Heather
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Heather free porn video
Heather
Heather found herself on a beach, pounded by the surf and lashed
by the wind and rain. She supposed it must be the coast of Spain,
but all that mattered at that point was survival. She crawled
upward and hid among some rocks, her shoes lost, her clothing
sodden with sea water. At dawn, some peasants, searching for
valuable jetsam after the storm, found her. She could not run from
them, for her bare feet and full skirts, wet, heavy, clinging,
impeded her, and she was, in any event, exhausted.
At the castle, in the great hall, the peasants presented her to the
chatelaine, while a few men at arms leered lustfully at the captive.
The mistress of the castle spoke to Heather in Spanish, but she did
not understand. "Am I correct in assuming you are English?"
"Yes."
Her majordomo, the head butler, spoke. The chatelaine responded
in Spanish and then turned to Heather: "We are, as you know, at
war with England, and you are presumed to be a spy. You are also
presumed to be a heretic, so when we are through with you here,
the Inquisition may wish to question you."
"No, there is no need for the Inquisition. Madame, I am a good
Catholic, though I must keep it secret in England."
"You would say that, even if it were not true. Your soul is not my
concern. If, however, you are a spy, I will have it out of you, your
purposes, your contacts, your evil intentions. You will tell me
everything you know."
"I am not a spy. I know nothing."
"You will be treated as if you are a spy. If you are innocent, I pray
God will accept you into heaven. First, I must reward the peasants
who found you and brought you to me. I propose to give them
your clothing. Undress, now."
"No, not in front of these men."
"Your modesty is of no concern to me. Do not struggle or damage
your clothing, for I have given it to these four peasants."
Heather could not undress herself, but the four rustics were happy
to help, carefully unlacing her bodice and removing the layers of
petticoats and chemises, until, thoroughly groped and pawed,
Heather stood, stark naked, her legs crossed, her arms across her
bosom, before the chatelaine and her men. The woman issued
brief orders. The peasants left, and Heather was dragged down to
a lower room, below the great hall. The floor was stone. Stone
columns, stone arches, and great wooden beams supported the
floor of the hall above. The outer wall was solid stonework and
several feet thick, but the wall which faced the inner courtyard had
a few slits high on the wall, which admitted some light. It
appeared to be a large storage room or armory, with a blacksmith's
forge and tools, with stands of pikes and halberds, edged weapons
of all kinds, and hundreds of bundles of barrel staves. The
presence of chains and other restraints suggested it served as a
prison when required. The majordomo and six men-at-arms
watched, expecting to be entertained by the torture of a spy. The
chatelaine spoke to them, and they seemed disappointed. "I have
explained," she said in English, "that only the master of the castle
may condemn a prisoner to death, and, at any rate, it requires a
trial, a confession. On the other hand, we require the information
you can give us in a timely manner, so the questioning must
commence immediately. In order to assure that you remain alive,
until you can be justly sentenced, I will personally supervise the
torture. I know how to cause a woman pain with can be sustained
for weeks or months before leading to death."
At her direction, the men arranged two a saw horses and bound
halberds between them, forming a rectangular frame, about the
height of Heather's waist. Halberds are an infantry weapon,
typically six or eight feet long, with an ax blade, a hook, and a
spike on one end, a spike at the butt end, and various bands and
studs along the shaft, to improve the grip and to catch a sword
blade. It is a versatile weapon which can be thrust like a pike,
swung as an ax, used to hook a man and drag him from his saddle,
and, close in, the studded shaft is itself a weapon.. The men tied
cords around Heather's thumbs and led the cords over hooks in an
overhead beam, forcing Heather to stand, her arms raised, her
thumbs coloring from the restricted flow of blood. Heather was
humiliated, to be so displayed, but it soon got worse. They lifted
her, for she was light and only little over five feet tall, and they
placed her so she sat on the shaft of a halberd. Her weight was
supported by the knobby shaft under her thighs, close by crease of
her buttocks. Her ankles were bound, spread far apart, to the
other horizontal halberd. The cords on her thumbs kept Heather's
arms raised and forced her to sit erect, while the studs on the
halberd shaft pressed into her flesh. "Now, tell me what your
mission is, here in Spain, and who is here to help you."
