ez040895@chip.ucdavis.edu (Jeremy)

AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

(c) 1994 Jeremy Brinkley -- Permission is hereby given to distribute or 
reproduce this story by electronic means, so long as the header remains 
intact.  The following contains sexually explicit material and should not 
be read by anyone underage or offended by such.

AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

Part the First -- The Plan

     Leaves crunched under Trad's feet as he approached the Grove. 
Anticipation about what was to come clouded his thinking, flitting
it this way and that.  The ghosts of anticipation crowded inside
his belly, tightening it in spasmodic flutters of nervousness and
embarrassment.

     Not more than 13, Trad presented an interesting sight.  A
simple girl's shift and sandals protected him from the elements as
he worked his way through the chilly forest, and reflected on how
he'd gotten to this point.

     Corrya, he mused, was a peaceful place.  Dreadfully peaceful. 
Despite stories of a war a thousand years old, danger rarely
threatened its peoples.  Surrounded as they were by water, they had
no national enemies.

     In the face of this prosperity, it was taught, the need for an
army, and indeed even a government had subsided and vanished.  Now
Corrya lived as a collection of peaceful hamlets, gathering lazily
what they could not grow from the fertile island soil.

     As a boy, Trad was to grow up to be a cunning, skillful hunter
and farmer, judicious in his duty to family and the Goddess.

     Boring!  thought Trad.  Touched with ambition, the slight
teenager wanted power.  Power to control his destiny.  Power!

     But the power was in the hands of the Watchers.  As keepers of
the Goddess's grace, the Watcher-women played many roles for the
people of Corrya.  As wise arbiters, magicians, and more, they
guided the inhabitants of Corrya.  It was to them people appealed
for help and guidance--and sometimes looked in blame.  This was the
power to which young Trad aspired.

     And it couldn't have been more frustrating: the ranks of the
mystic Watchers were, of course, closed to males.  Why should he,
an intelligent and pious young man, be kept ignorant of the power
of the Goddess merely because of his sex?

     Sometimes, Trad would imagine himself in the position of a
Watcher.  He would imagine himself with the magical power to
heal--and the power to harm.  Attuned to the rhythms of the land
and the phases of the moon.  He had closely observed the local
coven, learned their rites and personages.

     He knew of strong Sichelgaita.  All know that the Goddess is
worshiped in one of three aspects, embodied by the Principates of
the Watcher coven.  Two of them, the Maiden Principate, and the
Crone, are constant.  However, each year a secret rite is conducted
to divine the third aspect.  Sometimes this would be the Warrior,
and sometimes the Mother.

     For a long time, Sichelgaita had been the Warrior Principate
of the Watcher coven.  At six feet six inches tall, she towered
over most of the island inhabitants, even the men.  Always seen in
creaking leather armor, her stern, cold eyes could keep even the
most vicious opponents at bay.

     The Crone, leader of the coven, was Sophia.  Her name meant
wisdom, and it was to her all the coven paid deference.  Her face
was creased with wrinkles, her body shriveled and peppered with
liver spots.  But her eyes were as piercing and keen as a blooded
arrow, and when you looked in them, you perceived a mind as old as
the world.

     Trad knew Fluspeth mostly through stolen glances and
surreptitious encounters.  She was the Maiden, virginal and pure,
untouched by the primal forces of reproduction.  Her features were
soft and childlike, and at barely fifteen, Trad almost considered
her a peer.

     Trad had also seen Krynna.  She was not a Principate, but was
one often seen with the Three.  Fat beyond decency, she was
nevertheless strong, and seemed to heave her flabby bulk around
with relative ease.

     Trad wasn't sure when he first got the idea for his current
actions.  Perhaps they simply came to him over time.  It was one
day in the forest, however, when he first realized it was possible.

     After grabbing a drink at a still pond, Trad looked into it,
gazing at his reflection.  Before, Trad had always eagerly examined
his face for signs of facial hair.  But now, his self- image
flipped inside out, and he noticed how pretty he was.  As he looked
at his reflection, he knew he could easily pass for a girl of his
own age.  Much to his surprise, he greeted this thought not with
horror, but with a mild comfort.  He even thought about how he'd
pass as a girl.  What forbidden delights he could see that way!

     But soon he got the idea that this may be the key to what he
wanted most of all.  After all, it could be two or three years
before his voice started changing, or before he started to grow
hair on his face.  He thought about what he could learn in those
two years from the Watchers.

     Could he fool the Watchers, though?  He thought he could. 
Many young girls of Corrya were known to be quite prudish and
modest, not uncovering themselves even in the presence of their
fathers.  Trad could pose as one of these girls, fooling the
Watcher instructors until he could learn of the secrets to learn on
his own.

     He was exhilarated by his plan.  He resolved to carry it
through at the next Triosa.  This was the firelight festival in
which young girls were taken by their mothers to become Watchers. 
However, Trad knew that "strays" also showed up and were taken in
the coven.

     First, Trad took one of his mother's loinwraps, hiding it in
preparation for the day.  He also took some of her eyelid-
darkening kohl.  Next he embarked on a daring adventure: he stole
a shift from another family in the hamlet.  It was gray, homespun,
and shapeless, exactly as would befit a young girl into her
"monthlies", but not yet of marriageable age.

     On the day of the festival, Trad took a roll of green
treebark, and with a charcoal pencil, wrote a note on the inside. 
In it he told his mother and father that he was leaving home at the
early age of thirteen to seek adventure with the seafaring Rali
people of the other side of the island.  He told them not to worry;
that he would be back to visit within another turning of the year.

     That accomplished, Trad snuck out to his secret stash in the
woods.  First, he stripped off his boy's clothes, and began
braiding his hair into a ponytail in the style of a girl's.  He
discovered a guilty pleasure in the tight feel of the loinwrap.  He
closed his eyes and tried to fight his erection, to no avail.

     Night began to draw as Trad outlined his eyes, making them
pretty and accentuating their almond shape.  Still, however, his
little erection would not go away.  In fact, as he thought of
himself more and more as a girl, he got more and more aroused.

     Trad realized that this would never do if he were going to
fool the Watchers.  As he lay backwards on the ground, he took his
small penis in his hand, and began moving the foreskin back and
forth over the head.  As he did this, he imagined himself a girl,
and pictured his immature vulva in his mind.

     The image aroused him more, so that a moan escaped his lips. 
His other hand reached up to rub his nipples.  He imagined budding
breasts, just beginning to develop and sensitive to his touch.  He
soon came, white come spurting from his little penis onto the leafy
forest floor.

     Satisfied that he had solved that particular problem, Trad
slipped on the girl's shift, and set out for the Grove.




AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

Part the Second -- Initiation

     Trad joined the other girls at the margin of the Grove,
watching them and trying to imitate their actions.  He had to make
this ruse believable, if he was going to fool the Watcher
Principates and be initiated.

     Soon he was part of a knot of girls heading toward a big
clearing in the Grove.  Here a long, low, flat barracks had been
constructed.  By the light of a huge bonfire he could see that the
building extended back into the forest.

