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The Competition

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At the front of the concession, the Cardinal walked. Behind him, his retinue followed; bishops, priests, monks, and nuns. The Cardinal was chanting a prayer quietly, and his slow, methodical walk kept the group's pace to a crawl. Occasionally, he would steal a glance back at the tortured novices, bearing their crosses through the cathedral. The Cardinal could not hide his desire, but he dared not do anything in public. He would have his private time later. The members of the congregation that would not see the crucifixion, though, we're a touch more brash. They accompanied the novices on all sides, and only the fear of an accidental whip-strike kept them at any sort of distance.

The young nun, however, was not nearly this bold. As she broke off quietly from the procession, she clung to the walls on the sides of the cathedral's door, the door to the cloister, content to watch the torturous march from a slight distance, and not reveal her wicked desires. And perhaps hear the agonized screams of the women as the nails go in? From where she stood, she could watch all of the victims of this torture procession pass her. The first was Messaline, a picture of beauty; a young woman, wearing only a white blood-stained loincloth, struggling to bear an enormous cross, yet still moving along consistently. Her teeth were gritted. She had golden blonde hair that was capped with a band of rose thorns, letting dark red streaks down her pale face. The nun began to imagine her reaction to nails being driven into her. Her screams...

But those thoughts were interrupted by a cheer from the crowd. The nun swiveled her head towards the noise, and saw Eulalia striding with her x-cross hoisted up on her back, supported by a thin leather strap and her tied arms, which were already extended in their final pose. It was a wonderful display. Her head was not bowed. She was proud of the thorny crown she wore, but her face still showed a hidden expression of pained effort even in her moment of small triumph. Eulalia took her spot at the front of the procession. She would now be nailed first, ahead of the rest of the novices, too her special x-cross Her legs would be spread out, then nailed. Not very historically accurate to the sufferings of Christ, but certainly very alluring to the Cardinal nonetheless, and that was the ultimate goal, it seemed. As the two novices in the front passed the door, the young nun scanned for the other two.

Being followed by the remaining crowd, Barbaria and Thessala were stumbling towards the door, knees nearly buckling, bowed down by their cruel crosses, and bleed deeply by their Christly crowns. Barbaria seemed more than dazed, she seemed to be regressing further and further into shock with every step she took. She only barely managed to make it into the door of the next, private phase, before the stress and pain overcame her. Barbaria's knees gave way. Her cross tumbled to the side, dragging her down to the floor again. She was whipped. She didn't move. The whipping continued.

Desperate to not be the last person, and potentially loose points, Thessala continued her march past Barbaria as fast as she could manage. It was starting to look bad. Barbaria wasn't getting up. She wasn't even responding to the whipping anymore. Had she expired before even arriving to the Gogatha? Had she lost the will to move? The young nun decided that she could just watch as Barbaria was whipped to death. She needed to see that she was crucified, too. And she had a way to ensure that it happened.

The young nun, having stripped off the outer layer of her habit for this sudden duty. picked up the cross that Barbaria was tied to, and slung it over her shoulder, mirroring Barbaria's hold. With an effort, she managed to pull the cross forward, helping Barbaria drag herslef to her feet. Barbaria shot a confused look at the nun.

"Who are you? Why are you helping me? This is my cross the bear."

"This has to be finished, I don't think you can carry this on your own. I'm Emily." the strain of the heavy wood was already weighing itself down on Emily's voice.

Barbaria, eager to finish, as weak as she was, grasped the edges of the wood and helped as much as she could as they both continued with their burden through the doors. With Emily helping her carry her cross, the last novice had entered, and the doors were shut to the crowd.
 
mp5stab said:
At the front of the concession, the Cardinal walked. Behind him, his retinue followed; bishops, priests, monks, and nuns. The Cardinal was chanting a prayer quietly, and his slow, methodical walk kept the group's pace to a crawl. Occasionally, he would steal a glance back at the tortured novices, bearing their crosses through the cathedral. The Cardinal could not hide his desire, but he dared not do anything in public. He would have his private time later. The members of the congregation that would not see the crucifixion, though, we're a touch more brash. They accompanied the novices on all sides, and only the fear of an accidental whip-strike kept them at any sort of distance.

