Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)
Stories

THE BARONESS

By Fritz


 

August 19, 1721

 

“Attack! Pillage! Plunder! Destroy!”  The blonde-maned tigress let loose an ear-splitting cry as she grabbed a lanyard tied to the main boom of the pirate ship. Effortlessly, she swung from the brigantine onto the disabled Spanish merchant vessel.  As always, she was the first on board.  Her crew followed close behind, using a Jacob's ladder, ropes and grappling irons to clamber from one vessel to the other.

 

The ruthless buccaneers had easily subdued their larger, three-masted target with six-pounders and hail shot.  They had maneuvered alongside the stricken barque and boarded her in less than fifteen minutes. The unprepared Castilian sailors, armed only with swords and flintlock pistols, were at the mercy of the ferocious invaders who out-numbered them two to one.

 

Had their aggressors been any other cadre of Caribbean corsairs, the men aboard the seized craft likely could have surrendered their cargo and escaped with their lives – cast adrift or marooned on a desolate atoll until rescued.  But one look at the striking, distaff leader of this band of ferocious marauders, and the hapless seafarers knew they had fallen into the clutches of the most brutal and merciless pirate in Honduran waters.

 

She was known as the female scourge of the seven seas. At only 23 years, she was one of the few women who had made piracy her trade, and the only one commanding her own ship and crew. Her name was Petra von Starkfolter, though she insisted on being addressed as The Baroness. Few knew of her background, the daughter of Prussian aristocrats whose penchant for abusing and slaying their serfs caused the family's downfall and disappearance to parts unknown.

 

Somehow Petra – The Baroness – had secured enough of the von Starkfolter fortune to acquire a seaworthy brigantine along with a crew of cutthroats so vicious, no other corsair captain would have them. As a woman, Petra was often underestimated, but having inherited her family's lust for blood and sadism, and with the help of her band of scurvy mercenaries, she soon earned a fearsome reputation by leaving a trail of plunder and destruction along the east coast of Central America.

 

Petra was fearless, and her fighting prowess was as worthy as that of any man.  Still, there was no doubt she was a woman. She let her signature blonde hair grow long and thick, and she shamelessly used cosmetic paint to emphasize her already magnificent features. Her body was tall, lithe and impossibly curvacious – toned to perfection with sinuous thighs, a narrow waist, and a magnificent pair of ample, undulating breasts thrusting from her chest.

 

Yet despite Petra's obvious feminine attributes, she lived and dressed like her male counterparts.  As she boarded the merchant ship, she wore the same apparel as her crew: tight breaches belted at the waist, low-cut cavalier boots, and an undersized, lavender shirt tied at the midriff and fully exposing her ample bosom.  Petra was oblivious to modesty.  If her men could go bare-chested, so could she.  Besides, during hand-to-hand combat she found her naked tits often provided a useful distraction, giving her a momentary advantage when fighting randy young males.

 

As for weapons, Petra made do with only her cutlass.  It was all she needed, having become an expert swordswoman after years of successful conquests.  The other pirates shielded her with musket fire, allowing Petra to get close enough to stare into the eyes of her victims as they perished with her blade penetrating their torsos.

 

There was no doubt that Petra enjoyed killing her adversaries… but where was the fun in doing so from a distance?  She wanted to be alongside the men and women she killed… close enough to hear their last breath.  For Petra, pain and death were carnal bliss. They brought her to sexual climax faster than copulating with any man.

 

Only seconds after landing on the deck of the merchant ship, The Baroness claimed her first prize.  A young midshipman felt the razor-sharp cutlass plunge into his lower abdomen, then slice upward to his rib cage. He gasped and expired, staring helplessly at the blonde vixen's naked breasts as they dangled inches from his face. Bloody entrails spilled from his wound and the man fell with a thud at Petra's feet as she moaned lustily.  It was her first orgasm of the conflict, but hopefully not her last.

 

Knowing their attackers would never accept surrender, the Spaniards fought as best they could to save themselves.  The battle was a rout.  Petra and her men slashed at the merchant seamen, easily cutting them to pieces.  Occasionally, a musket shot rang out, but the guns were hardly necessary.  The pirates made quick work of their prey using only cold steel.

 

“Cleave the bilge-sucking rat bastards to their briskets!!  Slaughter them all until the treasure is ours!”  The jubilant cheers of their captain encouraged her furious men to take no quarter.  In minutes, fifteen merchant mariners lay motionless on the deck, awash in great pools of their own blood.  Any who had escaped below would soon meet the same fate.  Not a single pirate had suffered more than minor injury.

 

Petra stood proudly straddling the corpse of her third victim of the day, her cutlass glistening crimson in the midday sun.  Unabashedly she clutched her groin with her free hand, rubbing hard against the snug britches until she was rewarded with the sensual climax of yet another vile victory.

 

“Scupper the bodies!” she shouted. “Then head down below to claim our spoils!”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Petra had acquired the Spanish vessel's manifest on the island of Roatan in exchange for two escudos.  The ship departed the following day, allowing the pirates’ much faster brigantine to stealthily give chase from the island's leeward side.

 

The barque did not appear to be any great prize.  It was bound for Barcelona fully laden with sugar cane, which was of no interest to the corsairs.  However, the manifest also revealed two dozen casks of rum and, most importantly, a chest of Mayan jade jewelry bound for the Bourbon dynasty in Europe.

 

Petra was no fool.  She knew the load of cane was a ruse, allowing the ship to travel unarmed and unescorted so as not to draw attention to the precious cargo aboard.  It was an oft used deception, and frequently succeeded so long as the ship's manifest did not fall into criminal hands.

 

Of course, should pirates become aware of the true nature of such a voyage, they could seize the booty with virtually no risk.  Clearly, Petra's two escudo investment had paid off handsomely.

 

Or had it?

 

After tossing the dead sailors overboard, the pirates descended through the main hatch to search for the precious jewels. Most likely, the cargo hold was filled with sugar cane so the ship would appear suitably laden, but Petra and her crew knew full well that the jade would be carefully secured on the upper decks.  Like frenzied hounds they raced through the passageways, breaking into the cabins looking for the prize.  As luck would have it, Petra discovered a suspicious compartment off the starboard quarter, its entrance barricaded by a double-barred grate.

 

“Looks like the brig,” she said as several men joined her. “The perfect spot.”  Together, they soon had broken through both bars and rolled the heavy grate aside.  As word spread, virtually all the treasure crazed marauders piled into the cell and crowded around a large wooden trunk in the far corner of the compartment.  In seconds, Petra had cut through the crate's binding straps and opened the lid.

 

Empty.

 

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed the blonde buccaneer.  “What sort of devil's dodge is this?”

 

With a loud, metallic rumble, the grate rolled shut.  The sound of thick chains followed, and in seconds, the door was securely latched to a bulkhead.  Petra and most of her crew were imprisoned in the compartment.

 

“Jupiter's balls! It's a trap!”

 

Through the iron bars, the pirates saw a man in military dress – a captain's uniform.  “Indeed,” he said. “A trap… set explicitly for you scurvy lot, and especially for your buxom leader!”

 

Petra moved closer to the grate.  Behind the captain at least fifty sailors crowded the length of the main passageway.  Even if her crew were free to fight, they stood no chance against a full company of trained militia.  The captain laughed as he noticed the look of despair crossing Petra's face.  He drew his sabre and slowly pushed its long thin blade through the metal bars until the tip pressed against Petra's bare breast, an inch above her left nipple.  He applied just enough pressure to dimple the soft flesh and draw blood.  Petra winced, but did not move away.

 

“Not that there was much doubt,” said the captain, “but it appears we have captured the right corsair cunt. Only the infamous Baroness would display such arrogance in the face of death.  And you, blonde bitch, don't you know me?  Look closely…”

 

Petra squinted in the dark.  She recognized a long scar down the right side of the man's face and let out a startled gasp.

 

“No…“ she said, trying to hide her dread.  “Captain Jonathan Barnet… the hunter. The man who took Jack Rackham… and Mary Reade… and Anne Bonny… and…”

 

“All in the past year,” he interrupted with pride. “But you flatter me.  My job is not very taxing.   After all, apprehending worthless bilge scum like you – especially when I am supported by His Majesty and his coffers – is rather elementary.  Look how we effortlessly tricked you and your gullible crew.”

 

Petra's fear turned to rage, but she knew Barnet was right.  He had outwitted her by exploiting her greed and lust for villainy.  She sighed.

 

“Very well,” she said coyly.  “You have won.  And what next?” Petra looked down at the captain's blade, still puncturing her bosom. “Will you run me through here and now?  Or will you find some better use for a prisoner of my… um… talents. After all, you already have Reade and Bonny to your name – and as last I heard, both women are still alive…”

 

“Ha, ha… indeed they are, but they are not like you.  Your female comrades shared your unsavory profession, but they did so induced by male companions.  As well, once caught, both were found to be with child, and so were not eligible for corporal punishment.  You, on the other hand, took to piracy of your own free will – so eagerly in fact that you claimed leadership and underwrote your own ship and crew…”

 

“And what will become of them… of us?”

 

“Your crew?”  Captain Barnet chortled. “The rogues we found topside have already been dispatched.  The rest of this pathetic bunch…”  He pulled his sabre from Petra's breast and waved it to indicate the men trapped behind the grate with her. “…they soon will be executed as well – swiftly, like the others.”

 

“Please… let me die with them,” Petra pleaded bravely, assuming that she, as a woman, was destined to be imprisoned instead.  “I do not deserve to be spared…”

 

“Spared?!!” Barnet's cackles rose to a resounding gale of laughter as he realized Petra's delusion.  “You fatuous cow!  You need not worry yourself about being spared.  Quite the contrary, my dear.  You will suffer a punishment commensurate with the severity of your misdeeds – which include leading and participating in the murder of over ten score innocent merchant sailors.”

 

Again, the captain pushed his sabre between the bars.  This time he thrust it against Petra's other breast, stabbing her puckered right nipple and once more provoking a thin trickle of blood.

 

“Consider the fate of your men to be fortunate, you filthy whore… because before this day is through you will wish I had, as you said yourself, run you through here and now.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

Today: November 2, 2018

 

“Miss von Starkfolter!” The professor's resonant voice echoed through the lecture hall, causing Petra to lurch and snap out of her reverie. The other 18 students – just barely enough to fill a quarter of the available seats – also jerked noticeably, unprepared for their instructor's sudden query after twenty minutes of uninterrupted discourse.  They were relieved someone else had been called on.

 

“Miss von Starkfolter,” he addressed her more sedately, “perhaps you could repeat – for the benefit of those who may have nodded off – the significance of Captain Jonathan Barnet to Caribbean piracy in the early 18th century.”

 

Petra knew it was a trap.  Professor Appleton, the balding old prick, was always quick to humiliate his students, especially the pretty females.  Calling them out when they inevitably dozed off during his tedious monologues was like shooting fish in a barrel.  The busty blonde who always sat in the third row was among his favorite victims.  He grinned wickedly and prepared to watch Petra squirm.

 

“Captain Barnet…” she began hesitantly, “was… was a British naval officer commissioned by Caribbean governors to capture rogue corsairs during the golden age of piracy.  Known as the hunter, Barnet often crewed merchant ships with condemned criminals to lure marauders on board, his own men hidden below deck to ambush his quarry.  He successfully apprehended numerous buccaneers, including the infamous Callico Jack Rathham and…”

 

“That is enough,” Appleton cut short Petra's response, obviously frustrated that the blonde bitch had somehow thwarted his attempt to embarrass her.  The rest of the class snickered.  Flushed with anger, but otherwise calm, the professor continued his lecture.

 

Petra sat wide-eyed in her chair.  “How did that happen?” she thought to herself.  She had not heard a thing Appleton had said following “Good afternoon, students.” Yet she seemed to know every detail about the topic at hand.  In fact, she had to restrain herself from telling even more – not only about the capture of Callico Jack, but about the women… Bonny, Read, and… and The Baroness.

 

It was the arrest of The Baroness that was foremost in Petra's mind.  She remembered every detail leading up to it… as if… as if it had happened to her.  She recalled being duped into attacking the Spanish-bound vessel; the lure of the Mayan jewels; the excitement of boarding the ship and the carnal thrill of thrusting the cold steel of her cutlass through three of its crew.  No!  Even in her dreams, how could Petra become aroused by committing cold-blooded murder?

 

Petra shifted uncomfortably in her chair.  Just before her class began, she had played a quick set of tennis.  Not having time to change, she was still attired in her skimpy white tennis dress – tight, low cut and barely long enough to preserve her modesty. Beneath it, she wore only a tiny thong and a diaphanous bra. With her thoughts suddenly turning to such perverse desires, the scanty outfit made her feel virtually naked.

                                                                                                                             

Had The Baroness really achieved orgasm while killing innocent victims?  Petra slowly brought her left hand onto her lap, as if resting it there for a moment.  She checked to make sure no one was looking at her – especially the lecherous Appleton – then pressed gently against her groin.  Even as the lurid recollections of the pirate attack flooded her mind, a familiar rush of passion forced her to moan softly.  She quickly faked a cough in case anyone had heard. 

 

Pressing harder, Petra managed to control her urges, but there was no doubt that she had not done so earlier.  Even through the thin cotton of the dress and the almost nonexistent thong, she could tell she was wet.  Afraid to look down, she hoped the evidence was not visible. 

 

Like watching a movie unfold in her imagination, Petra relived the abduction of the Baroness with growing apprehension.  Despite sensing the outcome of the woman's folly, Petra could not contain her lust.  It was as if this vicious beauty was bringing out her own darkest cravings – Petra knew the witch would be punished, but for reasons she did not understand, she felt compelled to share whatever fate awaited the pirate queen.

 

Even as the enticing blonde student experienced the anger of being betrayed, followed by the fear of being trapped by the men who sought to incarcerate her, she remained defiant.  For a moment, Petra was overwhelmed with fear.  She wanted to surrender… to give herself to the man they called Barnet.  But The Baroness would not allow this.  Instead, much to Petra's dismay and horror, the blonde vixen challenged her captor by calling on the man's sadism to fuel her own insatiable libido.

 

“No… please…” murmured Petra.  Only a few students sat close enough to hear her, though none could make out what she said.  What those who bothered to glance at her did notice was a subtle but undeniable shift of her clothing. 

 

“Must be getting cold in here,” whispered one beefy male to the man sitting next to him. Both fought to restrain a laugh as they stared at Petra's generous breasts, which now flaunted the outlines of her bulging nipples. The subject of their gaze seemed unaware of this latest development, not to mention the fluids leaking from her pussy. Instead, she struggled to maintain her composure as Captain Jonathan Barnet prodded her naked tits with his sabre.

 

“Noooo… I surrender… Please don't kill me…” Petra pleaded.

 

“What the hell is she muttering?” the beefy student asked.

 

“Quiet!” said Professor Appleton and droned on with his talk.

 

The Baroness remained insolent; Petra's pleading was lost in the void.  She watched the massacre of the pirate crew, men she had never met but oddly seemed to know. And then she came.  Not once.  Not twice.  But three times.  She forced herself to break free.  The story was far from over… not yet anyway.  But she could take no more.

 

Petra von Starkfolter was spent and sat alone in the lecture hall.  The class had ended some time ago, but she could not remember when, nor what had happened during most of its duration.  Petra's pussy still throbbed, and her heart raced with sexual excitement.  The experience had been so realistic… so stimulating – even more than her previous episodes.

 

“I suppose I must have a pirate fetish,” Petra said to herself, her mind beginning to clear. 

 

She stood up and noticed a small puddle of whitish liquid on her chair.  “God I hope nobody noticed,” she said to herself.  Making sure she was alone, Petra deftly removed her scanty underwear and used it as best she could to clean up the mess.  Tugging at the hem of her dress, she threw the soiled clothes in a trash bin and headed for home as quickly as possible.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

While at school, Petra lived alone in a first-floor flat in downtown Boston, just a short walk from the Emerson College campus.  Not many 23 year old women could afford such accommodations, but Petra was descended from a well-to-do German family who could trace back their aristocratic heritage over 600 years.  Her parents lived in a small, yet still impressive Bavarian castle and could easily afford lodgings for her daughter that were far beyond the means of most Emerson students.

 

Thanks to her father's wealth, after Petra graduated secondary school she could choose to study anywhere in the world.  She was enrolled at Harvard for two years, but despite her flawless grasp of English, the curriculum proved too much for her.  Her flowing blonde hair, stunning features and impossibly curvaceous figure attracted male and some female students to Petra like bears to honey.  Her newfound popularity proved to be a delightful distraction for the young woman, but it also worsened her plummeting academic record.

 

Tossed from Harvard at 20, Petra took stock of her situation and set her sights somewhat lower. She loved Boston and decided to stay in the city, switching her scholastic endeavors to the film program at Emerson College.  The change proved to be favorable, and Petra did well in the less pedantic environment.  After three years she had worked on a dozen film projects and directed two of her own.  She was within reach of her diploma, needing to complete only one more practical course and a handful of electives.

 

Since switching programs, most things had gone well for Petra.  There had been a few disappointments of course, mainly her lack of success with relationships.  And then there were the disturbing hallucinations that had started over a month earlier.  It was not unusual for Petra's mind to wander, especially during the often dull elective classes, but her apparent fantasies had become more than just daydreams.  Her Baroness encounter was so real… so physical, she felt as if she had been teleported to another dimension.

 

Petra was glad she was wearing her tennis shoes.  In heels she could not have cut through campus, nor could she have dashed home in record time. Unfortunately, her dress proved less suitable to the task. Tennis outfits for young women were not exactly demure attire, and Petra had selected hers to show off her many beguiling attributes. As a result, she ran through the streets of Boston displaying more Petra than prudence.  The tight hem of her dress rode up her panty-less butt and her ample, unfettered breasts bounced lewdly in all directions.  The wet splotch across her crotch did not help matters.

 

Drawing even more attention to herself than usual, a sweat-soaked, terrified Petra finally made it to Fayette Street, which thankfully had few pedestrians.  She stumbled up the stairs to her apartment, pulled her keys from her pocket and struggled with the lock as if she was evading a serial killer.  Finally she was inside. 

            

Petra looked in the hallway mirror and blushed. Her dress was coiled around her waist, revealing everything below her navel.  Her breasts seemed even more prominent than usual, and her fear-engorged nipples threatened to burst through the thin fabric covering them.

 

“I guess there must have been some lucky geezers along Charles today,” she said, trying to ease her own humiliation.  Petra laughed self-consciously then ran to the bathroom, pulled off the dress in a rage and threw it into the laundry hamper.  Again she stood in front of the mirror, this time naked except for her socks and shoes.  She was shocked to notice her carefully shaven pussy still glistened.

 

“It's just sweat,” she said to herself.  She let one hand slide to her sex and ran her fingers over her pubic mound.  It was moist – perspiration, as she expected.  She moved her hand lower and inserted two digits between her labia.  Instantly, she felt a charge of sexual energy rise from her clitoris.  Her vagina was soaked, and within seconds a stream of milky fluid ran across her fingers and along her thighs.

 

“No… Nooo…” Petra gasped as she was suddenly devastated by the unexpected orgasm.  Instinctively she arched forward, pushing her pussy against the vanity and rubbed it back and forth as the sensations grew.  She felt two sharp stabs, one in each breast, as if she were being pierced by a pair of unseen knives.  Her hands grabbed her tits and squeezed, trying to relieve the pain. It served only to intensify her delirium and release her passions.

 

“Oh… Goooddddd…  Noooooo!!” Petra screamed, her climax releasing her from the harrowing scourge.  Her mind was flooded with images, memories of The Baroness as she plundered and slaughtered her way across the Caribbean centuries ago.  As Petra slowly recovered from her primal fervor, the last thing she saw was the Baroness standing naked on a bygone merchant vessel, audaciously confronting the man who intended to punish her, Captain Jonathan Barnet.

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

The trial of Petra von Starkfolter and her accomplices immediately followed their arrest. The proceedings lasted less than twenty minutes, ending in a quick proclamation of guilt, seconded by Barnet's first lieutenant. Much to the delight of the assembled militia, the perfunctory sentences of the condemned prisoners were to be carried out at once.

 

As the captain had forecast, the pirate crew was dealt a relatively compassionate penalty.  As Petra looked on helplessly, the men were stripped nude and lined up against the gunwale. One by one, they were cut apart by musket fire.  The force of the shots knocked them backward, leaving each projectile-riddled body to flip over the railing and plunge into the sea.  Quick, effective, and fortuitously humane.

 

As the band's leader and instigator, The Baroness would not be allowed to enjoy such a benevolent fate.  After all, Barnet was not responsible only for capturing rogue privateers, but for ensuring they were appropriately disciplined as well.  In most cases this involved incarceration or expeditious summary execution. But under more exceptional circumstances – wherein a particularly fierce pirate had committed the most grievous offences – Barnet could administer more heinous corporal punishments.

 

As far as the captain was concerned, Petra von Starkfolter presented an exceptional circumstance if ever there was one – not only because of her flagrant crimes, but also because she was a particularly alluring young woman.  It was not often that Barnet and his sailors had the opportunity to scourge such a magnificent specimen, and he was not about to let it pass by.

 

After witnessing the execution of her crew, Petra too was stripped of her clothes.  A trio of soldiers tore at the woman's nominal outfit and soon had divested her of her shirt, breeches and boots.  It was all she wore.  Once nude, Petra refused to show any shame. She stood proudly on the quarter deck, legs slightly apart and hands on hips. She stared directly at Barnet.

 

“Do your worst, you vile fiend!” she taunted him.  “I will never submit to you… nor will I scream for mercy.”

 

“We shall see.”  The captain eyed Petra's magnificent figure.  Her blonde hair glistened in the mid-day sun and her tanned skin, neatly shaved in the custom of the highest class courtesans, was smooth as a bronze statue.  Despite the conscripts gazing at her salaciously, the spectacular Petra did not flinch. If this was the last time she could entice a group of men with her body, she would make the most of it.

 

Captain Barnet clearly saw the effect this sensuous siren had on his crew.  If the strumpet chose to flaunt herself at their expense, he thought, then let her take the consequences.  It would only make his job easier.  In order to avoid total mayhem, he chose to reward the higher ranking men first.

 

“Officers!  Stand ready!” he commanded.  Fifteen soldiers stepped forward and stood at attention.  Barnet waited five seconds before shouting, “Take her!”

 

For a moment the officers looked perplexed.  But not for long.  They soon grasped the nature of their “task”, dropped their weapons, and lunged forward at their naked prey.  Petra looked on in horror as the men charged at her like rabid hyenas.  In a furious flurry they dragged The Baroness to the main mast and threw her into the rigging which secured the lower topsail.  In seconds, the overpowered woman was trapped in the myriad ropes like a fly in a spider's web

 

Spread-eagled and exposed on all sides, Petra could not have been better exhibited for the benefit of her assailants. Barnet laughed as he watched the formerly staid officers fling off their uniforms with abandon in order to indulge their libidos.  None of the men had rammed a whore in weeks, and to be bestowed with such a sublime wench drove them to a savage boil.

 

One… two… then three of the officers had quickly corked Petra's accessible portals with their gnarled, engorged pikes, drawing a guttural grunt each time she was penetrated.  The remaining officers piled on top of the ensnared woman or came at her from below.  They found whatever few inches of exposed flesh they could, and feverishly rubbed their distended cocks against the blonde's soft skin.

 

Beneath the writhing mass of lascivious sailors, Petra was barely visible.  The weight of the men bearing down on her was so excruciating, the gut-wrenching distress of being raped went almost unnoticed by the victim.  But soon the stench of the attackers' foul seed filled the air, adding both revulsion and humiliation to Petra's ordeal.  She felt filthy folds of flesh slither across her from head to toe, even from behind, and remained unable to move while snagged in the unyielding twine.

 

After the officers were satisfied, they continued to spread themselves across the ill-fated captive, grabbing and clawing at her, even biting the softer parts of her anatomy.  Only when Barnet warned them not to draw blood, and to withdraw once they had ejaculated, did the men at last climb off the rigging and sheepishly look for their discarded clothing.  Petra was left tangled in the ropes, her splayed, naked body now covered head-to-toe with a slimy, gelatinous layer of semen.

 

Of course, this was only the beginning. Once the officers had had their fill, Barnet called on the midshipmen to prepare for their turn chastising the comely convict. This time, a mob of twenty seamen attacked Petra, defiling her in ways even more debauched than the previous assault by the higher ranking crew. As before, she did no more than emit bestial groans, accepting her abuse with stoic fortitude.

 

Even the third and final violation did not cause Petra to cry out.  Once the midshipmen had completed their business, Barnet turned loose the rest of his men to ravage the tormented woman.  It was the largest contingent yet, though by this time it hardly mattered to the prisoner enmeshed in the rigging. She had lost all sense of what they were doing to her.  Any perception of sexual degradation was eclipsed by the crushing load of two dozen men on top of her.  Petra could not breathe.  Several ribs had cracked. She bled internally.  Death was near.  Or so she hoped.

 

But just as she was about to succumb, Jonathan Barnet cut short her expected salvation.  Having been raped by virtually every one of her captors save Barnet himself – who would not sully himself on such a contemptible tramp – Petra was left spread out on the taught strands of cordage like a starfish in a fisherman's net.  Her body was deluged with cum and piss, both inside and out. The viscous liquid coating her dripped to the deck below as she writhed feebly in the rigging.

 

“Give the loathsome bitch some time to recover,” Barnet ordered. “Let her roast in the sun until her silky skin blisters.  In time, we will commence the next stage of her sentence.”  His crew having appeased their wanton desires on her body, had lost their appetite for sex.  It was pain and blood they craved now, so Barnet's proclamation was much to their liking. 

 

The carnal violation of Petra von Starkfolter had been deservedly cruel.  But her ordeal had only just begun.  Much worse awaited her.

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 2 - 3, 2018

 

Following her impulsive burst of erotic hysteria after getting home, Petra managed to calm her unwanted passions with a cold shower and some floor exercises.  The savage visions dancing through her mind faded, and by the time she had dinner, there was only a slight tingle stirring within her.  For Petra, a young, sexually active female, this was normal – especially following such a powerful orgasmic experience. She went to bed early, confident that whatever affliction had bedeviled her had run its course.

 

She could not have been more wrong.

 

To say that Petra slept fitfully that evening would be a considerable understatement.  The moment she dozed off, she once again found herself transplanted among the phantasms of history, her unconscious state providing an ideal portal to this alternate world.  Once again, Petra had become The Baroness.  As before, she stood naked and defiant, facing off against the vicious enforcers who had found her guilty of committing nefarious atrocities as a ruthless pirate leader.

 

The mere thought of embodying such a cruel, immoral woman sent Petra into the throes of a libidinous panic once more.  The fact that she was now on the verge of being disciplined for her crimes both heightened her fear and intensified her craving. She desperately wanted to escape the persecution which awaited her, but at the same time she could not help but spurn her tormentors, thus sealing her impending doom.

 

Petra knew what was about to happen.  It filled her with horror, but she did not resist.  In fact, she succumbed to her fate almost willingly.  Without waking, she tossed the covers from her bed and tore off her flimsy nightshirt.  Her arms and legs spread out, leaving her naked body splayed and paralyzed on the mattress. 

 

And then she felt it… a stiff, massive shaft plunging into her until she cried out with pain.  Another entered her from behind and a third took her mouth.  Soon she felt the weight of over a dozen men bear down on her, crushing her, assaulting her, and forcing her dark desires to newfound heights of orgasmic agony.

 

When the savage brutes had finished with her, they were followed by another, even larger group of degenerates, and then a third contingent whose savagery left her writhing in anguish and gasping for breath.  And yet, when it was all over, Petra knew it was not enough.  She had come so often and so easily, as if every touch could trigger an instant response, that she was beyond drained – but still she would have to bear more…

 

…but not like this.  It would have to be something far worse, beyond what the pretty blonde had imagined in even her previous nightmares.  Only then would The Baroness be satisfied. 

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The next morning Petra awoke frightened and consumed with dread.  She had hoped a good sleep would clear the evil from her mind, but instead, it had driven her ever deeper into the terrifying world of the past.

 

Petra came to with a start – not as if waking from a dream, but as if transported from another realm.  For a moment she lay in her bed, naked, spread-eagle, and completely immobilized.  The covers and pillows were on the floor, as was her ripped nightshirt.  The bed sheets, as well as Petra herself, were drenched with a mix of perspiration and what seemed to be other bodily fluids.

 

When she finally regained control of her body, Petra moved her hands along her slippery skin with growing alarm.  How could this have happened?  The memory of being ravaged by dozens of lecherous fiends was as vivid as if it actually had occurred just minutes earlier.  And yet, it had to have been a nightmare.

 

But if it was, it could hardly explain her current state… nude, petrified with fear and covered with foul secretions. She was also in considerable pain, and despite her appalling ordeal, she felt… aroused – though not at all in a pleasurable manner.  Had she managed to work herself into such a frenzy while asleep?  It hardly seemed possible.

 

Without getting up, Petra reached between her thighs and felt her pussy. She gasped.   A slimy substance was leaking from her genitals – perhaps the same fluid that was splashed across her body.  Petra often became wet during the throes of ecstasy, but surely she could not have become soaked in so much liquid on her own – certainly not while being brutally raped, even if only in a dream.

 

Moaning in pain, she slowly pulled herself out of bed, disgusted by the mess surrounding her.  She stumbled to the bathroom to clean up, but even after washing away the detritus of her tribulations, she could not rid herself of the perverse fantasy she had experienced.  At the same time, she could not shake the throbbing from within her sex.  Each time she recalled the abuse she had suffered, her engorged clitoris threatened to deluge her with involuntary orgasms. 

 

Petra wondered how she could get through the day without divulging her bizarre dilemma.  She felt as if she had lost control over not only her mind, but her entire body.  She had been thrown into a sado-masochistic maelstrom which could strike at any moment.  She decided she would stop by Dr. Jiang’s clinic if the “symptoms” persisted, but for now, she vowed not to nod off or let her mind wander.  It was only when she lost focus, when her thoughts drifted, that the hideous seizures took hold.

 

Petra decided to fight back.  She would not let The Baroness take over her life.     

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Like all film students, Petra needed the help of her peers to complete her projects.  She may have been able to handle the camerawork and directing, but a small crew was required to deal with sound recording, lighting, and of course acting duties.  Her comrades were more than happy to assist, but in return, Petra was expected to provide similar support for their efforts.

 

Given her photogenic looks and magnificent physique, she was invariably asked to be one of the performers – though she often bartered to include at least one technical role to build her practical skills.  Still, she enjoyed acting, along with the attention it entailed, so she rarely declined the opportunity to take a role in her friends' productions.

 

Petra was due to participate in a student shoot at 11:00 that morning. A British classmate named Nigel was directing a cheesy spy film set in the 1960's, featuring Petra as a secret agent who falls into enemy hands.

 

She had already completed a dozen scenes.  Today's would be her last, a tragic ending in which her character is tortured to death.  Although she usually enjoyed playing parts in which she found herself in peril, this particular project was a bit too creepy for her liking. Nigel had a reputation for playing rough, and it was well known that he was turned on by seeing damsels in distress.

 

Despite Petra's qualms, things had gone relatively well on Nigel's film so far. However, today's scene involved her character being interrogated.  More specifically, she would be brutally whipped until she talked.  The flogging would be simulated of course, but it still made Petra nervous, especially after the “dreams” she had been having.  Then again, she had decided not to let her fears faze her, so she would stand by her commitment.

 

Another student, a jock named Jim, picked Petra up at ten-thirty and together they drove to the location, an abandoned factory in Newmarket. She could not have imagined a more foreboding and squalid environment.  Nigel, to his credit, had arrived several hours earlier and along with two friends, both guys, had already positioned the lights and prepared the set.