     The building had the look of something essentially organic. 
Instead of straight, cut boards, or flat stone or plaster, the
walls had the unfinished look of simple split wood.  Blackened as
it was in places and rough, Trad's quick mind soon deduced that the
building, the seat of the Watchers, had been built from salvaged
wood.  Instead of cutting living trees from the forest, the
Watchers had instead gathered its dead, resurrecting them into the
arched, long building before him.  Cunning intelligence had
designed the structure from the materials--rather than cutting the
materials to serve a design.

     As Trad reflected on this and what it said about the Watchers,
he was buoyed by confidence.  He knew he was smart, and was sure
that all the other initiates had missed the significance of the
building's design.  Surely he would prove the Watcher's most apt
student--as long as he could pass himself off as a girl.

     One by one, then in groups, then in a crowd of about twenty,
little island girls -- and one very nervous boy -- gathered in the
clearing of the Grove.  They clustered around the fire, nervously
looking at one another, but afraid to speak.  No Watchers seemed
present, and it was at this point that those whose mothers had
brought them said their final, tearfilled goodbye.

     Suddenly, the sound of a large drum snapped each little head
around.  Two double doors swung out and downward from the big, flat
Watcher building, and from it issued the Watchers.  

     First came the Drum, immense in size.  It was covered, so the
Watchers said, in the hide of a sea-monster.  The woman rolling the
drum was attired in the long, cotton robe of the order.  As the
giant instrument was brought into the clearing, Trad could see her
better.

     Like most Watchers, this one wore leather and cloth wrappings
on her feet in place of sandals.  The red cotton robe was
embroidered with black thread along the margin.  Along the foot of
the robe, Trad knew, were sewn her "year-flowers" -- one for each
year of service to the Goddess.

     Following her were two other Watchers, similar in age and,
apparently, status.  The drummer moved to the side of the clearing
opposite the Watcher building, and the other two women stood at
each of the building's corners, thus making a triangle surrounding
the girls and the fire.

     The clearing was absolutely silent now except for the warm,
crackling comfort of the bonfire.  Each girl stared at the gaping
opening to the low building, waiting for the next person to arrive.

     Trad immediately recognized Fluspeth as she stepped into the
firelight.  Beautiful, with dark skin and perfect almond eyes,
Fluspeth was the Principate of the Maiden.  As such, she was the
only Watcher ever allowed to wear the white robe.

     The effect on the girls was stunning.  Bleaching was unknown
to the common inhabitants of Corrya, and to see this radiant beauty
in dazzling white caused a general intake of breath.  Fluspeth's
long, straight black hair was braided into the same ponytail as all
the girls', and it swayed from side to side as she came to stand in
front of them.  One of the Watcher spoke first.

     "Welcome, children of the Goddess.  We welcome you to Her
bosom.     You come seeking Her wisdom and grace.  At this the
festival of Triosa, She will choose among you who will follow Her
path."

     As she finished her short speech, Trad saw a movement at the
doors as two women emerged.  Sichelgaita and Krynna stepped out
together, though not touching or looking at one another.  The very
tall, strong body of Sichelgaita competed for attention with the
bulky, fat frame of Krynna.  Trad wondered why Krynna would appear
at Triosa, but his thought was quickly overwhelmed with his
thoughts of Sichelgaita.  They each took a place to the left of
Fluspeth.

     Sichelgaita was dressed as always in heavy leather armor. 
Absent here were her longbow and quiver of arrows, so much a part
of her nature that Trad's mind longed to fill in the gap, and he
kept "seeing" the quiver and bow across her back.  She was tall,
well over six feet and towering like a giant over Fluspeth and the
girls in the clearing.  Her hair was cropped close to her head, and
in the firelight, her eyes shone like diamonds.

     To Trad's disgust, Krynna was topless.  A broad (and very big)
loinwrap covered her private parts, but left rolls of fat hanging
over it.  Her breasts were huge and pendulous, swaying with her
motion.  She had covered the dark skin of her torso with paint,
accentuating the alien bulk of her body.  Big, fatty arms ended in
almost ludicrously small and dainty hands.

     Krynna's face had full, fat features, with almost obscenely
sensual lips.  Her hair was medium-length, braided in about fifty
different tiny, tight ponytails.

     Trad knew what was coming next.  His expectations were
realized as Sophia, Principate of the Crone, stepped into the
clearing.  Deep black and undecorated, her robe hid her withered,
shriveled body.  She used a walking cane to make her way into the
clearing.  But if her body was old and frail, her eyes were like
little drills, searching and probing.  When she spoke, it was with
confidence, not with the wavering weakness of age.

     "Let it begin!"

     At once, the drum began sounding.  This time, it was a rhythm,
a complicated syncopation that Trad felt he could hardly follow. 
The three Watchers at the perimeter began to dance, swaying
rhythmically and moving around the clearing.  The drummer rolled
her instrument along next to her, eyes closed, being guided only by
her familiarity with the Grove.

     They were soon joined by Fluspeth, who danced with elegant
grace, and by Sichelgaita, whose motions conveyed power and
thinly-hidden violence.  Krynna began shaking in place in a kind of
hypnotic trance.     Trad did his best to look away from her.

     "Dance, children!" cried Sophia.  "Dance!" The rhythm of the
drum was infectious, and the children began to move up and down in
unsophisticated imitation of the Watchers.  Confused at first, then
gaining in confidence, the girls began circling the fire, swaying
and jumping to the beat of the drum.

     Trad joined them, caught up in the beat and warmth of the
fire.     Worried that his awkward motions might give him away, he
again concentrated on acquiring the demeanor of the demure, modest
maiden, fixing the image of himself in his mind as a girl. 
Luckily, he'd applied his loinwrap very tightly, so that now his
small penis and sack did not bounce from the motion.  Sophia's
voice called out over the noise.

     "This is the first Rite of the Watchers, woman-children! It is
called the Dance of Birth, because here is where your new life will
begin.  Should the Goddess accept you, you will be Her daughter
alone.

     "You have come here with many things, children.  You have come
with stories of the universe, with legends and superstition.  You
have come with myths about the Watchers, of their rites.  You have
come with the opinions of your elders stamped upon your young
spirits.

     "Here you must shed them! Let go--fill your minds with
emptiness!  Return to the womb.  Shed the trappings of your life. 
Shed the fullness of your mind!"

     As one, the Watchers on the outside of the circle stopped,
untying the rope belts that held their robes in place.  Soon, the
robes had fallen to the ground, revealing their naked bodies.  They
clearly indicated the girls were to do the same.

     For a moment, Trad was transfixed by Fluspeth's gorgeous,
perfect body.  Her breasts were high, her legs and skin unbroken by
blemish or imperfection.

     But then he realized his predicament.  Soon all the girls were
naked, their sweating bodies glistening in the heat of the fire. 
Scared, he tried to run.

     But he only fetched up against one of the Watchers on the
outer circle, slamming into her naked body and falling to the
ground.  The Watcher, much bigger and stronger than he, easily held
him pinned until Sophia walked over to him.