"I cannot, for I am not a spy, and, but for the storm, I would never
have set foot in Spain." Her torturer shrugged, and began to tickle
the soles of Heather's feet. Heather squirmed and cried out, but
she could not stop the torment. As she writhed in torment at the
tickling, the metal adornments of the shaft upon which she sat tore
at her tender skin. The tickling continued, until heather was
breathless and exhausted, no longer erect, and essentially
supported by her burning thumbs.
"It will only become more painful. Tell us now what you know."
Heather protested her innocence, but the woman used a
horseman's spur, with a spiked wheel, to draw lines across her
feet. When Heather was still not forthcoming, she ordered the
men to beat Heather's feet with canes. Two men, making lewd
sounding comments as they peered at Heather's exposed pubic
hair, began to cane her feet, one man striking each foot. The pain,
at first, was severe, as it would be being struck anywhere with a
limber cane, but the cumulative effect increased the pain, as her
bruised feet started to swell. After a hundred or more blows,
Heather was insane with the pain, but her brain compensated by
secreting natural pain killers and befuddling her senses.
She became aware that the beating had stopped, though her feet
radiated pain right up her legs. She opened her eyes and saw her
tormentor holding nooses of strong cord. The woman slipped a
noose over each breast, and tightened each, holding it close to
Heathers ribs, tight into the crease below, so it would constrict the
base of the breast and not slip off. The cords were run up over the
same hooks which secured Heather's thumbs. "Speak," said the
chatelaine. Heather could only mumble. Then the men removed
the halberd upon which Heather sat, so that her weight was
supported by her breasts. Heather cried out, afraid her breasts
might be torn from her body. The nooses tightened even more,
and her breasts swelled and turned color, so they resembled two
pomegranates. Heather tried to relieve the strain on her breasts by
pulling up with her arms, but that increased the pain in her thumbs,
and tired the muscles of her arms until they ached. "We don't
seem to have thumbscrews handy, but this will do." She showed
Heather pair of blacksmith's pincers, designed to cut hot iron. The
woman pinched one nipple, then the other, eliciting cries of
anguish. The pain Heather could bear, for a while, at least, but
the thought of being permanently disfigured, of being unable to
suckle her future children, that made her wish she had something
to say to stop the torment. The woman went back to Heather's
feet, pinching each toenail until it turned black.
"You might as well tell me your mission and your contacts now, as
it will only get worse until you do. You will wish for death, but it
will not come, until you reveal your secrets. Perhaps the master of
the castle will keep you for ransom, or he will be merciful and
grant you a quick death. Or, perhaps the Inquisition will want to
question you. However, until he returns with his men, or you
reveal your secrets, I will keep you alive and in pain."
As she watched Heather, hanging from her deformed breasts, the
woman seemed to search for her next torture. She sent the men
away, to perform their duties, and returned with a candle. She
came close to Heather's right side and held the flame near the arm
pit. Heather screamed, as the underarm hair smoked and shriveled
and was gone. There was, in fact, no serious burn. Heather
clenched her jaws and only moaned as the left arm pit was
similarly singed by the candle flame. The woman smiled at
Heather and said, "You know what comes next?"
"No, My Lady, but I do not deserve it, for I am innocent." For all
that Heather hated her tormentor, she hoped to elicit some feelings
of mercy. The chatelaine then methodically moved the candle
flame between Heather's parted thighs, burning away the pubic
hair. Heather struggled to move away from the flame, to raise her
hips, which strained her arms and hurt her thumbs even more, to
swing from side to side, trying to avoid the flame. It was, of
course, a fruitless effort, and in time every hair, from her anus to
the top of her mons had been shriveled to nothing. While the
sensitive skin of her labia hurt from the heat, glowing red like a
sunburn, there was minimal blistering.
"I see you have great courage under torture, but I am known for
my persistence. Women value the beauty of their breasts. You
could lose yours, without fatal injury." The candle flame lingered
a few seconds below each swollen breast, eliciting pleas for mercy
from Heather. The woman put down the candle and took up a
cane, slashing at Heather's breasts, then beating the tops of her
horizontal thighs, then, with great skill, planting a few blows
directly on the now hairless labia.