The young nun, however, was not nearly this bold. As she broke off quietly from the procession, she clung to the walls on the sides of the cathedral's door, the door to the cloister, content to watch the torturous march from a slight distance, and not reveal her wicked desires. And perhaps hear the agonized screams of the women as the nails go in? From where she stood, she could watch all of the victims of this torture procession pass her. The first was Messaline, a picture of beauty; a young woman, wearing only a white blood-stained loincloth, struggling to bear an enormous cross, yet still moving along consistently. Her teeth were gritted. She had golden blonde hair that was capped with a band of rose thorns, letting dark red streaks down her pale face. The nun began to imagine her reaction to nails being driven into her. Her screams...

But those thoughts were interrupted by a cheer from the crowd. The nun swiveled her head towards the noise, and saw Eulalia striding with her x-cross hoisted up on her back, supported by a thin leather strap and her tied arms, which were already extended in their final pose. It was a wonderful display. Her head was not bowed. She was proud of the thorny crown she wore, but her face still showed a hidden expression of pained effort even in her moment of small triumph. Eulalia took her spot at the front of the procession. She would now be nailed first, ahead of the rest of the novices, too her special x-cross Her legs would be spread out, then nailed. Not very historically accurate to the sufferings of Christ, but certainly very alluring to the Cardinal nonetheless, and that was the ultimate goal, it seemed. As the two novices in the front passed the door, the young nun scanned for the other two.

Being followed by the remaining crowd, Barbaria and Thessala were stumbling towards the door, knees nearly buckling, bowed down by their cruel crosses, and bleed deeply by their Christly crowns. Barbaria seemed more than dazed, she seemed to be regressing further and further into shock with every step she took. She only barely managed to make it into the door of the next, private phase, before the stress and pain overcame her. Barbaria's knees gave way. Her cross tumbled to the side, dragging her down to the floor again. She was whipped. She didn't move. The whipping continued.

Desperate to not be the last person, and potentially loose points, Thessala continued her march past Barbaria as fast as she could manage. It was starting to look bad. Barbaria wasn't getting up. She wasn't even responding to the whipping anymore. Had she expired before even arriving to the Gogatha? Had she lost the will to move? The young nun decided that she could just watch as Barbaria was whipped to death. She needed to see that she was crucified, too. And she had a way to ensure that it happened.

The young nun, having stripped off the outer layer of her habit for this sudden duty. picked up the cross that Barbaria was tied to, and slung it over her shoulder, mirroring Barbaria's hold. With an effort, she managed to pull the cross forward, helping Barbaria drag herslef to her feet. Barbaria shot a confused look at the nun.

"Who are you? Why are you helping me? This is my cross the bear."

"This has to be finished, I don't think you can carry this on your own. I'm Emily." the strain of the heavy wood was already weighing itself down on Emily's voice.

Barbaria, eager to finish, as weak as she was, grasped the edges of the wood and helped as much as she could as they both continued with their burden through the doors. With Emily helping her carry her cross, the last novice had entered, and the doors were shut to the crowd.
Click to expand...

The Cardinal has ordered an extra cross be brought to the cloister. This little act of mercy is not to be ignored or allowed to go unpunished. Emily is in deep trouble now. :confused:

Nice writing mp....!!!
 
montycrusto said:
The Abbess of St. Cruxton's is looking forward to returning to the Abbey, and conducting a more laid-back, indoor crucifixion without all of this pressure!
Click to expand...

Looks like the annual service celebrating the "intake" of new novices :eek::rolleyes:
 
thehangingtree said:
Why?

As a matter of devout faith, as an honor and privilege to follow and experience at first hand the agony and anguish of the crucifixion of our dear Savior and Lord? Was it to bring honor and glory to our respective Abbeys and Orders? Or, was it simply to accede naively to being the objects of a hideously contrived performance whose only purpose was to satisfy the sadistically erotic and debauched desires and fantasies of the deranged higher echelons of a Church gone mad?

Tree has pondered this himself. Why would these novices even want to compete as all but Thessela seem to want to compete and even Thessela puts up no resistance. Tree appreciates that the whips prod them along but that is the obvious reason.

No, there is something deeper within these women...
Click to expand...

Thessela may not want to compete. But desire for the cross grows inside her!
The passion arouses her.
Physical strain is pushing her to a kind of ecstacy,she can not stop the journey now!
 