     The drumming stopped, and Trad felt all the eyes in the
clearing on him.

     "Little girl, why do you not shed your clothes? Feel the
warmth of the fire on your skin.  Feel the love of the Goddess."
Sophia glanced to the Watcher who held him.  "Remove her clothes."
Sophia turned to walk back to the Principates (only Fluspeth of
which had so far stripped).

     The Watcher took hold of Trad's struggling arms, turning him
over so he was face down in the dirt of the Grove.  Then she knelt
on his legs, her shins bearing down on the backs of his knees. 
Despite his struggling, she got the plain shift off over his head. 
She then spun around, straddling the back of his head and pinning
his arms with her legs.  The tight loinwrap was hiked up into
Trad's ass, wedging apart his young cheeks.  The Watcher tugged
them down to his knees, then yanked them off the end of his legs.

     As she lifted Trad into view, titters and giggles of amusement
came from the girls.  Kohl streaked down Trad's cheeks as he
gibbered and cried, his shame evident.  All of the girls laughed,
smiled and pointed.

     Then he looked over at Sophia, which he knew was a mistake. 
Her dark, penetrating eyes bored into him, filling his stomach with
lead.

     "Remove him." she commanded.  "We will proceed."

     The Watcher pulled and pushed Trad into the building.  She
took him down a corridor, down two flights of stairs, into a
stonework room.  Set into a corner of the room was an alcove,
covered by a metal grate with a latch.  Into this alcove she thrust
Trad, latching it shut once again.

     Trad couldn't remember ever being so scared.  Cold, alone,
naked; crouched into his tiny "cell", Trad regretted ever being
born.

                    *          *          *

     Back at the clearing, the now-naked Sophia leaned close to
Krynna and Sichelgaita.  "I think we've found our contest," she
said, the evil spark in her eye betraying her intentions.



AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

Part the Third -- Sophia

     It seemed a long time before anyone came.  Shut up in his
little stone alcove, naked and cold, Trad soon found himself
yearning for anyone to come.  He was not relieved that his first
visitor was Sophia.

     "Please, ma'am," he began, scared and blubbering.

     "Silence!" Dressed in her black robe, the Principate of the
Crone stepped closer to Trad's cell.  She produced a little plate,
upon which had been placed the dense, sweet cake the Watchers
called Korin.  "Eat this." Eagerly Trad devoured the cake.

     Sophia leaned close to the bars, and Trad could smell the
essence of age on her.  Wrinkled and cracked, her skin was like
leather, her black robe barely serving to conceal her humped,
shriveled appearance.

     "Boy, you have intruded upon a sacred ritual of the Goddess."
Her black eyes bored right through his head.  "Do you know what the
punishment for that is?"

     Meekly, Trad answered, "no."

     "I should hope not." she said with a hint of a cruel smile. 
"There isn't one.  No one before you has ever done it.  Do you know
why? Because they fear us.  You and your weakly sex fear us and our
power.

     "But now," she said, standing up and pacing the room, "A
little boy has done the unthinkable.  I shall have to create the
punishment to fit the crime.  But do you know what?" Here she
leaned closer to Trad, speaking in a sinister, rasping whisper,
"I'm not going to do it all at once.  No.  I'm going to do it
piecemeal.  Nothing but punishment, little boy, until I've decided
you've had enough." Trad started to cry.  

     "You must do what I say, little boy.  If you don't, you will
never get out of that cage.  You will never get any food.  Do you
understand?"

     "You are nothing, a little insect.  You are here to entertain
me; otherwise you will be squashed.  You must answer me!"

     "Yes." Trad agreed, crying harder than ever now.

     "Why did you come to the ceremony, little turd?"

     "I c-came to serve---" before he could even finish, Sophia had
interrupted him.

     "You came to look at naked women, turd.  Isn't that right?
Answer me yes! Remember, no food, no freedom if you don't do what
I say!"

     "Y-yes."

     "You came to look at naked women--say it!"

     "I came to look at naked women."

     "You are a disgusting pervert.  Look at you.  Your tiny cock
hanging limp between your little stick-legs.  You are nothing.

     "And why did you want to look at naked women? I'll tell you
why-- and you'd best repeat it, boy-- it's because you liked
looking at your mother.  Isn't that right?"

     "Yes."

     "Say it!"

     "I like looking at my mother."

     "Tell me more, turd.  Tell me about what you'd like to do with
your mother.  You'd like to touch her, wouldn't you? Tell me!"

     "Yes, I-I'd look at her when she bathed.  I wanted to touch
her, her breasts."

     "Exactly.  What else.  Tell me or you'll never leave, turd!"

     "I wanted to kiss her, and make-- um, make -- um, do..."

     "You wanted to fuck her, little turd.  Say it!"

     "I wanted to fuck her." Trad was now crying profusely, tears
running down his face.  "I wanted to fuck my mother."

     "And so you wanted to look at naked women." Sophia let her
black robe fall to the ground.  Her breasts were small, but sagged
nonetheless almost down to her belly.  Every inch of her was
twisted, wrinkled and leathery.  "Is this what you wanted to see?
Say yes!"

     "Yes."

     "You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you? You want
to touch me.  Tell me how you want to touch me."

     "I want to touch you.  I want to, um, ...."

     "You want to suck my cunt.  You want to lick it.  Say it!"

     "I want to suck your cunt.  I want to lick it."

     "Don't just repeat me little turd.  The sooner I'm satisfied
with your answers, the sooner you can leave your cage.  Tell me
what you'd like to do to me."

     "I want to lick your cunt.  I want to fuck you and lick your
body and touch your breasts.  I want to suck on you."

     "Better, little turd." Behind her cold, penetrating eyes, Trad
could see the cruel insanity lurking in the darkness.  "Now I want
you to play with yourself."  Trad just looked at her, shocked into
silence.  "You heard me.  If you play with yourself, I'll let you
out."

     Desperate for freedom, Trad began fondling his little limp
penis.  He could almost feel Sophia's cold eyes on his little
member.

     "That's no use, little worm.  Get it hard.  Why don't you get
it hard by telling me what you'd like to do with me.  Tell me!"
Unfortunately, poor little Trad's imagination was already used up. 
He couldn't think of anything to say.  This only angered Sophia
more.  

     "Describe how you'd fuck me, little turd, given half a chance. 
Tell me how you'd do it."  Trad's mind rebelled, repulsed by the
idea of even touching the withered old crone.  But he was scared,
so scared.

     "Um, I'd kiss you first.  Then I'd, um, I'd touch all over
your body.  I-I'd touch your breasts." Trad frantically tugged at
his little penis trying to get it erect.  "I'd kiss you on the
mouth, then I'd kiss your breasts."

     At this point, it was obvious that while his little fantasy
wasn't doing anything for him, it was having quite an effect on
Sophia.  She was breathing heavier, wheezing and shaking with
excitement.  She knelt on the floor now, next to the metal grate,
and forced one of her sagging, wrinkled breasts through the bars.

