose into dusk.
She heard the men inside the store, the sounds of breakfast, and whispered prayers. The static of the radio.
Eventually they walked out of the store, boots crunching on the gravel, to stand in front of the stocks. George's face was swollen and bruised. Bloody cotton hung from his nostrils. Albert looked at her, his hard face expressionless.
"The Lord Almighty has given his law unto my hands," Albert said. "His law is righteous in every way and I am to be his instrument on earth. He does not tolerate sin forever, and will wipe it away. The Lord saith to me that I should take you and stretch you on that frame, and punish you with stripes upon your body, that I should mortify your flesh with hot irons, and I should burn you, flesh and bone, for your sins are a stench in the nostrils of the Lord."
Albert's eyes were bright while he recited the sentence. Now he nodded to George and bowed his head. "Amen," he said.
While Albert uncuffed her arms and put the handcuffs on her wrists in front of her, George found a pair of pliers and pulled the staples from around her big toes. He lifted the upper half of the stocks and freed her ankles. Both men had to pull her to her feet, for her long hours cramped and strained had weakened her to the point she could not stand on her own.
Between them they marched her to the frame. Albert secured the rope to her cuffs and began hauling on the the free end. Imogene's arms lifted higher and higher until the strain burned into her shoulders and she was lifted off the ground. Albert secured the rope to a stanchion. He bound Imogene's ankles tightly together. He looked at her, the large full breasts lifted up with the strain on her chest muscles, her ribs etched against the sides of her torso, the belly flat, emphasizing the feminine curves of her hips and butt. Albert reveled in that the beauty of her body no longer afflicted him with lust, but righteous indignation. He tied a cinderblock to her ankles and let it drop. He ignored the agonized huffing and puffing of the girl.
He handed a leather plaited whip to George. "Do your duty," Albert said.
George didn't ask where Albert had gotten the whip. And Albert didn't tell him it was from his days as a sinner, when he would go down to the big city to chastise prostitutes. He bought the handcuffs and the whip to be used as toys in a lustful game. But those days were gone. Now the whip was an instrument of righteousness.
George flailed with the whip, striking the sweating, suspended woman a few times, but leaving no mark.
Albert took it away from him. It had been awhile for Albert. But after a few practice swings, getting the feel back, reestablishing the right rhythm and timing and balance he glanced at George.
"Now watch this," he said.
The lash uncoiled like a striking rattlesnake and with a loud "Whack!" left a livid red welt across Imogene's back
The effect on her was immediate. She writhed as though a child were making a marionette dance. Indescribable sounds of agony came from her mouth. Albert let her twitch a few seconds and then struck again. "Whack!"
The whip ripped across her back again, a little lower this time. Again the agonized twisting. The cinderblock bounced and swung. Albert lashed her again and again, covering her back with welts and cuts. When she no longer responded he stopped.
"She's fainted." Albert said. "Let's bring her down, give her some water. We've only just started."
George had to be careful how he stood, because he did not want Albert to see the bulge in his trousers. He was careful not to touch Imogene in places he wasn't supposed to. They dropped Imogene to the ground. Albert took off the brank and they slapped her and poured water over her face until she came around. They gave her some water to drink and then hoisted her back up.
George took over with the whip. He learned quickly. Soon he was making it crack on Imogene's flesh just as Albert had. He whipped her across her ass and the backs of her thighs. With the brank off, Imogene screamed with the impacts of the whip on her naked, suspended form.
"Albert," George asked, "Could I whip her on the front too?"
Albert nodded. "Don't spare her; it's the Lord's will."
George was not good enough with the whip to do surgery, but he could hit her across her breasts or belly or hips when he wanted. He had her twisting and screaming as he snapped the lash over her sweating body. He lashed her into unconsciousness several times.
While George whipped Imogene, Albert set up the grill. He got the charcoal going and stuck a poker and the pair of pliers in the middle of the coals.
Imogene was crisscrossed with welts and cuts front and back. George had lost count of the number of lashes he gave her. His arm was tired, but he was aroused. He felt like he was going to pop off in his trousers any second.
"That's enough George, "Albert said.
Albert lowered Imogene to her feet, kneeled and untied the bindings around her ankles. He retied one ankle and then pulled the rope to the post, wrapping it around to hold her leg up. He did the same to her other leg, splaying her legs open.
Imogene stared at them, her eyes dull, hair matted with sweat.
George stared at the gaping cunt mouth. The pubic hair was matted and dirty around her labia. "I fucked that last night," George thought to himself. Was the beating he took worth it? Oh hell yeah.