Thessela said:
Thessela may not want to compete. But desire for the cross grows inside her!
The passion arouses her.
Physical strain is pushing her to a kind of ecstacy,she can not stop the journey now!
Click to expand...
Tree will never understand such desires and submission. All along he thought it was because you are a novice and you have no choice...

T
 
thehangingtree said:
Tree will never understand such desires and submission. All along he thought it was because you are a novice and you have no choice...

T
Click to expand...

She started with no choice, Tree, but now I think she's getting into it!

Now, I see a young monk who has been following things with interest. He has been watching the girls with their crosses, and he has been watching the young nun who shares his interest.
He has been hoping to get closer to her, to talk to her, to meet a soulmate.
But now what has happened? The young nun leaps forward to help one of the girls, who has fallen.
She is carrying the cross! A thrill runs through him. She is so caught in the spectacle that she has joined in. God in heaven, he imagines her body beneath the robes, imagines the thrill she must be feeling. To take part like that.
How far will she go? How far would he go? Could he join in?
Could he help to crucify her?
 
Barbaria1 said:
As a matter of devout faith, as an honor and privilege to follow and experience at first hand the agony and anguish of the crucifixion of our dear Savior and Lord? Was it to bring honor and glory to our respective Abbeys and Orders? Or, was it simply to accede naively to being the objects of a hideously contrived performance whose only purpose was to satisfy the sadistically erotic and debauched desires and fantasies of the deranged higher echelons of a Church gone mad?

But at the same time, I realized that there was also something deep inside me that strangely wanted this, even hungered for it ... there was something about me, hidden, forbidden … that reveled in the humiliation of being nakedly on display, helpless, whipped and beaten, forced to participate in my own public degradation, endure unbelievable hardship and pain, and the ultimate anguish and suffering of spending hours nailed naked to the wood, exposed, twisting and writhing ... dancing as long as I am able that last desperate lonely dance of death.
Click to expand...

In these two paragraphs must be summarised most of the reasons we are members of this forum. It is a little unsettling to think my inner feelings are sadistically erotic and debauched desires and fantasies but at least this forum allows them to remain fantasies.

Eulalia said:
it's a skillful blend of knockabout and thoughtful reflection.
Click to expand...

I would like to echo this.
 
old slave said:
In these two paragraphs must be summarised most of the reasons we are members of this forum. It is a little unsettling to think my inner feelings are sadistically erotic and debauched desires and fantasies but at least this forum allows them to remain fantasies.



I would like to echo this.
Click to expand...
If it ceases to remain fantasy, large unsympathetic men wearing armor will come calling :)
 
21. I sprawled on the stone pavement, just short of the lush green grass of the Cathedral cloister. A frantic Ethelbert lashed me repeatedly with his whip, yelling at me to get up.

Thessela stumbled past me to join Eulalia and Messaline in the cloister, nearly tripping over my legs. She stopped briefly as though she wanted to say something to me, but her handlers lashed her hard and she stumbled forward, tiny drops of her blood and sweat spattering on my skin.

I tried once more to get up, but I was just too weak. It was all over for me.

But then I felt the weight of my cross being lifted. At first I thought it was Ethelbert. But no, it was one of the nuns from the Cardinal's official entourage ... the tall, thin one with the dreamy look on her face. Earlier I had seen this nun drifting away from the entourage to observe the spectacle on her own.

She had come suddenly, inexplicably, to my aid! She had come on the run, stripping away and tossing aside the outer layers of her habit, grasping the crossbeam of my cross and putting her shoulder into it, lifting and driving it forward.

I was dragged to my feet and propelled ahead, struggling to get my feet under me. I shot a confused look at her. "Who are you? Why are you helping me? This is my cross to bear," I rasped, my mouth too dry to speak louder.

"This has to be finished. I don't think you can carry this on your own. I'm Emily," she replied through gritted teeth as she literally carried both me and my cross through the doorway and out into the cloister.

The doors swung shut behind us. I heard a loud clunk as they were barred from within.

Moments later I blacked out.

When I came to I was stretched out on my back on top of my wooden cross, which was lying on the grass somewhere near the center of the cloister square. Overhead, fluffy white clouds dotted a blue sky, framed against Gothic stone pinnacles set atop the surrounding cloister walls.