 

The camera was secured to a hefty tripod and was aimed at the site where Petra's character, “Destiny Ryder”, was to be interrogated.  A huge wooden beam ran along the rafters about ten feet above the rubble-strewn floor. Two ropes had been wrapped around the beam, and dangled below, their ends at shoulder height.  Petra's, or rather Destiny's, wrists would be secured to the ropes, then drawn upward until her arms were stretched out and spread wide until she could just keep her feet on the ground.

 

Nigel had warned Petra that she would be restrained this way during the scene, and she had agreed, so long as she would not be suspended completely – something she knew was not only painful but dangerous.  Nigel, who had expected his actress to balk at just being bound, was more than pleased.  However, now that she saw the actual set and realized how intimidating it was, Petra felt the urge to refuse to perform the scene.

 

But then a familiar twinge between her legs made her reconsider. She imagined herself hanging helplessly from the beam, playing the proverbial victim, lashed with a knout while four men took pleasure in her apparent suffering. Petra's heart skipped a beat, and she found herself disturbingly aroused by the pending experience.

 

She let Nigel's assistants tie her wrists to the ropes without protest, then waited calmly as her arms were splayed out and raised until her feet barely touched the floor.  Petra had worn high-heeled sandals which accentuated her legs, most of which were revealed by her short black skirt. From the waist up, she was attired in a tight white, short-sleeved blouse. For continuity purposes, her outfit was the same as what she had worn in her previous scenes.  But now it dawned on her that it no longer made sense.  Even Petra was taken aback by what she said next.

 

“Nigel,” she said demurely, while struggling to balance in her awkward position, “this so-called interrogation isn't very realistic, is it?”

 

“What do you mean?”  Nigel thought he had done all he could to make the scene believable.  The setting was suitably dour, his heroine was strung up, she would be 'brutally' whipped.  What more was there to do?

 

Petra continued.  “When was the last time you watched a movie in which a woman is whipped fully clothed?  It's like those old thrillers in which girls take showers with their undies on. We've come a ways since then, you know.  Don't you think my interrogator would want to scourge my bare skin rather than my clothes?”

 

“But… but…” Nigel stammered, not quite believing his ears.  “You can't mean that we… No… this is a student film, Petra.  I can't submit an R rated project!”

 

“Well, I don't have to be naked, silly.  Just rip off my skirt and blouse.  That's still PG and it will add so much to the scene.”

 

“I don't know.”  Nigel was unconvinced. “It's pretty risqué.”

 

“That's what good filmmaking is all about… taking risks.  Besides, I'm sure ol' Bacardi would enjoy a bit of titillation instead of the boring shit all his other students submit.”

 

“But what… what about…”

 

“Don't worry,” Petra said, anticipating his concerns.  “Bra and panties… I came prepared.  Nothing you can't see on the beach.”

 

“So you want me to shoot the whole thing?  You being stripped and then getting thrashed?  Are you sure?”

 

“Of course.”  Petra gulped.  She wasn't at all sure, but she felt she had to convince Nigel to film her ordeal as realistically as possible.  “You can rip apart the threads.  I don't need them anymore.  C'mon…”

 

“Alright then.  You're the star,” said Nigel.  He turned to his assistants.  “Any objections?”  As expected, there were none.

 

“Action!”

 

As Nigel manned the camera, Jim, who was playing the interrogator, strode up to Petra and shouted at her.  “Alright Destiny!  This is your last chance to talk!  Tell me the name of your contact!”

 

Destiny turned away from her captor and did not reply. Jim paused briefly, as if unsure about whether to carry on.  Out of the corner of one eye he caught a nod from Nigel which reassured him.  He grabbed the lapels of Destiny's blouse, one in each hand, then tore apart the flimsy garment, sending buttons scattering in all directions.  With the aid of a small knife, he soon had shredded the woman's top, leaving her breasts covered only by a surprisingly undersized brassiere.  Nigel was relieved that the bra covered Destiny's nipples, even if just barely.  One false move, and his PG production would quickly become an R.

 

But Jim was not done yet.  His knife made short work of Destiny's tiny skirt, which dropped to the ground to expose the diminutive thong which did little to protect the modesty of her nether regions.  Had it not been for Destiny's careful grooming and a recent bikini wax, Nigel would have yelled “cut”… but he decided to keep shooting.  After all, he did not have to submit the results.

 

Nigel may have been a closet sadist, but no one could deny his star had obvious exhibitionistic tendencies.  Petra threw herself into her performance, making Destiny a most impressive, and undeniably erotic victim.  She swung from the ropes, crying out in anticipation of the horrors awaiting her.  She swung back her head and shook her long blonde hair from side to side while Jim continued to question her.

 

“No… No… Noooooo!!!” she screamed.

 

Jim casually picked up the whip, a long albeit fake blacksnake which looked incredibly menacing but was actually harmless.  He raised it overhead and slashed it viciously across the top of Destiny's bra-covered breasts.  The blonde spy swung back against the restraining ropes and let out a deafening howl of anguish.

 

“Talk, you bitch,” Jim yelled, “or I'll flog you to death!”

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

After an hour burning in the scorching heat, The Baroness once again felt that death was approaching.  The putrid excretions covering her body had fused to her skin, but did little to ward off the searing rays of the sun.  Dehydrated, parched and singed to a coppery hue, Petra squirmed in agonizing pain.  The ropes running across her blistered flesh were like razors ripping into her nerves.  She longed to scream out in anguish, but refused to give her captors the satisfaction of hearing her cries.

 

“That is enough,” commanded Barnet at last, once more depriving the woman of the demise she craved.  “The bitch must face the next stage of her comeuppance.  String her up and give her fifty lashes with the snake!”

 

Engulfed with pain, Petra let out wretched moans as several crewmen pulled her free of the rigging and dragged her beneath the main yard.  Rough sail twine was used to bind her wrists tightly together in front of her.  A longer length of hemp rope was tied to the knotted twine and the free end was thrown over the yardarm.  By drawing on the rope, the men raised Petra's arms overhead and eventually pulled her naked body off the deck.  They tied the cable to a cleat, leaving the outstretched blonde suspended by her wrists two feet above the planks and another two below the spar above.

 

Hanging helplessly from the boom, Petra von Starkfolter made for a most enticing sight.  Barnet's crew gawked at the woman, lusting for her imminent torture.  They did not have long to wait.

 

“Master at arms! Stand ready on the spar deck!” shouted the captain.  “Bring your longest, most pernicious whip.  You know the sentence… fifty lashes but not to the death.”

 

MAA Appleton, was a large, well-muscled warrant officer, as one would expect of the man responsible for discipline on board.  He was shirtless, displaying a decidedly hirsute torso. His face was broad and callous and bore a seemingly permanent grimace. In his right hand was a coiled length of braided leather, the most menacing knout Petra had ever seen. He stepped on a foot-high riser behind the main mast, facing the prisoner's back.

 

The captain nodded.  Appleton nodded back.  He lifted his arm and in a single, graceful motion uncurled the whip and swung it forward.  The thong sliced across Petra's shoulders, raising a sharp welt and propelling her body forwards.  Somehow she managed not to cry out in pain, but Barnet and his men could see by the expression on her face that she suffered the torment of the damned.

 

A second stroke slashed across her buttocks.  A third hit her thighs. With the fourth, the MAA grew more ingenious, wrapping the lash around Petra's waist so it could dig into her abdomen as well as her back.  He aimed higher, and managed to encircle the woman's upper torso. ripping into her quivering breasts and further cutting her shoulder blades with a single blow. Whenever the crop managed to coil around her lush curves, Petra's pain tripled because of the already sun-burned flesh on her ventral region.

 

Somehow she endured 25 strokes from the back without fainting or crying out.  But she had only reached the half-way point of her scourging.  Slowly, Appleton walked around his victim to carry out the remainder of her flogging.  This time, her protuberant breasts, her midsection, the front of her thighs, even her carefully trimmed pubis became the main targets of the man's relentless knout.  With each strike, Petra swung backwards, only to rebound and absorb yet another powerful slash, her scorched skin conducting pain as if it were lightning.

 

And still she did not pass out.  The MAA's final swing rose upwards between Petra's thighs, striking her full on in the crotch, cleaving her sex with such fury that a cascade of blood erupted from her womanhood when the knout was withdrawn.  She hung limply, swaying back and forth as crimson streams ran from her shredded wrists down the length of her arms.  All sides of her body were criss-crossed with bloody furrows left by the savage snake.  No member of Barnet's crew, nor even Barnet himself, had witnessed a man – let alone a woman – survive a scourging so severe.

 

And still there was more.

 

*  *  *  *  *

April 10, 1967

 

“Aaaaiiieeghh!!” the tantalizing blonde shrieked at the top of her lungs.  The vicious single-thonged whip curled around her midriff, tightening around her narrow waist, then slicing into her soft flesh as it was pulled back in a sharp, practiced flourish. Destiny Ryder had endured eighteen strokes of the lash, each one worse than the one before; each one sending her into paroxysms of pain beyond anything she had experienced in her brief 23 year life.

 

Destiny had already forgotten the name of the man who stood behind her wielding the knout… John, Jeff, James… something like that, not that it mattered.  What she did know is that he was an expert with a blacksnake lash, and that she could not hold out much longer. Destiny wondered whether she should give in, to tell these men what they wanted to know.  After all, it seemed they already had exposed her cover and her mission.  But what could she tell them?

 

“We know who you are, Miss Ryder,” said the man with the whip. “Your code name is the Baroness and you are an agent for the NSE.  You were sent to infiltrate TOMB and assassinate The Reaper.  All we need to know now is your contact in Istanbul.  Who gave you your orders?”

 

“I… don't… know… any… Aaaaiieeghhh!!”  The nineteenth stroke coiled around Destiny's perfect thighs, cutting deep and leaving yet another bleeding welt to add to her collection. 

 

“It is foolish to resist,” said a man with an English accent who was filming the woman's ordeal with an Arriflex mounted on a tripod behind her.  “You will talk… eventually.  You are not strong enough to die.  You have not yet taken even twenty hits and look at you…”

 

Destiny, the once invincible Baroness, hung by her wrists, suspended a foot off the ground by ropes descending from an overhead beam in a deserted, decrepit factory. The young spy's flimsy bra and thong had been whipped from her breasts and hips after only five lashes, leaving her naked save for her high-heeled sandals. Surrounded by grime and rubble, she was totally helpless and at the mercy of her captors.

 

Streams of blood ran down her body, mainly her back, where she had sustained the brunt of the whip strokes.  Yet the front of her torso had not been spared.  The leather crop also had wrapped around her copious bosom, her narrow waist, her hips and thighs, carving additional bloody furrows in her flawless skin.  Destiny knew the scars would be permanent, but somehow she resisted the urge to submit, even as the increasing agony of the torture grew intolerable.

 

The Baroness screamed louder than ever as the rough rawhide smashed into her upper back before looping under her splayed arms and slicing deep into the supple tissue of her magnificent tits. 

 

“Tell us the name of your contact!” shouted the whip master yet again.  Destiny shook her head, sending her blonde mane swirling from side to side.  Along with the British cameraman and her interrogator, there were two other men in the room. Neither was doing much other than observing her tribulations with rapt attention.  Perhaps they had helped apprehend her and bring her to this desolate hellhole. She had no recollection of how she got to this place.

 

Destiny's mind was a haze.  In fact, she had forgotten almost everything that had occurred before she awoke in the hands of her enemy.  Only when they told her what they already knew about her, did she herself recall these things.  Yes, she was a top NSA spy.  Yes, her codename was The Baroness.  And yes, she had gone to Istanbul to get the details of her mission, which was to be an assassination.  But the name of her contact, let alone the rest of her life… it was all a complete mystery.

 

All that Destiny knew for certain was that she was a beautiful, nude woman in a world of pain.  If she had the name of her contact, she would blurt it out in a heartbeat – but she really had no idea what these men were talking about.  Somehow, Destiny knew she was a spy, and words like “TOMB” and “The Reaper” sounded oddly familiar… but it was as if she had come across them in a book she barely remembered, or in a movie she had seen long ago.  Nothing seemed real.

 

At least not until the lash cut into her backside – not once, not twice, but three times in rapid succession, literally hacking away the shapely curves of her buttocks.  Destiny could feel the blood flow down the backs of her legs.  She heard it drip into the growing crimson puddle that had formed beneath her dangling feet.  And, of course, she screamed. This, she knew all too well, was definitely real.

 

“Oh God… please… please… don't kill me,” she begged in a barely audible whisper, which all four men ignored.  Instead, she was answered with a further stroke around her slender waist, one so powerful she felt it would slice her in half.  While she howled in anguish, yet another blow landed somewhat higher, curling just under her bulging, bloody breasts with predictably gruesome results followed by an even louder ear-piercing cry.

 

“That's enough,” said the Englishman, stepping away from the camera.  Destiny realized he seemed to be in charge of her interrogation, even though Joe or Jimmy or whoever was doing most of the heavy lifting. “We've shredded this bitch's back from her neck to her ankles.  There's not much more we can do.  It's just too bad she can't see the results of all your hard work, Jim…”

 

Destiny breathed a sigh of relief.  Perhaps these sadistic bastards finally realized she had nothing to tell them.  Regrettably for the vaunted Baroness, her respite would be short lived.  As the hapless NSE agent looked on, the Brit repositioned the camera so that it now faced her from the front.  Destiny shook her head in terror. 

 

“You've taken 25 strokes from behind without telling us a thing,” the leader said, confirming his victim's fears.  “Can you endure such punishment when it is delivered to your other side?  Will you be able to remain silent as you witness the obliteration of your oversized jugs, or when you feel the crop slice into your cunt?  We shall soon find out just how strong The Baroness really is…”

 

The Englishman restarted the camera, and Jim – at least now Destiny knew the name of the man who was slowly killing her – stood two yards in front of her and raised his whip overhead.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

As one might expect, the scourging of the front of Destiny Ryder's body was even more severe than the flogging of her back.  The gorgeous spy lurched to and fro and hollered lustily as the whip master landed one stroke after the other on her luscious curves. 

 

After twenty lashes, he had obliterated Destiny's breasts, leaving the once perfect globes in tatters.  Her abdomen was covered with gaping lacerations from which blood spewed in torrents.  Several well-placed swipes around her hips had slashed into her sex, drawing welts across her pussy.  Countless ruby-red streams ebbed down her pale skin to cascade into the pool of blood beneath her.

 

“Talk you stubborn slut!” yelled the interrogator, landing two more blows on her tits and tearing away what remained of her nipples. As usual, Destiny responded with a scream and an impertinent shake of her head.

 

Enraged by his lack of success, her tormentor swung the knout in an upward motion, raising the leather thong vertically between her legs and expertly cracking the tip between the blonde's labia. The popper exploded inside her, unleashing a cataclysm of pain beyond Destiny's wildest imaginings. Her screech of anguish echoed throughout the deserted building for nearly a minute. 

 

“Do you want more of that?” The interrogator had lost all patience.  “I said… DO YOU WANT MORE OF THAT!!?”

 

“No… nooo…” whimpered Destiny. “Please… stop…”

 

“Then talk!  Who is your contact in Istanbul?”

 

“I… I… don't… know…”

 

A second stroke of the whip was launched into the ill-fated agent's pussy.  Another deafening cry followed.  Even after suffering a third assault on her now ravaged genitals, Destiny could not recall the name.  She simply couldn't remember… anything.

 

Having counted off fifty lashes, the Englishman filming the interrogation realized that the captive spy would not be able to take much more.  He could not risk losing her.  Not yet.  Not before he had the information.  He decided a more direct approach was required.

 

“Lift the bitch up another couple of feet,” he ordered. “High enough so her navel is at eye-level.”

 

The two men who were standing off to the side used pulleys securing the ropes running over the beam to pull Destiny further off the ground.  She winced as the pressure on her shoulders increased, but the pain was much less than what she had endured from the whip.  No matter what these degenerates planned to do with her now, nothing could be worse than what she had already experienced.  At least that is what she thought.

 

Once Destiny had been raised to the required level, she was secured in place, her naked, bloody body dangling two feet above the floor.  The Englishman set the camera on automatic and walked up to her, his gaze focused on her bald pussy.

 

“So odd to see a bitch who chooses to trim the hair from her cunt,” he said, noticeably perplexed.  “Is it some new trend?  I must say, it is quite stimulating.”

 

He brought up one hand and rubbed it over her womanhood, which now spurted pinkish fluids thanks to the destruction caused by the lash.  He grabbed her clitoris, which had survived the torture, between his thumb and forefinger.  Destiny let out an involuntary moan.

 

“Despite the punishment, it seems you are still very much a woman.”  The man laughed and rubbed the tiny nub of flesh.  Destiny moaned again, this time louder than before.

 

“It would be a shame to lose this last remnant of your femininity, would it not?” he said.

 

“No… please don't…  I'll tell you anything you want to know… anything… if only I could remember…”

 

“Perhaps this will serve to jog your memory,” the man said menacingly.  From a holster on his belt he withdrew a Browning 9mm handgun.  He stopped massaging Destiny's clit, and instead thrust the five inch barrel of the weapon inside her.

 

“Ggnnghhhh…” Instantly, Destiny felt a new sensation rise from the depths of her lower abdomen.  Like the all-encompassing pain of the scourging, she could not resist it.  It seemed to drain the last of her strength, using her own sexual compulsions against her.  “I… can't… uuungghh… nooo…. don't…”

 

The Englishman slowly moved the gun back and forth, fucking his victim with the cold steel muzzle.  Destiny continued to respond. She could do nothing to curb the powerful climax building within her. For over a minute she gasped and pulled futilely against the ropes, the unwanted urges becoming ever more powerful until…

 

“Yeaaaaaghhh…” Destiny wailed as she fell prey to her own passions.  A surge of slimy liquids spurted over the gun and its owner's hand.  The man laughed and cocked the weapon, thrusting the barrel up as far as it would go.  Destiny yelped.

 

“Now tell me the name of your contact, or that orgasm will be your last!”

 

As Destiny recovered from the devastating climax, her mind seemed suddenly to clear.  Brief thoughts and memories flashed through her brain, allowing her to rebuild portions of her evaporated consciousness.  For a minute she saw a strange world that she did not recognize.  But then, she was not sure what world she was in now – it could well have been the same one, though somehow she knew it was very different.  She fought to recall the name her captors wanted… this contact… someone she had met in Istanbul.

 

“Tell me now, or I pull the trigger!”  Destiny had no doubt the Englishman was serious.  As she fought to organize her thoughts she visualized a sheet of paper.  On it were what appeared to be a list of instructions, dialogue perhaps – most likely a coded exchange between two agents.  At the top of the page was a name.  Could this be her contact?  Destiny figured it had to be… she had no other choice. 

 

“I know…” she shouted.  “I know the name of the Istanbul contact.  It's… it's a woman… Her name… her name is Petra von Starkfolter!”  Destiny sighed with relief, she had saved herself at the very last moment.

 

“Von Starkfolter,” said the Englishman.  “Of course.  We know her well… very well indeed.  Thank-you Miss Ryder.  We now have no further use for you.”

 

The man pulled the trigger ten times, emptying the gun into Destiny's sex.  The blonde agent spasmed like a beached carp, dancing at the end of the ropes as her body absorbed the barrage of projectiles until her crotch was a blood-soaked mass of mutilated flesh.

 

Destiny Ryder, code name The Baroness, was dead.

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

The Baroness was left suspended from the yard, her claret streaked body swaying seductively as the ship heaved to and fro in the wind. She was barely conscious, but more than able to feel the deluge of agony coursing through her nervous system.  Her pain soon grew more intense as once again the blazing sun bore down on her exposed epidermis, further burning her already broiled hide. Consigned to hell, Petra silently prayed for death.

 

But Barnet could see his prisoner was a tough bitch. She would not succumb swiftly.  He ordered the warrant officer to raise her higher. Two midshipmen lengthened the pendent cable and pulled on it until the blonde pirate dangled by her wrists two dozen feet above the main deck. Here, Petra's body heaved about more than ever. But worst of all, her many lacerations attracted the carrion feeding seabirds which hovered among the vessel's top sails seeking scraps of food below.

 

Drawn by the pungent smell of torn, bleeding flesh, swarms of gulls, petrels and frigate birds quickly descended on the incapacitated woman to feast on her tender meat.  The voracious fowl used their sharp beaks to stab repeatedly at Petra's wounds, ripping away shreds of tissue and further opening the many gashes caused by the MAA's whip.  The more powerful birds were able to peck at previously unblemished patches of skin until they had gouged out fresh cavities from which they could extract succulent morsels of nourishment.

 

Over twenty feet below, Barnet's crew of pirate hunters looked up at their prey. Between the throng of frenzied seabirds, they caught only glimpses of Petra's writhing body.  The men were disappointed that The Baroness was not crying out in pain as the fluttering beasts savagely attacked her.  As always, she uttered only bestial grunts and anguished moans, like those of a dying animal – certainly not the sounds of a young woman being ravaged by wild birds. The captain shook his head, clearly displeased.

 

“The wicked slut is not suffering enough,” Barnet said with a sigh.  “Bring her down so we can inflict more formidable penalties.”

 

The pendent cable was untied and Petra was lowered to the deck.  The birds descended with her, tearing at her flesh until the men shooed them away.  Petra lay supine on the planks, arms and legs spread.  She trembled with terror, overcome by her ordeal.  Her eyes – miraculously spared by the birds' incessant pecking – were wide with shock.  Although she had endured relatively few perforations on her still lovely face, she had not been as fortunate from the neck down.

 

The flesh-eating fowl had targeted the softest portions of Petra's anatomy, chewing into her thighs, her abdomen, and not surprisingly, her tender, swelling bosom.  Along with the deep welts inflicted by the MAA, both breasts were now covered with cavities excavated by the winged predators.  The blonde's swollen nipples proved to be the most inviting marks of all, and had been severed from her tits by two of the more aggressive petrels. They left only a pair of craters which spewed blood like miniature volcanoes.  Other oversized birds made short work of Petra's womanhood, ripping away her labia and clitoris before completely tearing apart her tasty cunt until it hung in tatters.

 

Despite such severe devastation, The Baroness remained both alive and conscious.  She squirmed on the deck and gasped pathetically, but she did not beg for mercy or cry out in pain.  Captain Barnet had been right.  Petra von Starkfolter was stronger than most women – perhaps stronger than many men.  For a female prone to violence, perhaps a gang rape, a flogging and an attack by carrion birds were no more than foreplay.  He had met such whores before – the ones who enjoyed pain – but none who would willingly endure tortures as severe as those he had inflicted on this captive pirate.

 

No… a bitch with such a perfect body would never sacrifice it for pleasure.  Still, this wanton wench did not break or succumb.  She did not beg for mercy.  Clearly she could take more.  Clearly he had to escalate her punishment.

 

“Master at arms!” he called for the warrant officer. “Take her below… to the room we have prepared for her in the hold.  Secure her to the rack!”

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 3, 2018

 

Once again, Petra experienced the now familiar sensation of being transferred between alternate realities.  She was returning from the dead – from a horrific experience that had destroyed her both physically and psychologically.  This time, The Baroness had been tortured to the brink of oblivion, and beyond.  For a moment, she was no more… until Petra restored her existence.

 

The pain continued to course through her body, leaving her sobbing in anguish as she dangled from the overhead beam.  She was covered in sweat, as well as with the phony whip marks which had been applied during her simulated interrogation. Though her wounds were bogus, Petra felt the aftermath of the persecution she had endured – including the virtual obliteration of her internal organs.

 

She hung motionless, her cries resounding through the cavernous expanse of the factory.

 

“Wow… babe… that was phenomenal!” Nigel was so overwhelmed by Petra's performance that he forgot to yell “cut”.  Instead he switched off the camera and walked up to his actress, who clearly had put everything she had into the scene he had just filmed.  Jim joined him, and together they worked on the ropes to free their “victim”.

 

“Seriously,” said Jim as he fiddled with one of the knots, “how did you do that?  I could have sworn I was really hurting you… like really bad…”

 

“I… I don't remember,” said Petra, beginning to break out of her character at last.  “I guess I just pretended I was really being whipped.  But to be honest, it feels like I just blacked out for a while.”  It was a lie of course, and Petra made no mention that from her perspective, the interrogation was absolutely authentic, up to and including her gruesome demise.  She wondered if her portrayal revealed a little too much of her imagined ordeal to Nigel and his friends.

 

“Maybe… maybe I took things a little too far,” she suggested, blushing as her wrists were finally freed from their bonds. Unlike in the nightmare she recalled, her feet remained on the floor, and her bra and panties still concealed her feminine attributes.

 

“No… no… you were amazing!”  Nigel was obviously impressed, though in fact he wondered whether he could use the footage.  Although he successfully managed to keep the basics at a PG level, Petra's acting was so convincing, the campiness he was hoping to capture was displaced by the grim brutality one would expect in an exploitation film.  No matter how titillating, his efforts were unlikely to win him any accolades from his instructor. Still, he continued to praise his blonde star and decided not to reveal his doubts.

 

Even if the segment went unused, Nigel would keep it for his own personal collection.  As per his reputation, he had enjoyed watching Petra “suffer”.  Unable to hold back his desires, he had involuntarily ejaculated in the middle of her ordeal, something he had never done on a previous shoot.  Even if he could not use it, Nigel would keep the scene to satisfy his lust in the future – though Petra would never know this of course.

 

Like her director, Petra too had been overwhelmed during her performance.  The devastating agony of her punishment and execution had blinded her to the carnal response that accompanied the violent abuse she had endured.  But now, with the pain slowly dissipating, a sharp, post-orgasmic surge engulfed her nervous system. Petra became aware of her throbbing genitals and the wetness between her legs.  Were it not for the perspiration that dripped from her body, her arousal would have been embarrassingly apparent to her four male companions.

 

Although none of them suspected what was actually dominating Petra's thoughts, there was nothing she could do to block her own feelings. She had suffered too much.

 

“Aauuuughhhhh,” Petra groaned and fell to her knees.  She stared blankly, remaining silent while Jim and Nigel kept her from keeling over completely. 

 

“Petra… Petra… are you okay?” Nigel shook her shoulder, a concerned expression crossing his face.  For over a minute, she did not reply.  The male students stood by helplessly, wondering what to do.  Just as panic was beginning to set in, Petra recovered.

 

“I'm… I'm okay…” she said weakly.  She managed to stand up with the help of Nigel and Jim.  “I think that scene really took a lot out of me… and… and…” she hesitated, not wanting to reveal anything about her recent experiences, “I've been suffering a lot of anxiety lately.  I think I should see my doctor.  I've been getting weekly treatments at the Hellstrom Clinic since last month.”

 

“No problem, babe,” said Nigel.  “I'll drive you there right now.”  It was then that they all realized Petra's clothes had been badly torn when Jim had stripped her for her interrogation.  She also still bore the fake whip marks they applied during the shoot.

 

It took some time, but eventually Petra was cleaned up and dressed enough to go outside, even though she looked disturbingly like a rape victim.  Her appearance might take some explaining when they arrived at the clinic. Nigel decided it was best for Petra to go in on her own, and callously dropped her off just outside the entrance.  He wished her luck, then drove off as fast as he could.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“I'd like to see Dr. Jiang,” said Petra, standing unsteadily at the clinic's reception desk.

 

“Do you have an appointment?”  The white-clad medical assistant looked up on hearing the urgency in the blonde woman's voice.  She also noted her torn clothes and disheveled appearance.  “Oh… I'm sorry.  Have you experienced… an assault?”

 

“Not exactly.  I just need to speak with Dr. Jiang.  I've… I've been seeing her for treatments for the past four weeks.  My name is Petra von Starkfolter.”

 

“Well, if it's not an emergency…” The assistant entered Petra's name into her computer. “It looks like your next session is Thursday morning.”

 

“No… no… I need to see her now.  It is an emergency… just not a, you know, rape or anything.”

 

“Well, let me check with the doctor.” The assistant picked up a phone and punched in an extension, then spoke quietly into the receiver.  A minute later, she was done.  “You're in luck Ms. von Starkfolter.  Dr. Jiang is on her lunch break, but she's willing to see you.  I assume you know where her office is?”

 

“Yes… thank-you.  Thank-you so much.”  

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

The Baroness was dragged to the forward hold, two decks below the fo'c'sle.  It was the ship's only lower chamber not filled with sugar cane, having been reserved for the express purpose of interrogating – or more accurately chastising – the female cut-throat Captain Barnet had set out to abduct and eliminate.  Unlike the storage vaults, the forward hold provided a modicum of light via a half dozen oil lamps. Otherwise it was as damp, fetid and sweltering as one would expect.  It also was equipped with an assortment of apparatus and supplies selected specifically for extending the punishment of Petra von Starkfolter.

 

Most prominent of these sundry items was a massive rack in the center of the chamber.  This menacing device consisted of a six inch thick plank of solid oak mounted horizontally on a sturdy platform. The surface was ten feet long, four feet wide and covered with dozens of small iron spikes, rusted and unevenly spaced.  At one end of the plank rose a pillory sporting a pair of circular openings about two feet apart.  At the opposite side was a large roller fitted to a pulley mechanism.  Two ropes had been wrapped around the roller, their free ends resting on the plank.

 

The instant she saw the infernal contraption, Petra shook her head in alarm.  “No… no… noooo…” she repeated.  But she was far too weak to resist the brawny seamen as they lifted her over the rack and dropped her face up on the spiked surface.

 

“Gghhhhhaaaa…” she groaned, biting her tongue so as not to scream out in pain.  She felt a new wave of torment as the iron barbs stabbed into her back, adding to her wounds and drawing more blood.  Desperately Petra fought to resist the agony, but she knew her ordeal would only grow worse.  How long could she hold out against these fiends?

 

As expected, her ankles were enclosed in the pillory at the base of the rack and her wrists, still bleeding badly after being strung up from the main sail, were tightly bound to the ropes. A large four-pronged handle coupled to the roller was turned by the burly MAA to take up any slack left by the cords. The ropes coiled tensely around the cylindrical shaft as the wheel revolved. 

 

At first Petra felt nothing, but after two full rotations of the handle, an extreme surge of unbearable pain tore through her like a thunder crack.

 

“Yeeaaggghhh…” she choked, still fighting to contain her anguish.  Her body was stretched taught, almost to the point where it would lift from the plank.  Her skin glistened with sweat and blood. The many welts and lacerations covering her, combined with the punctures caused by the spikes ripping into her back, sent Petra into a nightmare of unmitigated suffering.

 

“Stop… keep her like this,” ordered Barnet. “We will let the rack finish its job later, but first there are other matters to attend to.”  The officer released the handle, leaving the ratcheted gears controlling the roller to lock it in place.  Petra gasped and fought for breath, her head lolling from side to side. Barnet grabbed her chin and looked into her eyes.  Her pupils were dilating and she swooned as the pain consumed her.

 

“I fear she may pass out,” he said.  “We can't have that.  Not at this stage.  Master at arms… prepare to stimulate her so she will remain conscious for what will follow…”          

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“What better way to stimulate the bitch than to overwhelm her with absolute agony?” Appleton asked rhetorically and nodded to a wooden crate. Two crewmen dragged it beside the rack and lifted the lid.  It was filled with white granules – almost a hundred pounds of sea salt.  The men's eyes lit up, their expressions turning to sadistic apprehension.  They knew what was in store for their hapless prisoner.

 

MAA Appleton reached into the crate and removed as much salt as he could hold in the palm of his right hand.  He wielded the crystals in front of Petra's face and let a few granules drop between her lips. Instantly she understood what awaited her.

 

“No…” she sputtered, trying to maintain her dignity.  “No more pain.  Just… just kill me.”

 

“But we will, my dear.”  Barnet said with a laugh.  “Just not yet. Perhaps when you confess your sins and accept my domination.” The captain stood opposite the MAA on the other side of the rack, enjoying Petra's ever growing despair.  The mammoth bulge in the crotch of his tight officers' breeches made no secret of his perverse lust to see the blonde beauty tortured.  But he wanted more.  He wanted her to cry out in anguish.  He wanted her to beg for mercy.  He wanted her total resignation.  Only then would she earn her final obliteration.

