French Original Writen by Lionrobe
Translated: Eulalia - Poet Laureate
E-Book: Madiosi
2015
Chapter 01: The Mark of the Devil
An icy dampness oozed from walls covered with a
greenish slime. It dripped on the ample, naked breasts of
Isabeau, whom Alberta, the female Executioner, was driving
before her with a goad, much as the Good Shepherd guides his
sheep.
It was time to perform the search for the "stigma diaboli",
the Mark of the Devil, and the Executioner's wife wore a
jealous face behind the voluptuous fleshiness of Isabeau's
back and rump, as they advanced into the narrow corridor
leading down to the dungeon's Torture Chamber.
The rough-nailed hands of two of the guards assigned to
her supervision had snatched off her belt, her boots, her
breeches and her red tunic. They had, needless to say, taken
advantage of this little opportunity to treat their calloused
palms to the feel of the delicate lips of her intimate parts, and
to the curves of her titties with their provocative red.
Isabeau hastened her step to escape the cold and the tip of
the goad, the iron point aroused tremors in her flesh as it
pricked her buttocks. Her heart was pounding ... she realized
that the worst was yet to come. She tried to blow a little air
between her clenched jaws to release the enormous pressure
in her lungs, and let out small, sharp wheezes.
Meanwhile, two other guards, less experienced ones, had
gone to fetch Otto the Executioner, who lived on a
smallholding outside the village, in accordance with the
tradition which excluded the Executioner from the life of the
community.
Otto had got up early that morning, to write his
memorandum of costs and various dues. It was a beautiful
early spring day; as the sun dispelled the northern mists it
completely lit up his workshop, when he opened wide the
doors of the large barn attached to the main body of the farm.
He sat down at a small bench near the entrance to enjoy the
halo of light that revealed waves of spectral dust rising and
falling, and began to write with close attention:
January 11 1534
For giving four days of torture to 5 robbers - 10 sols
February 17 1534 For boiling a counterfeiter - 6 sols
February 26 1534 For locking a culprit in the pillory and
shackles, and branding him with red-hot iron - 5 sols
March 12, 1534 For flogging a woman (including the
costs of travel) - 3 sols
March 16, 1534 For breaking a condemned man, and then
hanging him on the gallows (including replacement costs of
the bar used for breaking) - 12 sols
"And we're in March already! What misery. Last year I'd
already quartered Jean, and beaten the life out of a couple of
Roma in the marketplace. There's no justice any more in this
county!" Otto reflected with bitterness, "and, what's more, I
even flayed old Louison alive," he suddenly remembered, but
with much less enthusiasm , as he'd spent almost a whole day
re-grinding the edges of the blades he'd worn down on the
tanned hide of the old witch.
"Out here, guards, you don't march into the Executioner's
house like it's a mill!" he addressed them harshly, they came
and pushed their heads into the doorway of the shed. Seized
with respectful fear before the stature and imposing visage of
the paunchy giant, the guards stammered their apologies. "No
offense meant, Sir, but ... a case of witchcraft has been
reported in the village ..."
The two guards had stopped talking since Otto had taken a
step closer to listen to them, and revealed most of his tools.
They were staring in fascination at the instruments reserved
for the Ordinary Questioning, for the Extraordinary
Questioning, and for the Ultimate Tortures. There were clips,
clamps and knives, also torture-boots and garrots, and several
pears of agony, both rectal and vaginal. All these instruments
were set out on a wooden horse that stood beside a chair
equipped with a griddle to roast conveniently the posterior of
anyone placed on it. A wheel served as a makeshift table on
which were enthroned the remains of the Executioner's last
snack, and there were also black crusts that seemed much
older ...
"So what? "Otto growled.
Swallowing his saliva with difficulty, the second guard
completed his message. "Your wife is waiting for you to look
for the marks, that's what she said."
Hardly hiding his satisfaction and conscious of the embarrassment of the young guards, Otto rummaged briefly in
his coat and pulled out a tobacco pouch.
"Here, have a little plug to chew on your walk back... Why
are you looking at it like that ... oh yeah, it's the skin from
Claudette's left breast, I sliced it off her when she'd aborted
her brat."
The two greenhorns fled as fast as their legs could carry
them, leaving the Executioner's laughter echoing around the
walls of the courtyard. Otto walked to the drawer of his
workbench, fumbled for a moment and pulled out several
silver needles from a boxwood case, what it held were more
like awls than pins.
Father Bernardo Guidieu held the holy office of Grand
Inquisitor of the County of Thann. He'd been summoned when
Isabeau was first arrested, and had arrived flanked by a young
novice friar with an ugly face covered with unsightly pimples.
The Inquisitor bore the awkward features of a dwarf on a
pear-shaped belly, he was stuffed up with catarrh and in a foul
mood, not having had time to do justice to the gargantuan meal
to which the Bishop had invited him. The steward of the castle
had taken the trouble to reserve the apartments of the Count
and Countess, who'd departed a few days back for the County
of Champagne Fair in Provins, to seek out spices of the Orient
and linen from Flanders, but to no effect. The Grand Inquisitor
didn't cease fuming, he'd already slapped Arthur, the young
stripling of a novice, twice.
The Bishop had assigned to him the building, and the
official who was going to serve as clerk. Since the arrest of
Isabeau had already been proclaimed, Bernardo and Arthur
were taken directly, with great pomp and ceremony, into the
Hall of Interrogation. They were waiting now, seated at a
large table to the right of the well-studded door, in a large bay
window with diamond-shaped panes whose tinted glass
filtered a warm glow.