"You're weak boy, but you'll learn," Albert said. He took the poker from the coals and pressed it against the inside of Imogene's thigh.
She screamed and wrenched in her bonds, bucking and arching her back. Her heart fluttered like a wounded bird. She thought for a moment she was going to die, and welcomed it. But she was young and strong, despite her suffering. Her heart steadied. When Albert took the poker away her silken skin was blistered and raw.
About the time her breathing slowed to normal Albert branded her again on the other thigh.
He took his time, giving her several minutes to recover between each branding. He touched the poker to the soles of her feet, her belly, her chest between her breasts. She lost control of her bladder and bowels, and vomited helplessly under the pitiless torture.
After a time he gave her a bottle of water, holding it patiently as he tipped small swallows into her mouth.
She mumbled something. Albert bent his ear to her mouth. "What did you say?"
"Thank you."
Albert was surprised and pleased. The Lord's work was mysterious, he decided, and gratifying to those who had the strength to do it.
"Albert," George asked, "Are you going to kill her?"
"It's the Lord's will," Albert said. He put on a pair of gloves and pulled the pliers from the coals. "But first I will mortify her womanly parts."
George's heart sank. It was just his luck. She was probably the only fuck he'd have for a long time. Albert could've let him have one more go at her what with her legs spread and all, but Albert just wasn't in the mood for that sort of thing now. What a waste. Still, there was going to be some fireworks when he put the hot pliers to her pussy. Albert stepped up to the outstretched legs and vulnerable sex of the young woman. He showed her the pliers, held them to her face so she could feel the heat. He spread her labia with his fingers and slowly lowered the pliers as her eyes widened and she groaned and and mewled and twisted. . .
"Stop right there and drop those fucking pliers!" a voice ordered from behind them.
Albert and George spun around and looked into the rifle barrels of four men.
"What the fuck are you assholes doing to that woman?"
"Nothing mister. . ." George said.
"We're doing the work of the Lord." Albert said. "You mustn't interfere."
"Drop the pliers! Do it now!" the leader said "And keep your hands up! Matt, you and Charlie untie her, let her down from there. And one of you give her your jacket. Jesus Christ"
The two men quickly had Imogene down from the frame while the other two held their rifles on Albert and George.
"Get on your knees," the leader said.
"Please mister, I didn't want any part of this, he made me. . ."
"I only get on my knees to pray," Albert said.
"Well pray I don't shoot your ass here and now."
Slowly Albert lowered himself.
"What we going to do with 'em?" the man next to the leader asked.
"I don't know. Shoot 'em, hang 'em."
"Shouldn't we give 'em a trial?"
"Are you kidding me John? A trial?"
Imogene limped towards the leader. Every step hurt her burned feet, but the leader's sidearm attracted her. She hadn't been around guns that much but it looked just like the one she'd threatened Albert with a thousand odd years ago.
It broke the leader's heart to watch her. She was obviously in a lot of pain, and the jacket that Charlie had put around her shoulders did not cover her nakedness. She met his eyes and put her hand on his arm to support herself.
Slowly she pulled the Glock from his holster. The leader glanced up at the other men and reached an unspoken agreement.
He delicately took the handgun from her and racked the slide. "Now there's a round in the chamber," he said. He thumbed a switch. "Now it's off safe. It's ready to fire. Just point and pull the trigger."
She nodded and stepped away from him towards Albert and George. Then she turned back towards him and he thought she was going to ask him a question and at the same time he was going to remind her, gently, not to flag him with the gun when she brought the gun up and shot him through the head. Imogene turned to the man next to him and shot him twice, the first missing, the second hitting him in the head and dropping him. The other two men had been eyeing her with a curious regard, which had turned to stunned surprise as she turned the gun on them, but the third man grabbed his rifle as the second man fell and got off a shot. Imogene saw the barrel pointed at her, and she felt a hornet go by and pluck at her hair. Her gun bucked in her hand again and again and again and the third man spun and stumbled towards the dumpster. The fourth man had panicked and was trying to run up the embankment beyond the frame, trying to make it to the trees at the top of the embankment. She fired at him until he fell and slid back down. She would have kept firing, but the gun didn't work anymore. She looked at it curiously. The slide was back past the end of the gun, exposing the shiny barrel. She didn't know what she should do with it. She supposed she should give it to Albert, but Albert was busy shooting the third and fourth man with the leader's rifle. When he was done with that Imogene handed him the gun.