 

Petra saw the evil gleam in Barnet's eye. She watched his cock throb in response to her torment. She knew what he was thinking… what he wanted – and once again she resolved not to yield to his desires, no matter what these monsters did to persecute her.  Yes, she would die.  That was inevitable.  But she would do so as a proud privateer, one who would never surrender to her brutal captors.

 

“Never… never…” Petra breathily repeated her defiant chant.  “I will never submit to cocksucking scum such as you…” her scorn was cut short as Barnet plunged his fist into her abdomen.  Her body, already strung tight on the rack, absorbed the full force of the blow, leaving Petra gasping for air. Her sweat soaked body shuddered as she choked on the bile which rose up her throat and spewed from her mouth. 

 

“Continue,” the captain ordered. “I do not want her dwelling with Morpheus for even a moment.  Keep her awake by any means necessary. I fear she may resist for quite some time.”

 

Still clenching the salt between his fingers, Appleton moved his hand over the voluptuousness of Petra's left breast.  He held the granules less than inch above the bleeding cavity where her nipple had been before the birds had torn it off.  The MAA released the salt, letting it fill the tattered hole, then rubbed the crystals deep into the wound.  For a second, Petra did not react… but she could not withstand the excruciating pain which followed.

 

“Yyyyaaaaaaeeeiiiiigghh!!” she screamed.  No longer could she contain her suffering.  So great was her distress, that no amount of self control or fortitude could keep her from squealing like a pig in a slaughterhouse.  The men around her covered their ears as the woman's howling continued for several minutes.  Unable to struggle against the rack's inexorable restraints, Petra could do nothing but endure the boundless agony.

 

“Submit!  Submit you stupid cunt!” Barnet yelled at her as soon as her shrieks had subsided.  “You've shown you can no longer ignore your penance… so you must confess… concede to your conquerors!”

 

“N… noooo…” Petra moaned.

 

“Insolent slut!” Barnet growled. “Warrant Officer!  Why has she stopped screaming?”

 

“This was only a demonstration,” Appleton replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “The small amount of salt already has dissolved in her blood. We will use more… much, much more to ensure the accursed wench will fully experience the remainder of her sentence.” 

 

Stepping back, he gestured to the crate of salt and selected several sailors.  None of the men needed further instruction.  Together, they lunged for the crate and grabbed as much salt in their cupped hands as they could carry.  In seconds, the stretched, sweaty torso of Petra von Starkfolter was covered with mounds of white granules.

 

The chosen soldiers laughed with delight as they used both hands to grind and scrape the salt against every inch of their victim's naked body.  The coarse crystals grated against her skin and jammed into the dozens of lacerations she had received.  The salt melted into her blood and perspiration, creating saline-rich fluids which flooded her injuries and sent Petra's nervous system to unsurpassable heights of pain. Petra felt as if she had been tossed into a giant vat of acid, one she could not escape, even by way of death.

 

In fact, the purpose of her horrific torture was quite the opposite.  The men so gleefully massaging Petra's succulent body in salt were intent on ensuring she stayed very much alive – as well as conscious.  After all, according to her sentence, she had yet to reach the half-way point of her sanctions.  Barnet and his crew did not want the delectable Baroness to miss out on any of the savage delights which lay ahead.

 

*  *  *  *  *

One Month Ago: October 5, 2018

 

“And how frequently do you experience these episodes, these waking nightmares as you call them?”  Dr. Jasmine Jiang did not look at all as Petra had imagined her when she set up the appointment over a week earlier.  Of course she had expected the woman to be Asian, but certainly not five foot ten with blonde-streaked black tresses that reached half-way down her back.  Weren't female doctors supposed to be plain, short-haired, with unflattering glasses that hung around their necks alongside their stethoscopes?  Dr. Jiang was attired in tight fitting designer clothes which revealed her svelte figure and she had the cheekbones and features to be a model or actress.  She also had the coldest bedside manner Petra had come across in a medical professional, not that she had met all that many before.

 

“Until recently, I had them maybe once or twice a year,” Petra replied.  “But lately I have at least one a week, and sometimes during the day, which never happened before.  I completely black out, and when I come to, it's as if I've been reborn from some other life.”  She sat across from the doctor's desk, trying to describe the increasingly disturbing experiences which had become persistent enough for her to seek medical help.  Petra had been referred to Dr. Jiang, an expert in anxiety disorders.  What the doctor lacked in geniality, she made up for with competence and professionalism.

 

“And what makes these incidents different than just ordinary dreams or waking fantasies?” Dr. Jiang wanted to make sure her patient was not just overreacting to minor hallucinations. “Many people have very active imaginations.  Why do you think yours is debilitating?”

 

“Because these… so-called fantasies are so incredibly realistic – no different than my sitting here now talking to you,” said Petra. “And…”

 

“And?”

 

“Well, it's what they're about, their… ummm…”  Petra blushed.  She felt suddenly uncomfortable.

 

“Their content?” Dr. Jiang suggested.

 

“Yes.”  Petra hesitated.  “Always… always the episodes, if that's what you call them, are extremely violent.  In them, I am someone else… a woman very different than me… strong, aggressive, often evil or in a situation where others want to hurt me… even kill me.  Sometimes… sometimes they succeed.  But that's not all…”

 

“Go on…”

 

“I'm not sure I can.” Petra blushed and lowered her head.  She took a few breaths, then managed to continue.  “It all feels… it all feels very sexual, if not during the actual experience, which at the time is incredibly painful and agonizing, but later – when I… when I recover. I feel aroused, like I do when…”

 

“When you're having intercourse?”

 

“Even more so.  It's all-consuming, like having the most intense orgasm ever.  And each time it gets worse.  It's begun interfering with my life.  That's why I came to see you. They say when something does that – you know, affects your normal behavior – that's when you need to get psychological help.”

 

“Well, Petra, you're right,” Dr. Jiang tried to be reassuring. “I think what you are going through is a result of extreme stress… stress that seems to have been with you most of your life, but has become much more prominent recently.  You may be suffering from what we call a 'delusional disorder', though in your case the extremely violent and sexual manifestations make it unusual.  Subconsciously, you may even desire these experiences, which is why you are 'rewarded' with erotic stimulation, even though consciously it terrifies you.”

 

“You mean I'm… I'm a masochist?  I want to be tortured?  I want to die?”

 

“In a way, yes.” Dr. Jiang was no longer reassuring in the least. “I'm afraid it can actually be quite dangerous.  All psychoses are, because they prevent the afflicted from distinguishing between reality and often perilous hallucinations.”

 

Petra sat bewildered as the doctor's prognosis sunk in.  “What… what can I do?”

 

“There are anti-psychotic drugs, but I fear in your case they will prove ineffective. Fortunately, there is a new procedure – still experimental – which combines a serum with electronic stimulation of the brain to inhibit onset of hallucinations such as yours.  I can't guarantee it will work, but it's worth a try.  You'll need to come in to the clinic once a week for two hours of treatment, but if it is successful, you should begin seeing results in a few months.”

 

“A few months?” Petra said dejectedly.  “I'm not sure I can…”

 

“Try to remember that what you are experiencing in these episodes is not real.  It will help you cope until we flush whatever is causing them out of your brain.”

 

“Okay, sign me up,” Petra said, wishing she had more options.

 

“You'll need to complete a consent form and an extensive background questionnaire.  We'll need to know all about you… going right back to your childhood.  I'm afraid some of the questions are quite intimate, but please understand that all this information is necessary.”

 

Petra waited a moment, then nodded. 

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Female; 23 years old; 120 pounds; fit; blonde…” Dr. Jasmine Jiang was on the phone to her colleague, Dr. Vincent Morgan, a senior psychiatrist at Tufts. She was describing the physical attributes of Petra von Starkfolter, who had left the clinic two hours earlier after answering an array of questions delving into everything from her favorite color to the first time she masturbated. She had also provided a background resume which included most everything she had done since arriving in the US.

 

Before calling Dr. Morgan, Dr. Jiang had had the opportunity to verify some of the more basic details of Petra's CV.  What she discovered proved quite surprising.

 

“Yes… so she seems like many of the others,” said Morgan, somewhat impatiently.  “What makes this Starkfolter woman so special?”

 

“First of all,” said Dr. Jiang, “her symptoms are much more severe.  Her delusions seem to be not only more concrete… more credible, but also pathologically violent and erotically motivated. And in addition…” she paused for effect.

 

“There's more?” Morgan had become intrigued.

 

“Perhaps of greater importance is what I learned when I checked into her background… at least the one she gave me.”  Dr. Jiang picked up a page of notes she had written since Petra left.  “She claims to be a film student at Emerson College, but when I called the admissions office there, I was told there is no record of anyone enrolled under that name. She listed several courses she is taking, but the profs don't recognize a woman fitting her description – and believe me, any man certainly would if she was in his class.

 

“Before entering Emerson, von Starkfolter said she was at Harvard, but no one there has heard of her either.  The address she left is fake, and the local friends and relatives she mentioned don't exist.  I even Googled her parents and family ties in Europe and got nothing.  It's hard to believe a woman who outwardly appears like a young, attractive, otherwise normal student is a virtual phantom.”

 

“Still, there have been other cases.” Morgan tried to think of an example. “For instance, the April Hunter case last year… the former LA porn star who turned up in Montana…”

 

“Yes, but that was due to retrograde amnesia, which is usually the case in these sort of incidents.  The victim forgets their old life and starts building a new one.  Petra von Starkfolter has not only created an entire false life for herself, she is actively creating others – bizarre alternate personalities in different time periods. It's more like a case of multiple personality driven by a delusional psychosis.”

 

“And you say no one seems to know her?”  Morgan asked, sounding somewhat pleased.

 

“I'm sure others have seen her.  She knows the Emerson campus well.  But my guess is her hallucinatory fugues prevent her from establishing even casual relationships.  She spends much more time in her alternate worlds than she seems to realize.”

 

“So the mind of Petra von Starkfolter would be like putty in our hands – an Etch-a-sketch which theoretically we could program and ultimately siphon over and over again. It's most convenient that the project is at a stage where we could attempt some initial… trials.”

 

“I already have her scheduled for weekly 'treatments',” said Dr. Jiang.

 

“Excellent. Then we shall soon see how she responds.”

 

Jasmine Jiang seemed delighted.  “I think we have found the one, Vince… the one we have been waiting for.” 

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

Petra von Starkfolter's screams were relentless.  Her vow to remain silent – or at least stoic – throughout her ordeal had been shattered, leaving her disgraced.  She had been reduced from the female scourge of the seven seas to a whimpering little girl.  Petra's vocal chords were raw after wailing continuously throughout a half hour of having her naked, mangled flesh scourged with salt.  The constant agony had kept her responsive as intended, but her lusty cries had been reduced to pitiful croaks.

 

“Tighten the rack!” commanded Barnet. “One quarter turn.”

 

Petra cried out as she felt her joints drawn to their limits. Her backside was the only part of her body still in contact with the oak plank, leaving some of the rusty spikes to continue shredding her supple ass. The other projections had finished their work, having duly gouged the back of the woman's legs, torso and arms while she was still able to writhe on her bed of torment. Now, with the ropes stretched tight as a forestay, Petra was rendered completely immobile, save for her fingers, toes and head.

 

Her naked body streaked with blood, dried cum, urine, sweat and blotches of salt, the formerly fiery and imposing Baroness was now no more than a desecrated, debased derelict – perhaps still desirable beneath the carnage she had endured, but despite her remaining allure, Petra von Starkfolter was destroyed, doomed to the whims of her vindictive captor.  A mere two words – I submit – would afford her a quick demise and end her suffering forever. Once again, Barnet prompted her.

 

To the captain's dismay – and to Petra's own surprise – the maimed beauty shook her head in defiance.

 

“You will regret your stubborn insolence!” Barnet spat at the blonde. He turned to the sailors.  “As you have all witnessed, the enemy has refused to surrender.  I authorize the master at arms, the Ship's Corporal, and three able seamen to complete the rest of her sentence.  You have my permission to unleash the hounds of hell on this conniving cunt.  Cease only if she breaks.  Until then, continue without mercy.”

 

“I will need the transcript,” said Appleton, extending a hand.

 

“Of course,” replied Barnet, pulling a scroll from his coat pocket and giving it to the warrant officer. The document summarized the penalties to which Petra was condemned in her final verdict.  The MAA spent almost a minute reading the scroll.

 

“It is a long list indeed,” he said.  “I cannot say for sure how long the bitch will last, but we will endeavor to do our best.”

 

“Her crimes are prodigious,” Captain Barnet reminded the officer.  “If she does not confess, then she must suffer the punishments imposed!”

 

“Yes sir.”  MAA Appleton turned to the four men who would assist him and quickly glanced at the scroll.  “We will begin with the pear of anguish.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The pear was a relatively simple device made of metal. It was about the size and shape of the fruit after which it was named, but also featured a screw mechanism where the stem would be. Turning the screw forced the pear to slowly spread apart into four spoon-shaped petals, not unlike a blooming flower.  The brass model used by the MAA could unfold to four times its original width.

 

The pear of anguish was most commonly inserted into the mouth and, once opened, served as an effective and somewhat uncomfortable gag.  However, the larger version, which Barnet had modified with spiked petals, was imbedded in the victim's nether orifices and served to rip apart his or her internal organs.  Such would be the fate awaiting the unfortunate blonde buccaneer.

 

With Petra's womanhood already in tatters, her captors began by ramming the wicked implement deep into her bowels and opening it until the studded leaves ruptured her entrails.  She was still drawn tight on the rack, but the sheer brutality of the assault caused her body to arch upwards as she once again let loose her now familiar screams.  The pear was closed and removed, leaving blood to cascade from her rectum.

 

But the men were not yet done with the device, which now was covered in gore.  Oblivious to Petra’s previously maimed genitalia, they thrust the metal bulb into her sex and once again turned the screw until the petals were fully extended.  To maximize the devastation of his work, Appleton ensured that the pear was pulled back several inches with the spiked blades open, obliterating not only the woman's womb, but her entire reproductive system.  By the time the closed implement was withdrawn from the shrieking prisoner, it was dripping with morsels of torn viscera.

 

To the delight of Barnet's crew, the MAA thrust the pear between Petra's lips, forcing her bloody guts down her throat until she almost choked to death.  After the warrant officer pulled out the device, she gagged and spewed up some of the fatty tissue.  Unable to take any more agony, The Baroness finally lost consciousness.

 

But once again, her respite was brief.  This time the salt was stuffed up her vagina and into her abdomen, inflaming the extensive internal injuries caused by the pear.  The indescribable pain which resulted soon revived the woman and allowed her tormentors to continue.

 

The master at arms examined the sentencing scroll.  He shook his head in disbelief.  There was still so much that needed to be done…

 

Crushing of the digits.  First toes, then fingers.

 

It took over a half hour to carry out this task.  But there was little chance that its completion would prove fatal, so the MAA and his men were able to do their work with little regard for the condition of their captive.  Iron tongs proved to be effective utensils for the job at hand.  One by one, each of Petra's toes was caught between the rusty jaws of the tools and slowly squashed by the pincers. And one by one, each toe finally succumbed to the pressure with a sickening crunch as Petra's bones splintered. 

 

Petra wailed incessantly throughout the procedure, her body shuddering on the rack. 

 

With her toes forever destroyed, she was given only a minute to recover before the entire procedure was repeated on all of her fingers and both thumbs.  Her assailants made sure the resulting damage would never heal. In fact, they managed to completely sever three of her toes, four fingers and one thumb.  Of course they used salt to cauterize the exposed flesh.      

 

Ten skewers perforating the breasts.  Five through each teat.   

 

The men used thin, foot-long slivers of bamboo to penetrate Petra's opulently endowed chest.  Despite her nipples having succumbed to the ravenous gulls, her bosom was still adorned with enough meat to absorb the sharpened stalks with ease. The Baroness cried out as she felt her tender tits penetrated again and again until the two heaving mounds of flesh had been impaled from one side to the other with the requisite ten skewers.  They were left in place to stem the bleeding, which was becoming somewhat of a problem.

 

Shattering the limbs.  First arms, then legs.

 

Petra was given no time to recover from the puncturing of her breasts.  The pain of the bamboo slivers was still causing her to scream when she was deluged by yet another torment – the hammering of wooden mallets on her extremities.  The ten pound clubs wielded by Appleton and his assistants made short work of shattering Petra's bones, first her forearms and elbows, then her thighs, knees and shins.  She would never walk again, nor even lift her arms, but at this point, such details hardly mattered.

 

Burning of the abdomen with hot irons.

 

Petra's continuous wail of anguish was beginning to fade by the time her attackers had stoked a half dozen metal stakes with which to brand her midriff.  But when the blazing irons were pushed against her torso, she somehow found the strength to raise her bloodcurdling shrieks higher than ever.  The hold quickly filled with smoke and the fetid fumes of scorched flesh.  Captain Barnet looked on in awe, amazed that his prisoner could suffer such punishment without conceding guilt – without giving in to him.

 

If the increasingly barbaric tortures were not enough to break the bitch, he thought, how could she endure the rack?  Between each of the woman's meticulously administered tribulations, the master at arms ordered his men to rotate the handle to crank the roller and tighten the ropes.  With Petra's bones smashed to kindling, this had become somewhat easier, as her body now was stretching apart like rubber. She had been lifted completely off the rack's surface, clear of the spikes – though that was of no consequence given the damage they had already done.

 

Yet despite enduring what must have been inconceivable pain, The Baroness refused to surrender.

 

“Nnnngghhhh…” She moaned incoherently during one of the few moments she was not screaming in agony.  Barnet waited, thinking perhaps she was ready to give up.  But the female corsair only spit up some blood and stared blankly at her captor. “Never…” she muttered in a breathy rasp.

 

And so Petra's punishment continued for another hour, until everyone, even the victim herself had lost count of the number of tortures she had undergone.  And then, when Appleton had only five more judgments on his list, the seemingly unbreakable Baroness lost her resolve when she heard the latest penalty…

 

Severing of both breasts with compass saws.

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 3, 2018

 

“Thank-you for seeing me, Dr. Jiang. I realize this is your lunch hour, but… but I just can't wait till our next appointment.” Petra's voice was quavering with panic.  As usual, she sat across from the doctor, who remained composed despite her patient's distress and battered appearance.

 

“I assume your hallucinations – the episodes – are becoming more frequent?” Dr. Jiang asked.  “Is that why you… why you've been injured… and why your clothing is torn?”

 

“No… I mean yes…” Petra was flustered. “Yes, the alternate experiences… and I swear they are real… are happening more often.  Several times a day it seems – more brutal than ever.  But the clothes… my appearance… I can explain that – it's just for a film I was acting in… a student project for school.”

 

“Really?” the doctor sounded skeptical. “I assume there were other students with you while you were working on this, um… project?”

 

“Yes… yes… Four others.  In fact, one of them drove me to the clinic… a guy named Nigel.”

 

“Is he waiting for you?  I'd like to speak with him.”

 

“No, he left…”

 

“Not very chivalrous of him, was it?”

 

“I guess not.”  This had not occurred to Petra.  “I thought it was nice of him to take me here, though.  I had my latest episode during the shoot, when they were filming, and it was so horrific and painful.  I was killed by… by… I can't even tell you. It was like a perverse nightmare, only real. I was so shaken up, but Nigel was kind enough to help.”

 

“Still, you say four of your friends witnessed you suffer, but did not notice anything wrong?”

 

“I… I was pretending to… to be tortured, so I think they thought I was acting…”

 

“You must have given an excellent performance.”  Dr. Jiang motioned to Petra's shredded garments.  “In fact, it seems you even convinced yourself…”

 

“I know you don't agree, but I really think that my… my delusions seem to be brought on by real-life events, so perhaps this was just another fantasy that came out of what I was thinking… what I was doing… like the pirate hallucinations I told you about.”

 

“Yes, I was meaning to ask you more about that class you are taking.” Dr. Jiang was hoping to bait Petra, to force her to acknowledge there was no pirate history course at all.  But surprisingly, the pretty blonde was more than happy to share details.

 

“Of course.  I have the online syllabus right here.” Petra pulled her cell phone from a pocket in her tattered skirt, fumbled with it for a moment, then handed it to the doctor. Listed among Petra's other course selections, was the following…

 

HIS231  Pirates! A World History  (0.5 Credit)

 

Who were the real pirates of world history? This course seeks to answer this question, beginning with the ancient world and ending with the present day. Why did men and women become pirates? How did they live? How were they hunted and captured? This course will assess the rich history of piracy using a variety of media and sources.

 

“It certainly provides fuel for the imagination,” said Dr. Jiang.  “Tell me, Petra, why did you choose this particular course for your curriculum?  It doesn't seem to relate directly to your film studies.”

 

“But it does. Making films involves telling stories – inventing alternate realities – so the more I know about interesting periods of history, the more alternate realities I can draw on in my scripts.”

 

“I see.” Dr. Jiang was slowly solving the enigma of Petra von Starkfolter, though there was still much about this woman that puzzled her.  The first few treatments had been successful.  Jiang had opened the subject's mind and proved it could be both stimulated and culled.  But once initiated, Petra's personas, some fleeting, some more durable, could not be controlled.  They served only to nourish her own deviant desires for pain, sex, and ultimately her own brutal destruction. 

 

With each of Petra's visits to the clinic, Dr. Jiang realized that the woman's delusions were drawing ever closer to the point of no return.  In fact, she had confessed to dying in her most recent episode, an event that clearly had terrified her into seeking more treatment.  Fortunately, Petra did not suspect that what she considered her “real” self, a nubile young student blessed with exquisite looks and a perfect physique, was just another illusion, an illusion powerful enough to deceive almost all around her – just as her equally spectacular selves deceived the inhabitants of other worlds.

 

Jasmine Jiang was not deceived.  She knew there were such creatures, and she knew if ever she found one, she could harness its unique attributes to create a commodity which could revolutionize mankind.  It would also make her and her partners among the wealthiest people on earth.  They had already devised and built the required equipment – the technology to fill and drain what they called the “blank-slate mind” – and now, by pure serendipity Jasmine had found a candidate.  Perhaps not an ideal one, but for now, Petra von Starkfolter would have to do.

 

Yet time was running out.  Already, Petra's mind was far from a blank slate, becoming more infused with the salacious existences she craved with each passing hour.  It seemed improbable that she ever would discover the truth, so consumed was she in her living nightmares. But that would not spare the blonde beauty from her inevitable demise. The climax, the ultimate climax, was barreling toward Petra like a runaway train. 

 

Dr. Jiang knew she had to act fast.  “I think it is very important that we move up our next treatment,” she said.  “In fact, I will clear my afternoon schedule so we can proceed immediately.”  Her patient looked concerned.  “Don't worry, Petra,” the doctor said, trying yet again to sound reassuring.  “It's for the best.” 

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

August 19, 1721

 

“Noooo!! No… not my breasts… please…” Petra croaked, her voice torn and hoarse after hours of screaming. 

 

“So the corsair cunt begs for mercy at last.”  Captain Barnet loomed over his tormented prisoner, inspecting the many wounds marring her naked body.  “Not to spare her life – for by all rights she should already have expired – but to save those bulging udders on her chest.  Such pathetic vanity!  The stalwart, dauntless Baroness can brave the cruelest of tortures, but the pitiful wench cannot abide to lose her precious tits.”

 

“Without… without them,” she sputtered, “I am no longer a woman… I would be no better than the foulest, filthiest man…”

 

The captain laughed. “Well, perhaps it escaped your notice, but your womanhood already has been demolished.  Nonetheless, I suppose those quivering sacks of suet are the last remnants of your femininity. And since you have chosen to plead for sympathy, I am obligated to spare them.  I have no objections really.  After all, I quite enjoy the enticing mounds myself.”

 

Barnet placed his grubby hands on Petra's bosom and grabbed both her lacerated beauties.  He squeezed and groped them roughly until she cried out for him to stop. Having found a chink in Petra's courageous facade, Barnet knew he finally had beaten her.

 

“Of course, the salvation of these fleshy globes depends on one condition…” he said with a self-satisfied expression.  He still was lewdly pawing Petra's breasts, in part to humiliate and hurt her, but also to satisfy his own libido.  In disgust, she watched his cock thrust against his codpiece. “By now, I'm sure you must know what that condition is…”

 

For almost a minute, Petra remained silent, eyes closed and lips trembling.  She had sworn to herself never to give in to these bastards.  But then, neither could she let them destroy her by carving away her proudest possessions.  She could accept death at the hands of her enemies, but she could not face an eternity in the afterlife with the chest of a ten year old boy.

 

“I confess!  I CONFESS!!” she cried out at last.  “I am guilty… guilty of all the accusations against me… all of them… and more… many more!  I have led a band of pirates throughout these waters.  I have plundered many, many ships.  I have tortured and killed scores… nay, hundreds of sailors, as well as civilian passengers, both men and women.  This I have done… and so much more.  I admit to it all!  Now kill me!  Kill me quickly!!  Spare what is left of my body and let me die!”

 

Captain Barnet laughed heartily.  His record remained unbroken.  The sailors in the room clapped in admiration as The Baroness gasped out her litany of transgressions.  In fact, she embellished her crimes in hopes of appeasing her prosecutors so it would be easier for them to justify her execution.  As she finished her proclamation, Petra felt a tremendous weight lift from her shoulders.  Barnet and his men had no more reason to punish her.  The death she so craved would soon be upon her.  Despite the endless pain coursing through Petra's ruined body, she felt strangely at peace.

 

The feeling would not last long.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

As the captain basked in his victory over the stubborn pirate bitch, he signaled for the master at arms and his assistants to step back.  He stood over his nude victim as she continued to pull futilely against the taught restraints of the rack.  He spat in Petra's face and began molesting her breasts once again. She groaned in contempt.

 

“So you surrender to me completely and accept whatever final sanction the court has imposed on you?” Barnet wanted absolute confirmation of the woman's defeat.

 

“Yesssss…” she wailed. “Just… just do not… cut away… my… my…”

 

“Very well.  I am a man of my word.  You will be allowed to die bearing those useless glands. And having confessed to your depravity, you are now as worthless as they are.”  Barnet turned to the MAA. “We need hear no more from this wretched whore,” he said. “Pass me those tongs.”

 

The MAA handed the captain a pair of long metal pliers, one of those he had used to crush Petra's digits.  Barnet positioned the jaws of the tool directly over the captive's head.

 

“Noooo!!” she yelped.  “I have done as you asked!  I have admitted my guilt!  I promise… I promise to speak no more…”

 

“I grow tired of the abject cries of this sordid sow.  I must ensure we will hear no more from her.”  The MAA understood the captain's intentions and quickly used both hands to pry open Petra's jaws. Reflexively, her tongue emerged from between her lips.  In an instant, Barnet had seized over three inches of flesh between the iron clamps.  Petra gasped in torment as Barnet pulled her tongue upward until her head was forced backward at a most arduous angle. 

 

“Gggghhhhaaa….” she burbled, her eyes wide with terror.  The captain continued to stretch the distended organ aloft, letting his prey anticipate her inevitable fate.  He reveled in her suffering, and he wanted it to continue as long as possible.

 

After almost two minutes, Barnet squeezed the handles of the tongs together, allowing the serrated jaws to close.  The mass of tissue trapped between them was torn free.  As Petra began to choke on the surge of blood which erupted from what remained of her tongue, the quick-thinking MAA grabbed one of the red-hot irons and held it just above her mouth.  Barnet let the severed flesh drop from the tongs and used the tool to once again pull the now pruned appendage out.  In seconds, Appleton had cauterized the open wound, stemming the flow of blood, and – at least for the moment – ensuring Petra's survival.

 

Indeed, the buxom buccaneer was still alive, but the grueling pain of having her tongue amputated left her unable to maintain consciousness.  As the air in the hold once more filled with smoke and the acrid odor of burnt meat, Petra swooned and passed out. 

 

“Such a fragile, delicate slut,” said Captain Barnet with disdain. “She faints at the touch of a feather.  At least we will no longer hear her pathetic wails of agony, now that we have severed that vile tongue of hers.” 

 

“Shall I continue the punishment,” Appleton checked the scroll to see what remained. “It seems that, without the removal of her tits, there are still three penalties to carry out…”

 

“No…” Barnet held up his hand.  “She has confessed, so there is no point to administering further tortures.  Besides, given the state she is in, we will risk killing her prematurely.  We want her alive to experience her execution.  Alive… and conscious…”

 

Several men gathered up handfuls of salt once more.  But before they could administer Petra's arduous rejuvenation yet again, the captain shook his head and suggested an equally painful but more humiliating recovery for the prisoner. 

 

This time the battered blonde awoke as two dozen sailors surrounded her prone body, pulled down their britches, and simultaneously released streams of foul, salty piss until every square inch of her flesh was awash in the putrid liquid.  It ran into her eyes, nose and mouth and flooded the countless wounds which covered her from head to toe.

 

Petra came to, gasping and sputtering for breath, coughing up blood and urine.  She was cut free of the ropes which bound her arms to the take up mechanism, and her feet were released from the pillory.  But she could not move her limbs.  With her bones broken and her tendons ripped, she could do no more than writhe in pain as the spikes lining the rack's surface once again pierced her shoulders and backside. 

 

Unable to cry out, the tongueless woman was able to emit only bestial moans of anguish.  The men wagered on whether Petra would survive to witness her final punishment – the summary execution she faced now that there was no doubt of her guilt.

 

“Master at arms,” announced Captain Barnet. “What is the final retribution pronounced for this criminal condemned of treason, piracy and murder?”

 

“Death by keelhauling,” replied Appleton flatly.

 

“So it shall be.”

 

Petra closed her eyes and realized the worst of her ordeal was yet to come.  No death at sea was more barbaric and ghastly than the one she now faced.

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 3, 2018

 

After completing four previous treatments, Petra was familiar with the procedure.  Because she was anesthetized throughout, it was relatively painless when she was revived from whatever ghastly tribulations she endured during her reverie. She remembered the anguish clearly, but as always, it quickly dissipated. Of course, while actually experiencing the encounter, Petra suffered the torments of the damned.

 

As always, this frightened her.  In real life, the episodes came unexpectedly, as if they were simply a continuation of whatever she was engaged in at the time. She felt panic only when the events unfolded. But the clinic sessions were different.  Petra knew beforehand that she would be consumed with agony, and so the moments leading up to her treatment were daunting to say the least.  Yet, as usual, she felt a strange excitement, a prurient yearning that made her crave punishment and self destruction even as it terrified her.

 

Meekly, Petra followed Dr. Jiang into the treatment room.  Once again, she eyed the array of apparatus lining one wall – monitors, banks of switches, keyboards, and other unrecognizable paraphernalia.  In the middle of the room was a large, metal surgical table, its surface at least eight feet long.  There were manacles embedded at each of the four corners and more restraints along its length. Dr. Jiang had told Petra the fetters were necessary so she would not injure herself, though there had been no evidence that there was a physical connection to her alternate worlds.

 

“I still think it looks like a torture rack,” said Petra, not entirely joking.  “The least you could do is put a sheet on the damn thing.”

 

“You know we can't do that.” The doctor's voice was aloof and unsympathetic.  “Now please undress and lie on the table.”

 

The first time she had been asked to strip, Petra balked. But Dr. Jiang had assured her that the treatments required the patient be naked, and that the cold steel table top remain uncovered.  Even though this was her fifth session, it still made Petra feel uncomfortable. The set-up was like a combination of a medieval torture device and an autopsy slab. 

 

Sighing audibly, Petra removed her slashed outer garments along with her bra, panties and shoes.  She tossed her clothes on a nearby chair, then stood defiantly nude while Dr. Jiang fiddled with the consoles.

 

“You'll be needing a new outfit,” the doctor said without looking up.  “I can send one of the clinic staff to your apartment to pick something up.  We have your address on file.”  She waited for Petra to object, wondering if she was aware the location was non-existent.

 

“I'd appreciate that.”  Apparently she was oblivious to her own ruse, if one could call it that.  The doctor nodded, and Petra gingerly climbed onto the table and lay on her back remaining fully exposed.  She felt vulnerable, which was normal, but also aroused, which was not.