     "Yes, kiss it, turd." She wheezed.  Trying to fight back his
own disgust, Trad leaned forward, pecking it below the nipple. 
"Suck it, turd! Suck it!"

     Trad tried to imagine a beautiful woman.  In fact, the image
that popped into his mind was of Fluspeth.  He imagined he was
sucking on her breast.  With this tactic, his penis began to
respond, becoming erect as he took the shriveled nipple in his
mouth and began to suck.

     But nothing had prepared him for the taste.  As Sophia wheezed
and moaned in response to his mouth and tongue, Trad began to draw
out a foul-tasting discharge from her breast.  Like infection or
pus, it squeezed out of her nipple as she heaved from excitement.

     Trad tried to ignore it; he knew that the sooner he ejaculated
the better.  He tried to fix the image of Fluspeth in his mind as
he yanked back and forth and his penis.  Soon he was able to feel
the heaviness in his legs that signalled orgasm.  Sophia was almost
out of her mind in excitement, her bent, withered body writhing
against the bars, pushing her flaccid, wrinkled breast into Trad's
mouth.  Sophia must have sensed he was near orgasm.

     "Come on the floor, little turd." Trad saw no reason not to,
and so with a final yank, spurted his white, sticky come onto the
dirty stone floor.  At the same time, Sophia withdrew her breast
from the bars, and stood up, putting her robe back on.  Dressed
now, but still breathing heavily, she turned to face him.

     "You know what you have to do, turd.  You better clean that
up.  When it's clean, I'll let you out." Sophia stared at him with
those dead-cold, piercing eyes.

     "Please, no." Trad could feel his bile rise with the though of
lapping his own semen up from the dirty stone floor.

     "Do it.  Do it and I'll let you out.  But only if you tell me
you like it."

     Slowly, Trad lowered his face to the floor.  Closing his eyes,
he took an experimental lick.  His little pool of come had cooled
now, becoming thick and separated.  It was cold, like snot, and
tasted salty.  He could also taste the earthy flavor of the floor
of the room.

     "Tell me that you like it."  Trad continued lapping up the
thick semen.

     "I like it.  I like to taste my semen.  It's a treat better
than the Korin.  It's better than cookies.  I love it.  It tastes
good."  With this he finished the last of his sperm, barely keeping
it down as his stomach heaved in response.

     "Good." she said.  She bent down and released the latch on
Trad's metal grate.  Unceremoniously, Trad spilled out of the
confined space as Sophia walked over to the door.

     "You did well, little turd.  And I did as I said.  You're out
of the cage." With that, she exited through the door, slamming and
locking it behind her.



AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

(c) 1994 Jeremy Brinkley -- Permission is hereby given to distribute or 
reproduce this story by electronic means, so long as the header remains 
intact.  The following contains sexually explicit material and should not 
be read by anyone underage or offended by such.

AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

Part the Fourth -- Fluspeth

     Naked, crying and cold, Trad fell asleep in the darkened room. 
During the night, he awoke, and, having nowhere to go, peed in the
corner.  When he awoke, he wasn't sure how much time had passed.  

     He sat on the hard stone floor, bemoaning his fate and
contemplating his future.  Suddenly, however, a noise at the door
interrupted his reverie.  He got up, standing in the center of the
room, when Fluspeth came in.

     Relieved beyond belief, Trad looked into her eyes hopefully as
she brought her hand to her lips in a gesture of silence.  Slowly
she motioned Trad to follow her.

     Believing his nightmare to be near an end, Trad followed her
out into the corridor.  He was suddenly conscious of his nakedness
in front of the beautiful young woman.  Still, frightened of
Sophia's return, Trad followed closely behind her, intoxicated by
her fragrance.

     Soon they came to a door, where Fluspeth again motioned for
Trad to be silent.  She opened the door, stepped through, and
indicated that Trad should follow.  He stepped through into the
darkened room...

     ...and yelped as strong arms grabbed him from either side. 
Lanterns were uncovered, and Trad looked about the huge room he now
found himself in.  It was large, more than thirty feet on the side,
and studded with pulleys, brackets, and other hardware on the
floor, ceiling and walls.  Lengths of rope coiled in the corner,
and Fluspeth smiled sweetly as the two women forced Trad to the
center of the floor.

     "No, oh please, don't..." gibbered Trad.  The two women
buckled his wrists and ankles into leather cuffs, each equipped
with a strong metal ring.  The rings on his wrists they snapped to
a bracket in the floor; then did the same to his feet, so that he
was now pinned to the floor by the cuffs.  The women retreated
through the door, leaving Fluspeth alone with Trad.

     Trad's eyes looked pleadingly at Fluspeth, but she only
continued to wear that sweet, inscrutable expression.  He flailed
ineffectually at the floor brackets to which his metal rings were
attached.  For what seemed like an eternity, Fluspeth, now taking
on the aspect of a parody of innocence and beauty, simply stared at
the helpless, struggling young boy.  Then she crossed to the locked
wooden cabinet in the corner of the room, and, producing a key from
her robe, unlocked it.

     First, she removed her shimmering white gown, revealing her
nakedness underneath.  Her body and poise remained as silently
perfect as every other time Trad had seen her.  Seeing now her
perfect, young breasts and the curves of her hips and body, Trad
began to be aroused despite his situation.  Surely, he thought to
himself, Fluspeth couldn't do any worse than the nightmarish
disgust and humiliation Sophia had subjected him to.  Fluspeth hung
her robe up in the cabinet then, and began removing items from the
rack within.

     First were several long leather straps.  Each one had a strong
steel clasp on the end, and were unmodified on the other.  Every
action she took was slow, deliberate and meticulous.  Trad stopped
struggling and merely watched her now.

     Then she took out a couple of leather bands or straps.  They
were wide, and perhaps eighteen inches long, with metal buckles
that were obviously designed to enable the straps to fasten in a
loop, like a belt.  Trad's curiosity became renewed fear as he
wondered what Fluspeth's plan for these accoutrements were.  Soon
Fluspeth was done laying out her devices, and she turned to face
Trad.  As she did, perfect legs were revealed, shapely and curving;
supporting at their upper limit a beautifully framed *mons
veneris*, barely touched by black pubic hair.  She bent down,
picked up four of the leather straps, and approached Trad.  He
tried one more time to appeal to her mercy.  Staring into her deep,
liquid brown eyes, he spoke.

     "Please don't do this to me.  Let me go, please." She ignored
him, dropping her enigmatic smile.  Without that expression, her
face hardened, seeming cold and unfeeling--altogether in contrast
with the young and vital body that hovered so near Trad.

     First, she attached the metal clasps of each strap to the four
rings on the Trad's cuffs, without removing them from the floor
brackets.  Then, one by one, she led the long leather straps
through pulleys in the wall.  Each strap was long enough to
accommodate the length to the wall, then back to Trad, without
binding.

     Attached to the floor a few feet away from Trad's feet, there
was a mechanism with a lever and several ratchets and wheels. 

Through this mechanism Fluspeth skillfully threaded each strap. 
When she was done, the smile returned to her face; but this time it
was cruel and cold.  Sadistic.