The room was never ventilated, it was as if all the pleas,
moans and sighs exhaled by the poor wretches tormented in
this places remained trapped in the heavy atmosphere that
smelt of sweat, fear and excrement, mixed with the acrid
odor of rusted iron, polished wood and hempen rope.
Arthur, for whom this was his first official duty, was
particularly oppressed by the shadowy light of the room, the
solemn silence of Bernardo, and of the men-at-arms whose
weapons scraped the floor from time to time, and most of all
by the spectacle of the strapping-frame all ready and waiting
at the far end of the room. He opened and closed his notepad,
making meaningless doodles with a squeaky pen. Beside the
strapping-frame, a lighted brazier cast flickering gleams onto
chains attached to the ceiling and the floor, and revealed
momentary glimpses of cart-whips hanging on the wall, and of
small vices specially adapted for fixing on the head, fingers,
or secret parts of the accused.
Alberta pushed Isabeau as she crossed the threshold, quite
unnecessarily, just to make her fall. Isabeau stumbled, but
managed to recover and to bring her hands immediately onto
her breasts and her mons pubis, as she glimpsed the men of
God who had turned to look at her.
Alberta sniggered and rebuked the guards who were
standing numb, "Well, gentlemen, am I going to have to do
your job?" She turned to Isabeau, "Don't you worry, they
know how a woman is made, even a little spinster... and
anyway, you're going to show them the whole lot in a few
moments!"
This was the cue taken by Otto to enter the room, bowing
obsequiously before Father Bernardo.
The two guards seized Isabeau and, at the end of a brief,
unequal struggle, they brought her with her arms outstretched
in the air, right across to the strapping-frame, which was a big
ladder tilted at 45° against the wall, and held her there for Otto
to bind her wrists deftly onto the highest rungs. Isabeau was
thus suspended in the air, her torso stretched, her full, firm
breasts thrust forward.
Moments later, her ankles were tied by Otto to the outer
edges of the uprights, for he knew very well that in this way
the young girl's modesty would not be protected, that her red
bush would be opened wide to reveal what that no man should
see in such a situation.
He turned to the brazier and laid some twigs, then placed
two logs on top, to illuminate the scene of interrogation, so the
witnesses would have no doubt about what was to come...
Father Bernardo spoke in the bombastic style he liked to
use in these proceedings.
"Before us, as required by the Count of Thann and under
the commission of the Lord Bishop of the Diocese of
Strasbourg, there appears before us today Isabeau, daughter of
Thibert."
"Isabeau, you are accused of the crime of witchcraft. With
other witches of the village, you have gone at night to the
Sabbath. There you have met with the Evil One.”
As he spoke of the Devil, everyone present crossed
himself.
"And you and your sisters were penetrated, one after the
other."
Otto intervened timidly, "It's true, Father, she's no virgin."
He turned to Alberta, who nodded vigorously. With the crimson
of shame burning her face at this publication of her secret,
Isabeau took a few moments before bursting out,
"Reverend Father, this is all lies and tittle-tattle. It's
Alberta who's lying about me!"
"And why should a good Christian woman who is so
precious to us seek to hurt you?"
Isabeau lowered her eyes, she didn't want to mention the
name of her lover, Gauthier, who was lusted after by Alberta,
she didn't want him to suffer the same fate as her.
"You have no answer ... AND YOU DARE TO SAY
THAT YOU ARE NOT A WITCH!"
"Well, we will follow the procedure. Wherever the Devil
has put his claws on your body, there will still be marks
insensitive to pain - the Executioner will now search."
"Executioner, do your office, but without inflicting injury...for now."
Isabeau had inherited from her father a proud face, a
slightly aquiline nose, a mouth made for laughter, and an
adorable dimple on her chin softened a slightly heavy jaw.
She had also, from a long line of exceptionally well-endowed
female ancestors, a well-developed bosom for her eighteen
years. Her heavy breasts were full and swinging slightly as
they were perched so high. Although she had not yet given
birth, a network of blue veins, some very apparent, patterned
their surface.
Otto took a needle and coolly sank it slowly into the left
breast of the girl immobilized on the strapping-frame. She
screamed, trying to hurl herself back, but she could only throw
back her head, and a moment later the pricking came again,
piercing the glistening skin of her breast. She moaned, "You
cursed crook of an Eeeeeehhhhhxecutioner!”
Paying no attention to the insult, Otto continued the torture.
Alberta insinuated her hand into the deep cleavage, so she
could keep her rival's mammaries well-presented, while her
husband stuck the tapered needle into the juvenile flesh,
starting at the base and gradually approaching quivering tips
that were already experiencing the pain - for even if the pricks
were not deep, they did not cause any less acute suffering, and
it increased steadily as her thin skin grew inflamed.
After a few moments, the twin globes, already swelling,
that adorned her breasts were covered with red spots caused
by the bites of the needles, except for the long nipples that her
tormentor was sparing on purpose, the better to give time for
the pain to irritate these most sensitive organs. A solitary sting
is certainly not unbearable, but when fine points penetrate the
flesh dozens of times, and especially when they exert their
action on such a sensitive area as the breasts of a girl, her
suffering quickly becomes excruciating.
So it was even more terrible when Otto, still calm and
impassive, began to push the needle into the fleshy, swollen
nipples on her sore aureoles. Isabeau let out a torrent of
howling, "Papa, where are you? I'm suffering so… GO AND
GET MY FATHER!!!!!!!!!!" Her face, streaming with tears
and contracted by despair, achieved no purpose but to bring a
laugh from the audience, as she struggled with the penetration
of the pin that was searching the tender flesh of the lactation
channel.