 

“You know, Doctor, after four sessions, I don't think I've made any progress.  In fact, things seem to be getting worse. Are you sure these treatments work?”

 

“Like I said in our first meeting, you may not see results for a few months.  And as with any medical procedure, there are no guarantees.  But it is because the frequency of your delusions is increasing that I have decided to step up your treatment schedule.”

 

“I can't say that's pleasant news,” said Petra dejectedly.

 

“I realize these sessions can be difficult, but you must trust me.  Now more than ever.”  Dr. Jiang rolled a small wheeled cart next to the table.  On it was a shoebox sized device from which extended five electrodes, similar to those used for an EKG. The device itself was connected to one of the larger machines with a pair of cables.  The doctor attached the electrodes to Petra's temples, her forehead and one below each ear.   

 

By now Petra knew the routine.  She extended her arms and stretched out her legs so Dr. Jiang could lock her wrists and ankles into the manacles, leaving her spread out on the table.  More restraints were used to secure Petra's upper arms, neck, waist and thighs. As Petra looked on in wide-eyed apprehension, Dr. Jiang filled a syringe with 10cc of clear fluid.

 

“Are you ready?” the doctor asked.

 

Petra paused for ten seconds, then answered, “Yes…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Dr. Jiang injected the needle into the side of Petra's neck and depressed the hypo's plunger.  Almost immediately, Petra began to weaken.  Her vision blurred and the sounds around her echoed strangely.  As she began to lose consciousness, she became aware that others had entered the room.  This was something new.  In past sessions, Dr. Jiang had carried out the treatments alone.  Why did she suddenly ask others to attend?  And why had she not mentioned this?

 

A blonde woman, perhaps a bit older than Petra but bearing a remarkable resemblance to her, bent over the patient.  She wore a white lab coat with the top four buttons undone, exposing a considerable amount of cleavage.  As the woman hovered in front of her line of sight, Petra could easily see she was not wearing a bra.  This did not seem at all professional for a medical clinic – but at the same time, perhaps it was just part of yet another delusion.

 

The busty blonde in the lab coat had a name tag pinned to her lapel.  On it was etched “Dr. Isabella Myers”.  Petra had never heard of this woman.  She wanted to ask Dr. Jiang who she was, but it was already too late.  Petra's mind was fading fast.

 

And then she received an even greater shock.  The second person who had entered the room was a man.  “She is indeed a most enchanting specimen,” he said. His voice was deep and obviously masculine.  “You were not exaggerating when describing her.”

 

“Yes… I think her exceptional physical attributes, both her facial features and that remarkable body, have proven to be tremendous assets for our work.  The fact that she is a young, sexually desirable female has undoubtedly colored her experiences.  We have been very fortunate, Vince.”  Dr. Jiang sounded colder than ever, as if she were describing Petra as no more than an object. 

 

“Nnggghhh…”  Petra groaned as the last vestiges of her world slipped away. Being naked and bound to the table, she felt more exposed than ever under the gaze of some unknown male stranger.  How could Dr. Jiang do this to her?

 

“She's still awake,” said the man, somewhat startled to hear Petra utter any sound at all.

 

“Not for much longer, Dr. Morgan,” the woman known as Isabella Myers assured him.  “She will soon leave this reality and enter another.”

 

Petra spasmed, closed her eyes and lay as if paralyzed.  Doctors Jiang, Morgan and Myers looked on as the naked blonde released a stream of urine across the stainless steel table. 

 

“A new torturous nightmare awaits,” said the man – Dr. Morgan if Petra had heard correctly.  He turned to Jasmine Jiang.  “And if you are correct…”

 

“I'm afraid it will be her last…” his Asian associate replied.  “That is why I had to initiate this unscheduled session.  We will download all her cordical stimuli – all that has happened since her last visit and all she will experience now… until she succumbs.”

 

Dr. Myers snapped a circuit board into a metal cartridge about the size of a DVD case.  She inserted the cartridge into a matching slot on another of the machines lining the wall. The device immediately activated, lights flashing and assorted gauges jumping to life.  Dr. Myers pulled another cord from the apparatus, this cable ending in a thin needle about five inches long.  She positioned the metal lance behind Petra's left ear, then pushed it upwards into the base of the woman's skull.  The needle penetrated the soft tissue of Petra's brain until it penetrated her thalamus.  Dr. Myers gave the needle a sharp jab and lodged it in place.

 

“We now have a connection to the recording unit,” she said. All three looked at the main device to which the cable was connected. A number of flashing green lights confirmed that the download had begun.  “It appears to be functioning… but as always, we cannot be sure until…”

 

“Until we have a system to monitor playback,” said Dr. Morgan.  “And that, I am afraid, is still many years away. Until then we have only the subjects' own accounts of what they think are their psychoses.”

 

“For now, we must be satisfied with expanding our database.”  Dr. Jiang sounded disappointed but hopeful.  “Once the technology is perfected, these creatures will allow us to become virtually omnipotent.”

 

“Isabella, would you mind keeping an eye on the bitch for the next few hours?” Dr. Morgan did not see the need for all three of them to monitor their subject. Dr. Myers nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly.  She did not have many opportunities to spend time alone with the alluring Petra. 

 

“You will call us in case she…” Dr. Jiang added.

 

“Of course,” said Dr. Myers.  “But her neural activity seems very active… unmitigated terror I would guess.  If she does recede, it will be quite some time. I will warn you if I see any signals.”

 

Drs. Morgan and Jiang left the room, leaving Isabella with the quivering, sweat-soaked body of Petra von Starkfolter restrained spread and naked on the metal table.

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

The Baroness, hung by her tightly bound wrists from the bowsprit of the merchant vessel she had so foolishly attempted to ransack. Her statuesque body, still naked and covered with bloody lacerations, filth and sweat was suspended facing the bow of the ship.  Five feet in front of her was the vessel's wooden figurehead, a lovingly carved, well-endowed mermaid thrusting proudly from the prow, her eerily lifelike eyes staring at the suspended blonde pirate as if mocking her tragic fate.

 

Behind the voluptuous sculpture, at the vertex of the foredeck or fo'c'sle, stood Captain Barnet.  Crowded around him, straining to get the best possible view of the curvaceous captive, were first the officers, then the midshipmen, then the remaining crew.  No one wanted to miss the termination of the reviled Baroness.  

 

Onboard executions were relatively rare, and keelhauling was the scarcest and most entertaining practice used to that end.  As far as anyone knew, it had never been carried out on a woman, let alone one so young and lovely as Petra von Starkfolter.  Just the thought of this alluring criminal meeting such a horrific demise was enough to have many of the men reaching into their britches in anticipation.

 

Petra, of course, did not realize that she was inspiring the sadistic sexual desires of the gathered sailors.  Nor would she have cared if she did.  She was far beyond any feelings of humiliation or shame.  All she could perceive was the staggering pain which consumed her entire being.  Along with the countless traumas inflicted on her during her punishment, she now endured the agony of once again being hung naked by her arms.

 

The rope around Petra's wrists cut further into the lesions she had suffered during her previous suspension, literally slicing her flesh to the bone.  Blood ran down her arms and joined the numerous streams which spread across her body like a crimson filigree.  Her position aggravated the strain on her broken limbs, making her feel as if she were once again on the rack, slowly being pulled apart.

 

Petra's ankles were also bound with rope, each one by a separate length of twine so her legs could be pulled apart.  The two strands led from her feet in opposite directions, running downward to the water on either side of the ship's bow.  There, each rope was tied to a wooden barrel, one floating to the port side of the hull and one to starboard.  The barrels were empty, bobbing on the surface of the water and skimming along opposite sides of the ship.  The ropes connecting the barrels to Petra's ankles kept the casks from drifting away.

 

As the ship was moving forward at a good clip, the barrels were drawn toward the stern as much as the cables would allow.  Of course, this caused Petra's legs to be splayed apart and pulled toward the bow, increasing the tension on her already overstretched limbs and tightening her body like a bowstring.  Her anguish was beyond imagining, but somehow she remained conscious and aware of all that was happening to her.

 

More than anything, Petra wanted to scream… to release the torment cresting inside her.  But she could no longer perform even this basic response. With her tongue crudely cut out and cauterized, she was able to emit only the most pathetic gurgles and gasps, so muted they could not be heard above the crashing waves below.

 

On the other hand, Petra could easily make out the jeers and derisive laughter of her captors.  As they watched the female corsair sway along with the constant heaving of the ship, they gleefully reveled in her suffering.  With her legs spread wide by the ropes running to the casks, Petra's badly mangled genitals were exposed for all to see, and this, along with her maimed, bouncing breasts gave the men no end of pleasure.  It was a sight they would remember all their lives.

 

But far worse than the anonymous scoffs and sneers of the crew, was the deep bellowing voice of Jonathan Barnet, which rose above all the others as the captain declared The Baroness' final verdict.

 

“As per the judgment proclaimed at the trial of convicted pirate Petra von Starkfolter, she is ultimately to be executed as befitting a culprit found guilty of capital crimes on the high seas.  As the prisoner has suffered the requisite corporal punishments and has further admitted to her crimes, the final sentence will now be carried out.  Given the egregious nature of her infractions, the felon shall be put to death in an appropriately severe fashion.  I thereby decree that Petra von Starkfolter be keelhauled along the length of this vessel, pulled by her feet under the ship from bow to stern.”

 

Although this was the penalty all expected, Barnet's pronouncement still brought on a variety of exclamations from the assembled crewmen.  From Petra, it elicited an inaudible moan and a guttural spasm which caused her entire body to constrict with terror. A torrent of bloody urine surged from between her legs and a sickening ooze of bile emerged from her mouth and splattered across her bare breasts.  The sailors crowding the fo'c'sle applauded and yelled brusquely to ridicule the poor captive as she involuntarily spewed her bodily fluids.

 

Petra was all too familiar with the peril she faced.  She had witnessed delinquent sailors keelhauled on several occasions.  She'd even disciplined some of her own wayward crewmembers this way.  But in all cases, the unfortunate victims had been drawn under the hull from one side of the ship to the other – from port to starboard or vice versa.  This entailed a relatively short time under water, a dunking which the culprit usually survived, though some men had been known to drown or suffer heart failure during the process.

 

On the other hand, the doomed blonde had never seen anyone pulled under the entire length of a vessel, their body travelling along the centerline from fore to aft.  Such a course would take much longer.  Even if Petra could avoid drowning, which was unlikely, the barnacles and other sea life encrusting the hull would tear into her flesh relentlessly.  Rotted timbers and split planks could easily rip off her limbs or decapitate her. Of course, such inexorable trauma was exactly what was intended.  Barnet did not want to teach the Baroness a lesson.  He wanted to execute her.

 

Not only that… he wished her demise to be slow and painful.  The floating barrels to which her ankles were connected by lengths of rope would ensure she would not die too quickly by sinking in the brine.  The casks would force her upper body directly against the jagged, splintered surface of the hull so Petra could suffer the agony of being lacerated as she was dragged along the keel.  Perhaps her journey would last only a few minutes, but it would seem like an eternity.

 

“Prepare to release the condemned to her fate!” shouted Captain Barnet.

 

Petra looked up and saw the rope ensnaring her wrists run through a large metal eye bolt secured to the bowsprit before travelling along the spar to the forward pulpit where it was lashed to a cleat.  Her eyes widened with fear as she watched one of the sailors raise a sabre overhead, ready to bring it down and cut the rope free.

 

“Drop the bitch!” commanded Barnet.

 

The crew cheered as the man with the sabre severed the rope from the cleat, leaving the cord to zip along the bowsprit and through the eyebolt above Petra.  With nothing to keep her suspended, the Baroness plunged downward twenty feet into the sea.  The last thing she saw was the busty figurehead glaring at her as if to consign her to the depths of hell.  Then she felt herself being consumed by the cold waters.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Aft crewmembers,” the captain cried out. “Pull in the ropes!”

 

On the stern of the ship, three bosun's mates inserted metal bars into a large capstan mounted on the vessel's quarterdeck.  Pushing against the rods, the men slowly turned the vertical cylinder, drawing in two cords running along a boom extending from the stern.

 

From the end of the boom, one of the ropes ran to port; the other to starboard.  The cables were connected to the two empty barrels which were lashed to Petra's lower limbs.  As the men struggled to rotate the winch, the casks were pulled alongside the hull.  Stretched out between the barrels, Petra was forced underneath the ship, her naked body pulled along feet first and face up with each turn of the capstan.

 

Just before hitting the water, Petra was deft enough to draw a deep breath, perhaps the last she would ever take.  She was yanked under the hull almost immediately, her legs splayed apart to either side so as to drive the tapered keel directly against her groin.  The sudden impact to her already ravaged crotch sent a new wave of anguish through her battered body.  She opened her mouth reflexively, as if to scream, but managed to avoid swallowing any of the salty brine in which she was immersed.

 

As Petra was pulled under the ship, the pain of her genitalia being shredded by the pointed keel was joined by further tribulations.  The countless crustaceans coating the submerged portion of the hull slashed her flesh, gouging her thighs, torso and arms.  The razor-sharp edges of the creatures' shells were like knives slowly cutting Petra to ribbons, turning the water around her red as blood cascaded from the resulting incisions.

 

Since Petra was being keelhauled feet first, the lower half of her body took the largest share of the punishment.  But by no means did her grueling passage along the underside of the ship spare her upper torso.  Her bountiful, buoyant breasts floated upwards and were pressed against the decaying timbers, making ideal targets not only for the clinging barnacles, but also for the long, thick splinters which protruded from the hull in all directions.  Over and over, Petra felt the wooden slivers skewer her bulging tits as they were dragged along the moldering planks.

 

After almost a minute, the bosun's mates had managed to drag their convulsing captive only to the mid-section of the ship's hull.  The barrels had progressed slightly further, but due to the yards of rope running to Petra's ankles, her body was only just passing under the main mast. 

 

“Too bad we can't see the wretched whore,” said one of the midshipmen as he peered over the port gunwale to watch the barrel float slowly toward the stern.  “I'll bet she's putting on quite a show 'neath the timbers.” 

 

Indeed, The Baroness was struggling with all her might, twisting to and fro as she slammed repeatedly against the jagged keel.  She fought to hold her breath, even as her lungs threatened to burst in her chest.  What was left of her once luscious body felt as if it was being torn apart by wild dogs. She could feel the warmth of her blood envelop her as it gushed from the myriad wounds being gouged into her flesh.

 

Eventually, Petra could no longer keep the seawater from seeping down her throat.  She coughed and choked, fighting desperately to keep from expelling what little air she could hold in. But it was a losing battle. Succumbing to the relentless torture of being towed under the ship and unable to resist the urge to breathe any longer, the ill-fated beauty surrendered to her horrific fate. She gulped down a torrent of brine and felt darkness embrace her…

 

 …only to be rudely revived as she was yanked out, feet first, behind the rudder.  The two barrels now hung above Petra, side by side just below the boom extending from the stern.  The bosun's mates had drawn the ropes around the capstan as far as they could, jamming the wooden casks against the spar.  Still tied to the casks, Petra was suspended upside-down about a dozen feet below them and just aft of the transom.  No longer spread apart by the width of the hull, her legs now hung side by side.  The rope tying her wrists had been ripped apart during her junket, leaving her arms to dangle freely but impotently.

 

The crewmen had shuffled their way from the fo'c'sle to the quarterdeck as Petra's keelhauling had progressed.  By the time she emerged at the stern of the ship, the sailors were pushing against the taffrail to gawk at what remained of the woman after her ruthless execution.  Those who had an unobstructed view of the Baroness hanging in her post-penance splendor were not disappointed.

 

Already fiercely mangled before her subaquatic adventure, Petra was far worse for wear after she was pulled from the water.  Swaying inverted and apparently lifeless, her naked body was now little more than a bloody mass of tattered meat.  Still, her relatively undamaged face along with her curvaceous carcass revealed its owner to be a once enticing female.  Yet most of her femininity had been obliterated, including the mutilated lumps which were all that was left of her precious breasts.

 

For the sadistic crew, the remains of Petra von Starkfolter were as delightful a sight as she was before her sentence was carried out.  The men stared in awe as they imagined the interminable suffering she endured during the five hour ordeal which followed her conviction. Many masturbated openly as they ogled the mutilated blonde.

 

“Look!  Look!” shouted one of the men closest to Petra's body.  “She… she still lives!”

 

The sun was setting and it was becoming difficult to see in the fading light, but some of the sharp-eyed sailors noted Petra's remaining fingers occasionally twitched.  As well, her upside-down body spasmed as it twirled at the end of the ropes. Although such motions could be attributed to death convulsions, the slow rise and fall of Petra's lacerated chest left little doubt that her execution had failed.

 

“What do you mean?” barked Captain Barnet as he pushed his way through the crowd on the quarterdeck to inspect the prisoner.  “How could anyone – a woman no less – survive such punishment? It is not possible… unless… unless she is possessed by the devil himself.”

 

Barnet stared at the bloody mass of flesh and bone suspended below him. His men were right. Somehow The Baroness had managed to live through her keelhauling ordeal.  With so many of her bones smashed to kindling, Petra swung limply, her body shuddering involuntarily as paroxysms of pain assailed her nervous system.  Once more, she presented an appetizing feast for the ravenous seabirds, which descended on her to gorge on her unyielding flesh.

 

As she felt the vicious fowl peck at her exposed wounds, Petra returned to full consciousness.  Again, she wanted to cry out in torment, but only a pathetic wheeze emerged from her tongueless mouth. This was followed by a stream of crimson-tinged water which gushed from between her lips as her suffused lungs emptied.  Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a bottom up view of the ship and the cheering men eagerly awaiting her demise.

 

“Why can't I die?” she thought to herself.  “When will this end?”

 

Oddly enough, Barnet was thinking much the same thing.

 

“If you are right…” said the master at arms, “…if the devil has taken hold of her soul… then she cannot die.  She will live on to curse all of us to hell and beyond!”

 

“No,” replied the captain.  “The forsaken bitch can curse no one if there is nothing left of her.”  He turned to the bosun's mates still manning the capstan.  “Cut the ropes!” he commanded.

 

The men did as they were told.

 

*  *  *  *  *

July 9, 2048

 

Petra von Starkfolter was reborn splayed out on a metal slab very similar to the one she had abandoned almost three decades ago.  She was naked of course, her perfect body identical to the one she had left behind.  As before, her limbs were stretched to the far corners of an ice-cold surface, but this one was two inches thick, mounted on a cylindrical pedestal and tilted forward at 45 degrees.  As Petra passed into this new existence, her vicarious consciousness coalesced almost instantly.  There were a few flashes of disparate lives, and then her current identity took root.

 

She was in a large chamber which gleamed silver and white, and was so well lit that Petra could not make out any details when her eyes first fluttered open.  She could turn her head left and right, but the rest of her body, though not restrained by any visible mechanism, was completely immobile.  It was as if she had been fused to the metal surface on which she lay. 

 

“Osseous induction,” the blonde said to herself. She had heard of the new technology from some of the women who had escaped the clutches of the mortals.  The specially permeated steel exuded powerful forces on bone and cartilage, acting like a magnet to completely pin a person's body in place.  The range of the induction could be precisely controlled, allowing total skeletal paralysis from the neck down while not affecting onlookers who stood nearby.

 

Metaphorically, the captive female was glued to the oversized metal slab like a laboratory specimen.  The analogy was apt in more ways than one.    

 

“You are sure she is one of them?”  A female voice echoed through the cavernous room.

 

“Yes, we cornered over twenty of the mutants at Northhaven.”  The response came from a male with a low, authoritative voice.  “As usual, they killed themselves before we could capture them… if killing is what you call it.  Who knows where they are now… or how many others they will claim.  But this one… this one was unable to transfer her cortical grid in time, and so had retained her alternate manifestations.  She was riddled with fragmentation fire, but the reclamation team did a good job patching her up.

 

“So she is alive?”  The female voice sounded hopeful.

 

“Yes… for your purposes Dr. Myers, she is.”

 

“This is the first living specimen we have managed to capture in over four years,” said Dr. Myers, unable to disguise her elation.  “The technology we have to study these mutants – to milk their powers – has advanced so much.  Most of the equipment in this room did not exist back then.”

 

The man shrugged, unimpressed.  He seemed to be a military type, not a scientist.  “But this is only one… a single rebel so to speak.  There are so many more, all of them virtually impossible to capture.  And might I remind you, the ultimate prize still eludes us…”

 

“But don't you see, Colonel Barnet?” Dr. Myers said. “She can tell us how to apprehend the others.  And she can lead us to… The Baroness.”

 

“Good luck with that,” said Barnet with a laugh.  “From what I've heard, these things are not exactly cooperative.”

 

“Trust me… as a wise forbearer of mine was fond of saying, I have ways of making them talk.”  The doctor paused for a moment to admire her captive, then looked up at the colonel who had brought her here.  “Do you have anything else on her?  A name perhaps?”

 

“Just before she died, she said she was known as Nadia Lamb.  She admitted to being with the rebels… the Perennials as they call themselves.”

 

Dr. Myers stepped closer to the inclined steel slab and glared at the beautiful captive spread eagled on top of it. “So Nadia… you didn't quite make it.  And here you are, still with us.  Too bad for you… because unless you tell me what I want to know right now – and I'm quite sure you won't – you will be in a world of agony.  And I mean that quite literally.”

 

Nadia twisted her head back and forth, the only body movement the osseous induction allowed her.  She still was not sure where she was.  Her eyes had grown accustomed to the bright lights and she now could see the room was filled with an assortment of electronic equipment, computers, medical apparatus and what were clearly instruments of torture. Obviously, she had been captured by the mortals.  The others, it seemed, had escaped. 

 

Across the room stood Colonel Barnet.  He was a large man in his fifties, dressed as expected in a military uniform commensurate with his rank.  Standing just a few feet to Nadia's left, was the woman, Dr. Isabella Myers… a sultry blonde, about 30 years old, with a curvaceous figure and ample chest rivalling Nadia's own. Isabella was attired in a white lab coat, undone to the waist to expose as much of her feminine assets as possible. Nadia thought that both Myers and Barnet looked familiar, but she could not recall where she would have seen either of them before.

 

“What do you want?” Nadia asked her captors, looking disoriented and confused.  “I have already confessed all I know to the… the colonel and his men.  My name is Nadia Lamb.  I have been fighting for the rebels… since… since I can't remember.  Since I was a child I suppose.  The mortals… your people… have been slaughtering us for decades.  We are only trying to live in peace.”

 

“We have been slaughtering you because you are a threat.  You are… alien creatures who have powers which you refuse to share with us… powers which you could use to destroy us.”  Dr. Myers was annoyed.  Why did she have to explain any of this?  Surely her prisoner was aware of the circumstances of their conflict.

 

“I know nothing of any powers,” Nadia pleaded, her body remaining curiously rigid as her head flung from side to side. Perspiration streamed across her smooth skin as she grew more and more afraid. “We are people… just like you… we just want to live in…”

 

“Ha!” the colonel cut her off.  “Have you not wondered why you call us mortals and why you call yourselves Perennials?  Has it not seemed strange that despite being slaughtered so frequently, your people continue to exist?  Have you never asked yourself why all your fellow rebels have remained young, beautiful females for over 25 years? Do you not find it odd that we have captured only a half dozen of your kind alive, although we have killed over a thousand?”

 

“No,” said Nadia innocently, as if she truly did not understand any of this.  “I have been taught how to fight, and like my friends, that is all I know.  I am a soldier for the rebels… and I will… I would have liked to die like one,” she added proudly.

 

“I'm sure you will,” said Isabella menacingly.  “In time.”

 

“Like I said, good luck with the stupid bitch,” said Barnet.  “I've got better things to do.”  He gave Isabella a half-hearted salute and walked out of the room, leaving the two women alone.

 

“Now my dear, we have work to do,” said Isabella in a matter-of-fact tone.  “You say you have no powers… that you rebels are just like the rest of us.  We shall soon see about that.  As I expected, you refuse to tell me anything I do not already know.  In fact, I know a great deal already.  We mortals have been conducting research on your kind for decades, and we have learned all too well how to suck the truth out of you… as well as how to persuade you to tell us more.”

 

“But if you know so much,” Nadia asked tearfully, “why do you need me?  I really can't tell you anything else.”

 

“There is one thing we still need to discover. We must find your leader, The Baroness!  She can reveal all the secrets of the Perennial vermin. Then, once we understand the powers of your accursed people, we can eliminate you once and for all.”

 

“Baroness?” squeaked Nadia.  “I have never heard of this woman.  Please believe me.  A girl named Angela gave me all my orders… and she… she was killed by the colonel's men.  I know no other leader…”

 

“Do you think I'm stupid?” Isabella barked at her captive.  “If nothing else, you know how I can find your ‘Perennial Queen’.  All it will take is some carefully administered enticement to help you recall what I want to know…”

 

“En… enticement…”  By this time, Nadia's naked body was glistening with sweat.  Petrified by the osseous induction, she could not even tremble with fear, but the expression on her face revealed the terror which flooded her mind.

 

“After years of examining your kind, we know more about you than you may think.” Isabella moved close to the platform on which Nadia was stretched out, being careful to stay outside of the device's range.  She reached out both arms and grasped Nadia's ample breasts in her hands, massaging them until the woman moaned involuntarily. Isabella smiled as she felt her victim's nipples swell under her palms.

 

“Nnnngghhhh…. noooo…” Nadia groaned, unable to resist her tormentor's touch.

 

“You see,” said Isabella, “there are two things which can stimulate demented sluts like you to reveal your powers.  One, obviously, is sex.  The other… is pain…”

 

Dr. Isabella Myers crushed the soft tissue of Nadia's bosom in her hands, digging her long nails into the tender flesh until she drew blood. Nadia's body remained frozen in place, but her head thrashed about as if she was being flayed alive.

 

And then she screamed.

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 3, 2018

 

Isabella Myers moaned as she savored the silky skin of Petra's body.  Greedily, she let her hands roam over the woman's naked flesh, sliding her palms and fingers over its slippery, sweat-soaked surface.  She lingered on every crevice and on every luscious swell, often pushing against the soft contours to indulge in their warm, pliant femininity.

 

Within minutes of her companions leaving the treatment room, Isabella began to massage the magnificent creature that lay spread out before her.  Though always cool and professional when her peers were in sight, the young doctor could not control her Sapphic impulses when left alone with an attractive female patient – particularly an unconscious one.

 

So Dr. Myers took advantage of the opportunity to discreetly violate the inert figure of Petra von Starkfolter.  Jiang and Morgan would be gone for several hours and would never know. And what difference would it make to the comatose bitch on the table?  Dr. Jiang had predicted Petra would never revive, so she was little more than a corpse anyway.  Why not enjoy her while she was still warm?

 

Isabella looked at the recording apparatus to which Petra's thalamus was connected.  The indicators on the unit flickered furiously as a most stimulating existence rolled out in whatever world she was inhabiting. The sexual response gauges were at 80 percent, and though pain levels were only at 30, fear was close to 100.  Whatever poor Petra was confronting, it was pushing her primal senses to their limits.  The low pain reading meant she was not yet close to death, but with fear at almost the maximum, she would be overwhelmed with terror.

 

Isabella would have given anything to be with her.  To witness whatever ordeal Petra was suffering… perhaps even join her in the erotic aspects of her perils.  The doctor rubbed her hands over Petra's firm, bulging breasts, hoping to further arouse her carnal responses. She felt the large nipples stiffen and push against her palms.  Then, as Isabella had hoped, Petra's sexual response jumped to 90 percent.  More telling, a cloudy, viscous liquid slowly oozed from between her labia.

 

Dr. Myers could restrain herself no longer.  She stripped off her lab coat, revealing her own exemplary assets, then removed her panties, nylons and shoes. She stood at the base of the table and climbed on it to kneel between Petra's spread legs.  Slowly, Isabella lay down on top of her prey until the two women were in a coital, face-to-face position, their pussies pressing against each other. Petra's spurting genitals provided lubrication while Isabella's enhanced breasts flattened the naturally pliant glands of her “lover”.  Petra, of course, could not feel a thing.  Isabella Myers was enraptured.

 

“Mmmmnnnghhh…” the doctor moaned as she slithered over Petra's sweaty flesh.  She was careful not to dislodge the cables that connected Petra to the apparatus, but otherwise she was far too distracted to pay attention to the recording device.  And of course, the woman with whom she was fornicating remained dormant, a nonexistent shell who had no awareness of the grave torments facing Nadia Lamb.

 

Completely beguiled by her third orgasm, Dr. Myers was unaware that Petra's pain level had suddenly leapt close to 100 percent. 

 

*  *  *  *  *

July 9, 2048

 

“AAaaaiighhhh!!”  Nadia's scream echoed throughout the gleaming chamber.  She remained spread out naked on the large metal slab, her body held in place by the osseous induction device.  After enduring the sexual abuse of her female captor for over an hour, she had been given one last chance to reveal the location of The Baroness.

 

Of course, she had refused.

 

Seconds later, Dr. Isabella Myers thrust a twelve inch metal skewer through Nadia's skull.  She inserted it carefully, just behind the woman's left ear, running it crosswise through her brain, impaling her thalamus, and continuing on until the thin shaft emerged on the other side of her head behind her right ear.  About two inches of the skewer protruded on either side of Nadia's head, resembling small antennae – which in fact is what these protrusions were.

 

Perforating Nadia's skull, did not kill her.  Nor did this procedure inflict permanent harm.  However, it was incredibly painful, causing her to scream louder than she had ever screamed before.

 

“At one time, we could connect your kind to our devices only with primitive cords and cables,” said Isabella.  “But now both transmitters and receivers can operate wirelessly, albeit at the price of some discomfort for the subject.”  Dr. Myers was wearing a pair of stylish high-heeled pumps.  And nothing else.  While availing herself of the carnal delights of Nadia's defenseless body, she had stripped off all her clothes in order to ravish her victim most effectively.

 

When Isabella had finished violating Nadia, she could not bother to get dressed again.  Besides, she enjoyed working nude, opting to display her admirable figure even when few were around to enjoy it.  Public nudity had been permissible for almost ten years, and though it had not caught on that much, women blessed with the physical attributes of Isabella Myers enjoyed displaying their wares.  Shoes of course were another matter, and the good doctor rarely went without her five inch Chawas.  The solid click of the carbon-fiber heels on ceramic floors were a statement of power, intimidating both adversaries and allies alike.

 

“Along with wireless transmission and the playback components, we have made several other advances in applying our scientific developments to your species,” Isabella explained. “We know so much more about you now.  After all, we've collected many, many bodies to dissect and examine over the years – though live specimens like you remain elusive.”

 

“Specimen?” Nadia gasped.  “I am no different than you.  All this talk about special powers, transmissions, playbacks… I don't know what you are talking about.  My… my people are just a different clan… a different race perhaps.  Why do you persecute us?  We are peaceful.  We have fought only to protect ourselves.  And yet you… you humans say we pose a threat…”

 

“The irony of your existence,” said the doctor, “is that you remain stupidly ignorant of your own condition.  Have you never wondered why you are doomed to endure a life of suffering?”

 

“I don't know what you mean.” Isabella may as well have asked Nadia why she breathed. “Life is suffering… and pain.  As a soldier, I expect nothing else, except when I…” she stopped and turned away ashamed. Nadia would not discuss the other things which so frequently triggered her anguish.

 

“I suspect you will tell me this is the only life you have known.”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

Isabella sighed.  “Yet in a few minutes you will be gone… effectively deceased, your agonies reborn in some other ill-fated bitch in a world far from this one.”

 

“De… deceased?” Nadia whimpered.  “You mean you will kill me?”

 

“No… far worse I'm afraid,” said Isabella, smiling.  “You will soon see… or rather you won't, since you will no longer exist.”  She raised her hand, in which she clenched another long skewer like the one running through Nadia's brain.  With her free hand, she grasped the captive's left breast, pulling it upward before thrusting the needle lengthwise through the mass of soft flesh.