     She began working the lever on the device back and forth,
gradually and separately taking up slack in the four straps
attached to each of Trad's limbs.  Frightened now as he realized
what was in store for him, Trad began shaking.  Caught in the
throes of despair, he couldn't even muster the energy to beg.  His
only hope, he thought, was to turn inward--to try and endure
whatever was to come.

     Trad's limbs were still anchored to the floor brackets, and as
such weren't going anywhere.  Soon, however, all the slack was
taken up in each of the four straps.  Fluspeth then bent down,
unhooking Trad's legs.  Then she turned and began working the lever
on the machine rapidly, spreading Trad's legs apart and lifting
them in the air.  Soon he was half-suspended, legs split and
airborne, while his upper body lay on the floor, anchored at his
wrists.

     Fluspeth now unhooked his wrist cuffs from the bracket.  As
Fluspeth repeated the procedure, Trad was suspended face-down to
the floor, spread-eagled and hanging in the air.  His head hung low
between his shoulders as he tried to relax.  He could already feel
the dull pain of the stretching creep like a burn along his legs.

     Pointed away from her, Trad could not see what Fluspeth was
doing, but he could hear her cross the room to the stack of "toys"
she had earlier laid out.  Soon she was back, and, as she passed,
gave the tightener a couple of quick jerks.  Trad cried out a
little, and jerked from the sudden pain.  He realized that this
could be much worse than his session with Sophia.

     Fluspeth now straddled Trad's back, like someone riding a
horse.  In the cold dungeon, the stinging hot wetness of her crotch
flared out on his back, almost shocking him with its electric
intensity.  Soon Fluspeth was resting her whole weight on Trad's
suspended body.  Whimpering, Trad wasn't sure he could stand the
pain.

     And there was now another dimension to Trad's torment.  As
Fluspeth bore down on him, he began not only to feel burning pain
in his shoulders, hips, and knees, but he began to fear greatly for
their welfare.  Surely any more pressure, he thought, and they
would pull right out of their sockets.

     But as Trad's muscles began to stretch a bit, the pain
subsided somewhat.  As it did so, Fluspeth reached around Trad's
head with one of the buckled leather items, blocking out Trad's
vision.  Now he understood the function of one of these straps: It
formed the perfect blindfold.

     Cinching it tight in the back of his head, Fluspeth buckled it
on.  Then Trad felt a seemingly huge ball forced into his mouth. 
He tried desperately to spit it out, but to no avail.  This was the
other leather strap; Fluspeth buckled it tight behind his head as
well.

     Unknown terror gripped Trad as Fluspeth began a new operation. 
He could hear, but not see her as she began attaching more straps
to him.  Some were released, others rearranged, and by the same
kind of process she had employed to suspend him, spread-eagled over
the floor, she soon had him stretched floor to ceiling, facing her.

     His mind was filled with horror and fear as Fluspeth gradually
tightened up the straps, sending new sensations of pain along his
muscles and joints.  Trad tried to scream, but words would not form
around the ball gag in his mouth.  I'm being ripped apart! he
thought.

     Just when it seemed that this might be the case, Fluspeth
stopped working the lever on the pulley mechanism.  Now she
attached some kind of broad leather belt around Trad's waist,
anchoring it to a pulley in the floor directly below him using one
of the leather straps, which she then inserted into the tensioning
device.  Then she began rearranging the straps on his legs, and
adjusted the tension in all the straps so that Trad was finally
suspended with his arms toward the ceiling, his pelvis attached to
the floor, and his legs above his body, attached to the wall
*behind* him.

     Now Fluspeth really laid into the lever.  Separated and pulled
toward his shoulders at the same time, Trad's legs hurt incredibly;
they were stretched to their limit and beyond.  Screaming silently
behind his gag, blind to the world, Trad felt himself perched on
the edge of hell, torment consuming every aspect of his body.

     Fluspeth stopped just short of dislocating Trad's hips,
allowing him a moment to adjust to the new position.  No sooner had
he, though, then she crossed over to him and straddled his chest. 
Standing over him now, she removed his blindfold, allowing him to
see her beautiful black hair framing her perfect, ice-cold face.

     Locking his eyes with hers, she sat on his chest, eliciting a
scream that penetrated even the big ball gag.  She ground her
crotch into him, excited and frenzied, pounding up and down in
frenetic abandon, as he screamed and screamed, fighting for breath
and consciousness, aware only of the burning pain along his limbs. 
Soon she locked her legs around him, caught in the throes of
climax, resting her entire weight on his young, suspended body as
she shuddered, engulfed in her own private ecstacy.

     The enigmatic, mysterious smile again on her face, Fluspeth
dismounted and crossed to the tensioning device.  With the throw of
a catch, she released Trad, who fell to the ground in a groaning
heap.  So stretched and disoriented was he, he could barely move. 
As he sat on the ground, Fluspeth removed all the straps, attaching
his wrists together to a bracket in the floor.  As Trad, half-
conscious, watched, she carefully and methodically put everything
away.  At the end she retrieved and donned her lily-white robe of
purity, locked the cabinet and left.

     Drained of any but the most primal emotions, Trad sat on the
floor, almost catatonic.  Soon he was asleep.



AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

(c) 1994 Jeremy Brinkley -- Permission is hereby given to distribute or 
reproduce this story by electronic means, so long as the header remains 
intact.  The following contains sexually explicit material and should not 
be read by anyone underage or offended by such.

AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

Part the Fifth -- Krynna

     This time, when Trad awoke, it wasn't to the rude sound of yet
another intruder.  While he slept, someone had apparently moved him
to a real bed.  He sat up and took stock of his situation.

     The room was small, but not confining.  Most of the people of
Corrya slept on leaf-stuffed pallets, and the raised frame bed was
almost unknown outside the Watchers.  Trad marvelled at the
luxurious feel of the soft mattress.  He was covered in fine linen
sheets, and gathered them around him as he sat and contemplated
this new development.

     A new optimism sparked to life in his mind.  This must mean
his ordeal was over.  The vicious punishment meted out to him by
Fluspeth must be it.  There and then he swore a solemn oath never
to cross the guardians of the Goddess' grace.

     Hanging on a hook by the door was a long knit tunic and belt--
the appropriate garb for a boy of Trad's thirteen years.  Feeling
better than he had since he first tried to invade the Triosa, Trad
got out of bed, crossed the room, and retrieved the tunic.  As he
moved around, he noticed a great deal of soreness in his arms and
legs.

     As Trad buckled on his belt, he noticed that the table in the
center of the room had been set with a pitcher of fresh water,
several slices of island fruit, and a large hunk of Korin. 
Ravenous, Trad quickly devoured the food, and savored several
glasses of the fresh water.

     Now there was a gentle tapping on the door.  Someone was
knocking, he thought to himself, instead of barging in and
assaulting him.  He stretched a little of the soreness out of his
limbs, and answered it.

     He pulled it open to reveal the now-familiar form of one of
the Watchers.  However, instead of grabbing him, she merely smiled
at him and said, "Follow me."