But for now, Isabeau had undergone her ordeal
successfully, since all parts of her body had amply responded
to the investigations of her tormentor. It was no surprise ...
Otto and Alberta had what was required for this kind of
situation, everything was planned. One of the needles had a
rounded tip, and it could slide a few centimeters inside the
handle.
During a pause when Otto straightened up a little as if to
stretch, Alberta took her hand from the girl's cleavage and
deftly exchanged the needles. Her husband moved to one side,
so as to improve the audience's view. He ran his hand down
Isabeau's flanks, his fingers moved to her vulva, he seemed to
hesitate for a moment, then slowly he introduced them into
another opening...
Otto understood better than any other man there the
anatomy of a woman, and he knew very well what he was
setting out to provoke in a girl so young and sensual as
Isabeau. Alberta knew too, and she held her breath, enjoying
the show like a connoisseur.
Their victim's lower abdomen thrust forward, without
completely obscuring the undulations of her hips. When Otto
applied the new needle, which appeared to sink half its length
into her labia, she felt nothing other than his rough finger that
had crept under the hood of her clitoris and was gently
massaging it.
He pricked again, a little higher, and a little lower,
without arousing any reaction other than soft purrs of pleasure.
Sexual excitement, of which they had no clear consciousness,
had seized all the spectators, including Alberta – but she was
the only one who understood what was really going on.
Arthur, whose senses were still troubled by the memory of
surprising his sister in her bath, just before their parents put
her in the convent, could not take his eyes off Isabeau's body
despite the severe glances of Father Bernardo.
Otto straightened up with a triumphant smile, revealing
irregular yellow teeth, wiping his fingers imbued with
Isabeau's copious vaginal secretions. "I think I've found the
marks ... just those of coitus with her Master."
Father Bernardo rose, cleared his throat a little, and
uttered his litany in a sententious, broken voice:
"Executioner, I congratulate you. I, Father Bernardo
Guidieu, declare that, on Monday the nineteenth day of March,
on the impure parts of the above-named Isabella, daughter of
Thibert, were found marks that prove conclusively that she
had had intercourse with the Devil."
"Let our inquiry proceed without any adjournment. We
require the accused to denounce all her accomplices ..." His
voice lowered as he stared at Isabeau.
"Father, NO! NO, I'm not a witch, that's not true, it's a
conspiracy." Her voice broke into prolonged sobbing, as her
head sank on his breast.
She knew she was dirty, she felt dirty, and she was crying
constantly, her face hidden in her long hair, her only
protection.
"We note that the accused, by persisting in her silence, is
refusing to assist the Holy Inquisition assembled here to seek
the truth."
"We declare that the said Isabeau, daughter of Thibert,
will be submitted to the Ordinary Questioning, commencing
after Nones."
"We suspend this session at the fifth hour of the day."
The company withdrew. Alberta waited until everyone
was out, then she leant over to gloat at Isabeau.
"Doesn't she stink now, the redhead! You've had plenty of
fun, just when it suited you... shut up, bitch, I saw you ... but
now you're going to learn, all in good time, we'll make
bloody sure you howl - you'll soon be wishing it was only the
needles..."
Chapter 02: Gauthier's sacrifice
The warm, pulsing rain washed the curls of Gauthier's
mop of hair, adorning his forehead with a sort of golden
helmet. Dense drizzle crept into his eyebrows over his half closed
eyes, adding to the confusion of his thoughts. He could
recognize very well the clearing where he'd played his
childhood games, but the cries and faces of his playmates
were confused in a phantasmagoria of colors, smells and
children's songs.
He was remembering better now. He was closer to the
edge of the clearing, approaching the tormented shadows ... It
was Bertrand and Ursin's chant he thought he heard first,
"Gau-THIER the brave knight, the brave knight, the
braaaaaaaave knight!" Its percussion hammered more and
more, this endless falsetto for which he could have killed
them.
It's true, it's how he'd imagined himself, somewhere,
riding a proud steed to rescue a damsel in distress... a maiden
who wasn't really one any more, since Gauthier, like a true
soldier, had rolled her over in the hay here eight days ago in
the barn of Thibert, her father.
The grass between the edge of the forest and the castle
moat had not been mown since the beginning of the winter.
Gauthier could crawl to the edge of the ditch without being
noticed by the lookout men.
He'd still been a virgin himself before he'd biblically
'known' Isabeau, and lived since that time in a state of
permanent tension which prevented him from sleeping. His
senses were still on fire, at an age when it is taken to be an
everlasting passion.
He found a temporary relief for his fever in the icy,
stagnant water. He compelled himself to swim without any
splashing, which would have revealed his presence in the
heavy silence that surrounded the massive old masonry walls
built of huge blocks of stone from Souppes.
He safely reached the foot of the tower and set foot on the
slope. He was covered with putrid black blotches that served
for a perfect camouflage.
He'd lost the stick that had taken the place of a sword in
the water, and the cap he was wearing by way of a helmet was
hanging miserably to one side. Conscious of his decrepit
appearance, the sad-looking bachelor nearly gave up his
desperate rescue attempt. But that damned rhyme came back,
stabbing him, and Gauthier straightened himself to summon up
new strength at the thought. He wasn't going back with his tail
down.
In front of him, a few steps to the side, a neglected,
narrow basement window revealed a grid, with rusty iron
bars that would allow easy access...