 

“Aaaiieeghhh!!” screamed Nadia as blood leaked from the punctures on either side of her tit. “Why?  Why?” she cried out.

 

“At first we thought only the brain, specifically the thalamus, was the gateway to your odd dispositions, but like I said, years of research have revealed so much more.  In fact, we have located dozens of nodes throughout your bodies – virtually any location made up of dense nerve clusters – that will enhance transmission of the essence we seek.  Unfortunately, most of these nodes are found at the most sensitive parts of your anatomy… and so, inserting the conduction needles is a painful experience.  But then, pain is something with which you are already quite familiar.”

 

“Aaaaaghhhh!!” Nadia thrashed her head back and forth as Dr. Myers impaled Nadia's right breast the same way she had the left. “Noooo… No!!  I really don't know what this about… what you are doing… but please… please stop… I'll do whatever you want… but no… no more…  Aaaaeeeeiighhh!!”

 

Isabella pushed another skewer down vertically directly through Nadia's left nipple, inserting it over three inches into her breast.  Another needle was used to spear her second nipple to match the first. More skewers were plunged into her midsection and lower abdomen, and a half dozen were clustered around her genitals with one piercing her clitoris drawing the loudest shriek of anguish yet.  By the time Isabella had run out of skewers, Nadia's torso, still frozen in place on the tilted slab, resembled an old-fashioned pin cushion criss-crossed with rivulets of blood.  Her screams continued for five minutes before her voice gradually weakened.

 

Dr. Isabella Myers had one last matter to attend to.  In order to suck out the essence of Nadia's existence, the doctor required a stimulus, a trigger to initiate the release of whatever energy defined the subject's current self.

 

Outwardly, it was a simple device – a metal, phallic shaped cylinder, ten inches long, two inches in diameter, hemispherical at one end, flat at the other.  Nadia's eyes widened as she saw Isabella hold up the gleaming steel rod.  She was an innocent girl, but not so inexperienced as to be oblivious to how this thing was used.  It was quite a bit larger than the ones she had seen – and tried – previously, but there was no doubt as to its purpose.  At least it won't hurt as much as the skewers, she thought.

 

“Don't get your hopes up,” Isabella said, as if reading Nadia's mind.  “This innocuous looking appliance can do much more than you think.  Yes, it will cause you pleasure… at least for a while, but as you shall see, too much of a good thing can lead to some very undesirable repercussions.”

 

“No!” said Nadia, again shaking her head.  She had no idea what the doctor was talking about, but she understood all too well that she was facing something detrimental.

 

“But before we begin, I must insert it.”  Isabella positioned the device between Nadia's motionless, wide-spread thighs, positioning the rounded end against the woman's sex.  The needles which lanced her pubic area had been carefully placed so as not to block insertion of the dildo.  With a savage push, Isabella thrust it forward until only an inch of the flat-bottomed base extended between her labia.

 

“Nnngghhhh…” gasped Nadia as she felt the rigid invader punch against her cervix.

 

“And this will begin the sequence,” said Isabella as she pressed a small button in the middle of the cylinder's base.

 

“Aaaiiieghh!!” shrieked Nadia as six barbed spikes launched from the device and lodged into her vaginal tract.  She could not observe the damage of course, but the incredible surge of agony was proof enough of what had occurred.  “Oh… ghhaaahhh... why?  Why?” she screamed.

 

“You mean the metal prongs that just discharged into your cunt?” Isabella grinned.  “They will make sure the device stays in place.  Too much lubrication down there – sexual juices, piss, blood, who knows what else – and it will slide out.  The prongs will prevent this, although as you can tell, they do hurt a bit.  Once they have been detonated, the mechanism will activate and begin to do its job.”

 

“What… what more can there be?” Nadia sobbed, her body already consumed with agony.

 

“I told you the device can do much more than you might imagine.  But rather than explain, I think it's best that you simply relax and experience all it has to offer.  I can hear it hum already, which means the sequence has started.  By now, I suspect you are feeling a most pleasing sense of warmth rising up from your pussy.”

 

Although her pain obscured other sensations, Nadia soon realized Isabella was right.  The surface of the metal rod was indeed growing warm. And as the doctor had said, the sensation offered a pleasant alternative to the torment of the skewers.  Soon, the shaft's increasing temperature was accompanied by a substantial vibration along its entire length. As it became warmer, the oscillating pulses also became more frequent and powerful.  It was as if the oversized phallus had come to life… as if it were some mechanized demon lover violating its helpless victim.

 

“Mmmnngghhhh…”  Nadia felt an unexpected surge of carnal energy rise from the apex of her sex.  Despite the damage inflicted by the needles, one of which impaled the very center of her most erogenous organ, she could still be forced into a state of arousal, whether she liked it or not.  If nothing else, the uncontrollable desires further blurred the physical suffering which plagued her, and so, for the moment at least, she welcomed the wanton assault of the intruder locked inside her.

 

“Aiieeaaaghhh…” Nadia cried out, but this time it was not a cry of pain.  It was unmistakably a wail of orgasmic release.  It was followed less than a minute later by another, and shortly thereafter by a third.  In between each bleating climax, Nadia panted and gasped for air, struggling not to let her libido overwhelm her. 

 

Dr. Isabella Myers nodded knowingly.  The flashing lights and fluttering gauges on the recording apparatus behind her confirmed the transmitting skewers were functioning as intended, relaying whatever degenerate scenario was unfolding in Nadia's expropriated consciousness. Isabella could only imagine what this perverse delusion could be, but she would find out later when she replayed the session after Nadia was no more. 

 

Before the rebellion of the Perennials made them scarce, over two dozen lives were extracted from these creatures, all taken under duress during voluntary or involuntary flights into the alternate worlds of pain and sex in which they existed.  These worlds were invariably extreme, brutal and prurient realities – beyond the wildest fantasies of most humans – and so became powerful tools of torture and control.

 

The first recordings were made over four decades ago, and could not be witnessed until it was learned years later how to play them back by decoding them through specialized apparatus.  Now that such technology existed, the database of existing material was both revered and feared.  Isabella Myers had played back all the recordings.  She knew their power and destructiveness. 

 

And now there would be one more entry.

 

“Too bad it will be added at the expense of your life, my lovely, young aberration,” laughed Isabella at Nadia, who was engulfed in delirious rapture.  “But you will die giving us the key to capturing the rest of your accursed tribe.  We will use your own powers against you – amplifying the playback signal five, ten, one hundred times until you tell us where we can find The Baroness.  But first, you will provide us with a new life, a new reality which I will ultimately use to break you!”

 

Nadia remained anchored to the slab, her body unable to move in response to the seismic sexual stimulation flooding her nervous system. Yet she was far from unable to react to her involuntary distress.  Her skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration and her hair was soaked with sweat as well. Various fluids streamed from her pussy, somehow flowing around the bulging shaft inside her.  Blood pumped from the numerous punctures where the skewers penetrated her flesh and her head swung from one side to the other, her wide-open mouth emitting a searing scream of anguish that was now virtually continuous. 

 

If Nadia had ever been able to enjoy the stimuli induced by the artificial phallus, she had long ago passed the threshold of pleasure.  The constant, powerful vibrations of the embedded device were like those of a jackhammer, causing the flesh around her pubic area to quiver furiously despite the osseous induction field.  The once agreeable warmth had also grown to be unbearable, the surface of the cylinder now radiating temperatures which burned and seared the lining along the length of Nadia's vaginal canal.

 

At this point, the devious apparatus began its final phase of malice.  As its relentless pounding and blistering heat reached their maximum, a five-thousand volt jolt of electricity emanated from the metal skin of the shaft, instantly causing Nadia to break free of the osseous induction field and sending her spread-eagled body into convulsions so powerful it appeared she would be torn apart.  The current was administered ten times, and with each shock, Nadia arched upwards with only her hands and feet remaining in contact with the metal surface. 

 

After the final jolt, Nadia collapsed on the slab and the phallic device switched off automatically.  Without the osseous induction field to support her, Nadia's sweat drenched body, now limp and apparently dead, slithered down the inclined slab, landing in a heap at its base. Tendrils of steam rose from her crumpled form as she continued to shudder spasmodically while the last of the current coursed through her.   

 

“Not so fast, my fine, fucked-up freak,” said Isabella as she leaned over the seemingly lifeless woman. The doctor pulled on Nadia's arms until she was once again splayed out on her back, this time on the floor. She checked for a pulse and found a faint beat.

 

Nadia was as beautiful as ever, despite the skewers having left nasty lacerations during the final part of her ordeal.  Her blonde hair was disheveled, but her face and curvaceous figure were as perfect as ever.  Isabella eyed the woman's abundant, albeit punctured breasts greedily, wondering whether she could play with them one last time before beginning the final stage of her project. She decided this would be too risky.  Knowing her “patient” was just barely alive, it was important to proceed without delay.

 

“We still have to complete the second half of my… inquiry.  Now it’s time for you to tell me where I can find The Baroness… and your fellow 'rebels'.”

 

“Baroness?” The word, more of a groan actually, came from Nadia's lips. Isabella almost leaped back in surprise.

 

““Yes…” she said.  “The Baroness!  Tell me more.  Where is she?  Where are the others?”

 

“No… no others…” Nadia gasped.  Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be fading fast.  “There is only… only one. Only one… Baroness….”

 

“But tell me, you worthless cunt… where can I find her?”

 

“I… I…” Nadia moaned as Isabella shook her naked body by the shoulders.

 

“Talk… don't die on me you bitch… tell me… where is The Baroness?” Isabella shouted as she fought to keep her captive conscious.

 

“I… am… I am The Baroness,” sputtered Nadia and then added her final words…  “All… all are The Baroness…”

 

And then Nadia Lamb drew her last breath.

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

For a second time, Petra von Starkfolter plunged into the Caribbean waters.  The two barrels followed, one splashing a few feet next to her, the other landing directly on her torso to further demolish her battered body.  It pushed her underwater for a few seconds, but soon rolled aside to leave The Baroness floating on her back.  Her arms spread wide, her head barely wafted above the surface, and her legs were pulled apart by the ropes attached to the drifting casks.

 

For a moment, Petra's ebbing thoughts grew hopeful. Perhaps the captain had decided to release her… to end her ordeal.  If she could keep from sinking – perhaps by clinging to one of the barrels – maybe she could drift to land and escape. But then she realized she was beyond any such miracle. The trauma inflicted on her undoubtedly was lethal; in fact, she could no longer move or think clearly.  Petra knew she was dying.  Barnet and his crew could not be bothered to finish their job and had simply dropped her into the sea to drown.

 

“Does she not deserve a less compassionate fate?” asked one of the men, somewhat surprised.

 

“The vile cunt will not drown,” replied the captain.  “And she will suffer an appropriately savage demise – one which will ensure that she never will bedevil anyone again, even from beyond her watery grave.”  While his crew was captivated by the sight of the ruined woman awash in the waves below, Barnet had spotted a greater peril a few hundred yards out to sea.

 

Over a dozen dorsal fins skimmed the swells and were heading toward the ship – mako sharks.  Barnet knew well that these waters were rife with the powerful, eternally hungry creatures.  This pack had picked up the smell of blood and exposed flesh from miles away, and now was closing in on a succulent, unsuspecting meal. 

 

Petra's fate would be anything but compassionate.

 

While still clinging to the faint prospect that she might survive, she felt something rough and solid collide with her backside.  The barrels and the ship were too far away, so whatever hit her must have come up from below.  When she glimpsed the menacing fins surrounding her, she finally understood the pitiless fate awaiting her.  Petra should have known better – Captain Barnet of course would insist she succumb in harrowing anguish.

 

The Baroness could not scream, so instead, she prayed.  “Please,” she thought to herself, “please let them finish me quickly…”

 

The sharks could not be accused of taking their time, but this was hardly to oblige Petra.  They were famished, and all knew well that the most aggressive among them seized the choicest morsels from their prey.  Still, as their kind is inclined to do, several of the massive fish inspected the target to ensure it was edible.  This involved bumping the floating woman with their snouts to ensure her flesh was tender.

 

Petra endured the creatures' painful probing, unable to offer any resistance as she was repeatedly rammed for several minutes.  At last, one of the more impatient fish had enough of playing with his food and clamped his jaws around Petra's right arm. Rows of two inch teeth  sunk into the length of her appendage, shredding tissue and splintering bone.  The mako swung his head to one side, and instantly ripped off Petra's arm at her shoulder.

 

A torrent of blood spewed from the tattered wound, spreading through the water and provoking the other fish to attack.  One of the larger brutes came from Petra's left side and took most of her upper torso into his mouth.  His maxilla tore apart what remained of her breasts while the lower teeth penetrated deep into her back, gouging into her shoulder blades.  A few seconds later, another shark came up between Petra's legs, thrusting his open mouth around her groin and lower abdomen.  The savage beast bit down with all its might, slashing her buttocks and rupturing her internal organs. 

 

Somehow Petra managed to survive this two-pronged attack, remaining miserably conscious as pain beyond imagination overwhelmed her.  As the sharks tightened their jaws in a fight for the lion's share of Petra’s body, she felt her nervous system exploding with agony.  The Baroness knew the release of death was only moments away, but every second seemed like an eternity of anguish.

 

“Kill me, you fucking monsters… Kill me!!” The unspoken words pervaded her mind, but it was as if the giant fish deliberately ignored her final wish.  For almost five minutes, they chewed on her torso, while others joined in by grabbing hold of her legs and remaining arm.  Only when Petra looked up to see a crimson geyser erupt from her midsection did she realize her ordeal was over at last.

 

With remarkable brutality, her carcass was torn in half at the waist, the lower portion claimed by the mako clamping down on her abdomen, the upper piece by the one gnawing on her chest.  After Petra's corpse was bisected, it was not long before her extant limbs were severed to become the prized delicacies of more ravenous sharks. The water where she had floated just a short while earlier was now a spreading pool of blood, but Petra was no longer there.

 

All that remained of the once beautiful corsair was her head, apparently a morsel too tiny to entice even the smallest of the predators. It was left behind to bob like a human buoy, its eyes wide with terror, staring lifelessly heavenward.  Barnet and his crew, who had watched the carnage unfold feeling a combination of awe, distaste and satisfaction, now stood transfixed by this last vestige of the despised pirate queen. 

 

The battered head remained afloat for over ten minutes before slowly sinking into the depths.  Only then did the sailors retreat from the quarter deck and return to work.  All of them would remember this execution as the most ruthless and provocative they ever had witnessed.  Later, as they retired to their hammocks, many would fondly relive the experience while stroking themselves until they satisfied their perverse libidos.

 

“I must say the bitch got what she deserved,” MAA Appleton told the captain as they stepped away from the taffrail.  “And as you declared, she will never be able to curse us from beyond… certainly not as scraps of flesh in the bellies of sharks.”

 

“Aye… that is true,” replied Barnet.  “If she were any other criminal, I would ask that Poseidon claim her soul.  But if this contemptible cunt even had a soul, I hope it rots in hell till the end of time and beyond.”  

 

*  *  *  *  *

June 25, 1897

 

When Nadia Lamb awoke, she found herself suspended by her arms and legs, her wrists and ankles bound by rattan ropes to a thick, six foot long stalk of bamboo.  She was clothed in a shredded gunny sack which did very little to cover her otherwise nude body.  The bamboo stalk was being carried on the shoulders of two Nuaraque tribesmen, their near-naked cargo dangling between them like a jaguar carcass being hauled to their village after a successful hunt.

 

Unlike the jaguar, this time the Nuaraque's prey was still alive.  She would not be carved up for food – though perhaps she would have preferred such a fate – but rather she was a prized captive to be punished for the many abuses and cruelties she had inflicted on the indigenous inhabitants for over five years.

 

Along with the pair transporting the woman, over thirty other Nuaraque men tramped through the jungle along a rarely travelled path between their community and the Plantação El Dorado – known to them as the plantation of death.  As they returned home with their prisoner, they chanted in unison, anticipating the revenge that would soon be theirs.

 

“Tugudho niol keku inekme fuigdo aly viwo eksobid aseb otaz shayate edlo papathe.” The cryptic language did not translate easily, but the men's words could best be interpreted to mean, “May the white bitch die in agony for all the suffering she has caused our people.”

 

Of course Francisco El Dorado had been the original scourge of the local Nuaraque. After all, it was he, the marauding Portuguese colonist, who had appropriated 50,000 hectares in the heart of the Amazon Basin to establish one of the largest rubber plantations in Brazil.  In the process, he crushed many of the indigenous communities west of Manaus, exterminating those who resisted and enslaving those who survived.  Men, women and children were forced to work at the massive jungle estate, leaving only the oldest and most feeble to slowly die in the remnants of their villages.

 

The vast colony of Nuaraque slaves at Plantação El Dorado outnumbered its owner’s private squad of guards by almost thirty to one.  But the colonists had weapons while their human chattel had no more than loin cloths to cover their genitals. As they did before their enslavement, female workers wore no more clothing than the men, but now their near-nudity provided much amusement for the male warders.

 

Rape of Nuaraque women was a daily occurrence, as was severe punishment for the defiant or poor performers among both sexes.  El Dorado had enslaved over 3000 people, and virtually all bore the scars of the whips and hot irons used to maintain discipline. Hundreds had been murdered or worked to death, but it was not difficult for the armed raiders to capture more tribesmen whenever the labor pool fell short.

 

Francisco El Dorado, like many other Portuguese opportunists of the day, became exceptionally prosperous by exporting profitable rubber yields while requiring almost no expenses to run his immense operation. As his wealth and power grew to astonishing heights, El Dorado and others like him became known as rubber barons.

 

Yet even at the height of his business success, El Dorado did not have everything he wanted.  Stranded with his all-male retinue of guards and servants in the middle of the Amazon jungle, he longed for a woman.  A wife. The rubber baron was in search of a baroness.

 

There were more than enough eager mail-order brides to choose from, so within days of beginning his quest, El Dorado had found his would-be spouse.  At 23, she was less than half his age, but it was not at all uncommon for an affluent man to select a young, nubile beauty to be his wife.  What was unusual was the stunning woman's thick, blonde tresses, likely signifying a non-Mediterranean heritage. Perhaps she was Nordic, but if she was, this mattered little to her prospective husband.  From the moment he laid eyes on Luisa Peres, El Dorado was smitten.

 

Less willing to overlook Luisa's fair complexion and flaxen mane, the Nuaraque did not share their oppressor's sentiment.  They were afraid of this strange, pale-skinned woman, treating her as if she was a demon from hell.  And that was before they discovered that a demon was precisely what she was.

 

Luisa El Dorado soon demonstrated she disliked the plantation slaves even more than they feared her.  In her opinion, the imperious blonde believed her husband was being far too lenient with the belligerent natives.  She made it her mission to rectify this situation.

 

Within days of Luisa's arrival, whippings and brandings had doubled.  New forms of persecution were added to the guards' repertoire, and innocent Nuaraque were soon succumbing to the most brutal tortures imaginable.  Fingernails were pulled; limbs were hacked off; genitals were mutilated; women were de-breasted; tongues were removed; and executions of various types became a daily occurrence. 

 

In the midst of all this savage tumult, Luisa El Dorado conducted the proceedings like a circus ringmaster.  A bona fide sadist, she enjoyed participating in the atrocities, often stripping naked to bathe in the blood of her victims.  It did not take long for Plantação El Dorado to become known as the plantation of death, even among other colonists. And while its owner had earned the moniker Baron El Dorado, his wife was dubbed The Baroness of Blood – though few would even whisper that name.  As far as Luisa was concerned, she was to be called simply The Baroness. 

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The uprising at Plantação El Dorado had been swift and brutal.  After passively enduring the enslavement of the plantation's owner for close to ten years, and the even worse cruelties of his wife for five, the workers could take no more.  No longer fearing the weapons or intimidation of the guards, the massive coterie of oppressed natives fought back.  Virtually naked and armed only with rocks, clubs and bows, the Nuaraque had the advantage of surprise and sheer numbers. 

 

Hundreds of the insurgents were killed, but so many continued the onslaught that within a few hours, the tribespeople had overwhelmed their persecutors.  Over two hundred of El Dorado's men were massacred and several dozen ran into the jungle to escape the carnage.  The remainder of the guards and about twenty servants were taken as prisoners.  Despite intending to take El Dorado alive, a handful of enraged Nuaraque had dispatched the baron in a savage flurry of vengeance.  Luisa was not so fortunate.

 

After much discussion, the victors agreed to share their captives among the eleven tribes represented in the revolt.  Each clan would deal with their prisoners as they saw fit. Invariably all would be sentenced to death, though the savagery of their executions would vary considerably.  Luisa, clearly the most prized of the captured Europeans, was assessed of equal value to half a dozen servants, and so was the only captive awarded to the small group of men from the Attan tribe.  The Attan men had no objections.  All had suffered greatly at the hands of the deranged blonde Baroness, and they looked forward to exacting apt retribution on the most evil of their tormentors.

 

“Bastardos! You may take me now, but you will not live to have your revenge!” Luisa shouted defiantly.  “Within the hour, owners of the neighboring plantations will know what happened here.  They will hunt down and slaughter all of you.  You will pay for your dissent!”

 

The few Nuaraque who could understand Luisa's words grunted dismissively.  They realized the other landowners in the region did not pose much of a threat.  It was well-known among all the enslaved people that the El Dorado plantation was to be shunned, not only by the workers, but by the other colonists occupying the Amazon basin. So reviled was the baron – and more so his degenerate spouse – that Manuel Vitorino, the vice president himself, had ordered them both arrested and charged with sedition.

 

The remoteness of Plantação El Dorado had proved to be its owner's salvation from the government. But when two weeks earlier a bounty was posted for the heads of Francisco and Luisa, the nearby rubber producers eyed the reward greedily.  Ten million mil réis, dead or alive.  The colonists did not care much for the administration, but they cared even less for the El Dorados, especially when betraying them could be so profitable.

 

Just as his competitors were plotting how best to take advantage of Vitorino's offer, the baron's Nuaraque slaves intervened.  Most did not know of the bounty, nor would they have claimed it if they did.  For them, all that mattered was freedom… and vengeance.  They had already won the former.  Thanks to Luisa and the surviving colonists, the latter would soon be theirs as well.   

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 3, 2018

 

“You fool!” Dr. Jiang exclaimed angrily.  “You said you would let us know the moment you saw any signals that she was receding.”

 

“But… but…” Isabella Myers stammered, “…it happened so quickly.  I took my eyes off the monitors for only a minute, and then… and then she went into convulsions… as if she were in extreme agony….”

 

“She was dying, you idiot.  And thanks to your negligence, Dr. Morgan and I missed it.  Instead of a detailed account, all we have is a corpse and a recording we can't play.”

 

“I… I witnessed it,” Isabella offered tepidly. “I saw everything… everything that happened.”

 

“I'll bet,” said Morgan, staring at the disheveled blonde. After sending a panicked alarm, Isabella barely had time to jump off the expiring body of Petra von Starkfolter and pull on her lab coat before her superiors arrived.  Her skin glistened with sweat and she had not managed to button up her outfit nor recover her panties and shoes.  With the open garment fully exposing her from neck to mid-thigh, Isabella could do little to conceal what she had been up to.

 

“It's obvious you were preoccupied with other matters,” Jasmine snarled.  “I should have known better than to leave you alone with such an alluring subject.  Besides, if all we wanted was a visual summary, we have the security-cam archives.” She pointed to two small cameras mounted just below the ceiling.  “I can imagine what we'll see when I look at the footage, but what Dr. Morgan and I were hoping for was some interaction with the bitch before she expired…”

 

“I can assure you, there was no opportunity for interaction,” said Isabella, blushing at the thought that her carnal activity with the comatose Petra would be reviewed by others.  She thought no one ever reviewed the security tapes.  “I was… I was very close to her during her final moments… and all she could do was struggle and scream.”

 

“Based on your… inexperienced opinion,” said Morgan.

 

“Not to mention that your primary thoughts most likely were focused on satisfying your own sexual desires.” Jasmine pulled apart the lapels of Isabella's lab coat, exposing the woman's swollen breasts to make her point.  “I'll deal with you later, but in the meantime, we have to handle this.”  She motioned to the naked body of Petra.

 

Despite the assorted restraints securing her to the metal table, the busty blonde was contorted into a ghastly pose that suggested she had broken several bones in her attempts to break free.  Her head was pushed back, and her features were frozen in a ghastly scream – mouth agape and eyes wide open in a lurid death stare.  The needle puncturing her skull was still in place, leaving her brain connected to the recording apparatus, though the gauges indicated that all transmission had ceased.

 

Most telling of all was the thick, milky fluid seeping from Petra's pussy into a growing puddle between her spread thighs.  Dr. Jiang wondered if it was a result of the subject's altered state of consciousness, or simply the involuntary, reflexive response to Isabella's erotic stimulation.

 

Most likely it was both. After all, it had been long proven that sex and death were closely intertwined.  It was this curious mix of arousal and agony – something these mutants could experience again and again – that so fascinated Jasmine.  It was what she had wanted to see first-hand and up close, with the victim relating her final ordeal.  But thanks to the insatiable Dr. Myers, the opportunity was missed.

 

“Must have been quite a ride,” said Jasmine bitterly, directing the comment at Isabella.  “I hope you enjoyed it, because it's going to be your last… at least in this world.”

 

“No… no…” Isabella stepped away from Jiang, but backed directly into the clutches of Morgan, who grabbed her arms and pinned them behind her back.  She tried to pull away, but was no match for the man's powerful grasp. 

 

As Isabella looked on in horror, Jasmine Jiang filled a hypodermic with the same clear fluid she had earlier injected into Petra.  Morgan pulled at Isabella's lab coat until it fell around her ankles, leaving her completely nude. Jasmine stood in front of her and held the syringe up to the woman's face, savoring her terror.

 

“You squandered my chance to witness the termination of an ideal subject,” Jasmine said menacingly. “The least you can do is offer yourself as a replacement.”

 

“No… please!” Isabella begged.  “It won't work… I'm not one of them…”

 

“Perhaps you won't add anything to our database, but it's been some time since we had a volunteer who was willing to step into another universe.  A universe of infinite suffering!”

 

“Oh God!  No!! You can't…” Isabella pleaded in desperation.  She knew exactly what Jiang and Morgan intended to do…  use the recordings.  It would not be pleasant.  In fact, it would subject her to indescribable pain until she died.

 

Jasmine moved the syringe so the tip of needle circled the bulging areola of Isabella's left breast.  Both Doctors Jiang and Morgan watched delightedly as the woman's nipple, already distended by fear and desire, swelled even further.  Isabella sucked in her chest, trying to evade her inevitable fate, but of course it was a futile effort.  Jasmine simply held the syringe in place until Isabella inhaled.  As her breast thrust outward, she could not help but impale her turgid nipple on the waiting needle.

 

“Unnghhh…” she gasped as Jasmine pushed the syringe to the hilt into Isabella's soft flesh.  Jasmine depressed the plunger and injected the contents.  Within a minute, Dr. Jiang's new subject had fallen limp in Morgan's grasp, her eyes closed and her mind blank. 

 

Jasmine could have inserted the needle anywhere on Isabella's body, but somehow she thought skewering the center of one of her bulbous breasts was most appropriate.     

 

*  *  *  *  *

July 9, 2048

 

The instant Isabella Myers regained consciousness, she was engulfed with pain.  She felt as if every part of her body was consumed with fire, her nerves being ravaged by a raging inferno. She could not move – at least not from the neck down – and she quickly realized she was in the embrace of the osseous induction device.  Isabella was fused to the slanted metal slab just as Nadia had been an hour earlier. The unbearable torment she suffered was, of course, the result of 33 metal transmission skewers penetrating the most sensitive points of her anatomy, including the center of her brain.  In short, Dr. Myers had been stripped of her role of inquisitor and was now a subject herself. 

 

“Aaaiiieeeghhhh!!  Nooooo!!” Isabella screamed, throwing her head from side to side.  She was in anguish, but also overcome with terror.  How had this happened?  Who had done this to her?  She remembered leaning over Nadia Lamb, trying to get the dying bitch to reveal the secrets of the Perennials and The Baroness – and then… blackness.  She had been knocked out.

 

Isabella looked around the cavernous lab as much as the restraining field allowed.  It seemed she was alone – naked of course, though someone had removed her prized stiletto footwear.  Her limbs were stretched spread-eagle and streams of blood coursed across her glistening flesh from the numerous puncture wounds caused by the metal rods inserted into her body.

 

It was as if someone had mistaken her for a Perennial.  But this made no sense.  She obviously was not a mutant, so she could not be drained of a perverse alternate existence, nor would it serve any purpose to make her endure the sort of agony she had inflicted on Nadia. Isabella fought against the intense pain and tried to think clearly, but it was no use… unless…

 

“I see you have revived somewhat more quickly than we expected.” The male voice was familiar. Before Isabella saw the man step into view, she realized it was Colonel Jonathan Barnet, the burly military office who had led the raid against the Perennials and captured Nadia Lamb. “I had hoped to see the surprised and distressed expression on your face when you first regained your senses, but I suppose seeing you like this is almost as satisfying.” 

 

Barnet walked up to Isabella and blatantly ogled her enticing form as she lay stretched out and helpless on the slab.  He ran his fingers along her perfect curves and groped her generous breasts.  Of course Barnet had seen Dr. Myers naked many times, but this was different.  As a captive, she was humiliated as well as in pain.  He ran his hand over the half dozen skewers protruding from the woman's pudenda, causing her to cry out in torment.

 

Barnet smiled. “I suppose you are wondering why you are a prisoner.”

 

“Punishment…” Isabella groaned.  She had figured it out at last.  “I… I failed… Nadia died before… before…”

 

“…before you could make her reveal anything about her fellow rebels and especially about this Baroness who is their leader.” Barnet finished her sentence.  “Very good.  At least you know the reason for what awaits you.  I had entrusted you to get at the truth about this tribe of menacing females.  I even delivered a perfectly healthy specimen for you to interrogate so you can use their own desires against them.”

 

“But you don't understand,” Isabella pleaded.  “They are able to resist torture… endure pain beyond what we anticipated.”

 

“Oh come now.” Barnet was not persuaded.  “We have dozens of recordings.  We know what lurks in their warped minds.”

 

“Yes… but these experiences we record… they are not delusions or fantasies.  They are memories – memories from other lives, other realities… as real as the reality we are in now.  Surely you've grasped that by now…”

 

“Of course.  Which is why it was so important for you to break the bitch… to get her to reveal the secrets of her kind.  And yet, all you could extract from her is some bullshit about all these creatures being one and the same.  Nonsense.  You let the dumb twat die with a riddle on her lips, and we're no closer to finding The Baroness.”

 

“But I did… I did all I could…” Isabella's voice grew desperate.

 

“It was not enough,” said Barnet sternly.

 

“And for that, you will pay.”  Another voice, a woman's, made the ominous threat.  Once again, the familiar click of stiletto heels on ceramic tile echoed through the lab.  Yet these shoes did not belong to Isabella Myers.  They sheathed the slim feet of the lab's director, Dr. Jasmine Jiang, a striking Asian woman with short, jet black hair. Jasmine was about forty years old and stood five foot three, but despite her relatively short stature, she was even more intimidating than the blustery Colonel Barnet.

 

When Isabella saw Dr. Jiang approach, she grew even more fearful.  Barnet could scare her, but as a military officer, he had no authority to mete out discipline on academic members of the community.  Moreover, he had no idea how to use the lab's complex apparatus – which given Isabella's current circumstance, would be the source of whatever comeuppance awaited her.

 

On the other hand, Jasmine had both the authority and the expertise to carry out appropriate sanctions against her failed employee.  The situation also allowed her the opportunity to examine a feature of the lab apparatus which only had limited trials to date – the playback component.  Live Perennials were hard to come by, and were invariably used as recording subjects when captured.  Playback was possible with any female, including ordinary humans, but given the outcome was just as lethal as the recording procedure, there had been few volunteers to test it.