     "Are we leaving?"  he asked.

     "Yes."  With that, she turned and led him down the corridor. 
Trad's original ideas of being trained in the Watchers' arts were
quashed.  He had no desire now to be initiated in the vile
traditions of this place.

     Soon he and his guide reached the huge front doors of the
Watcher building.  They opened not to the side, but out and
downwards, swinging on diagonal hinges and controlled by a windlass
on the inside of the door.  Trad's heart began to beat in
excitement as he anticipated his freedom.  The Watcher in front of
him knocked three times on the big doors, then turned around.  Her
smile gone, she took him by both his arms, and pulled him close to
her.

     "I'm sorry."  she said, very quietly, and kissed him gently on
the forehead.  Trad's relief turned to confusion as he began to ask
what was going on.  Soon, however, the giant doors opened to reveal
the afternoon sun.  Crowded into the clearing were about a hundred
women and girls.  In the center were four low stakes.  Trad saw
immediately what was to become of him.

     "No!"  he yelled, and tried to jerk away from the Watcher. 
But she easily held him, and dragged him, fighting, into the
clearing.  Another Watcher joined her and, accompanied by the jeers
and laughter of the crowd, tied him to the stakes and tore off his
clothes.  Trad now lay on the ground, spread-eagled and facing the
sky, his ears assaulted by a hundred voices hungry for spectacle.

     On the far side of the clearing he could see ancient Sophia,
beautiful Fluspeth, fat Krynna, and imposing Sichelgaita.  Sophia
raised her hand, and somewhere a heavy, low drumbeat signalled
silence.

     "Watchers:  You see before you a piece of dirt.  This scum has
infiltrated our Order, daring to set his eyes on the festival of
Triosa.

     "Watchers:  You see before you two women of power and
greatness.  For four years now Sichelgaita has served the Goddess
in her aspect as the Warrior.  Each year, there must be a contest
to see who will be the third Principate of the Goddess: Either a
Principate of the Warrior, or of the Mother.  Krynna here elects
candidacy in the form of the Mother.

     "Watchers:  Today you will see the expression of the Goddess'
wisdom, for two problems will be solved.  Whichever of the two of
these women can devise the most hellish punishment for this slime--
whichever can humiliate, hurt, or subjugate this boy the most--will
become Second Principate.

     "I hold in my hand two short stalks of straw.  One is shorter
than the other.  Krynna, Sichelgaita: come draw from my hand." 
Without hesitation, the two women did exactly as she instructed. 
Krynna held up the shorter straw.

     "Krynna is first."  intoned Sophia.  "Let it thus begin." 
With those words, Krynna shrugged off her voluminous robe,
revealing her corpulent, naked body underneath.  Her skin was dark,
much darker than other Corryans, and her immense body wallowed and
rolled as she walked over to Trad.  Kneeling next to his head, she
bent down so he could hear her words.

     "Little boy, I'll tell you something.  What I am about to do
I do for my own enjoyment.  This is no chore.  I see it as an
opportunity for self-satisfaction.

     "If you do as I tell you, you may get some satisfaction out of
it yourself.  Or, you might not.  I don't care either way.  But, I
suggest you do as I tell you."  Krynna moved forward, her big
stomach almost brushing the ground, huge round ass prominent in the
air, so that her swinging breasts were directly in Trad's face.

     "You know what to do little boy.  Suck them.  I want you to
suck them hard, as if drawing milk.  I want--ah..." she moaned as
Trad began to do as she asked.  Krynna's breasts were huge, far
larger than any Trad had seen before.  He opened his mouth wide,
sucking in as much of the dark flesh as he could.  Doing this, he
found that he did derive a little pleasure from it, repulsive
though he found Krynna's obese body.

     "Watch!"  Krynna called out to the crowd.  "He pleases me; he
services me.  Such can be your power.  Such can be your control. 
He will do anything I ask, no matter how repulsive or disgusting." 
Then, to Trad, "suck it... ahh... harder, boy!"

     Trad was already almost gagging on the huge appendages. 
Krynna lowered her body so that her right breast covered Trad's
entire face, burying it in fragrant dark skin.  Still Trad sucked. 
In an effort to please her and perhaps lessen his punishment, Trad
licked her nipples, circling them with his tongue and eliciting a
rocking motion from Krynna.

     Heated, and beginning to sweat, Krynna maneuvered herself so
that she was crouched, animal-like, over Trad's bound form.  Her
breasts and stomach brushed him, even as she supported herself on
her hands and knees.  She sat there rocking, seemingly in a
reverie.  Her eyes and mouth were closed as her nipples, huge and
erect, swung up and down Trad's chest.  Her naked proximity began
to have a visible effect on him, and his little penis stirred to
attention.

     Now she opened her eyes, staring into Trad's.  She leaned down
over him, opening her mouth wide and letting a huge stringy gobbet
of spittle slide from her mouth onto his face.  It ran onto his
nose, and dripped down the side of his head, getting in his eyes
and ears.  Krynna smiled a cold, cruel smile as she worked her
tongue around her mouth.

     "Open up, boy.  Swallow it."  she instructed.  Repelled and
humiliated, Trad still opened his mouth.  As he did, Krynna pursed
her pouting, huge lips, dropping thick saliva into Trad's mouth. 
He almost gagged as the spit ran down his throat, and he could
taste Krynna's mouth in his own.  As he licked the outside of his
lips, Krynna let her weight down on top of him, almost knocking the
breath out of him.  She covered his mouth with hers, forcing her
tongue past his lips and invading his throat.

     Krynna's tongue writhed like a snake in its death throes. 
Trad had always imagined kissing as a nicety; a mild,
compassionate, intimate act.  Now it was forced on him, rough,
lustful and violating.  He found that, despite himself, his arousal
was continuing.  The enormously heavy weight of Krynna's naked body
on his only contributed.

     Finally Krynna seemed done raping Trad's mouth.  Her hand went
involuntarily to her crotch, there seeking the hot center of her
own arousal.  As she touched herself, she spun around, so that Trad
was now looking at her rear, framed by huge, heavy thighs near his
head.  Krynna was so excited now she was almost inarticulate.

     "Mmm... Lick my cunt, boy...  ahhh...." she groaned, lowering
her heavy pelvis onto Trad's face.  Her buttocks completely covered
him, as he pushed upwards, trying to penetrate the folds of her fat
and find the wet center of her sex.

     Krynna spread her legs further apart, pressing her groin into
Trad's face and rocking back and forth.  Soon she was thrusting up
and down as Trad, almost in desperation, surged his tongue against
her clit.  With each upstroke, Trad grabbed a quick breath of
close, heated air, before Krynna's gigantic body came back down
against his face.

     Soon Krynna was beside herself.  The thick, heavy smell of
Krynna's vagina suffused Trad's mouth and nostrils, exciting him
further.  As Krynna's breasts swung back and forth over his erect
penis, he began to get seriously excited.