Alberta had left Isabeau to meditate on her threats and, after
lunch, returned to arrange the furniture in the room and set
things in order for the proceedings that were to follow. She
was busy for a good part of the afternoon, until the door was
suddenly pushed open by two guards, followed by Otto,
laughing uproariously, holding Gauthier with a tight arm-lock
behind his back.
Isabeau moaned, "Let him go, he's done nothing, don't hurt
him…”
Gauthier managed to utter a heartbreaking, "Isabella, I
love you - they won't do anything to you, I shall save you."
But in truth, he was totally unable to prevent Otto from
binding his wrists and ankles deftly with leather straps, which
were attached to the ceiling and floor by sinister, rust-covered
cables. Otto promptly hauled the chains that hung from the
ceiling until Gauthier's feet were slightly off the floor.
The familiar clink of guardsmen's spurs resounded
through the room, heralding Father Bernardo, preceded by his
usual entourage of Arthur and two soldiers.
Isabeau and Gauthier exchanged intense, dazed stares in
which each of them read love and fear of losing the other.
Their chests heaved convulsively in their mutual distress.
Father Bernardo stared a long time at Gauthier, then asked in
a sanctimonious tone:
"My son, what have you come to seek here?"
Gauthier begged him, "Father, I pray you, free Isabeau,
she's not guilty of anything. I know, she's a good Christian,
she's never offended against the Lord."
"Ha, cheeky boy, that's up to me to decide. First of all, you
should know that this witch has copulated with the Devil. We
have the evidence."
Gauthier was suddenly, brutally, aware of the harm he had
caused Isabeau, and seized with terror at being confused with
the Evil One that had ravished her virginity - he exploded.
"You filthy little turd of a dwarf, you release my Isabeau
or I'll kill you!"
Then he shut his mouth, ashamed at the idiocy of his
outburst, wishing he could disappear down a mouse hole.
The Grand Inquisitor turned, purple with rage, to Otto.
"Gag that insolent wretch who dares to challenge my
authority! Get him ready to be questioned in his turn. We shall
resume the interrogation after we have sung Vespers in the
Count's chapel."
Otto grabbed a thick, wooden baton entwined with a rope,
which was lying on a low bench next to a noose specially
calibrated for plump breasts, and forced Gauthier to open his
mouth by pinching his nostrils. Gauthier could not utter any
more sound but a low, continuous mumbling.
Satisfied, Father Bernardo father left the room with his
escort, leaving the conspirators, Otto and Alberta, with their
victims. Otto approached Gauthier, but Alberta turned to him
with a mischievous look.
"This handsome squire's mine now. I think I can ruffle his
feathers by myself," she said, with a hearty laugh. "And I don't
think she's in a position to do much to stop me!"
Otto gave her a complicit wink. He knew the depths of his
wife's moral depravity, he'd learnt to match them himself, and
he could easily imagine what awaited Gauthier. He gave a
low, mocking bow and departed.
The matron stared a moment the handsome teenager with a
wry grimace and said, "You know, you've refused me before,
and now you can't even help me undress you…"
She began to strip him with a lascivious ritual. She slowly
unlaced his muddy doublet, then laid bare the broad chest that
was the object of her unspoken desires. Her slender fingers
roamed the golden fleece, her nails became claws on his
tanned skin...
"Get off my Gauthier, you disgusting crone, don't you dare
infect him with your foul touch! When the Count comes back,
I'll tell him, and he'll believe me - because he knows me
weeeeeeell!"
Isabeau screamed these last words in desperation, forcing
herself up on her little feet. Alberta just snapped at her.
"Listen to me, little nymphet, Gauthier's my property now,
and if you oppose me in any way, I'll report that Thibert your
father is a wizard, and they'll both die at the stake along with
you!"
Isabeau seemed to close up in herself, she understood that
the fate of the two men she loved most in the world depended
on her silence, her own self-sacrifice.
Alberta returned more quickly to the remaining laces, she
almost snatched at them, her breathing growing faster. She
leant her head close and began to whisper to Gauthier, licking
the delicately fringed lobes of his ears.
"I can get you out of here tonight, if you're willing to
come with me… "
Gauthier shook his head vigorously to signify his refusal.
Alberta challenged him with her stare.
"What can you see in this little minx? I bet she doesn't
know how to use her tongue as well as I can!"
Gauthier, his body cringing in repulsion, began to be
troubled by her warm, clove-scented breath, as she caressed
his chest-hair so sensually, tickling the tips of his breasts,
which – to his astonishment - hardened like those of his
beloved. He had never experienced such sensations, except of
course one with which he was very familiar, the swelling of
his male tool.
With a smile of triumph, Alberta pulled the doublet off his
shoulders, with little wet kisses and love-nips embracing his
velvet neck, and began exploring his skin, sinking very slowly
down onto her knees.
Before she was completely kneeling, she gently probed
Gauthier's crotch and discovered a member stiff enough to
snap, ready for her to release with no delay from its prison.
His muddy rough leather breeches had shrunk as they dried,
they prevented Gauthier from expressing the fullness of his
arousal, and he was grateful to Alberta for releasing him. His
phallus, pumped up with hot blood, appeared in all its glory,
beautiful and moving in its youthful, primitive nobility.
Isabeau, eyes blazing, remained silent, jealously watching
as Gauthier responded to such caresses as she had failed to
provide while they were rolling on the hay in the barn.