 

Yet Isabella faced a suitably dire penance, so her consent was not required. She would serve as a convenient playback subject, the first in over two months.  As a researcher herself, Isabella quickly figured out why she had been secured and lanced with the transmission skewers.  Of course Jiang did not suspect her of being a Perennial.  But soon she would know exactly what it was like to be one.

 

“Nooo!!” Isabella screamed, this time more out of fear than pain.  Unlike previous subjects, she was intimately familiar with the content of the recordings.  And now, that intimacy would be taken to a whole new level.  “You can't do that… I have committed no crime!”

 

“You have failed your duties and betrayed the regime.”  Jasmine inflated the charges, knowing Barnet would not object.  Technically, Dr. Myers was guilty of incompetence – hardly meriting a death sentence even in a case such as this – but Isabella had no further use for her inept subordinate and, more importantly, she was eager to run a playback session.  Too bad for Isabella, she thought.

 

The prisoner's protests fell on deaf ears.  Her pleas grew ever more urgent as Jasmine initiated the procedure by powering up the required apparatus.  Unlike Isabella, Jasmine worked fully clothed, assuming that a traditional lab coat was more appropriate in a professional environment.  Besides, she had little sexual interest in her subjects.  Jasmine was motivated primarily by one element – sadism. She enjoyed watching the women suffer.

 

“This is the most recent recording,” she held up a small, metal disc so Jasmine could see it. “You created it yourself by extracting it from the Perennial you so clumsily let expire before she confessed her secrets.  I suppose it's ironic that you shall be the one to test the fruits of your labor.  I do hope the experience will be worth it.”

 

“Please don't…” Isabella continued to beg for mercy. “The captive… she resisted so much.  Whatever life she lived, it ended horribly.  You can't inflict it on me… Just kill me instead.  Quickly.  But don't torture me like… like those mutant bitches…”

 

Jasmine smiled and did not reply.  She inserted the disk into a slot on one of the consoles, and in seconds the machines hummed to life.  At the same time, the skewers projecting from Isabella's body twitched, receiving input from the recording.  The long rod imbedded in the subject's brain buzzed intensely.  Lights and gauges on the apparatus flickered and fluttered.  A sixty inch diagonal screen brightened and slowly a blurry image formed on the display.

 

“Aaaaiiaaaghhhh!!!” Isabella let out a death shriek that left Jasmine and Barnet covering their ears.  When it was over, Isabella's head was as still as the rest of her body, as if it too had been caught in the osseous induction field.  Her eyes were wide open, but unseeing.  Her lips parted, but no longer able to speak.  Isabella Myers was dead – but somewhere, sometime, her consciousness was alive. 

 

“I fear our alluring subject is about to live the life she never wanted,” said Colonel Barnet as he stared lasciviously at the nude carcass of the woman stretched out on the slab.

 

“More precisely,” Jasmine corrected him, “she is about to die the death she never wanted. I will synch the recording to the final day of the pathetic cunt's miserable existence.  That is all we need… just a few hours of horrific agony and death.”

 

“I see. Just transmit the good parts,” said Barnet.  “No need for us to sit through a lifetime of boring exposition.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

The image on the screen grew clearer.  Colonel Barnet and Dr. Jiang squinted to make out the details of whatever Isabella Myers was experiencing at that very moment.

 

“It looks like… like leaves… plants… trees…” said Jasmine. 

 

“She… she's in a jungle,” added Barnet.  

 

*  *  *  *  *

June 25, 1897

 

It was a six mile walk along an overgrown path between the remains of the Plantação El Dorado and the small Attan village.  As she dangled from the bamboo pole, Luisa El Dorado cursed her captors every step of the way.  The rough brambly thickets through which she was hauled snagged repeatedly on the course gunny sack she was forced to wear, ripping the burlap to shreds.

 

By the time the Attan men finally reached their community of thatched huts, Luisa was all but naked.  Only a few strips of the ragged cloth covered her body, which was lacerated with dozens of bloody welts left by the relentless underbrush.  She was in undeniable pain, but continued her indignant protests against the natives who had abducted her.

 

“Maldito filhos da puta!! Solte-me!” she shouted.  “Let me go, you fucking savages!  You will pay for this… all of you will go to hell for turning on me…” She pulled vainly at her bonds, but only managed to shake back and forth while hanging from the pole.

 

Luisa did not know that the Attan clan was among the most vicious of the Nuaraque people. Perhaps if she could foresee the cruel retribution she faced, she would have been less belligerent toward the men who had taken her prisoner.  Then again, Luisa was too outraged to understand the peril she was in.  To her, the Nuaraque, whether they were Attan or from any of the other clans, were no more than ignorant slaves – chattel whose sole purpose was to do her bidding.  The fact that they would rebel and kidnap her was unthinkable.

 

Once the white woman had been brought to a clearing at the center of the Attan village, the rest of the clan – almost 200 people – gathered around the returning rebels and their captive.  They chanted along with the former slaves, “Tugudho niol keku inekme fuigdo aly viwo eksobid aseb otaz shayate edlo papathe.”  They too wanted revenge for the many relatives and friends who had suffered and died at the hands of the evil vixen.

 

“You are one of the white invaders, and for that alone, you must die,” said a man named Kayin, one of only two among the Attan who had learned to speak the strange language of the European colonists.  “But you are more wicked than the others.  You have taken pleasure in torturing and killing many, many Nuaraque.  That is why you are our only prize… our sole captive.  The other clans have entrusted us to exact vengeance.  It is for all of us that you will endure the torment you have so eagerly imposed on our people.”

 

“You ignorant brutes,” Luisa cried out. “You can do nothing to me!  It is for me to decide your fate… and as soon as I am rescued by my husband's comrades, I will make sure all of you will pay for this!”

 

“Fai mai a ia, o le a ia totogi i matou pe a laveaʻiina o ia,” said one of the Attan men, loud enough for all the tribes-people to hear.  His name was Ekene, the other member of the clan who understood the tongue of the foreigners.  Though less fluent than Kayin, Ekene was able to translate the hollow threat of the arrogant white woman.  On hearing Luisa's words in their own language, the entire Attan community burst into gales of laughter.  It was hard for them to believe that this female could be so foolish.

 

“Stupid bitch,” said Kayin.  “You do not know there is a bounty on your head?  Your husband's 'comrades' would sooner kill you for your pathetic carcass than we would.  Had we not claimed our vengeance first, you can rest assured your neighbors would have betrayed you.”

 

“No, it's not true,” Luisa objected. Her staunch defiance quickly faded as she finally realized the danger she faced.  “Please… you don't understand… the things I have done were… my duty.  I beg forgiveness…”

 

The two men who understood her pleas did not bother to translate them for the benefit of the clan, nor would Luisa's fate have differed if they had. Instead, Kayin raised his hand and pronounced the sentence she faced.  After first proclaiming her punishment in Attan, he repeated it so the convicted wench would know the torment she faced.

 

“For allowing the Nuaraque women you enslaved to be repeatedly raped by the plantation guards, you will first be ravaged by every Attan male between the ages of 20 and 50.  Your assailants will be told to violate you as viciously as possible, showing no mercy.  If you survive being defiled by over forty men, then you will be left overnight to face the perils of the jungle.  Come daybreak, should you still be alive, you will be hung over a pit of burning embers until you die.”

 

The Attan clan cheered boisterously as two of Luisa's captors cut the twine which bound her hands and feet to the pole, leaving her to fall to the ground with a thud.  Before she had a chance to consider escape, four more men fell upon her, grabbing her by the arms and legs to cart her writhing body to a mound of soil at the edge of the clearing. 

 

Luisa fought against her abductors, but of course her efforts were in vain.  In less than a minute, the men had their luscious prey splayed out on the knoll, arching her over the rise and spreading her limbs wide.  More twine was used to bind her wrists and ankles to wooden stakes hammered deep into the ground, leaving Luisa painfully spread across the earthen embankment.  She pulled against her restraints, but her efforts were futile.  The Attan clan clearly had used this form of punishment before.

 

But never had their victim been a fair-skinned, blonde-haired beauty like The Baroness. Not even the most exquisite of the dark-maned Portuguese women were as exotic as this Nordic seductress.  The men lucky enough to be in line to ravish the luckless Luisa could barely contain their excitement.  Few could conceal the evidence of their arousal as their tumescent cocks pushed aside their flimsy loin cloths to protrude from their groins.

 

Luisa screamed in terror as the first of the Attan men kneeled between her widespread legs.  A few of his companions ripped away the remaining shreds of burlap, leaving nothing to cover her abundant curves.  Of course, this only served to heighten the lust of those awaiting their turn to molest the young woman. The one who was first in line wasted no time in throwing himself onto his ill-fated victim to bury his massive, engorged shaft inside her to the hilt.

 

In seconds, he exploded in Luisa's pussy, bellowing with bestial fury as he came.  Before she could recover from the grueling attack, a second native had taken the place of the first.  If anything, his manhood was even larger than that of his predecessor.

 

Luisa had seen many of the men naked while they endured her tortures at the plantation, so she was well aware that most of them were extraordinarily well endowed.  She had often teased them by reaching under their loin cloths to stroke their pricks until they ejaculated.  Never had Luisa dreamed that any of them would dare to use their enormous members to rape her, although she had often wondered how it would feel to be impaled on such oversized cocks.

 

Now she knew.  It was a combination of agony, humiliation and – though she detested the thought – a primal desire to be sexually desecrated by these feral creatures.  Stretched out over the mound beneath her, Luisa's head was bent back so that she could not see the faces of the men who mounted her.  Perhaps this was for the better.  Still, she imagined the men's intense, fierce expressions as they tore into her, and she was overcome with terror.

 

“Uuuunnnnngghhh…” Luisa wailed as yet another Attan male climaxed with fury.  It was partly a cry of pain and partly an involuntary orgasmic moan… though most of all, it was the guttural howl of a persecuted whore being made to suffer for her sins. She prayed for her punishment to end, but it had only just begun.  There were so many of these vile barbarians still awaiting their turn.

 

It took hours for them to finish.  Some, like the first two, were quick to release their loads.  Others took their time, savoring Luisa's tight sex, waiting until the last possible moment before finally erupting inside her.  Most hunched over their victim to take her vaginally, often grasping her large, firm breasts for better leverage.  But some preferred to come in her mouth, squatting over Luisa's upturned head and thrusting their distended members down her throat as their testicles dangled in her face.

 

When Luisa's sexual violation was over at last, she was barely conscious, her naked body glistening with semen.  Many of her assailants did not want to dishonor themselves by releasing their precious sperm inside such a loathsome beast, no matter how seductive it may be, and so they chose instead to discharge their seed on her externally.  As a result, Luisa was left with the cum of the tribesmen covering her body from head to toe as well as flooding her insides. 

 

Swooning in a dazed stupor, the once proud Baroness was left staked out on the ground as the Attan clan crowded around her and applauded the performance of the virile males.  Luisa moaned and whimpered in anguish and shame, but she was too weak to do any more than writhe weakly against the twine which bound her. 

 

As the sun set behind the trees surrounding the village, the members of the clan soon lost interest in their captive and returned to their huts.  For a while Luisa was left by herself, splayed across the embankment as the darkness closed in.  But then she realized she was not alone after all.  A series of sharp, painful bites along her back betrayed the presence of yet another unwanted assortment of tormentors.

 

Ants! Back in Europe, such bugs were a mere inconvenience, but here in the Amazon they were carnivorous.  In horror, she realized the mound of earth over which she had been bound was the home of such deadly insects.  Attracted by the still warm and sticky semen oozing across her skin, thousands of the creatures were emerging from their daytime slumber to feast on the gooey residue, as well as whatever tasty nourishment lay beneath it. 

 

“Nooooo!!” Luisa shrieked.  “Please… please… release me… I… I'll… Aaagh!!  Aiieegh!!  Unnghh!!”  Her pleas and desperate squirming increased as the stinging grew more frequent.  Luisa was not sure whether or not the villagers could hear her, but it made no difference either way.  She knew they had deliberately consigned her to this excruciating nightmare, and that they had no intention of ending it.  

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 3, 2018

 

“This bitch is useless to us now.” Jasmine Jiang kicked at the naked body which lay crumpled at her feet.  Moments earlier, Petra von Starkfolter had been unceremoniously pushed off the metal table, her corpse landing on the floor with a loud, bone-crunching thump.  Her face remained frozen in the gruesome expression of death she assumed at the moment of her demise.  Her breathing had ceased. Her flesh began to grow cold.

 

“We must get rid of her,” said Dr. Morgan, his voice betraying his anxiety.  “Her presence here will… raise questions.”

 

“Don't worry,” Jasmine replied. “I already have called for help… the same two men who have assisted us in the past.  We need ensure only that all traces of her body are gone.  Her presence in this world expired along with her conscious existence.  No one has ever met Petra von Starkfolter. Once her physical carcass has been eradicated, all traces of her will be gone.”

 

“And… and in another spatial or temporal plane?”

 

“We will never know,” Jasmine said dismissively. “As far as we are concerned, she is gone.  We have taken what we need from her, so she has served her purpose.  That is all that matters. Now we must focus our attention on this one, our former colleague.” Dr. Jiang nodded toward the table.  Isabella Myers, stripped of her lab coat, had been strapped naked to the steel surface to take Petra's place.

 

“It has been some time since we have been able to verify a recording,” said Morgan. He positioned the transponder needle behind Isabella's ear and pushed it into her skull until it punctured her thalamus.  Her body quivered.  Although she was living in limbo, Isabella was still alive – and despite her inability to generate an alternate existence, she still could serve as an ideal vessel to experience one.

 

“We will not be able to share the incompetent slut's ordeal, but if her response metrics match those generated during the capture phase, at least we will confirm the integrity of the recording. Use the material we extracted from the Starkfolter woman – and synch it up to the points where the pain threshold reaches its maximum.  I want this fucking cunt to pay for her stupidity.”

 

“Yes, Dr. Jiang.”  Morgan grinned.  He too was eager to watch the buxom blonde suffer.  He inserted the requisite cartridge, reactivating the console, then adjusted a number of dials.  He was about to initiate the process when a buzzer indicated that someone was requesting access to the clinic.  It was after midnight, so the entrance was locked, but there was an intercom for emergencies.

 

“I'll get it,” said Jasmine, obviously expecting visitors.  She left the treatment room and walked down the main corridor to the clinic lobby.  She motioned to the security guard at the reception desk to let in the men who were waiting at the main entrance.  She vouched for the pair, though the guard remained suspicious.  Both visitors were dark-skinned, unkempt and clad in boots, jeans and leather jackets. Neither looked like patients or medical staff.  Still, Dr. Jiang had full clearance to admit even late-night guests.

 

“These men need to remove a body…” said the doctor.  It was not an unusual procedure at a medical facility, and in fact, it was the truth.  But just to allay any doubt, she added, “…a cadaver,” implying it was an autopsy subject.

 

“A bit late, isn't it?” said the guard, looking at the clock.

 

“Needs to arrive at Exeter by 6:00 AM at the latest,” Jasmine said unruffled.  “After-hours run… you understand.”

 

The guard nodded and Dr. Jiang led the two scruffy men through the empty building to the treatment room, where they were told to wait outside.  No need to show them more than they needed to see.  Together, Jasmine and Morgan dragged the limp body of Petra into the hallway.

 

“Whoah…” said one of the visitors, the taller of the two. “She's… she's like… no clothes…” It was soon clear that neither was very fluent in English.  But that mattered little to Jasmine.  She just wanted to make sure they understood one thing.

 

“Never mind that.”  She nodded to Morgan who left to fetch a body bag and a folding stretcher.  “It is very important that you follow my instructions…”

 

“Yes, Senhora,” said the tall man.  “No evidence… no… how you say… body pieces?” 

 

“Parts,” sighed Jasmine.  “Nothing… Nada… Not even one strand of DNA…”  She was sure neither of them understood what DNA was, but despite the language barrier, she knew they were reliable.  When Morgan returned, Petra's corpse was zipped in the plastic bag and laid out on the stretcher.  Jasmine handed the taller man an envelope and he nodded gratefully. Together with his accomplice he lifted the stretcher and carried its lifeless cargo to the front lobby and out the building.

 

“You sure you can trust them?” Morgan asked.  “They look kind of sketchy to me – like they're in one of the local Latino gangs or something.”

 

“South American actually,” said Jasmine. “And surprising as it may seem, folks in the body disposal business don't dress in Armani.  At least not the ones we can afford.”

 

Morgan nodded. “But how are they going to… you know… make sure there's no way to trace the bitch?”

 

“I have no idea.  The less we know, the better… but trust me, these guys understand what needs to be done.  I've used them before.  Petra von Starkfolter is effectively vaporized. She never existed.” 

 

“Very well.” Morgan seemed satisfied. “That leaves us free to continue our work with the unfortunate Dr. Myers.” He opened the door to the treatment room for Jasmine and followed her inside.  He returned to the console and once again initiated the procedure which would send Isabella Myers on a slow journey through hell.  

 

*  *  *  *  *

June 26, 1897

 

It was the longest, most agonizing night of her life, but Luisa El Dorado was still alive the next morning.  The ravenous ants had swarmed their prey from head to toe, chewing into her sweaty flesh to nip tiny morsels of nourishment from her body.  But unlike the deadly driver ants, these merely inflicted thousands of stinging pecks. The Attan wished their victim only to suffer; they did not want her stripped to the bone.

 

And suffer she did. Luisa howled like a possessed banshee throughout the night, twisting desperately against her bonds in futile attempts to shake off the torturous insects.  As the Attan lay in their huts, they relished the shrieks of the blonde demoness – her cries were like a lullaby to ease them to sleep.  Her screams blended with the usual sounds of the jungle at night – the squawking of the macaws, the chatter of the monkeys, the screech of the bats – until Luisa's wailing was lost entirely amongst the nocturnal chorus.  The members of the tribe soon dozed off, dreaming of blood and vengeance.

 

The following day after breakfast, the Attan natives again gathered in the clearing at the center of their village. Two of the men had cut Luisa free of the stakes, lifted her upright, and dragged her in front of the assembled clan.  Too weak to stand on her feet, she hung limply between the men supporting her.  The natives inspected their captive with keen interest. 

 

Along with the lacerations she endured while being abducted, Luisa's nude body was now festooned with countless small gashes left by the horde of ferocious ants, many of which were still crawling over her glistening skin to continue their feast.  Tiny trickles of blood streamed from the incisions and ran down the length of her curvaceous figure. Yet, despite these inflictions, Luisa remained a most enticing creature.

 

“Seductive Baroness has suffered well,” said Kayin, his speech unsteady but understandable by Luisa. He let his hand roam over her body, brushing away a few tenacious ants as he did so.  He cupped her left breast, then twisted her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

 

“Unngghhh…” Luisa moaned as she felt the soft tissue respond to the man's touch.  “Please… please don't kill me.  I don't want to die… not here… not like this…” She looked around at the Attan people staring at her, hoping they would show her some mercy.

 

“After what you have done, death… death is, how do you say… your reward,” said Kayin, increasing the pressure on Luisa's nipple until she cried out.  “You are a witch… a devil!  We must be rid of you forever.” 

 

“No… no… please forgive me… it was my husband who made me do…”

 

Kayin smashed his fist into Luisa's stomach, causing her to double forward in the grasp of the men who struggled to hold her up.  He shook his head.  “No… we saw what you did… how you enjoyed torturing the Nuaraque. You must pay for your crimes.  You will be executed.”

 

“Executed?  But… how?”

 

“There!”  Kayin pointed to a depression in the ground about twenty feet away.  Although Luisa could not see into it, she could tell it was an excavation – a pit.  Two wooden posts about three yards high were planted on opposite sides of the hole.  From the top of each post descended a four foot length of twine.  “That, will be the instrument of your destruction.  You will be suspended over the hole until you die.  Here… let me show you more…”

 

The men holding Luisa pulled her toward the pit.  As she moved closer, she noticed smoke billowing from its mouth.  Once she was at the edge of the opening, she could see inside. Luisa gasped. The hole was eight feet square and six feet deep – too large for a grave, she thought.  But it was the source of the smoke which terrified her.  All along the bottom of the pit were smoldering embers of slow-burning chestick wood, much of it still aflame.  Even while standing at the rim of the hole, Luisa could feel the heat of the blaze.

 

“Oh… God…  You can't…”  The trembling woman saw the posts and the tethering vines attached to them.  She remembered Kayin's words – “suspended over the hole until you die” – and she fainted, collapsing into the arms of the Attan men holding her up. 

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

It was the inconceivable agony tearing through her that brought Luisa El Dorado back to consciousness.  Delirious with pain, it took her several minutes before her mind could unravel her predicament. She felt the intense heat wrap around her like a flaming tornado. The constant irritation caused by the ant bites seemed to increase ten-fold as a torrent of salty perspiration cascaded across her flesh.  Her skin reddened as the sweltering waves enveloped her.  The dense smoke caused her to struggle for breath.

 

Kayin had indeed carried out his threat to suspend Luisa over the pit.  She looked down, but could not see a thing – the clouds of soot obscured her vision in all directions. Nonetheless, she knew the Attan men had hung her above the flaming embers to slowly roast to death.  The overwhelming pain was more than enough evidence to establish that. But then why were her wrists pulled behind her back, apparently bound together over her backside? 

 

Obviously, the natives had not suspended her by her arms as she had assumed they would.  Such a traditional approach would have proven far too benevolent for the ruthless Attan clan.  Instantly, Luisa felt another source of torment, this one even more acute than the pain caused by the blaze in the pit.  Her breasts!  They felt as if… as if they were being torn from her torso. Again she looked down – this time squinting in order to see through the smoke. 

 

“Aaaaghhhhh…” she moaned as she realized what her captors had done to her.  A long bamboo pole – perhaps the same one which had been used to carry her to the village – perforated her copious bosom lengthwise, impaling both breasts from one side to the other and spanning the deep cleavage between them.

 

The shaft had been imbedded at the base of her chest, just above the ribcage, so as to provide maximum support. The reason for this was obvious. Even though Luisa could not see the ends of the pole, she knew that both sides were tied to the vines descending from the wooden posts, effectively letting her dangle above the pit by nothing more than her tits. It was as devious a torture as any woman could imagine, and for the ill-fated Baroness it was a reality.

 

Perhaps Luisa would slowly be cooked over the burning embers, or perhaps she would choke on the acrid smoke surrounding her, or most merciful of all, perhaps the soft tissue of her breasts would rip apart under the strain of the bamboo pole, leaving her to drop into the flaming pyre to be incinerated.  Luisa sobbed in despair. None of these deaths appealed to her in the least.  She wanted to live.  She pleaded for forgiveness, hoping that perhaps Kayin or Ekene would understand and take pity.

 

But what Luisa did not know was that there was no one to hear her pleas.  The Attan clan had left the village, leaving their victim to expire alone in exquisite anguish.  The men had run off in one direction, bearing spears and bows to fight an unseen enemy.  The women had headed deeper into the jungle to hide.  Unable to see more than a foot through the blinding smoke, and heedless of the peculiar silence, the doomed prisoner remained unaware that she had been left to die alone.

 

As the relentless surge of heat scorched her flesh, Luisa could do nothing but moan pathetically as the pain consumed her. She prayed for the bamboo pole to split open her proud bosom, allowing her to plunge into the pit and die quickly in the blazing inferno.  But her prayers would be denied.  The Baroness would soon meet a very different fate.

 

Luisa swung helplessly over the burning embers for over an hour, which to her were like years.  Then, when it seemed she could take no more, a torrent of rain fell from above.  The deluge was a welcome respite as the water cooled Luisa's singed body.  More importantly, the rainfall doused the flaming wood, leaving only charred, steaming logs. Luisa gasped for fresh air as she continued to hang by her maimed breasts.

 

After spending another painful hour suspended over the pit, she heard some rustling in the underbrush next to the clearing.  Swiftly and quietly, an Attan tribesman emerged from the jungle and walked up to the pit.  He brandished a knife and a spear.  Luisa feared the worst.  But when the man looked up at her, she recognized him as Ekene, one of the two English speaking natives.  It seemed he meant her no harm.

 

“I… I heard what you… what you say,” said Ekene haltingly.  “About forgiveness.  Attan do not forgive, but Ekene… Ekene has learned to forgive.  White woman has suffered… enough.”

 

Luisa did not know what to say.  She watched silently as Ekene cut her down and lowered her into the now soggy pit. He jumped in after her and cut through the vines binding her hands behind her back. Yet he seemed unsure about removing the bamboo pole running through her breasts.  She nodded, and guided the knife to the center of the shaft, the point where it ran between her two bulging glands.

 

Ekene carefully cut through the fibrous stalk.  He turned away and covered his ears as Luisa screamed while he pulled the two halves of the shaft out of her perforated breasts.  She swooned in agony as Ekene did his best to stem the flow of blood pouring from her wounds. 

 

“It will stop,” he said hopefully.  “I have seen worse.  But you must leave… village… now.” Ekene struggled to help her out of the pit and sat down next to her in the clearing.

 

“Where are the others?” asked Luisa, not really wanting to know.

 

“Attan men have gone… gone to fight white invaders.  Women hide in jungle. Other Nuaraque tribes have seen barons and their… soldiers.  We think they look… they look for you.”

 

Luisa's heart skipped a beat.  The other plantation owners were coming to rescue her, just as she had said they would.  If only she could find them, she would be saved.

 

“Where… where are the barons… the white… invaders?” she asked, her voice rising.

 

“One group… Baron Cortez, is heading for rope bridge… high over Juruá River.  Attan men wait for them there… ambush… you should not go… you are too weak.”

 

“But I must.  It's my only hope.  If Cortez does not cross the bridge… if he turns back, the Nuaraque will find me and kill me.”

 

Ekene knew Luisa was right.  He told her how to get to the bridge, and he did not try to stop her as she hobbled off toward it.  He could not go with her of course.  He too was now a marked man.  He had betrayed his people for reasons he did not comprehend.  Ekene fled in the opposite direction, hoping to find a new life outside of Nuaraque territory.

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 4, 2018

 

It was 2:30 AM when the battered Ford pick-up arrived at the entrance to the New England Aquarium.  The electronic gate was locked of course, but this did not deter the two men in the truck, one of who had bribed a security guard for the entrance code earlier that day.  The intruders found the control box for the gate, and the taller of the pair, the one named Kayin, punched the numbers on the keypad.  The barrier clattered open.

 

Located on a Main Channel wharf, the aquarium was dark and deserted after closing, especially in the middle of the night.  But like most such venues, the facility was guarded around the clock.

 

“The guy who gave you the code… he make sure we have no problems, right?” asked Ekene, the second man.  He had a halting accent, but like his partner, he preferred to speak in English to improve his language skills. 

 

“Of course,” Kayin replied confidently.  “There is only him and one other guard on the, how they say… shift.  They will give us no trouble.”

 

The pick-up drove through the gate and around the building to the service entrance at the rear.  Along the way, the men saw an illuminated sign…

 

CARNIVORES OF THE SEVEN SEAS

Final week for this special exhibit before it moves to Philly.

Come see the fiercest creatures in the ocean as they

swim in their own special tank!

 

“I saw the show when it first arrived,” said Kayin.  “When Dr. Jiang called, I knew it would be perfect.  They cannot put the big sharks in the main tank… the tall, round one, because the sharks… they eat the other fish. So they have a temporary aquarium… just for them.  You will see.”

 

Kayin parked the truck, and together with Ekene pulled the large, plastic bag containing Petra’s corpse from the cargo bed.  They hauled the body through a steel door which had been left unlocked by the obliging security staff, then up a stairway which led to a long grated platform mounted on scaffolding forty feet over the floor.  However, below the platform was not the floor, but rather the shark tank being used for Carnivores of the Seven Seas.  It was almost 80 feet in diameter and thirty feet deep, making it larger than the permanent ocean tank in the building next door.

 

Neither Kayin nor Ekene felt very safe on the rickety platform which jiggled precariously just ten feet above the water.  Below, they could hear the occasional splash as one of the sharks breached the surface, but for the most part there was only silence as the creatures swam gracefully in the depths of their enclosure.  The lighting was so dim that the men could make out only large menacing shapes drifting randomly in the pool. Not being able to clearly see the beasts made them all the more frightening to the jittery pair.

 

“I remember there was at least one great white,” said Kayin, recalling his earlier visit.  “Not as big as in that old movie… what it was called… Jaw? But still… very scary.  And many others, at least ten maybe fifteen feet long.  The guide, she told us they are fed in the morning, before the show is open, so it will not upset the visitors.”

 

“That means they will be very hungry now,” said Ekene.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But will they eat something if it is… already dead?” Ekene had heard from his grandparents in Brazil that snakes would attack only living prey.  If sharks were like snakes, Petra would not make a very tempting meal.

 

“I read they will go after anything… so long as blood is in the water,” said Kayin with authority, though he knew as little about sharks as his comrade.  “That is why I brought this…” From the waistband of his pants he pulled a meat cleaver.  “…to make blood.”

 

Ekene grimaced.  This job was becoming less and less pleasant by the minute.  He watched Kayin unzip the body bag and helped him slide the now cooling carcass of Petra von Starkfolter out of it.  They folded the bag and admired the still exquisite body of the naked blonde in the shimmering light reflecting from the water. 

 

“She was so beautiful,” said Ekene wistfully.  “Why did the doctors kill her?  It is such a waste…”

 

“Well, if you want one last go at her, don't let me stop you,” said Kayin with a laugh. Ekene looked up at the man with disgust before realizing the suggestion was a joke. “Anyway, time to get to work…”  Kayin raised his cleaver overhead. Ekene looked away.

 

The heavy, steel blade came down on the side of Petra's left breast, digging deep into the large mass of spongy tissue.  Kayin figured that of the various appendages projecting from Petra, her tits were most likely the easiest to sever.  Unlike her limbs and head, her sizeable chest was free of bones and tendons which could prove challenging to cut apart.  Still, it took three hefty whacks before the ample ball of flesh was detached, leaving a ragged crater gushing a geyser of blood.  Kayin threw the amputated meat into the water below and positioned Petra so the blood would also cascade into the tank.

 

Within seconds, the occasional splashing of the sharks had increased to a veritable maelstrom as dozens of the ravenous fish raced to the blood-scented waters below the wobbly platform.  Kayin knew he had to work fast to satiate the voracious beasts.  In seconds, he had sliced off Petra's remaining breast, providing a second tender morsel to the sharks and increasing the blood flow to attract them. 

 

Ekene huddled in a corner of the platform as his partner chopped away at Petra's remains like a madman.  Her arms proved easier to dismember than Kayin had thought, but it took several minutes for him to hack through each of her thighs to separate her legs.  Perhaps it was not necessary to carve up the luscious feast so diligently, but Kayin had promised that no part of the woman's body would remain – and he decided smaller pieces… parts… would ensure there would be no “leftovers”. 

 

Soon, only Petra's torso and severed head were left.  Kayin debated whether to carve up the largest part of her body into smaller chunks, but ultimately tossed her trunk to the sharks in one piece, confident that they would digest every last scrap of the woman's anatomy – tissue, sinews, organs and even the bones – without leaving a trace.  Based on what he could see of their ferocious eating habits, Kayin had no doubt the fish would fulfill his promise.

 

He waited until the surging tank grew relatively still before throwing the final delicacy, Petra's head, into the water.  Kayin knew there was nothing else left of the woman, but it was most essential that what could be used to identify her was obliterated.  So he waited until he could ensure there was no doubt his assignment had been completed.  Petra's skull splashed into the tank where it floated, eyes staring blankly, waiting to be consumed.

 

Ekene had returned from the corner of the platform to join Kayin.  Both men stared at Petra's head as it bobbed luridly, hoping that it would tempt one of the aquarium denizens to devour a last savory bite.  But it seemed the sharks were no longer interested. The battered head remained afloat for over ten minutes before slowly sinking to the bottom of the tank.

 

“Shit,” said Kayin. “We are fucked.”

 

“Maybe sharks will eat it later… before anyone finds it.”  Ekene tried to be optimistic.