"Please, no, My Lady," heather cried. "I know nothing to tell
you."
She beat Heather's feet again, using a thicker cane which sent
pains right up Heather's legs. "We don't want to break the bones
just yet," she explained. "Perhaps tomorrow." She again applied
pincers to the swollen nipples, smiling as she said, "There are
more sensitive spots to pinch, as well, but one of the principles of
interrogation is to allow the victim to anticipate the increase in the
pain." Tears slid down Heather's cheeks, when the woman went
upstairs with her men. Later, writhing in pain, Heather heard
sounds of revelry, dozens of noisy diners, almost directly
overhead.
Heather wanted to make up something to tell, but she could think
of nothing. She knew no one to inform on, and the pain in her feet
and arms and tortured breasts kept her from thinking straight. In
time, a crowd of half-drunk diners, men and women, came down
to see the latest in amusements, the English spy. The chatelaine
gestured at Heather and said, "No rompa loss hueso ni dibje la
sangre. Debemos mautenerla viva," a warning not to break bones
or draw blood, so as to keep her alive.
One young woman stepped across the framework and sat across
Heather's thighs, doubling the force on her breasts, but the woman
got off when the breasts began to bleed, where the cords cut into
the skin. A young girl pulled Heather's hair, as hard as she could,
which also tightened the cords to breasts and thumbs. A young
man had brought with him an unripe pear which, after one bite, he
decided not to eat. He squatted down behind Heather and
explored her vulva with the small end of the pear. Then he pushed
the hard fruit up inside her. She had been a virgin. Now there was
blood.
One of the men at arms took his sheathed sword and swung it hard
at the soles of the feet. Heather was sure she felt bones breaking,
and her paroxysm of pain popped the pear from her vagina.
Women with canes beat heather's torso and thighs, while two or
three men joined in beating her feet, until Heather fainted.
When Heather awoke, she could see her feet were swollen and
bloody, and the pain was intense. One little toe was missing, taken
as a souvenir by someone. Her breasts were no longer bound, but
she could see that, while they had resumed their former shape, they
were bruised, with bleeding nipples. While her ankles were still
bound to the horizontal halberd, most of her weight was now
supported by another halberd shaft, horizontal between her legs, so
that supporting pressure compressed the nerves of her anus and
vagina. Perhaps fortunately for her, the concentrated pressure
damaged, so she became progressively more numb, but she feared
she might never feel pleasure there again. The night passed in
fitful half consciousness.
When the chatelaine returned, she asked how Heather was doing.
"I think my feet are destroyed. I shall never walk again."
"Perhaps so, but you are still alive, to feel pain. Tell me what I
want to know." She squeezed one broken foot, and Heather
fainted again.
Heather awoke to find that the halberd to which her ankles were
bound was now raised hanging from an overhead beam, her
splayed legs displaying her female parts, turned upward for the
chatelaine and her men to view as closely as they wished. Her
thumbs had been detached from the overhead hook, and her wrist
tied behind her back. The weight of her torso was supported once
more by her breasts, though they were bound with thicker rope
and hurt a little less than before. She was half bent double, so she
could look between her elongated breasts and see he hairless labia.
Her experience, viewing female genitals, was limited to little girls
and, once, a slave who was punished. She had never seen genitals
like hers. The outer lips were thinner than the slave girl's, and her
inner lips protruded, wrinkled and ugly. And here were two men,
discussing her most private place, pointing, even running a finger
tip along the uneven labia.
"If you will faint every time your feet are touched, I suppose we
must find other ways to make you talk," said the woman. "Is there
any way I can make you more comfortable, before we commence
the torture?"
"Please, My Lady, water. It has been two days since I have had a
drop."
"How nice that you should mention that, for that's exactly what
I'm going to do, give you a drink." She pulled Heather's hair until
her head was bent back, and she forced a metal object into
Heather's mouth. Then, with a pitcher of water, she poured water
into Heather's mouth. Greedily, Heather swallowed and asked for
more. The woman continued, until Heather was quite filled and
desired no more. The woman pinched Heather's nostrils and
continued pouring, which forced Heather to swallow or drown.