Alberta began by honoring it first with a tender kiss,
while her hands were cupped to receive the warmth of his
testicles. A vein throbbed, she gently put her finger on it to
reassure him, and her nails raked the furrowed folds of skin
very gently. She patted for a few moments with the palm of
her hand on the neck of the penis, as if to calm it, and then her
tongue, at first hesitantly, then shamelessly bold, licked the
fragile capital that topped the erect column. She had no need
to use her hand to maintain the straightness of the shaft, the
onslaught of her tongue was meeting the hardness of marble. It
was easier for her to focus her assault on the long, soft
foreskin, lapping greedily, but when the tip of her tongue
reached the gaping mouth from which welled the first drops of
liquid semen, then she took her time in tasting, careful not to
let any be lost.
She knew very well what could be done with a careful
forefinger, with determination she introduced it to the opening
of his anus. It was a real taboo she was about to break, and
she felt intoxicated with life and strength just holding his
vibrating rod between her slender fingers. Her finger went
precisely into the Gauthier's fundament, and she was not
surprised to find the familiar feel of the source of his virility.
She amused herself, her licks keeping time with the
contractions of his anus and the twinges at the base of his
penis. She wanted to prolong this moment for eternity, where
it was for him to decide whether to maintain his hardness
inexorably, or to deliver it…
The sound of a lifting bolt broke suddenly, the heavy oak
door creaked on its hinges. Alberta had barely enough time to
hurtle back two quick steps. It was too late for Gauthier, he
could not control the power that was in command of his lifeforces.
The long jet of sperm that Alberta had patiently
fostered reached a rare distance, it seemed almost to cross the
entire room, and a few drops fell close to the feet of Isabeau.
Father Bernardo seemed to leap like a fury, in a single
jump right up to Gauthier, where he contemplated the fall of
the last few drops of creamy, fragrant liquid with a
disbelieving stare. He turned to Alberta and asked stiffly:
"What is this?"
Chapter 03: The Chastisement of Isabeau
Alberta knelt respectfully.
"My Father," she said, at first in a hurried, anxious voice,
but then more and more strident, "I've seen it all, she is a
witch, she cast a spell to prevent me from moving, and then
her nipples turned into snakes ... SNAKES!" She caught her
breath, "and then the snakes began rubbing Gauthier's, er...
little pipe ... and then ... you came in... my God, I'm afraid ...
protect me, my Father!"
Father Bernardo grasped convulsively at the crucifix from
which he was never parted, and waved it in Isabeau's face.
"Vade, Satana, retro… Postremo OMNIS CURA ...
cupiunda videntur ... .patriam AUT PARENT ... et delicta
corrigas ... CAEDEM ET fugam. "
(‘Get thee behind me Satan' Matt 16.23 etc. The rest is a
series of phrases from chapter 1 of Sallust's Jurgurthan War,
'in the end, all [public] duties… [seem to me] least
desirable…[the power to rule one's] country, or family,
[however one tries to] correct their faults, [proves futile in the
face of] murder and skulduggery').
He uttered this last hysterical outburst before approaching
to touch Isabeau.
"My daughter, ease your conscience and reveal the names
of your accomplices."
Isabeau fell silent, tears were rolling down her impish
cheeks, as she resolved to accept her terrible fate for the sake
of love and forever seal her lips. In her confusion, fear and
disgust, she spat on the face of Father Bernardo.
This drew a terrible look from him, "Look what you've
done, filthy whore! Human seed carries life, this is a gift of
God which must not be wasted. You have to be severely
punished for this crime."
He turned to Otto.
"This trollop should be punished as a matter of priority,
right here and now. And the Extraordinary Questioning will
be applied to her immediately."
"Arthur, let it be recorded in the minutes that the defendant
is convicted of the crimes of silence and of abortion. The
‘crapaudine' will be applied, in series of ten strokes at a
time."
Indeed, 'crapaudine' has a baffling range of meanings, not
obviously related to each other, never mind little toads -
it can be a chicken etc. spatchcocked for grilling (I see
'spatchcocked' isn't recognized either), it can be a multi-pronged
support for young trees, it can be a protector to stop
leaves blocking your downpipes - that at least hints at the appearance and meaning of
'crapaudine' in the Torture Chamber...
Otto and Alberta exchanged a knowing look. The
interrogation of Isabeau was to serve as an excuse for a
terrible vengeance. The Grand Inquisitor continued.
"Apply the first ten to those proud breasts. No deep
wounds, but make sure that the wench feels it well. And first
lift her hair - no protection for those instruments of the Devil,
I want to see them dance!"
The swarthy torturer took a moment to pull her long
auburn hair, sneering with upturned nose, humiliating Isabeau.
He gathered her locks into bunches, and tied them behind her
neck on a bar of the strapping-frame, so that they could no
longer cover her delicate nipples. Thus attached, Isabeau
could not turn her head, and her big, innocent blue eyes, filled
with fear, were fixed straight ahead, looking wildly towards
Gauthier, seeking help. She was paralyzed with anxiety, the
needle stings were still burning her long coral-colored teats,
and now she was absolutely unprotected. She implored:
"No, Father, not my breasts, I beg you - I'm just a girl, not
a witch!"
Not in the least troubled by this desperate petition, Otto
and Alberta chose from among the armory of whips hanging
on the wall the instruments designated by Father Bernardo.
The ‘crapaudine' is a whip made of several slender bands
of buffalo-hide with sharp edges. Nobody has ever survived
beyond 50 strokes of this terrible instrument, and those who
have suffered it are scarred indelibly for evermore.