Leaning over me was Sister Kathleen, mopping my face with a cool damp cloth. Ethelbert looked down on me from the foot of my cross, a hammer in his right hand. Tuck stood behind him holding a small leather pouch. The Abbess was crouched at my side, tugging on the tie that held my loincloth in place. I tried to move, but my wrists were bound to the crossbeam and my ankles had been bound together and strapped to the stipe of my cross.

To my right was Messaline, similarly laid out naked and bound to her cross; her Sister Judith standing over her, holding the French novice’s crumpled loincloth in her hand while engaged in conversation with the Abbess of Mont Saint-Michel.

To the far side of the French novice, two monks were struggling to secure Thessela's wildly kicking and thrashing legs so they could remove her loincloth.

To my left, Eulalia lay calmly, spread-eagled naked on her X-cross, head back, eyes, open serenely staring at the sky, waiting.

Beyond her, over near the cloister wall, the young nun, Emily, who had so rashly rushed to my assistance, was hanging arms-over-head from a stout whipping post, the folds of the remains of her habit bunched up on the ground around her ankles. Her screams echoed across the cloister space, as two priests took turns flogging her naked body while the Cardinal looked on, hands on his hips.

Nearby, an extra cross leaned ominously against the wall.

The cloister had been closed off. What was to happen within its confines would be witnessed only by the Abbey teams, the Bishop, the Cardinal and his specially invited guests and retainers. The only exception was some foolish man who had climbed the cloister wall to catch a look and had fallen to the ground, and was now pinned against the wall and guarded by two of the Cardinal's men.

Thessela's legs had been finally strapped down, her loin cloth stripped away. All was quiet except for the steady cracking of a whip followed immediately by another one of Emily's anguished cries.

Bishop Wragg stepped forward and cleared his throat before announcing the 'performance points' awarded for the cross-bearing phase of the Competition. The Scots won, scoring a perfect 20, followed by the French with 15 (after a penalty of 5 for faltering once along the way, Threepwood Abbey was also awarded 15. Cruxton was penalized 10 for causing the unseemly collision and brawl with the French, and a further 10 because I had faltered and collapsed near the end. That left the Scots in the lead going into the final phase.

"Now," said Wragg, noting to himself that few of the select ... who were about to witness the violent crucifixion of four young women and already in a high state of arousal, some of them removing some of their clothing and holding themselves ... seemed to care anymore about the score, "If the teams are ready, let us proceed. You may now nail and raise your novices! Crosshageul Abbey first, then Mont Saint-Michel, then Threepwood, and Cruxton last. "

I glanced at Kathleen, who smiled reassuringly at me, and then at Ethelbert who had come around to kneel with his hammer next to my outstretched left arm, and finally at Tuck who stood behind Ethelbert, withdrawing a large iron spike from his leather pouch.

TO BE CONTINUED
 
Barbaria1 said:
21. I sprawled on the stone pavement, just short of the lush green grass of the Cathedral cloister. A frantic Ethelbert lashed me repeatedly with his whip, yelling at me to get up.

Thessela stumbled past me to join Eulalia and Messaline in the cloister, nearly tripping over my legs. She stopped briefly as though she wanted to say something to me, but her handlers lashed her hard and she stumbled forward, tiny drops of her blood and sweat spattering on my skin.

I tried once more to get up, but I was just too weak. It was all over for me.

But then I felt the weight of my cross being lifted. At first I thought it was Ethelbert. But no, it was one of the nuns from the Cardinal's official entourage ... the tall, thin one with the dreamy look on her face. Earlier I had seen this nun drifting away from the entourage to observe the spectacle on her own.

She had come suddenly, inexplicably, to my aid! She had come on the run, stripping away and tossing aside the outer layers of her habit, grasping the crossbeam of my cross and putting her shoulder into it, lifting and driving it forward.

I was dragged to my feet and propelled ahead, struggling to get my feet under me. I shot a confused look at her. "Who are you? Why are you helping me? This is my cross to bear," I rasped, my mouth too dry to speak louder.

"This has to be finished. I don't think you can carry this on your own. I'm Emily," she replied through gritted teeth as she literally carried both me and my cross through the doorway and out into the cloister.

The doors swung shut behind us. I heard a loud clunk as they were barred from within.

Moments later I blacked out.

When I came to I was stretched out on my back on top of my wooden cross, which was lying on the grass somewhere near the center of the cloister square. Overhead, fluffy white clouds dotted a blue sky, framed against Gothic stone pinnacles set atop the surrounding cloister walls.