     Krynna's whole body began shaking; vibrating with the need for
release.  Her moans got higher and louder, until it was obvious she
was going to come.  All of a sudden, a hot stream of urine hit Trad
in his mouth, the bitter taste jerking his eyes open in shock. 
Krynna shoved herself down on Trad's face hard, slamming her legs
together and clapping his head in a death-grip of orgasmic ecstacy.

     Most of her urine Trad was forced to swallow, gulping down
mouthful after mouthful of stinking fluid.  Some of it ran down his
face, covering the ground under his head in a dark puddle.  Krynna
kept his head trapped there, until stars began to appear behind his
eyes.  Then, slowly she released him.  Her vulva and thighs were
covered in thick vaginal fluid and slick with piss, and the flesh
of her prodigious legs peeled away from Trad's face as he gulped a
few quick breaths.  Krynna flopped on the ground next to him, spent
for the moment.

     But it wasn't over yet.  Soon Krynna had regained her feet,
and walked over to the side of the clearing, retrieving some items
she had brought.  She took two pitchers of water and a bladder of
some kind, attached to a flexible tube with a wide, hardened end. 
First she began pouring the water into the bladder.  Each pitcher
held a little over a half-gallon, and the bladder was quite big and
heavy when she was done.  A special tie twisted and sealed it,
while a metal clip prevented the water from running out the tube. 
Finished with her procedure, she made her way back over to Trad.

     This time she didn't talk to him.  She licked her right
forefinger, liberally coating it with thick, gooey saliva, then
kneeled down over Trad's body, facing his feet.  She set the
bladder on the ground, and with her right hand began handling
Trad's ass crack.

     Trad, shocked out of his arousal by Krynna's liberal dose of
urine, began responding to her touch, again gaining an erection. 
She slowly pressed her forefinger against Trad's little anus,
forcing it past the sphincter and causing Trad to gasp a little. 
It really wasn't so bad, though. As she worked her finger in and
out, Trad actually found it even more arousing, and his erection
became rock-hard, pressing against Krynna's prodigious belly.

     Next Krynna took the hard end of the gut tube and pushed it
into Trad's backside.  She fed about a foot of the tube inside,
then lifted the bladder off the ground.  Next she wiggled back
along Trad's body, until her own ass was just above his head.

     "Lick my ass, boy.  Lick it." she whispered as she lowered her
buttock's over Trad's face.  Knowing what was to come next, Trad
cooperated, hoping to end his ordeal as quickly as possible.  He
began by running his tongue up Krynna's ass to the tailbone.  She
shuddered as he lingered over the dark, puckered button of her
anus.  Soon Trad began rimming her asshole in earnest, his tongue
tracing spirals over the tiny ridges.

     He wasn't prepared for how cold it was.  As Krynna released
the clamp on the tubing, water began to run into Trad's bowels. 
Soon, even before the water was a quarter gone, Trad felt painfully
full and the water stopped running.

     "Stick it in..." Krynna moaned, moving her wide hips side-to-
side with Trad's upturned face buried in her ass.  Steeling
himself, Trad formed his tongue into a point and shoved it into her
hole.  The taste was bitter, but not as bad as he thought it would
be.  Between the heavy pressure on his gut, and Krynna's moans of
pleasure, his erection remained stiff, almost painfully hard. 
Krynna set the bladder down between Trad's legs.

     Krynna arched upright, sitting straight above Trad's head and
putting more of her weight against his tongue.  She grabbed her
cheeks in her hands and pulled them to the side, sitting on Trad's
face and forcing Trad's tongue farther into her ass.

     Now she reached one hand behind her, still stretching her
buttocks apart, and stuck the other down in her crotch.  She again
began to vibrate from sexual excitement as she rapidly and lightly
feathered her clit and Trad fucked her ass with his tongue.

     She stood up suddenly, saying "That's enough playing."  With
that, she picked up the bladder and straddled Trad's crotch.  She
placed the bag of cool water on Trad's stomach, and lowered herself
onto him, guiding his penis into her vagina with her fingers.

     Her sex was much hotter than Trad thought it would be.  He was
occupied with this thought and with his own arousal, and didn't
notice that Krynna had removed the clamp on the tubing.

     Krynna began to move rapidly up and down, impaling herself on
Trad's penis.  With every stroke, she pressed down on the bag, so
that each hot rush of pleasure was accompanied by the painful wash
of cold water into his gut.  Again and again she rode him up and
down, each time threatening to burst his bowels.

     Soon Trad felt he was going to explode, so profound was the
pain.  Krynna's heavy body would slam down on his abdomen, and be
countered by the thrust of fluid into his anus.  Bouncing up and
down, Krynna was sweating, growing hot with excitement as she
watched the twin emotions of pain and pleasure play out on Trad's
face.

     Soon the bladder was empty, and Krynna ripped it
unceremoniously out of his ass, pounding him harder in a frenzied
search for release.  As she did so, Trad felt his own excitement
harden, and he felt the hot, heavy feeling in his body that
signalled an orgasm.

    They came as one, Krynna screaming and Trad losing bowel
control.  As he spurted come into Krynna's vagina, the contents of
his gut voided onto the ground in a high-pressure jet.  Contraction
after contraction, the communal orgasm seemed to go on forever,
until a gallon and a half of brown, unattractive water spread out
in the clearing and Krynna collapsed on top of Trad, spreading her
bulk flat over his body.

    After a time, she rolled over, picked up the spent bladder, and
walked back to the outside of the circle.  Trad panted, trying to
recover from his experience, when Sophia spoke again.

     "And now," she announced, "Sichelgaita."



AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

(c) 1994 Jeremy Brinkley -- Permission is hereby given to distribute or 
reproduce this story by electronic means, so long as the header remains 
intact.  The following contains sexually explicit material and should not 
be read by anyone underage or offended by such.

AT THE HANDS OF THE WATCHERS

Part the Sixth -- Sichelgaita

     The crowd roared its approval as Sichelgaita crossed the
clearing to Trad's bound body.  As her six and a half foot form
reached his, she let her robe of office drop.

     Sichelgaita had set aside her tough leather armor in favor of
a harness, all black leather and metal studs.  The straps were
tight against Sichelgaita's skin, showing off her muscular body. 
They supported her breasts without concealing them, her little
nipples almost lost against the high, tight globes.

     Black leather also framed her pubis.  Her thick black curls
crowded the space between her legs.  In her right hand she carried
a bag, which she set down next to Trad.  Sichelgaita stood over
him, straddling his little torso.  He gazed up at her towering
body, impressed despite his fear.

     Sichelgaita bent at the waist, reaching down and pulling the
stake holding Trad's right arm.  Lifting it free of his bonds, she
stepped over his head, replacing it about five feet from Trad's
left arm on the other side.  Cowed by fear, Trad didn't struggle to
escape, even as Sichelgaita did the same thing with the stake on
his right leg.

     Next she took him by the upper arm and thinly-built thigh,
strong fingers digging into his flesh.  She flipped him over
bodily, like an object, not saying anything as she tied Trad, face-
down, into his new spread-eagled position.