Alberta came to stand to the left of Isabeau, cracking her
whip on the floor. For a moment, a cloud of red brick-dust
formed a kind of infernal aura around the scene. Otto, too,
swished his ‘crapaudine' in the air, to terrorize their victim
all the more, as he stood on her right.
Chapter 04: The torture of the witch - the long walk
All night long, Isabeau couldn't sleep in her stinking cold
cell. She'd been fighting all night with rats who were doing
their best to taste her slender fingers and tiny feet. Heavy
chains kept her tightly bound to the strapping-frame, which
had become her new torture-bed. During the day, during brief
moments when the swarming vermin left her any peace, her
thoughts were torn between the ghastly fear that oppressed her
heaving breasts, and the last intense, delightful memories of
her union with Gauthier. She saw her lover lift his blond head
as if longing to lick her cunny for one last time, then she
feared he was gone for good.
It was early evening and Isabeau thought she'd been
granted a day of respite when the rattling of the door pulled
her brutally out of her reverie. She let out a despairing "Oh,
no, not yet!"
Otto and Alberta stood for a moment in the doorway to
contemplate their victim better in the daylight. She cringed at
a remark, "The clips will grip so!" followed by a guffaw from
Alberta. Then they approached and stood either side of her,
while Otto addressed her almost gently.
"Yes, you're going to burn tonight, it's Father Bernardo
who's decided that."
It's to make a better show of it, my little pudding!" Alberta
hissed wickedly.
"More edifying, the old man said," added Otto, scratching
his head a little, before departing.
Alberta continued.
"But first, we're going to have fun with you, you'll see"
Isabeau was sobbing softly, eyes lowered, pitiful in her
distress. Alberta lifted her head.
"Come on, don't cry, he's spared your Gauthier, for
someone who'll at least take good care of him after this!"
She laughed and followed Otto.
A few minutes later, the two guards arrived, released her,
and drove her in a state of perfect nudity out into the yard. A
big, high-wheeled cart was awaiting. In the middle, a St.
Andrew's cross had been erected, Alberta and Otto were
finishing the job of fixing leather restraints on each of its four
arms. The horses whinnied impatiently, as if they'd not been
fed all day.
Isabeau noticed that at the center of the cross there was an
impressive projection, a kind of big straight stick angled
towards the sky. She suddenly realized the function that would
be assigned to this horrible protrusion, and her legs buckled
beneath her. She turned to the guard, who'd caught her under
her armpits, with a pleading look.
"No, not that, not like that, it's too awful!" Her tears of
shame and fear continued in a long moan.
She was trembling now more with fear than cold. The two
guards dragged rather than marched her to the foot of the cart.
Then they grabbed her waist and then, almost gracefully, set
her on her feet in front of Alberta and Otto. Her legs failed her
again, and she knelt down, clasping her slender wrists in
silent supplication.
Without any word, no time for joking now, Otto and
Alberta hauled her up then suddenly let her drop onto the
cornu. With this brutal penetration, her vaginal walls were
badly frayed, drawing a long shriek of agony. If her mind was
in turmoil, her body remained fixed as if anesthetized. She
was experiencing this rape as the first real assault on her
fragile body, her cry of pain became the prolonged howl of a
beast that does not want to die. Gasping, she began to struggle,
but the long experience of the hellish couple had taught him to
secure her wrists and ankles nimbly to the extremities of the
cross.
Night was beginning to fall when the wagon led by a guard
who was holding the reins of the two draught horses, set off
across the drawbridge. From her raised torture-cross, Isabeau
could see in front her executioners and guards who
accompanied them, and the crowd roaring with delight,
gathered before the first bend. Father Bernardo and Arthur,
their faces hooded, were selling rosaries and indulgences as
they awaited the small procession.
When the cart, which was dropping bits of hay, came in
front of them, Father Bernardo seized a processional staff and
imposed silence the crowd. He raised it towards the sky so
that all the faithful could contemplate the magnificent symbol
of Christianity, richly ornamented with fine gold, before
making a sign to mark the start of the procession towards the
place of execution. The scaffold had been erected in the
market square of the city of Thann, just in front of the church,
about three hundred paces from the seigneurial castle.
Isabeau was struggling continuously to alleviate the
terrible pain that was shooting through her innards to the
rhythm of the cart bumping over the uneven paving-stones. At
times, by straining her legs with all her might, she could
control the pressure on her vaginal lips, already abraded oh
so painfully, but she watched with fear as the horses' hoofs
clattered "'tacaclac, tacaclac, tacaclac", which was invariably
a prelude to an uneven, bumpy stretch of the surface and more
bouncy vibrations of the cart, which had the effect of thrusting
the stake painfully into the neck of her womb.
Silly, vulgar whispers accompanied the luscious swaying
of her hips.
"Bitch, we will see if you still dance like that soon!"
"Death to the whore!"
The crowd was made up of lepers, children, whores,
farmers, merchants, servants and serving-wenches, all the
city. Torches were now burning, so they could better enjoy the
show. The religious silence at the start had erupted into a
brutal effervescence. Having attended once – and, she'd
hoped, for the last time – one of these awful travesties of
justice, Isabeau knew that the first hundred paces had brought
them to the site for the first stage of her execution, the Porte
Saint Jean.
Chapter 05: The Ordeal of the Witch – Stage by Stage
The cart came to a halt with a squeal of poorly greased
axles, just before a brazier in which several torches were
blazing. The guard in charge of the burning basket leant over,
pulled out two torches and handed them to the executioners.