Leaning over me was Sister Kathleen, mopping my face with a cool damp cloth. Ethelbert looked down on me from the foot of my cross, a hammer in his right hand. Tuck stood behind him holding a small leather pouch. The Abbess was crouched at my side, tugging on the tie that held my loincloth in place. I tried to move, but my wrists were bound to the crossbeam and my ankles had been bound together and strapped to the stipe of my cross.

To my right was Messaline, similarly laid out naked and bound to her cross; her Sister Judith standing over her, holding the French novice’s crumpled loincloth in her hand while engaged in conversation with the Abbess of Mont Saint-Michel.

To the far side of the French novice, two monks were struggling to secure Thessela's wildly kicking and thrashing legs so they could remove her loincloth.

To my left, Eulalia lay calmly, spread-eagled naked on her X-cross, head back, eyes, open serenely staring at the sky, waiting.

Beyond her, over near the cloister wall, the young nun, Emily, who had so rashly rushed to my assistance, was hanging arms-over-head from a stout whipping post, the folds of the remains of her habit bunched up on the ground around her ankles. Her screams echoed across the cloister space, as two priests took turns flogging her naked body while the Cardinal looked on, hands on his hips.

Nearby, an extra cross leaned ominously against the wall.

The cloister had been closed off. What was to happen within its confines would be witnessed only by the Abbey teams, the Bishop, the Cardinal and his specially invited guests and retainers. The only exception was some foolish man who had climbed the cloister wall to catch a look and had fallen to the ground, and was now pinned against the wall and guarded by two of the Cardinal's men.

Thessela's legs had been finally strapped down, her loin cloth stripped away. All was quiet except for the steady cracking of a whip followed immediately by another one of Emily's anguished cries.

Bishop Wragg stepped forward and cleared his throat before announcing the 'performance points' awarded for the cross-bearing phase of the Competition. The Scots won, scoring a perfect 20, followed by the French with 15 (after a penalty of 5 for faltering once along the way, Threepwood Abbey was also awarded 15. Cruxton was penalized 10 for causing the unseemly collision and brawl with the French, and a further 10 because I had faltered and collapsed near the end. That left the Scots in the lead going into the final phase.

"Now," said Wragg, noting to himself that few of the select ... who were about to witness the violent crucifixion of four young women and already in a high state of arousal, some of them removing some of their clothing and holding themselves ... seemed to care anymore about the score, "If the teams are ready, let us proceed. You may now nail and raise your novices! Crosshageul Abbey first, then Mont Saint-Michel, then Threepwood, and Cruxton last. "

I glanced at Kathleen, who smiled reassuringly at me, and then at Ethelbert who had come around to kneel with his hammer next to my outstretched left arm, and finally at Tuck who stood behind Ethelbert, withdrawing a large iron spike from his leather pouch.

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...
Well done... so you scored zero or are you in the minus column Barb???
 
Barbaria1 said:
21. I sprawled on the stone pavement, just short of the lush green grass of the Cathedral cloister. A frantic Ethelbert lashed me repeatedly with his whip, yelling at me to get up.

Thessela stumbled past me to join Eulalia and Messaline in the cloister, nearly tripping over my legs. She stopped briefly as though she wanted to say something to me, but her handlers lashed her hard and she stumbled forward, tiny drops of her blood and sweat spattering on my skin.

I tried once more to get up, but I was just too weak. It was all over for me.

But then I felt the weight of my cross being lifted. At first I thought it was Ethelbert. But no, it was one of the nuns from the Cardinal's official entourage ... the tall, thin one with the dreamy look on her face. Earlier I had seen this nun drifting away from the entourage to observe the spectacle on her own.

She had come suddenly, inexplicably, to my aid! She had come on the run, stripping away and tossing aside the outer layers of her habit, grasping the crossbeam of my cross and putting her shoulder into it, lifting and driving it forward.

I was dragged to my feet and propelled ahead, struggling to get my feet under me. I shot a confused look at her. "Who are you? Why are you helping me? This is my cross to bear," I rasped, my mouth too dry to speak louder.

"This has to be finished. I don't think you can carry this on your own. I'm Emily," she replied through gritted teeth as she literally carried both me and my cross through the doorway and out into the cloister.