     As Trad was turned over, he could see the crowd's eager,
smiling faces--almost manic with a freakish hunger.  They chattered
and talked, laughed and pointed at the humiliated boy.

     Sichelgaita began removing tools from the bag.  First was a
long keen knife, which she laid on the ground about four inches
from Trad's downturned face.  Next she removed some kind of wooden
rod--it was about a foot long, one and a half inches wide, and
rounded on the end like cucumber.  It was lacquered with some kind
of glue, giving it a smooth texture and appearance, and at its base
four thick metal "staples" protruded on the side.

     Next she took out a glass bottle, filled with some kind of
thick oil.  Suspended in the fluid were little bits of herbs and
other unidentifiable materials.  Then, she took out a light wooden
stick.  Bound with leather on one end, the bamboo-like wood was
split at the other.  Lastly, she removed a pair of metal hooks,
tied together with linen.  Attached to this little device was a
thin wooden toggle that had holes drilled sideways through it at
either end.  It was about three inches long, an inch wide, and was
accompanied by two long, thick needles.

     Sichelgaita took this device and unraveled it, laying the
pieces out on Trad's smooth back.  She straddled him, facing his
head and resting on her knees.

     With her left hand, she grabbed a handful of Trad's hair and
pulled his head back toward her.  She placed the two metal hooks at
the corners of his mouth, so that the linen strap ran from one
hook, behind Trad's head and over to the other hook.  Sichelgaita
pulled this strap back with her hand, painfully stretching Trad's
mouth open and eliciting a groan of pain.

     Next she put the wooden toggle crosswise between the short
linen strap and the back of Trad's head.  She began twisting the
toggle, slowly tightening the cloth and pulling Trad's mouth wider
and wider.  As she twisted, the cloth bunched up, pulling against
Trad's face.

     She leaned back now, stretching Trad's neck and pressing the
toggle in between Trad's shoulder blades.  Holding it there with
her left hand, she picked up one of the steel needles in her right.

     Trad screamed as she pushed the needle deep into the flesh of
his back.  She pushed the needle completely through a fold of
muscle and skin.  Little drops of blood formed as the crowd hushed
and Trad's inarticulate, strained screams became the only sound in
the clearing.  Sichelgaita threaded the needle through one of the
holes in the toggle, then back into Trad's skin, roughly jerking it
through the last couple of inches.

     She repeated the process with the other needle, effectively
pinning the twisted linen strap to Trad's body.  The tension and
pain were almost unbearable--Trad felt like his face was being
ripped in half.  Trad's screams subsided, becoming low sobs.  He
couldn't close his mouth to swallow, and as a result, little
rivulets of spittle ran out of his mouth and onto the ground.

     Sichelgaita stood up, leaving Trad in his unnaturally arched
position, and retrieved the whipping stick from the ground.  She
tested the heft of it with her hand.

     The air whistled through the split end of the stick, and with
a loud crack it landed on Trad's young buttocks.  Trad jerked and
screamed again.  Sichelgaita began to get truly excited now.  Her
small, sharp nipples hardened as she brought the stick down hard
again.  A second swollen red welt joined the first.

     She began whipping the boy faster, savoring the sight of his
young body bucking in agony under the assault.  Each scream and
flinch, every iota of pain excited her more, until her whipping
became a frenzy of lust and torment.

     Breathing heavily, Sichelgaita dropped the stick, and picked
up the thick wooden phallus.  Its function was clear now, as she
fitted the sturdy metal brackets at its base into her harness so
that it hung just above the rise of her mound.  Thus equipped, she
uncorked the bottle of oil and knelt behind Trad, sitting between
his legs.

     As she poured some of the oil out on his buttocks, he realized
it must have contained some kind of pepper or irritant.  Trad felt
the bite of new agony as the oil spread out along his wounds.  It
was like salt, only much worse.  The oil ran down the crack of his
ass, burning his anus.

     Trad writhed, trying to escape the liquid torment as it ran
down around his scrotum and penis, raging like fire and somehow
forcing his penis erect against the ground.

     Sichelgaita took her hands, dripping with the oil, and applied
a thick coating of lubricant to the phallus.  Trad's spare buttocks
did not conceal his anal opening, still somewhat loose from
Krynna's enema.  His sphincter easily admitted her finger.

     But as she slipped a second finger in, stretching it, the oil
began to burn his rectum.  It felt like crawling fire invading his
gut.

     Sichelgaita decided the preliminaries were over.  Trad
screamed soundlessly as she pushed her phallus hard into his ass. 
She jerked back and forth as violently as possible, ramming the
phallus into his anus with all the strength of her legs, then
jerking it all the way out just as quickly.  Then she would roughly
shove it in again.

     Trad's body exploded with pain as blue stars crowded his
vision, disorienting him.  Faster and faster she thrusted, excited
to a sexual frenzy by her brutal rape of the boy.

     Pulling out, she decided it was still not enough.  Forming her
fingers into a wedge, she jammed them against Trad's anus.  Her
prodigious muscles flexed along her arm as she strained to force
her hand into his body.

     All at once, her hand slipped into his anus.  The pain proved
too much for Trad, and he threw up, vomit running down his chin--
spouting forth from the caricaturish grimace of his face.

     Almost as if she were punching someone, Sichelgaita forced her
hand up the boy's rectum, pushing with her feet and shoving it in
as far as she could.  She formed her big hand into a fist and began
jerking it back and forth, excited by the sight of her forearm
disappearing into Trad's young ass.

     Meanwhile, the fiery oil was having its effect on Trad's
penis, engorging it with blood and almost causing him to come on
his own.

     As Sichelgaita continued to shove her arm into Trad up to the
elbow, she picked up the knife in her left hand.  She brought it
around, placing the cold keen blade between Trad's legs. 
Sichelgaita was moaning now, excited by the absolute hell she was
inflicting on the boy.  She screamed aloud as she was consumed by
orgasm.

     Spasming with one after another wave of ecstacy, Sichelgaita
pressed the flat of the knife against Trad's penis.  Immediately it
jumped, squirting hot white come onto the ground.  Then Sichelgaita
turned the knife, sawing viciously into Trad's crotch, slitting him
from anus to scrotum.


     There was one final scream from both of them as the knife hit
bone.  Semen mingled with blood on the ground as Sichelgaita jerked
her fist out of Trad's bloody anus and grabbed the knife with both
hands.  She stabbed him in the lower back, rapid-fire; shivering
with delight as the silver blade dove in and out of Trad's body. 
Meaty sounds of gristle accompanied each thrust.

     Leaving the knife quivering in Trad's body, Sichelgaita
collapsed next to him.  His copious blood ran around her on the
ground and formed a warm, sticky puddle.

     Despair clouded Trad's mind as he lost consciousness,
descending into the sleep of death.  The crowd was silent, watching
Sichelgaita pant heavily next to Trad's rapidly cooling body.  For
an hour they must have stared.

     Then, without another word, Sophia indicated for everyone to
come inside.

     "Shouldn't we do something about the body?" Krynna asked as
they filed into the building.  Sophia answered.

     "The animals will take care of it soon enough."