Alberta and Otto took them before greeting the audience like
jugglers preparing to perform an act. To the applause of the
crowd, they prowled around Isabeau much as a couple of
wolves would circle their prey.
Then, with a quick movement, Otto applied the flame just
under Isabeau's right armpit. A very sharp
"FFFFFZZZZZZZiiiiiiizzzzz" was swamped by a prolonged
shriek, the sweat-matted hair matted had burnt almost
instantly, revealing instead a deep red scorch which extended
almost to the base of her nipple.
She'd barely recovered from her first infliction when
Isabeau had to watch Otto approaching again to her right side,
while she felt the awful searing of Alberta's torch held just a
little longer under her left armpit.
"No, no, no, stooooop!”
The burning had had time to subside, but now wide plates
of raw flesh, on which remained the cinders of her thick hair,
were revealed under the light of the large torches glowing on
the ramparts.
Isabeau was crying continuously now, though she could
barely be heard above the clamour of the mob. Through her
wet eyelashes, she glimpsed Alberta in a fog, and heard her
rounding off her speech to the crowd as she turned towards
her saying:
"…put the fire in her ass!"
She suddenly realized that her feminine parts were to
endure the test of fire, and tried to raise herself up on her legs
in a vain effort to escape.
"Noooooooooo!"
She was only making her flaming red bush all the more
visible to the crowd, her exuberant curls, wet from the traces
of her intimate secrets that had been released willy-nilly by
the penetration, mostly adhering to the cornu. It was a rare
sight and appreciated by all who were witnessing it, to see
her fleece so exposed, presented on this stick as a furry sheath
ready to be impaled... each man of course imagining a
different, personal replacement for this male instrument.
Unhappy at seeing the special interest their husbands or
boyfriends were taking in this sight, some shrews were
yelling, "Torch the cunt!" “Shove it in her pussy!"
Alberta had only to lean forward slightly to walk the
blazing torch slowly across the greasy mat, first roasting the
longer hairs, then those on the vulva itself, soon singeing the
large, well-defined lips, while a smell of grilling bacon
masked the hints of liquid manure.
Isabeau let out a long howl of agony the whole time that
the torture lasted, biting her lip till it was bleeding. Her cunt
looked carefully shaved now, as if she were one of those
courtesans whose praises are song by crusading. But,
fortunately, the state of her vaginal lips, all cracked and
blistered, could hardly arouse the jealousy of any woman in
the square.
Her head fell on her chest, she was panting in pain and
shame. When the cart moved off again, she had to straighten
up as the bumps were accentuated and all the more painful,
she could not bear the slightest friction on her big lips, she
tried to keep the cornu in an intermediate position which
spared both her womb and her vulva, but it was of course
impossible to hold it for long.
She looked despairingly for a friendly face or just a hint of
compassion in the crowd to distract her a moment from her
terrible ordeal. Through a mist of tears she picked out near to
her a toothless hag who was trotting along holding on to the
wheel of the cart. She saw how the hag was sucking sputum
into her mouthful of blackened tooth-stumps, and heard her
screech her curse as she felt a stream of disgusting snot slide
down her cheek.
"So there, slut, that'll make you a bit less proud, eh? With
a broom up your cunt and your toasted pussy!"
She almost choked as she spat out these last words, and
tumbled from the footboard before melting into the ocean of
faces – many were people who knew Isabeau, but
unrecognizable to her in this situation.
Even before the horses whinnied as the guard pulled on
the reins to slow their trot, Isabeau recognized the sinister
shadow of the parapet of the high Porte de Jouy, below which
she had so often played as a little girl.
Otto and Alberta had brought their infernal paraphernalia
with them, consisting of biting clips trimmed with leather so
as not to mangle the flesh of their poor victim fatally. Isabeau
tried weakly to jerk herself up in a pathetic attempt to tighten
her thighs and press back her shoulders, but there was nothing
she could do. Otto and Alberta guffawed, holding their ribs.
"It looks like this witch isn't being protected by her
Master!"
All the big-wigs gathered in the square roared with
laughter in their turn, as they yelled out.
"Death to the witch!" "Tear off her titties!”
Isabeau cast a desperate look at the hate-filled crowd. For
a moment she caught a glimpse of Arthur, looking paralysed
by a mixture of fear and the desire, his bulging eyes betraying
anxiety and arousal. At his side, Father Bernardo was
standing very upright, he was familiar with these
performances where he had to embody divine justice - and
conceal the swelling of the bulge below his navel.
Alberta fumbled for a few moments with her claws in
Isabeau's crotch, not so much with the few hairs that were
still there, once the color of honey, but because of the
shadow which darkened the lower part of the girl's body.
Suddenly, the clamp crunched on her big, fleshy lips. For
a moment, she seemed to hold herself, then her crazed cry
rose across the high walls.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Alberta maintained the
pressure for a few moments before slowly turning the terrible
jaws, "ARRRRRRRRRR!"
The delicate little body-part was being made to twist like
a worm on a hook, and the tone of agony had temporarily
silence the crowd. Without pausing, Otto waved his set of
clips before the girl's eyes for a second, then slid them across
her opulent udders. Although she was sweating abundantly,
the touch of the icy metal made her shiver instantly. In
anticipation of more horrible suffering she let out a long howl.
"Nooooo, NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Then she saw the jaws
closing relentlessly in on the deep pearly areola of her left
breast, crushing the long nip of her delicate nipple. Otto was
taking care not to tear the soft strawberry as he pressed,
turned and tormented. Nevertheless, a small trickle of blood
finally oozed down her chest, just before Isabeau fainted – for
the first time.