The doors swung shut behind us. I heard a loud clunk as they were barred from within.

Moments later I blacked out.

When I came to I was stretched out on my back on top of my wooden cross, which was lying on the grass somewhere near the center of the cloister square. Overhead, fluffy white clouds dotted a blue sky, framed against Gothic stone pinnacles set atop the surrounding cloister walls.

Leaning over me was Sister Kathleen, mopping my face with a cool damp cloth. Ethelbert looked down on me from the foot of my cross, a hammer in his right hand. Tuck stood behind him holding a small leather pouch. The Abbess was crouched at my side, tugging on the tie that held my loincloth in place. I tried to move, but my wrists were bound to the crossbeam and my ankles had been bound together and strapped to the stipe of my cross.

To my right was Messaline, similarly laid out naked and bound to her cross; her Sister Judith standing over her, holding the French novice’s crumpled loincloth in her hand while engaged in conversation with the Abbess of Mont Saint-Michel.

To the far side of the French novice, two monks were struggling to secure Thessela's wildly kicking and thrashing legs so they could remove her loincloth.

To my left, Eulalia lay calmly, spread-eagled naked on her X-cross, head back, eyes, open serenely staring at the sky, waiting.

Beyond her, over near the cloister wall, the young nun, Emily, who had so rashly rushed to my assistance, was hanging arms-over-head from a stout whipping post, the folds of the remains of her habit bunched up on the ground around her ankles. Her screams echoed across the cloister space, as two priests took turns flogging her naked body while the Cardinal looked on, hands on his hips.

Nearby, an extra cross leaned ominously against the wall.

The cloister had been closed off. What was to happen within its confines would be witnessed only by the Abbey teams, the Bishop, the Cardinal and his specially invited guests and retainers. The only exception was some foolish man who had climbed the cloister wall to catch a look and had fallen to the ground, and was now pinned against the wall and guarded by two of the Cardinal's men.

Thessela's legs had been finally strapped down, her loin cloth stripped away. All was quiet except for the steady cracking of a whip followed immediately by another one of Emily's anguished cries.

Bishop Wragg stepped forward and cleared his throat before announcing the 'performance points' awarded for the cross-bearing phase of the Competition. The Scots won, scoring a perfect 20, followed by the French with 15 (after a penalty of 5 for faltering once along the way, Threepwood Abbey was also awarded 15. Cruxton was penalized 10 for causing the unseemly collision and brawl with the French, and a further 10 because I had faltered and collapsed near the end. That left the Scots in the lead going into the final phase.

"Now," said Wragg, noting to himself that few of the select ... who were about to witness the violent crucifixion of four young women and already in a high state of arousal, some of them removing some of their clothing and holding themselves ... seemed to care anymore about the score, "If the teams are ready, let us proceed. You may now nail and raise your novices! Crosshageul Abbey first, then Mont Saint-Michel, then Threepwood, and Cruxton last. "

I glanced at Kathleen, who smiled reassuringly at me, and then at Ethelbert who had come around to kneel with his hammer next to my outstretched left arm, and finally at Tuck who stood behind Ethelbert, withdrawing a large iron spike from his leather pouch.

TO BE CONTINUED
Click to expand...

It's bloody Hilda's fault.:mad:

That pathetic dark haired girl folded up like wet tissue paper under her cross. Pathetic. She'd looked fit enough to me to start with, if bloody Hilda hadn't knocked the stuffing out of her maybe she'd have stood a chance. :mad:

Oh no, just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, some nun's gone and grabbed the Cruxton cross! :doh:

How dare she? How bloody dare she? Right. That's it. If she wants a cross she can have a cross. And the dark haired girl needn't think she'll get away with it, either. There are plenty to go around. Now they've completely fucked up any chance of a Cruxton victory we might as well have a bit of a spectacle. See what we can rescue from the wreck. :doh:

Mind you, now she's nude, and spread out on her cross, I do believe I'm starting to feel a little better about the dark haired girl! :)
 
and the Scots girl is being subjected to subtle psychological torture,
being allowed to win when all she craves is to be humiliated and beaten
(in any sense you like :devil:) - but duty to her Order and obedience to her Abbess
over-ride her desires (and there'll be plenty of opportunity for gratuitous cruelty -
at least, she's counting on it :devil: :devil: :devil:)
 
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