Each mouthful became harder to swallow in time to get a breath,
and Heather's stomach was painfully stretched, bulging visibly.
Still the water torture continued, and the pain grew, and the fear
that she would drown drove her nearly insane. And then, she did
drown, sort of. Water ran into her lungs, and she tried to cough it
out, but she couldn't, and she fainted again.
She awoke with her shoulders and head on the stone floor. Her
torturers had detached her bound breasts from their overhead
support, so that Heather hung upside down. The water, apparently,
had drained from her lungs and tortured stomach. "I suppose I
could continue the water torture all day, and you would have
nothing to say. I'm told by a priest that heretics almost always
recant, if given enough water, and it leaves no visible injuries, but
my patience is running out. You are an attractive woman, of
childbearing age, and I'm sure you hope to have children. Tell me
what I want to know, or I will make it so you can never bear
children, even if you should escape death." Heather looked up at
her exposed genitals and wondered what would come next If only
she had something to tell them. "Very well then. Destruya sus
organos sexuales."
One of the men returned from the blacksmith's forge with pincers
and a heated knife. While one man pulled her outer labia apart,
the other pulled one of the inner lips with the pincers, stretching it
outward. Then, with the point of the hot knife, he began to detach
the glistening membranes from their origin on either side of the
vagina. Heather screamed, in pain and fear, as the hot knife
cauterized the wound, coagulating the blood. There was a brief
respite, while the man went to reheat the knife, and the other tried
to see how far he could stretch the half-detached labium. Again
she screamed as the burning knife made its way toward the apex
where the inner labia came together. Then the labium came free,
and the torturer handed it to the chatelaine. She examined the
wound, which bled very little, and expressed approval. The
procedure was repeated on the other side, so that nothing but
smooth pink and red could be seen between the widespread outer
labia. The woman explored Heather's vagina with a finger.
"Tight. Virginal, no doubt. Too bad you will never feel a man
inside you." She held up a curved sailmaker's needle, with waxed
twine through the eye. She gestured at the man with the knife,
who was heating it again at the forge. "One thrust into your
womanly sheath, and then I will sew you up. The scar formation
will seal your sex forever, unless, of course, you tell us why you
came here and what you intended to spy on."
Desperation cleared Heather's mind for an instant, as she looked
and saw the countless barrel staves. "I was sent to spy out the
whereabouts of the barrel staves. Everyone knows the Spanish
armada is preparing to sail and invade England, but it cannot sail
without water and victuals. Destroying the barrels will delay their
sailing for a year or more."
The chatelaine threw back her head and laughed. "Strangely, I
believe you." She motioned the man with the glowing knife to
stand back. "So, as a reward, I will not totally destroy your sex,
but only guard your chastity until such time as a surgeon can repair
you. There was some sort of commotion upstairs, and the two men
went to see what it was, but the chatelaine was intent on her work.
She pulled one labium upward and thrust the curved needle
through it, and then through the other. She pulled the twine tight,
tied it, and cut the loose ends. Twice more she stitched to cover
the vagina. She inserted a straw to mark the place where urine
comes out, and she was about to insert a fourth suture, forward of
the straw, when they both heard a shout, "Piratas ingleses! Ahh!"
Armed Englishmen swarmed down the stairs.
Later, on the pirate ship, Heather sat with her legs propped up, for
her feet were throbbing beneath the bandages. She wore the
chatelaine's dress, too big for her, and she had been given enough
wine to dull the pain somewhat. She and the ship's officers looked
back at the smoke rising from the distant castle. The seasoned
barrel staves had burned hot, burning through the floors above
until, now, flames could be seen as high as the highest battlements.
The Spanish torturer, naked now, was bent over a gun, her
discolored breasts bound tightly to hold her in place, as the sailors
took their turns raping her from behind, a reward for work well
done. The bosun's mate stood by waiting, holding his cat o' nine
tails.
------
Marisol
- 09.02.2023
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