Frustrated, the crowd let out a vicious roar. A fishwife
nimbly grabbed an ice-bucket, threw out the fish, and handed
it to Alberta. A bucketful of ice in her face ice woke Isabeau
instantly. Before she could recover, Otto took pulled aside a
large piece of flesh and dug the claws into the delicate mass.
A howl of animal suffering assailed the eardrums of the
audience, some women found they needed to cover their ears.
"HELP, PAPAAAAAAAA! I'M IN SUCH
PAAAAAAAIIIIIIIN!!!"
Alberta moved closer again to her victim's female parts,
using her evil instrument rule to part her vaginal lips. She
found the hood of her clitoris and imprisoned the shy bud of
flesh, mercilessly closing the edges of the clip. The shrill cry
froze the women in the crowd, now suffering themselves at the
sight of this attack on the most intimate part of their own
femininity, a cold feeling of fear -they knew it could have
been them instead of Isabeau - rivaled any sadistic joy. But
the men could hardly conceal their excitement and shouts rang
out.
"The cow wants her udders squeezed!!"
Purple rings were now visible beneath Isabeau's eyes, as
dark as the blue which had appeared on her belly and breasts,
wherever her tormentors had laid their terrible tools on her
creamy white skin. A moment later, Otto and Alberta seized
her left breast, one on each side, and pulled it in opposite
directions, stretching and deforming the proud parcel of flesh,
so that it soon looked more like a rubbish sack. They
performed the same with the right breast, striving to pull and
distort it until it hung down on her flank.
Isabeau's roars of suffering the roars were meaningless,
"OOOOOOONNN, ttttteeeeee!" She suddenly ceased, her head
fell on his chest so brutally Otto hastened to look check it,
before turning to reassure the crowd.
Chapter 06: The torture of the witch - the stake
Isabeau emerged from hell to the sharp pain of Alberta
slapping her. She was now on the gallows that had so often
haunted her nightmares, she laughed when she awoke. She
was still bound to the St. Andrew's cross, now transported
onto the platform, so now she had to make an effort to lift her
head to see the angry crowd a little below her under the
scaffold. She realized that the cross was not stuck upright on
the platform, but inclined. She looked up and saw that the
ropes attached to the arms were holding the cross at an angle
of about 45° with the floor. Her heavy breasts swayed gently
in this extremely vulnerable position. Jeers rang out from the
women.
"You're not so proud of your tits now, are you bitch?"
Otto entered her field of vision and silenced the crowd.
"Hear ye, good people, and let it be known what
punishment is fitting for this witch, who plays the fairy queen
and feeds the children of the devil with her insolent breasts!"
A clamor rose up from all sides.
"Griddle her breasts!"
Arthur didn't add his voice to the shouts of the crowd, he
was rummaging about in his little monk's satchel. Eventually,
he pulled out a lead pencil and some scrolls. Father Bernardo
always required him to record the last moments of heretics, so
that he could compose a manual of inquisition designed to
justify his activities to the bishop. Occasionally he'd use it to
scare gentlewomen, who dared not refuse the old goat
anything thereafter.
Alberta steps up to Isabeau in turn, she pushing hard, with
difficulty at a big iron cauldron like a blacksmith would use,
broad but shallow, mounted on an iron tripod. To Isabeau's
horror, she moved the instrument of her next infliction right
under the milky globes that gently swayed to the rhythm of her
heavy breathing. She yelled with all her might.
"Nooooooooooo, not my breasts, I beg you, just kill me
now… nooooooooo!"
Shouts of approval drowned her screams while Otto and
Alberta deposited coals at the bottom of the container, before
covering them with charcoal. This would gently raise the
temperature of, not too fast, as it toasted her prominent
towering nipples. After setting light the first bed of coals, Otto
approached with a small pair of blacksmith's hand-bellows
and placed them on the edge of the pot before operating it.
Oily sweat oozed from the girl's scorched, hairless
armpits, lending a glistening sheen to her beautiful pendent
breasts. Isabeau shrieked all the more as the first wave of heat
came tingle her nipples, she began to shaking her breasts,
vainly, but enough to wiggle them lasciviously. Men observed
a stunned silence before this incredibly erotic dance, much to
the displeasure of the fairer sex gathered in the square, who
soon started hissing again.
"She won't be so proud of her tits now, the little slut!"
Arthur looked around briefly before he found an
ornamental post on which he could sit conveniently, slightly
raised up. He laid a piece of parchment on a wooden board,
sucked briefly at his pencil, and began to draw.
The heat was bringing real suffering to Isabeau. She tried
desperately to escape the hot blast being fanned by Otto. She
seemed riveted to the cross now, she had surrendered to the
whole cornu, that was long forgotten, but plenty of her flesh
was still left to shrivel slowly, just above the embers now,
scattered at the bottom of the cauldron. Even while she
experienced the illusion of moving away from the biting of the
fire, her moaning persisted, interspersed with the effort of
panting. When at length she had to pause, broken by fatigue,
she let out a long cry of agony, in which the onset of madness
was readily apparent.
Arthur was eagerly sketching the scene, the sinister
shadow of the scaffold, the play of light and shade thrown by
the flickering glow of the grill. His hand drew a little faster
when Alberta approached Isabeau. The unspeakable
expression of the executioner-woman's wickedness fascinated
him, he was keen to preserve a record.