 

“In about six hours, the shark exhibit opens to the public.  Hundreds of people will look into the tank.  Who will not notice this?”  For a moment, Kayin considered diving into the water to retrieve Petra's head… but he realized that would be suicide. Instead, he convinced Ekene that they must clean up the blood and leave at once, not only the aquarium, but Boston… Massachusetts… the entire country.  They would return to Brazil before those villainous scientists could find them and kill them.

 

And so, Petra von Starkfolter did not quite vaporize after all.

 

*  *  *  *  *

June 26, 1897

 

Despite all she had endured at the hands of the hostile Nuaraque, Luisa El Dorado somehow found the strength to stagger over three miles to the clearing next to the Juruá River.  Were it not for a neglected path leading through the dense foliage, her escape would have been hopeless, but the overgrown, muddy trail – unused for years – allowed Luisa to make her way through the jungle, albeit with some difficulty. 

 

Ekene had told Luisa that the Attan men would not take such an obvious route.  Instead, they would cut through the forest.  Not only was this quicker, they also would remain unseen and unheard should they encounter the Europeans, who most likely would follow the path to the village. 

 

By the time she reached the end of the decaying trail, Luisa wondered where the tribesmen had gone.  They would have arrived at the clearing much earlier, but as Ekene had said, they were planning an ambush against the colonists and so most likely were hiding in the nearby undergrowth. The jungle tree line was less than thirty feet from the rope bridge, which crossed a particularly precipitous drop into the Juruá River surging over 200 feet below. The rickety span swung to and fro, unoccupied, and the clearing facing Luisa was deserted as well.  If her would-be rescuers had arrived, she thought, they must be hidden on the other side of the hundred yard chasm.

 

With the Attan warriors doubtlessly concealed all around her, The Baroness realized she could not afford to wait for the colonists to make their move.  Perhaps they too were biding their time, hoping their foes would expose themselves and be the first to cross the bridge.  If so, by then Luisa would have long been spotted, if she hadn’t been already.  After all, she stood in the open at the edge of the clearing, uncovered and unarmed, an easy target if ever there was one.  If she was still alive, it was because the tribesmen did not want to give away their position by attacking her.

 

Luisa felt the Attan eyes on her.  Maybe some were sneaking through the bush to kill her up close and quietly.  She realized that every moment she hesitated could be her last.  She had no choice.  She had to run – or rather limp – across the clearing and then over the bridge to safety.  She prayed her fellow colonists were on the other side.

 

The Nuaraque had stolen firearms of course, so both sides would be duly cautious.  But since the Attan men had not fired their weapons, Luisa guessed they preferred to remain hidden until the invaders came close enough to ambush.  She would have to gamble the natives would not fire on her as she made her way to the bridge.  It was only ten yards.  If she could get to the dilapidated planks, Luisa guessed she would be out of harm’s way.   

 

Unconcerned that she was naked and smeared with blood and filth, Luisa shuffled into the clearing as fast as she could.  She had twisted her ankle while navigating the craggy path from the Attan village, and as a result, she could barely stay on her feet.  But somehow, the badly wounded woman managed to lurch her way to the bridge without drawing gunfire from the Nuaraque tribesmen.  She grabbed at the two ropes which formed the almost worthless hand rails and used them to help her stay upright as she began the perilous crossing.

 

Despite the danger, Luisa sighed with relief.  She had guessed right.  Either the natives were hiding too deep in the jungle to see her, or they decided not to reveal themselves by firing their guns.  Either way, she was safe – so long as her rescuers were waiting on the other side of the gorge.  Luisa was confident they were there, and she began her perilous journey over the planks.

 

She had taken no more than three steps when she heard a sudden swish, followed by a fleshy thump.

 

“Aiieeehhhh!” Luisa’s scream echoed through the yawning chasm below her.  The incredible pain came from her lower back.  She reached behind her with one hand and felt an arrow imbedded to the left of her spine.  “Oh… God… Nooooooo!” she gasped.  She had not realized her tormentors could use their bows to kill her without making a sound.  How could she be so stupid?

 

The arrow added to her existing agonies, but it was not fatal.  Using the frayed ropes for support, Luisa continued to pull herself across the bridge.  She was so close to freedom.  She would not let these Nuaraque bastards stop her now.  And then she heard another swish.  And another thump.

 

“Uuunnnghhh!!”  Another arrow had plunged deep into her right buttock.  This time she did not bother to reach behind her.  She knew the arrow was there because of the stream of warm blood flowing down the back of her thigh. And because of the pain.  Bravely, The Baroness continued along the bridge, struggling against the savage onslaught in her desperate bid for survival.

 

Two more projectiles whizzed past the hapless blonde, plunging harmlessly into the river below.  For a moment, Luisa thought she was too far away – that she was out of range of the Attan archers.  Her hopes rose, and she took a few more steps with renewed vigor despite the penetrating shafts.

 

And then another arrow impaled her right shoulder.  This one punched clean through the bone, leaving the tip to emerge amidst a crimson spray just above her breast.  Luisa cried out and coughed up blood, but she did not fall. She summoned all her remaining strength and continued her arduous crossing of the bridge.     

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Are you sure it’s her?” whispered Gaspar Cortez, the fifth wealthiest rubber baron in the recently formed state of Amazonas.  If his plan to capture or kill Francisco El Dorado and his wife was a success, Cortez would soon add ten million mil réis to his riches and move up in the ranks of Brazil’s elite. He was speaking to Ron Barceló, his lieutenant for over five years.  Barceló squatted next to Cortez, squinting into a pair of battered binoculars.  Both men were well-concealed behind a copse of eugenia shrubs.  Behind them, a dozen of Cortez’s armed guards did their best to keep quiet and out of sight.

 

“I’m not 100 percent certain,” replied Barceló, keeping his voice low, “but how many other pale skinned, blonde women are in this region?  And this one is naked and a real mess.  She’s spattered with mud and it looks like she’s hurt pretty bad – there’s blood running over her and she’s having trouble staying on her feet.”

 

“Is that her at the far end of the bridge?” asked Cortez, able to make out a figure in the distance.

 

“Yes.  She’s about a quarter of the way over the span. The bitch is coming right towards us!”

 

“She probably doesn’t know there’s a bounty on her head,” Cortez chuckled.

 

“Even if she does, she can’t see us… though I’ll bet she thinks we’re coming to save her.”

 

“Either way, it looks like she’s running away from the natives… probably assumes that by heading this way, someone will rescue her.  This is going to be as easy as rolling off a log. Even if her husband’s dead, we still get the full reward if we finish her off. She’s almost in range.  Let’s wait till she gets a little closer, and I’ll give the signal.”

 

“We could take her alive,” suggested Barceló, still peering through the binoculars at the pathetic woman struggling to cross the bridge.  Because Luisa was facing him, he could not see the three arrows lodged in her back. Those soaring past her swooped by too quickly for him to notice.

 

“Take her alive?” Cortez was taken aback by the suggestion.  “Why on earth would we do that?  The money is no better if she’s breathing, and dealing with a living captive is a hell of a lot more difficult than transporting a corpse. Besides, from what I’ve seen, this cunt doesn’t deserve a drop of compassion. Not a chance.  First chance we get, we drop her and cart back her sorry carcass to collect the reward.”

 

“Very well,” said Barceló with a slight sigh. “She’s almost half-way across,” he added.  “She’ll be in range in less than a minute – unless she falls.  She’s looking in pretty bad… Christ almighty – she’s hit!”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

At the midway point, Luisa still faced 150 feet of the wobbly bridge before she reached what she hoped would be safety.  It was more than she could accomplish.  Her body felt as if it would give out completely at any moment, and if she let go of the rope rails, she was sure she would collapse onto the planks. 

 

The arrows were no longer whizzing past her, so she thought that at least she was out of range of the Nuaraque’s bows.  And then she heard the awful thwack of yet another bolt penetrating her flesh, this time through her upper left shoulder.  The gore-coated head emerged from the side of her left breast.  It had barely missed her heart. Yet another blast of pain consumed her.

 

Luisa prayed her rescuers would be at the other side of the gorge by now.  If they were hiding amidst the jungle foliage, they would be able to see her plight with the aid of field glasses.  If so, why was no one running out to save her?  Perhaps they could not see that she was being shot at by the Attan tribesmen – after all, she was being hit from behind.

 

In a last-chance effort to highlight her dilemma, Luisa turned to one side, leaning all her weight against one of the ropes and causing the bridge to tilt perilously.  Now, everyone could see how badly she was injured.  Surely they would help her.

 

Looking back at the Nuaraque side of the precipice, Luisa understood why the arrows still were able to reach her.  The natives had raced from their hiding spots and into the clearing, closing in on their target.  This also made it riskier for the colonists to approach her.  Maybe that is why they were reluctant to expose their positions.  Still, the Europeans would be armed with more powerful weapons and if they were there, they would be close enough to hit the tribesmen.

 

And then Luisa remembered that the Nuaraque also had firearms – the weapons they stole during the revolt.  She looked back.  In horror, she watched as several loin-clothed natives raised their guns and aimed them directly at her.  She turned to face them.  Somehow she managed to steady herself on the bridge, spreading her legs for balance and raising her arms in submission.

 

“Please don’t shoot,” she sobbed, though no one could hear her.

 

The Attan men equipped with rifles fired, seemingly in unison.  Two bullets hit Luisa in quick succession, one in her right thigh, the other in her lower abdomen. 

 

“Unghhh!  Gaaghhh!!” The baroness shrieked and turned around to face whoever, if anybody, was on the other side.  “Please… help…”

 

To her surprise, Luisa saw over a dozen colonists step out from the underbrush.  She thought she recognized Baron Gaspar Cortez, a friend of Francisco’s.  Over half of Cortez’s men had raised their shotguns and approached the bridge, apparently aiming at the Nuaraque to dispatch her attackers.  Even as two more bullets punctured her from behind, Luisa felt her hopes rise.

 

Baron Cortez would save her.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

But Baron Cortez had other plans.

 

“Those damned Nuaraque are taking her down,” said Barceló, eyes pressed to his binoculars. “She’s already been hit by at least four arrows, and now that those savages have come out of the bushes, they’re firing rifles from the clearing… ’73 Winchesters by the looks of it.”

 

“Guns they stole from the El Dorado plantation no doubt,” Cortez muttered.  “I’m sure they’ll be lousy marksmen, but at that range, they’re going to get some lucky hits.  The bitch is as good as dead.  But if we want to collect the bounty, we have to prove we were the ones who killed her. Have the men with shotguns move in closer and blast her.  That’ll make it obvious we bagged the slut.”

 

Barceló directed a hand signal to the guards.  Seven of the men, those with shotguns, moved forward until they were just a few yards from the edge of the precipice.  Having stumbled a few more steps along the planks, The Baroness was now only eighty feet from the far side of the span.  Cortez’s men were within easy range of their target, but unlikely to be hit by Nuaraque fire. They raised their weapons.

 

Miraculously, Luisa was still standing.  After their first volley, the Attan natives struggled to reload the unfamiliar rifles and were unable to continue shooting.  Those armed with bows were now too far away from their mark to launch their arrows with accuracy.  For a moment, the hapless woman enjoyed a reprieve. 

 

She took two more steps before realizing that the colonists she was approaching – her supposed saviors – were pointing their weapons at her.  Luisa stopped, a confused expression crossing her face.  Could it be that Cortez and his men had mistaken her for a Nuaraque tribeswoman?  After all, she was naked, wounded and covered with muck.  Then again, how could these men not recognize her flaxen hair, her voluptuous body, and her remarkable beauty?

 

Once again she raised her arms submissively.  She shouted as loud as her feeble voice could manage.

 

“Do not shoot!  It is I… Luisa El Dorado… I am escaping from the…”

 

“Fire!” Cortez’s command rose from the distance, cutting off Luisa’s pitiful plea.

 

The guards obeyed.  All seven men pulled their triggers at once, and in less than a second the front of the young woman was riddled with buckshot from her neck to her knees.  Blood sprayed from scores of perforations, and for a moment, Luisa’s curvaceous body quivered and remained upright.  Then her arms dropped, and as the crimson geysers continued, she fell to one side. She slid along the right rope rail until the tattered cord caught on the undersides of her bulging breasts, leaving her partially suspended by the twine.

 

As Luisa’s life drained from her comely form, she balanced precariously over the edge of the bridge.  Only her protuberant tits kept her from plunging into the chasm below.

 

“We must get her body!” shouted Cortez.  “Without it, we have no proof to collect the reward.”  Reacting quickly, the guard closest to the bridge dropped his gun and raced toward Luisa.  But his sudden movement along the wooden boards caused the entire structure to sway vigorously.

 

The colonist made it only half way to the dying woman before the undulating rope under Luisa’s bosom slipped past her wobbling, blood-slicked breasts. With nothing left to support her, The Baroness summersaulted over the edge of the planks and plunged 200 feet into the Juruá River.

 

“Fuck,” cursed Gaspar Cortez as he watched his prize fall from the bridge.  “All that work for nothing.”

 

“Perhaps we can recover her corpse,” said Barceló.  “We can walk downstream to where the river narrows.  Most likely, her body will be caught amongst the rocks and driftwood there.”

 

“No.” Cortez was shaking his head.  “The Juruá is teeming with piranhas.  In less than five minutes, there will be nothing left of the lovely Luisa El Dorado – at least nothing that one would consider recognizable.”  

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 5, 2018

 

“Holy shit!” said Jim.  He was reading the daily paper while enjoying omelets for lunch with Nigel at Cafe 26.

 

 

Jim handed the article to Nigel after he finished reading it.  Nigel scanned the story and gave a long look at the picture of the “unidentified victim.”  He shook his head in amazement.

 

“I live just a few blocks from the aquarium,” he said.  “I don’t know how many times I’ve walked past that exhibit.  Even went to see it a few times.  Those sharks are fucking awesome, but to think of ending up in the tank with them… just the idea of that scares the shit out of me.”

 

“I wonder who she was,” Jim pondered aloud. “The chick who was eaten I mean. Does she look familiar to you?”

 

“Naw.  Jeez… with a face like that, if she was from around here, we would have noticed her.  I don’t know any girls on campus who are that hot.  I’ll bet she’s from out of town… maybe a murder victim.  My theory is that whoever killed her dropped her body in the tank to get rid of it.  He probably wasn’t counting on the sharks not swallowing the head.  Otherwise, no one would even know what happened to her.”

 

“That makes sense,” Jim agreed. “In fact, I’d say she might even be from out of the country.  Canada, maybe.  There’s just no way a babe like that could disappear without anyone filing missing persons claims from coast to coast.  She doesn’t look like some homeless crack whore, if you know what I mean.”

 

“That’s for sure.”  Nigel paused.  “Well, at least if I’m right, she wasn’t eaten alive.  That would have been really gross.”

 

“Still, it might be a cool idea for our next project.  If we can get permission to film at the exhibit, we could get some great material.  And it would be like ‘based on real life events’ you know? That shit always goes over well with the profs.  And we could probably make it kinda violent… more than usual. After all, we’d need a convincing murder scene.”

 

“Faking the shark stuff might be tricky,” said Nigel. “And we’d have to move fast. The exhibit is going to Philly next week.”

 

“We can do it in time.” Jim was obviously excited.  “Do you think you can persuade that chick you used on your spy-girl film?  She was scorchin’, man. What was her name again?”

 

“Nadia.  Nadia Lamb.  She’s a stripper for Christ’s sake.  And I just got that project into post.  I conned her by telling her I’m going to make sure her work gets to a few local agents.  Without something to show yet, I’m not sure she’s going to do another job for free… especially just a few days after wrapping the last one.”

 

“Tell her she’ll have better chances of signing a contract if she’s got more than just one performance under her belt. Besides, that slut really got into playing Destiny.  Did you see how she handled that whipping scene?  I mean Jesus… you had to stop her from going full nude!”

 

“I dunno.”  Nigel seemed hesitant. “Working with peelers is always dicey.  Besides, she’s got dark hair.  She doesn’t look anything like the ‘real life’ victim.”

 

“You know that won’t matter,” Jim sighed.  “We’re not making a documentary here.  As for being reliable… Nadia, right?… Nadia was a real trooper.  I’ll bet she’d love to star in a gory murder scene.  I detected more than a little masochism oozing from that sexy body of hers.”

 

“No doubt about that.  But I’m not sure if she’s going to like the idea of being eaten by giant sharks, even if we figure out a way to fake it.”

 

“Okay, if you’re such a chicken-shit about doing it, I’ll take the lead this time.  If anything goes wrong, it’ll be my fault.  All you have to do is ask Nadia to play the ‘unidentified victim’.  Who knows, you might even get another date with her.  I think she likes your accent.”

 

“Alright. If you do the heavy lifting, I’ll ask her. But you talk to the NEA honchos to get permission to shoot at their exhibit.  I’ll bet that’s going to fly like a lead balloon given what just happened.”

 

“I can be pretty persuasive,” said Jim confidently.  “And even if we get turned down, I’m sure there are other tanks of water in Boston we can get permission to use.  As for the sharks, that’s why God invented CGI.” 

 

“Right.  Good luck with that, Spielberg.”

 

“Looks like we’re all set then.”  Jim quickly finished his omelet and took the paper back from Nigel.  “I think I can have a rough draft ready tomorrow and work out the dialogue as we go.  As for you it’s off to the… what was that place called?… The Pussy Parlor?”

 

“Yep.  That’s where Nadia works.  Evening shift if I recall correctly.”

 

“She had a stage name didn’t she?” Jim was making sure Nigel remembered it, even if there was no doubt he’d be able to recognize the woman on sight.

 

“Yeah. She called herself ‘The Baroness’ at the club.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 18, 1721

 

Roatan was a buccaneer’s haven in the early 18th century, and few merchant ships dared venture to the island unless they had no choice.  Supposedly, the Spanish still held sway on what was officially their territory, but they had done little to maintain their colony since the mid fifteen hundreds. Neither did the British, who frequently invaded the Bay Islands.  In effect, Roatan was a sparsely populated enclave where a motley assortment of thieves, murderers, and especially pirates operated with little fear of retribution.

 

Colonial vessels from England, Spain, Holland and France could be seen at the main port along the south-west coast, but they did not stay longer than a few days at most.  If they were cargo ships, invariably they carried crops, livestock or other goods which did not interest the ever-present corsairs.  Spanish ships, known to transport precious payloads, were particularly at risk among the islands and were rarely seen docked at Roatan. 

 

So it was with some surprise that Petra von Starkfolter observed a Castilian merchant vessel drop anchor among the other motley ships in the harbor. Physically, it was similar to the various mid-size barques and brigantines berthed along the wharfs, and like all of them, its captain had the sense not to fly any colors while in port. But the sharp-eyed Baroness quickly spotted the distinctive placement of the mizzenmast and the Majorcan figurehead mounted on the prow.

 

The ship’s crew could have been from anywhere – perhaps they were privateers like herself – but the vessel was definitely Spanish, and that warranted further investigation.  Few of Petra’s contacts knew anything about the mysterious craft, nor what it was doing in Roatan. The local corsair community expressed little interest as most assumed that if there was any valuable cargo aboard, certainly the captain would go to greater lengths to protect it.

 

Yet unlike her fellow pirates, The Baroness was not so dismissive.  She knew the officers and crew would be unlikely to share any information, so Petra trailed the ship’s slovenly captain first to the Smith and Cross, and then to the bordello next door. There he spent the night with a comely young whore named Luisa.

 

The following day, Petra bought Luisa a ploughman’s lunch and two grogs to propose a deal.  If the harlot could use her charms to persuade the Spanish ship’s commander to share the voyage manifest, Petra would pay her two escudos, a considerable sum for a dockside tramp in Roatan.  Luisa eagerly accepted and agreed to meet with Petra the next morning.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Smiling broadly, Luisa joined Petra at the Smith and Cross just after the proprietor unlocked the doors.  He greeted both women with a curt “g’mornin’ ladies”, and stepped behind the bar wondering why two nubile women would frequent his establishment so early in the day. 

 

“I see you had no difficulty completing your part of the bargain,” said Petra.  Luisa’s long dark hair was askew and her bodice was buttoned so as barely to conceal her full, round breasts.  It seemed she had come to the tavern as soon as she could escape the clutches of her seafaring customer.

 

“No difficulty?” she said in mock surprise.  “I should have held out for more than two escudos, I’ll say.  That man has more stamina than Odysseus. And rough and tumble as a drunken mule.  I have bruises everywhere.  But he’s British, like you suspected… and after a full bottle of rum, he was quite obliging. He even let me look at a list of what was on his ship.”

 

“He showed you the manifest?” Petra was dumbfounded. She had hoped Luisa would loosen the man’s tongue so he would brag about any valuable cargo, but such drunken boasting could not always be trusted.  On the other hand, an itemized account – well, that was more than she expected.

 

“Indeed he did,” said Luisa proudly. “And don’t worry that I might ‘ave forgotten.  My memory is sharp as a Damascus lance, even after I’ve ‘ad a few too many.  Besides, this… what is it… manifest, it only had a few items on it.”

 

Petra looked at Luisa expectantly.

 

“The ship is mainly loaded with sugar cane bales… 40 tonnes if I recall.  And two dozen casks of rum from the mainland.”

 

“That is all?” Petra frowned.

 

“There was one other item on the list, but I could not make it out… something like ‘coffee of jade from Copan.’”

 

Petra thought for a moment.  If the item was valuable, most likely it would be listed in Spanish.  Luisa’s “jade coffee” could well be “cofre de jade de Copán”… a chest of jade jewels found at the ancient Mayan ruins on the mainland.  The Spanish had been pilfering the site for decades, fighting off other scavengers and surreptitiously transporting the loot back to Europe. The cane was of course a ruse, and the rum, perhaps a lucky bounty from another raid.

 

The only thing that seemed odd was the captain.  Not only was he British, but the way Luisa described him, it seemed unlikely that he could be so much as a midshipman let alone commandeer a cargo vessel.  Irresponsible, drunken louts like the one who so carelessly shared the ship’s manifest with a gossipy whore were usually found in the local brig, not guiding precious merchandise across the Atlantic.

 

Still, Petra was not about to let such an opportunity slip by. The Spaniards may well have commissioned an English mercenary crew and the roguish “captain” may simply have posed as an officer to impress the local tramps.  After all, the sailors were supposed to be no more than a motley complement of swabs hauling sugar cane and rum. Even if there was no treasure on board, Petra thought it was worth the risk.

 

“It is what you wanted?” Luisa asked expectantly.  She held out her hand in case Petra was feeling generous.

 

The Baroness nodded.  “You have been paid well.  Now go.”

 

Luisa left.  Petra waited in the tavern for fifteen minutes, then cautiously stalked out to make the journey to her own ship on the other side of the island.  Her crew was waiting.  They did not have much time to get ready.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“I have done well?” Luisa asked the tall man who bore menacingly over her. They stood on the dock next to the gangplank which led to the Spanish vessel. Unlike the sodden boor she had “seduced” the night before, this well-dressed officer was a real captain, obviously the man in command of the ship Petra had asked about.

 

“You told the buxom blonde about this ship… about the cargo on board?” he snarled.

 

“Yes, M’lord.”

  

“Specifically the jade?”

 

“Yes.  She seemed very interested in that.” Luisa, ever fearful of the man who had paid her twice as much as Petra, was intent on pleasing him. “I’m sure this female pirate will decide to attack and fall into your trap…”

 

“And how do you know she is a female pirate?” The man’s expression turned sour.  His demeanor grew more threatening.  “And how do you know I mean to trap her?”

 

“Well… well everyone on Roatan knows The Baroness,” Luisa sputtered.  “And when you said she would approach me to get information from ‘Captain Nigel’, I figured you were plotting to capture her.  After all, we all know who you are as well…”

 

“And who might that be?  Who am I?”

 

“B… B… Barnet.  Captain Barnet the pirate hunter.”

 

“She knows too much,” said a burly officer standing next to the captain.

 

“I’m afraid you are right, Mr. Appleton.  We cannot risk leaving her here after we set sail.  Take her aboard.”

 

“But… but you can’t suggest that we take her along.  She could easily give away our plans.  The bitch has seen both the crew of imposters and the militia.  I suspect she is aware of our intentions and will cause trouble – even if we conceal her below deck.  I recommend we deal with the wench… permanently.”

 

“Nooo…” Luisa’s eyes went wide with terror.  “I only came to collect my payment… and of course to ensure M’lord is pleased.  I will not say anything of what I have done… or of your plans, whatever they may be.  I swear!”  She began to shuffle backward, slowly moving away from the gangplank, but before she could take even a few steps, two of Barnet’s guards had stepped forward and seized her upper arms to hold her fast. 

 

Barnet drew his sabre and pushed the gleaming steel deep into Luisa’s generous cleavage.  The tip pressed against her breastbone and the edge of the blade rested against the partially undone laces which barely held her bodice together. As the woman moaned with fear, Barnet drew the weapon downward, slicing through the thin ties until nothing remained to fasten one side of the garment to the other. A thin trickle of blood ran along the middle of her sternum and down to her waist.  The captain’s sabre was exceptionally sharp indeed.

 

“Please…” Luisa begged.  “Do not kill me.  Fuck me if you like, but let me go.  I will never reveal your secrets… ever.”  Her body quivered as Barnet used his sword to pull aside first the left side of her blouse, then the right.  The prodigious mounds of Luisa’s high-thrust bosom were left prominently exposed, as she had carelessly left behind her undergarments in her hurry to withdraw from the cabin of “Captain Nigel”. 

 

What a fool I’ve been… to trust these cut-throats, she thought to herself.  She realized that most likely, they would kill her to ensure her silence.  Her terror grew, as did the large, bulging nipples which crowned her exquisite breasts.  The swelling buds did not go unnoticed by the leering Barnet, who used the cusp of his sabre to toy with them until they spurted tiny rivulets of blood.  Luisa’s moaning became louder.

 

“Perhaps you are right.”  The captain nodded at his MAA.  “She is an enticing trollop – most certainly capable of countless carnal delights – but as long as she lives, she poses a definite liability.  I will see that we are rid of the bitch.  Still, such a delectable creature could serve some additional function before she expires.”

 

“But Captain, we must depart in less than an hour if we expect The Baroness to intercept the barque as we planned.  There is not enough time for the crew to… to take advantage… of…”

 

“Do not worry,” Barnet interrupted his master at arms.  “I do not intend to let the men loose on our fair maiden, no matter how much that would improve morale.  No… I expect there will be opportunities for such frivolities later.  Instead, this slut will serve as a different mark for the crew.”

 

“But look at her,” scoffed Appleton.  “The only thing she is good for is sex.” Luisa cowered in the grasp of the two guards.

 

“You lack imagination, my good man.” The captain smiled and again used his sabre to poke at the woman’s remarkable tits. “Do you not agree that these would make exceptional targets?  In fact, I suspect her entire body, once naked and constrained, would inspire the aim of even the most incompetent marksman.”

 

“Noooo!!” screamed Luisa, who clearly was less than eager to accept Barnet’s suggestion.  She struggled vainly to free herself from the men holding her.

 

“Most ingenious,” said Appleton.  “But again, I must remind you that we have very little time for even an exercise such as this…”

 

“We have time,” said the captain confidently, “if we combine the whore’s obliteration with our departure.  Two petrels with one stone, as they say.  Quick…  I will explain as we prepare her.”

 

Barnet nodded at the guards restraining Luisa and pointed toward the ship.  The men dragged their feebly struggling captive on board, followed by Barnet and Appleton.  The rest of the crew, both the convicted conscripts and the militia, were already on the barque.

 

As the gangplank was drawn up, Luisa’s despairing screams rang out across the harbor. 

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 6, 2018

 

“Tell us where the money is, you fucking cunt!” The tall, swarthy man with an eyepatch shouted at the helpless brunette. 

 

“I told you… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The woman’s voice cracked with terror and pain.  She shook her head, sending her shoulder-length hair flying from side to side.  She was naked, her perfect, stripper’s body exposed to the six men surrounding her.  They had cruelly impaled her on a three-inch wide iron shaft which rose over a yard from a concrete foundation in the ground.  The post had been inserted deep into the woman’s sex, rupturing her cervix and laying waste to her reproductive system.  Blood poured along her open thighs.  Her feet, barely touching the ground, were tied to cinder blocks five feet apart, which ensured her legs were constrained as well as widespread.  Her arms were cuffed behind her back, forcing her abundant chest outward, and leaving her virtually immobile on her agonizing perch.

 

“Bullshit!” yelled the man with the eyepatch, who vaguely resembled a pirate from days gone by.  “Mr. Cortez was told by reliable sources that a dancer named Nadia had stolen a black briefcase from our courier after seducing him at the Pussy Parlor.  When we checked out the club, the owner identified you, and it turns out you fit Nadia’s description to a T.  He said no other brunette bitch at the place had tits as big as these.”  The man slapped his hand across her breasts, making them wobble enticingly.

 

“That’s not true,” whimpered the woman.  “My name is Luisa Peres.  No one at the club knows that because we don’t use our real names.  I’ve never heard of anyone named Nadia, but she could be one of the other girls.  There are at least twenty brunettes working at the Parlor, and most of us have pretty big racks.”

 

“Not like this,” said the man.  He grabbed her left breast, squeezing and twisting the mass of flesh as hard as he could. 

 

“Aaiighh,” screamed Luisa. She wondered if anyone other than her captors would hear her.  She prayed to be rescued, but knew that was unlikely. These men were professionals who would have taken her to a remote location.  She was outside in the dark at what seemed to be a construction site surrounded by a rickety barrier of wooden boards.  It looked like a building project that was just being started – bulldozers, cranes and other machinery were on the grounds. Luisa could see nothing past the enclosure, and because it was late at night, she doubted anyone was within earshot.

 

“If it’s not Nadia, then what is your stage name?”

 

“At the Parlor, I call myself The Baroness,” Luisa answered.  “We like to use names that are sexy and kind of exot… Auuumph!!”  The man cut her off by ploughing his fist into her midsection. Luisa bent forward in pain.

 

“I don’t give a shit,” he said.  “Whatever your name is, just tell me what you did with the money and maybe we’ll let you live.  By now you probably know that case was stuffed with a 500 thousand dollar drug payment.  Do you think Mr. Cortez will just let that go?  We’ve already dealt with your friend, the courier – you’ll be happy to know that you were the last fuck of his life.  So now we need you to tell us what you did with the cash so we can end this pathetic charade.”

 

“I… I don’t know anything about this!” Luisa cried out as loud as she could.  “I never sleep with my customers, so I don’t know about this courier.  And if I knew anything about so much money, you can be sure I’d tell you.”

 

“You know, I think you’re like a female Pinocchio, except your tits grow when you lie instead of your nose.”  Luisa’s tormentor clearly did not believe her.  “And looking at the evidence, you must lie a lot.  Maybe you’re used to getting away with crap like this, but this time… this time things will be a little different.”  He nodded at his five henchman, who quickly surrounded their prey.

 

Luisa had been secured so the men could access her from all sides.  They had come prepared.  Two held foot-long steel pipes in their hands; one was swinging a pair of nunchaku; one held a wooden club pierced with rusty nails; and the fifth sported two sets of brass knuckles. 

 

Luisa squirmed futilely on the post rammed into her pussy.  She wondered how she had got into this predicament.  One minute, she was talking to a would-be customer at the club, the next, some other man asked to meet her in the parking lot. The instant she got outside, she felt a sharp whack across the base of her skull.  Then she woke up at this godforsaken place, skewered on a metal shaft, and being accused of theft by mobsters. 

 

“Please, no…” she pleaded.  But it was no use.  The men – all except their eye-patched leader – moved in and swung their assorted weapons with unchecked abandon. 

 

Luisa shrieked like a madwoman as the blows landed on all parts of her curvaceous body.  Brass knuckles plunged into her abdomen.  Nunchaku smashed into her buttocks and lower back.  Steel pipes battered her arms, her legs, and her torso.  The dreaded cudgel was thrust against her bulging tits, the exposed spikes ripping into the soft tissue and releasing geysers of blood.  Luisa’s continuous howls of anguish could not quite drown out the repeated thump, thump, thump of her supple flesh being pummeled mercilessly by the five brutes.

 

“Where is Mr. Cortez’s money?” The man with the eye-patch was shouting as loud as he could in order to be heard above the horrific sounds of the young woman’s beating.  His voice echoed across the deserted site, competing with his victim’s cries, but if she was able to hear him, she either could not or would not answer. 

 

After five minutes of continuous blows to Luisa’s naked body, the leader of her assailants signaled the men to stop. Perhaps a brief respite would encourage her to respond.

 

“The money.  We know you stole it.  Unless you enjoy this torture, you will tell me where it is.”

 

“Nnnghhhaaaa…” Blood spewed from between Luisa’s lips as she sputtered.  “D… don’t have… anything…” She was balancing precariously on the thick pole on which she was skewered.  The repeated blows had caused her to slip two inches further onto the shaft, driving it deeper into her gut.  She pulled her arms from side to side, but with her hands uselessly cuffed behind her back, her efforts were futile.  “P… please… stop…”

 

“Answer me, you stupid bitch.  Is this how you want to die?” The man’s ire was growing.

 

“Gh… ghaaa… nooo…” Luisa struggled to keep from sliding further down the iron post. “But… I didn’t… I didn’t steal… Aaaaiiiieeghh!!”  The man punched her lacerated breasts, first the right, then the left, spattering blood in all directions.

 

He looked at the men.  “Continue,” he said with a frustrated sigh.

 

Luisa’s vicious thrashing resumed.  Ignoring her screams of agony, her tormentors increased the savagery of their attack.  The fleshy whacks were now joined by the sickening cracks of breaking bones.  Luisa’s arms and ribs were the first to give way, splintering under the powerful strokes of the assorted weapons.  She wailed louder than ever as her bones snapped like kindling.

 

Eventually, even her legs were fractured.  Unable to support herself, she dropped freely down the iron pole until its tip wedged against her breastbone. Had the marauding shaft continued further, it would surely have killed her, but the brunette beauty was not so lucky.  She remained slumped on the shaft, unable to move, but compelled to endure the ongoing ordeal of being pulverized by the five merciless brutes.

 

Only after twenty minutes did Luisa’s screaming finally cease.  Her nude body, covered with bloody wounds and bruises, sagged limply on the post which still supported her. A mixture of urine, blood and slimy fluids streamed from her groin and ran along the length of the pole, forming a puddle at its base. 

 

Her eye-patched interrogator stood solemnly beside her and lifted her drooping head by a hank of hair.  Her eyes were closed and her mouth was partially open.  But she was still alive.  When the man squeezed the remnants of her torn right nipple, she emitted an audible, almost orgasmic moan, as if she were caught up in an erotic dream.

 

“Perhaps she is enjoying her punishment,” laughed the man wearing the brass knuckles.

 

His boss did not see the humor in this remark. “We must make sure that is not the case. Her suffering must be so great, that the only reason she will remain silent is because she is telling the truth.”  He released her hair and let her head drop forward again.  “Bring me her clothing.” 

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

As far as Captain Barnet was concerned, the raven-haired whore had already served her main purpose.  She had lured the unsuspecting Baroness into his trap – so long as the pirate queen could not resist the temptation of the non-existent jade jewels. But Appleton was right.  Luisa needed to be dispatched. In that respect, Barnet thought she could serve yet another purpose… perhaps even two.

 

His bowmen needed practice. And the rest of his crew could use some inspiration as they prepared to confront the buxom buccaneer.  The unfortunate trollop’s voluptuous form provided a most tempting target, and with a bit of creativity, he would ensure her demise would be a memorable one.

 

The preparations for Luisa’s pending doom began with a half dozen militia guards pulling her backwards over a bollard and using their knives to strip her naked. Her already bisected bodice was ripped off with ease. Her petticoat proved a little more challenging, but was reduced to shreds in less than a minute.  To their surprise, the men noticed there was nothing else to remove except her knee-high leather boots. Since Luisa was otherwise naked, they did not bother to struggle with her footwear, which had been tightly laced against her calves.  It would have taken too long, and MAA Appleton had told them time was of the essence.

 

To make the woman more pliable and minimize her struggles, she was forced to down half a bottle of rum.  Still arched over the iron bollard, she writhed seductively, albeit not intentionally so, as she weakened and grew disoriented.  Her screams faded to sobs and whimpers as the lecherous seamen groped and abused her nearly nude body.  Several of the crew members masturbated openly and spurted their semen on her exposed flesh.  Others chose to urinate on her instead.  Soon she was covered with piss and cum, glistening from head to toe in the morning sunlight.

 

“Enough!” Barnet roared at his men.  All but those holding Luisa over the bollard moved away from her.  “It is time to get on with more serious business.”  The captain held up the rum bottle his captive had emptied.  It had been refilled – but this time not with a liquid.  “Gunpowder.” He said, answering the question on the minds of those looking on. “Mr. Appleton, I assume you know where this belongs.”

 

Barnet handed the bottle to the MAA, who walked over to Luisa and bent over her.  Her pussy, which was neatly shorn as was the custom of the local whores, was thrust high due to her awkward posture.  This made it easy for Appleton to position the top of the bottle against the woman’s genitals.  He pushed it forward, cleaving her labia with the neck.

 

“Mmmnaaai…” she mewled as she felt the smooth glass penetrate her sex.  In her rum-fueled stupor, she was unsure what was happening to her.  But the feeling was very familiar, and not at all unpleasant. 

 

Then, just as Luisa reached an unexpected and satisfying climax, Appleton thrust the entire bottle deep inside her.  It ripped violently through her vaginal canal and ruptured her cervix.  Just as she succumbed to her orgasm, a savage stab of pain tore through her nervous system.

 

“Aaaiiieeeghh!!” Luisa shrieked as she was brought back to a brutal, unforgiving reality.  Her lower abdomen exploded with agony, and despite being held down by a half dozen guards, she bucked and struggled wildly in their grasp.  She tried desperately to squeeze the bottle out, but before she could do so, Appleton had used a handful of barbed hooks to seal off her vulva and lock the explosive-laden container in place.

 

Of course, this also added to Luisa’s torment, causing her to howl like a wounded cur.  Her struggles increased, and somehow she managed to slither free of her captors and slide off the bollard.  She landed face down on the deck and began crawling pitifully away from her attackers.  But it was in vain.  In seconds, several of the militia guards pounced on her, bringing her to her knees and pulling her arms behind her back.

 

“Cover her vile hide with whale oil,” ordered Barnet. “When she is ready, row her to the end of the harbor and chain the slut tightly to the mast of the Arabella.  We may then offer this busty wench a final salute as we make our way to destroy the ruthless Baroness.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

November 5, 2018

 

The evening shift girls at the Pussy Parlor usually ambled in at around nine o’clock.  Business didn’t pick up until after ten or eleven, but there often were enough early-bird customers that the better looking dancers could get in a few grinds before the place filled up.  Besides, management liked it when it looked like there were more women than guys on the floor. 

 

Nigel arrived shortly after nine.  He was hoping to catch Nadia before she became busy later on. The club was dark, and Nigel’s eyes took a minute to adjust to the dim lights.  After finding an inconspicuous table, he sat down and, like every other man in the room, he scanned the various dancers who were strutting around the floor looking for potential patrons.  Nigel figured he’d have to buy a half dozen dances and three or four shots before Nadia would consider working on another film. It was expensive, but there were worse ways to spend an evening.

 

The Pussy Parlor was known for having the most attractive and accommodating strippers in town, and at least twenty of them were displaying their charms for the night’s burgeoning clientele. Unfortunately for Nigel, Nadia did not seem to be among them.  He was sure she worked regularly from Wednesday to Sunday nights, so unless she was sick or otherwise detained, she normally would be pacing the club along with the other girls.

 

By 10:30, the joint was packed, and Nigel feared that even if he spotted Nadia, he’d missed any opportunity to spend much time with her.  He knew how popular she was, and with so much competition for her affections, the odds of getting her attention were growing slim.  Nigel waited another half hour before deciding his would-be quarry was not around.  Surely he would have spotted her by now. Still, before giving up on his casting expedition, he decided to ask some of the dancers who approached him.

 

Nigel had thought ahead and brought a small photo of Nadia, which he showed to a half dozen girls.  As he expected, none of the women had seen her.  However, he was surprised that not only was Nadia a no-show that evening, her fellow dancers did not recognize her at all.  They were quick to mention that The Baroness was on shift, but the woman in the photo was someone else.

 

Nigel was confused.  He was certain that Nadia was using The Baroness as her stage name.  Could it be that someone else had appropriated her moniker?  Maybe she had started working days under a different pseudonym, which would account for the night staff not recognizing her.  Still, would Nadia not have told him this?  He decided to check with the manager.

 

“Never seen her,” said a swarthy, overweight man in his fifties.  “I’ve been an assistant manager here for five years – worked both days and nights – and unless she only dropped by for a few days, I’m sure I would remember her.”

 

“She’s been a regular here for over a year,” Nigel argued. “I danced with her just a few weeks ago and she did some, er… modelling for me on the side.  Her name is Nadia and she called herself The Baroness.  I even heard the DJ introduce her as The Baroness when she performed on stage.”

 

“Ahh… The Baroness,” said the assistant manager, nodding knowingly. “We’ve got a Baroness here, but she don’t look nothing like the chick in your picture.  That’s her over there.”  He pointed to a fetching dancer near the bar.  She was attired in a bra, panties, a sheer top and the obligatory stripper’s heels – and aside from being brunette, she looked nothing like Nadia. Her much larger breasts alone made that clear.

 

“But… but that’s not who I’m looking for,” sighed Nigel.

 

“Look Mac, I don’t know who you’re looking for, but that’s The Baroness.  Like you said, she’s been a night-time regular for over a year.  You don’t believe me?  Ask her yourself…” Before Nigel could stop him, the assistant manager released a shrill wolf whistle to get the women’s attention, then looked directly at the faux Baroness, motioning her to join them.

 

“This guy want a dance?” she said as she sidled up to Nigel.  “I’m pretty busy, but if he can wait an hour or so, it’ll be worth it.”  She grinned and swayed her half-dressed body.

 

“Umm… yeah… maybe…” Nigel agreed awkwardly, not wanting to scare her away.  “Do you know this woman?” He gave her the photograph.

 

“No.  But whatever she can do, you can bet I can do it better.”

 

“Her name’s Nadia. Nadia Lamb. But she calls herself The Baroness… same as you.”

 

“Never heard of no one named Nadia,” said the pneumatic brunette.  “And there’s only one Baroness here, and that’s me.  Since you’re kinda cute, I’ll tell you my real name.  It’s Luisa.  You’ll have to trust me on that, ‘cause I ain’t showing you any ID.”

 

More confused than ever, Nigel exhaled audibly, not knowing what else to say.  Just as the assistant manager and the dancer were turning away, another stripper, this one a svelte blonde, came up to Luisa and grabbed her arm.

 

“Hey B,” said the blonde. “There’s a guy out back who wants to speak to you… looks a bit creepy… with an eye-patch… like a pirate.  He said he wants to speak to The Baroness.”

 

“Another stranger?” Luisa rolled her eyes. “Christ, what’s going on tonight? Guess I should find out what this character is after too.”

 

“Do you want me to come with you?” the blonde offered, looking a bit worried. “He could be a rough customer.”

 

“Naw, I’ll be fine.  It’s just one guy, and I‘m sure there will be a few girls in the lot having a drag.  Might grab one myself while I’m out there.”  Luisa turned to Nigel.  “And you… remember… give me an hour and I’ll show you some action you’ll never forget.” She swiveled on her five inch stilettos and headed for the back door.

 

Nigel waited for over an hour.  In fact, he waited till closing time.  But Luisa never did come back.

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

It had been less than a year since the British registered brig, the Arabella, went down a mile from shore.  The ship now lay upright on a sunken reef just outside the main port, fully submerged except for the top twenty feet of her main mast, which conveniently marked her location.  The Arabella had been commissioned as a warship to attack pirates in Honduran waters, but within months of arriving at corsair-infested Roatan, the vessel was scuttled by the very miscreants it was sent to eradicate.

 

Other than the marauders themselves, there were no surviving witnesses to the attack.  It occurred in the middle of the night, and was heard by many of those on shore, but aside from the noise and some bright flashes of cannon fire, there was no sign of the Arabella’s fate until sunrise. Only then, did the locals see the ship’s mast rising just beyond the bay. Later that day, the mutilated bodies of the Arabella’s crew began washing up on shore.

 

Almost everyone assumed it was the work of The Baroness.  No other pirates were so vicious as to decimate all on board a vessel in such a brutal fashion.  The onslaught was a message to all the colonial enforcers who would try to take the buccaneers to task.  Most of the Roatan raiders cheered the untimely demise of the Arabella and its crew.  It would make the meddling Brits think twice before interfering in the privateer’s affairs again.

 

But the English did not back down. Instead, they assigned their most ruthless pirate hunter, the infamous Captain Jonathan Barnet, to take care of the barbaric Baroness once and for all. Barnet had planned his assault carefully – letting his prey come to him and capturing her when her guard was down.  So far, his strategy was working well, though he did not foresee that a greedy, witless ally would ultimately get in the way.

 

It was a minor concern. The woman in question, though most definitely a bewitching young wench, was no more than a seaside trollop who would be missed by no one.  Dispatching the troublesome bitch would be simple.  Still, Barnet would take advantage of his dilemma by staging a most engaging denouement for this fetching nuisance.

 

A literate man, Barnet appreciated irony.  And what could be more ironic than dispensing with the woman who had betrayed his ultimate objective than by utilizing the remnants of the Baroness’s own handiwork?  The ramshackle mast of the sunken Arabella would prove to be a perfect stage for Barnet’s plans.  It was here that Luisa would be taken to face her doom.

*  *  *  *  *

 

The captain ordered six crewmen to launch a skiff and ferry the young woman to her final destination. Still groggy from the rum forced down her throat, Luisa was roughly shoved aboard the rowboat and promptly collapsed onto the deck. The men took to the oars and made the short crossing to where the Arabella’s mast protruded from the water.  Less than hour later, the six sailors returned, this time without their female cargo.

 

“You have done as instructed?” Barnet asked them.

 

“Yes Captain,” replied a midshipman as the skiff was hauled up to the gunwale. Very good.  Then let us depart.”  Barnet called out to the rest of his crew, “Set course due south-west, 45 degrees – take us past the wreck about 50 yards to port.”

 

As the ship pulled away from its berth, Barnet extended his brass telescope and watched the mast of the Arabella grow closer.  Soon he could make out the handiwork of the six sailors. They had done well.

 

The men had nailed two wooden crossbeams to the spar so Luisa could be properly crucified to the pole.  Her arms extended outward from her shoulders, secured to the horizontal plank with iron chains.  More chains entwined her torso, binding her body tightly to the mast by circling her chest above and below her bulging breasts, as well as around her waist, hips and thighs.  Her legs were splayed and her booted feet were bound to the second crossbeam, which traversed the upright shaft just above the waterline.

 

Although the chains circled Luisa’s naked body at least two dozen times, the men had taken no chances – a thick iron spike had been hammered just under her sealed pussy as a makeshift sedile to prevent slippage. Only when the barque was a few hundred yards away from the mast could Barnet make out this attachment, which was cruelly gouging into Luisa’s vulva as she writhed desperately, pulling against the metal bonds.

 

The closer vantage point also revealed the extremely taught links digging into the lovely whore’s flesh.  Her already narrow waist was constricted as if by a corset, and the loops above and below her bosom caused her tits to swell even more than usual. Luisa’s pale skin, covered in whale oil, glistened enticingly in the late morning sun, and her overall stance, with arms stretched wide and legs spread, made for a fabulously erotic display.

 

“If this doesn’t improve their aim, nothing will,” said Barnet, eventually lowering his telescope reluctantly.  But when the ship was one hundred yards distant, he hardly needed it. 

 

It was time.

 

“Archers!  Prepare to fire!” the captain yelled.  Fifteen militia guards armed with crossbows kneeled on the starboard deck, steadying their weapons on the rails.  The men took aim at the gleaming, desperately writhing figure lashed to the Arabella’s mast.

 

“Ignite arms!” As Barnet barked this second command, two crew members bearing flaming torches lit the bolts loaded into the fifteen crossbows.  The arrows were coated with bitumen and quickly caught fire.  They were slow burning and designed to stay ablaze when shot at relatively low velocity.  All was ready as the archers waited for their signal.

 

“Fire!” Barnet shouted, and fifteen flaming crossbow bolts were simultaneously launched at the voluptuous beauty crucified to the mast of the Arabella.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Luisa felt the sweltering heat of the sun burn her exposed skin. The effects of the alcohol she had consumed, combined with the foul scents of whale oil made her nauseous and unable to think clearly.  Not that she wanted to.  Perhaps it was best if she faced her ordeal in a groggy daze, unable to fully comprehend the horror which was to come.

 

Still, she was more than aware of much that befell her.  Luisa knew she was fettered to the Arabella’s mast, her arms stretched wide apart so she could no longer feel them.  The excruciating pain of the chains digging into her flesh made her cry out in anguish.  Despite the hooks securing her sex, the sedile crushed against her clitoris, sending a very different sensation through her body.  Yet given her dilemma, it was hardly pleasant.  And then there was the bottle which had been savagely thrust inside her, tearing apart her internal organs and adding to her agony.

 

Luisa had heard Barnet announce that she would become some kind of target.  She was not sure what that meant, but being splayed out over open water as she was, she had no doubt the captain would fulfill whatever ruthless intentions he had.  Until that time came, all she could do was scream and writhe against the metal loops which encircled her over and over. In her most dreadful nightmares, Luisa never imagined herself in such ghastly peril – and somehow, she knew the worst was yet to come.

 

Along with endless stretches of water and sky, the tormented woman could see the harbor in the distance.  As always, it was dotted with a variety of seafaring vessels, many with their colorful sails raised, ready to leave port.  She prayed that one of the ships would pass by the sunken Arabella and notice her predicament, rescuing her before Barnet could fulfill his dastardly plans. Even though the coast was over a mile away, Luisa shrieked at the top of her lungs in case her voice carried to shore.

 

Her efforts were in vain.  There would be no rescue.  Barnet would have seen to that.  He would have ensured that his curvaceous captive had only one option while she awaited her downfall – to suffer.

 

Eventually, Luisa did spot a ship approaching.  She squinted, trying to make out if it was flying a flag.  But in Roatan, only the most foolhardy sailor would identify his nationality.  Yet she did not have to wait long before she recognized the Majorcan figurehead proudly mounted on the prow.  The vessel was a uniquely Castilian barque.  It was Captain Barnet’s ship.

 

“Oh God, no…”  Luisa stopped screaming.  There was no reason to continue calling for help now because all hope was lost.  Her vile foe would soon finish her.  “Please… please… no more suffering,” she whimpered quietly.

 

When the vessel was a hundred yards distant, Luisa heard Barnet’s odious voice.  “Ignite arms!” he shouted, and his victim watched in terror as fifteen objects, equally spaced along the starboard gunwale, were set aflame.  Only when the barque came closer still did she realize the objects were crossbows wielded by kneeling marksmen.  More specifically, the burning flares came from the arrows loaded on the bows.

 

By the time Luisa realized this, the ship was passing as close as it would get to the Arabella’s mast – and as close as it would get to the naked, squirming beauty chained to the spar. 

 

“Nooo…” she whispered.

 

“Fire!” shouted the merciless captain.

 

*  *  *  *  *

November 6, 2018

 

When Luisa came to, she was overwhelmed by the pungent stench of gasoline. Perhaps it was this powerful odor which had brought her back to consciousness.  It took her only a moment to realize she was still skewered on the iron pole with her hands cuffed uselessly behind her back. Her pain was even more acute than it had been previously, not only because of being impaled on the shaft, but because of the brutal beatings she had endured earlier. She had lost a lot of blood, and her internal injuries would certainly prove fatal if not treated soon.

 

Still, Luisa clung to life.  This pleased her one-eyed interrogator, who had waited patiently for his victim to recover so he could continue her torture.  If the woman’s brutal thrashing did not prove terminal, he decided to try one final tactic to loosen her tongue – something so terrifying that she would reveal what she had done with the stolen funds – assuming she was guilty of the theft.  Otherwise, he would have to tell Cortez with confidence that they had suspected the wrong girl.

 

Luisa shuddered.  It was still dark and chilly, but she was convulsing more in fear than because of the cold.  Surprisingly, she looked down and noticed she was no longer nude.  At least not quite.  Someone had taken the time to replace her bra, a sheer, strapless garment which did little to conceal her ample chest.  Luisa noticed it was not the brassiere she was wearing when she was captured.  It was similar, but the cups were at least two sizes too small and the fit was much too tight.  Her large, swollen areolae and her distended nipples poked over the bra’s brim, leaving them exposed to the cool night air.

 

“As you can see, I’ve taken the time to offer you a token sliver of modesty,” said the eye-patch man, “though I must apologize that it does not cover very much.”

 

“That’s because… because it’s not mine,” Luisa gasped. “It’s too… too small.”

 

“Stupid slut.  Of course it’s yours.  We pulled it off you when you got here – along with the rest of your stripper’s outfit.” He pointed to her top, panties and heels, which lay on the ground near the base of the pole.

 

“No, no… it’s someone else’s!  Don’t you see?  It proves you have the wrong girl!  The woman you want must be smaller, and you probably got this…this outfit from her.”  Luisa couldn’t explain how this would have happened, but she tried desperately to convince her captor that he had made a mistake.

 

“Bitch… you haven’t been out of our sight since I clocked you in the club parking lot.  I think you just buy your undies too small so you can better show off those big tits of yours.  Besides, it doesn’t matter who really owns that bra.  What matters is that you are wearing it.  Aren’t you curious about that?”

 

Luisa looked more carefully at the skimpy attire constricting her bosom.  She noticed it was wet.  And then she thought of the noxious smell.  The gas!  “Noooo!!” she cried out.  “Please… you can’t…”

 

“I most certainly can,” said the man.  “And I will unless you tell me where I can find a half million in cash.  I’m not kidding, Nadia… Luisa… Baroness… whatever the fuck your name is – this is your last chance.”  He popped a cigarette from a pack in his jacket, placed it in his mouth, then lit it with a gold-plated lighter. He kept the flame burning.

 

Luisa’s expression became a mask of panic and her screams became more desperate than ever.  She twisted on the metal stake which supported her and reared back as her sneering assailant approached her. The other five men surrounding her slowly stepped away, not wanting to be too close for what would follow.  Just ten minutes ago, one of them had thoroughly drenched the flimsy bra with gasoline and strapped it to the unconscious dancer.  They had all watched this preparation, and like Luisa herself, they knew exactly why their boss had ordered it.

 

The one-eyed mobster walked up to the helpless brunette.  He held the gleaming lighter in front of the woman’s swollen breasts, just far enough away to keep the gas-soaked garment from igniting.  He moved the menacing flame, which flickered over an inch high, from one protruding nipple to the other.  Back and forth; back and forth – until Luisa could no longer bear the tension. 

 

“Talk cunt, or say goodbye to that pair of jugs forever…”  

 

“Okay… okay…” Luisa cried out.  “I’ll tell you!” She did not know how she suddenly realized where the money was hidden, but somehow, it came to her.  As if in a dream, she saw herself stealing the brief case and taking it… where?  Where?  She must remember…  It was…

 

“The aquarium… The New England Aquarium!” she blurted out.  “The shark exhibit.  There’s a storage room next to the main fire exit.  The door is bolted, but the lock is easy to pick.  Inside, look for a grey foot locker with a false bottom.  I’ve made arrangements to have the money picked up tomorrow morning, so you’d better get there fast.”

 

“Very good,” said the man, smiling.  He stopped moving the lighter, but did not extinguish the flame.

 

“How do we know she’s telling the truth?” asked the brass-knuckled thug.

 

“We don’t.  But I trust her.  And too bad for this bitch, that means we no longer have any use for her.” The man again passed the flame from one side of her chest to the other, this time beneath her bountiful breasts, close enough to set the undersized brassiere alight.

 

“NOOOO!!!” Luisa screamed louder than she had ever screamed in her short life.  “AAAAIIIEEEEEEE!!”

 

The fuel drenched fabric instantly caught fire, leaving Luisa’s luscious breasts engulfed in a raging inferno.  The bra was incinerated in seconds, but the fatty meat of the woman’s heaving tits continued the blaze.  Luisa threw back her head, reflexively sparing her beautiful features and hair from succumbing to the flames, but her burning boobs were consumed in an ongoing conflagration of melting adipose tissue and silicone. 

 

The six men stood back and watched the horrific scene in awe.  For almost ten minutes, Luisa’s buxom breasts illuminated the surrounding darkness, the fire spewing flames several feet high.  Her incessant wailing filled the air, but aside from her assassins, no one could hear her.  She squirmed wildly on the post, adding to the enjoyment of the half dozen spectators, most of whom could not disguise the bulges which formed at the crotches of their pants.

 

When at last the blaze subsided, Luisa’s once perfect breasts had been completely incinerated.  Where there had been a pair of firm, high-thrust mounds of feminine flesh, there now remained only two carbonized lumps of unidentifiable debris.  It had been a grotesque transformation, but for the eye-patched sadist and his minions, a stimulating one.  For several minutes they stared in amazement at the skewered body of the sensuous stripper with the cremated tits.

 

“Is she still alive?” asked one of the men.

 

“If she is, her dancing days are definitely over,” laughed one of the others.

 

Their leader walked up to the smoldering body and tilted the woman’s head forward.  Remarkably, her face was as beautiful as ever.  The flames had spared it, and as soon became apparent, her life as well. An anguished moan escaped from between Luisa’s lips.

 

“She still lives!” said another one of the onlookers, stating the obvious.

 

“Not for much longer,” the one-eyed man added ominously. He looked at each of the hoodlums in turn.  “You know what to do.”  He drew a handgun from his shoulder holster and watched as each of his men did the same.  Together, they moved in front of their mutilated captive and formed a firing line.

 

The leader of the gang counted to three and fifteen gun shots rang out into the night.  All but one of the bullets scored a direct hit on the scarcely alive Luisa Peres.  The barrage of slugs penetrated her torso, her limbs, even her head.  By the time her already mangled body had absorbed 14 rounds, Luisa had most definitely expired. Her carcass remained lewdly impaled on the iron post, but no longer would it be of interest to any of her former customers.

 

The men returned their weapons to their holsters and prepared to drive to the New England Aquarium.  If the bitch was telling the truth, they would soon retrieve the money for Cortez. But they would have to hurry.  The sun already was climbing over the horizon, and others were on their way to claim the prize.

 

“What about her?” The man with the nunchaku asked, pointing at Luisa’s corpse.

 

“We will take her with us,” said his boss.  “What better way to dispose of a dead body than at a shark exhibit?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

August 19, 1721

 

Filled with dread, Luisa watched as fifteen flaming crossbow bolts soared toward her.  Fourteen of the arrows found their mark, each one penetrating her body with a meaty thump.  In just a few seconds, her torso was riddled with blazing projectiles.  Six in her midsection, another half dozen in her breasts and two in her legs. Because the archers fired the shafts at relatively low velocity, not only did the bitumen coated arrows stay alight, they did not penetrate their voluptuous target enough to kill her.

 

This meant Luisa did not succumb to a quick, merciful execution. Instead, the searing bolts pierced her flesh just enough to induce unmitigated pain, causing her to release an ear-piercing shriek of agony. On board Barnet’s ship, the captain praised the skillful aim of his archers. The crew cheered and applauded when they heard Luisa’s spine-chilling cries.  The barque came within forty yards of the skewered whore and slowed down so all the men could enjoy an extended view of the woman’s torment.  With his nautical scope, Barnet smiled as he made out the terrified expression on her face.

 

For several minutes, Luisa struggled on her cross of anguish, the bitumen arrows burning ever brighter while releasing a dark, sooty cloud into the air. Eventually, the scorching flames made contact with the whale oil covering on Luisa’s skin, causing it to ignite and flare up across her body.  The fire spread slowly, starting at her copious bosom and working its way down the length of her svelte figure.  Barnet and his crew stared in fascination as the exquisite woman became a human bonfire.

 

“AAAIIEEEEGGHHH!!” Luisa’s screams rang out louder than ever, and she thrust against the constricting chains with wild abandon.  But she was helpless to resist the blistering deluge of fire which was consuming her.

 

The whale oil burned away quickly, leaving only Luisa’s flesh to feed the ravenous flames. Her smooth skin was burned to a crisp, revealing the incendiary tissue beneath.  The fatty deposits which contributed to her curvaceous form provided more than enough fuel to intensify the blaze.  The softest portions of her anatomy served as the best sustenance, and as a result, the most active eruptions rose from her thighs and of course from her corpulent breasts. 

 

But in time, none of Luisa’s former allure was spared.  Her limbs, her torso, her head, and her lustrous tresses were ultimately engulfed in a seething mass of fire.  As the flammable tissue slowly melted away, glowing morsels dripped from her squirming body and dropped into the water below, releasing a loud hiss and clouds of steam.  Despite the obvious severity of her ordeal, Luisa’s bestial howls continued – a clear indication that the tormented victim was still alive.  The iron chains, impervious to the inferno, ensured that the distaff pyre remained trussed to the mast for all to see.

 

As Barnet’s ship drifted past Luisa, her struggles faded.  Her lusty screams turned to barely audible whimpers, and the flames, at last, began to diminish.  What little could be seen of the formerly lovely harlot revealed that in less than ten minutes, she had been transformed into a slab of molten, carbonized flesh.  Whether or not she still lived mattered little. Luisa was no longer anything which could be considered human.

 

Still, the stubborn blaze persisted.  Having roasted the outside of the woman’s body, the flames continued to feed on the fatty dregs of her viscera. In time, the fire made contact with the bottle of gunpowder which had been thrust deep inside her.  As Barnet had hoped, the results were quite spectacular.

 

By this time, the barque had sailed several hundred yards from Luisa’s carcass – a safe distance for what was to follow.  As the astonished sailors watched, the carbonized husk of the hapless woman suddenly erupted in a sensational burst of blood and gore which sprayed from the mast in all directions.  A deafening blast accompanied the sordid display, and when it was over, only a few chunks of crimson flesh remained chained to the Arabella’s mast.  These too disappeared as the spar, which had been fractured as a result of the explosion, split in two and fell into the sea.

 

For Barnet’s crew, Luisa’s obliteration had been a most entertaining spectacle. For Luisa, it was an inexorably brutal demise.

 

And yet, before the day was out, another comely female would suffer an even more gruesome fate at the hands of the captain and his men.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

On Roatan’s leeward shore, across the island from the main port, Petra von Starkfolter was finishing preparations to set sail on her brigantine raider. Thanks to the information she had received from the busty slut Luisa, Petra knew the barque loaded with sugar cane, rum, and most importantly, a chest of jade jewels, would already have pulled anchor and was about to round the south-west coast to head into the Caribbean. It would be an hour at most before her ship could intercept the merchant vessel. 

 

“We are ready,” Petra’s first officer told her.  “We may leave at any time.”

 

“Then give the order to depart. We will cruise slowly at 5 knots north-east until we encounter our target.”

 

The man nodded.  In the distance, there was a muffled explosion.  “What the hell was that?” he asked.  “Sounds like it was the south harbor… maybe three miles away.”

 

“Don’t worry,” said The Baroness, dismissing his concern.  “Probably just some wayward cannon fire.  Certainly nothing that should affect our plans.  The ship we’re after is unarmed.  Raiding it will be as simple as falling down drunk.  Trust me… what could possibly go wrong?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

 

“That which is alive hath known death, and that which is dead can never die, for in the Circle of the Spirit life is naught and death is naught. Yea, all things live forever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten.”

— H. Rider Haggard




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