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From: Fibar Fibar <faibhar@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Faena and Connie
Date: Mon, 28 May 2001 08:10:01 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

The following are from the same author, yet intended osolely for adult
consuption where it is legal.  Should you be easily offended, please do not
read further.  Thank you.  (nc/tort/snuff)

   F Faena

   A pirate's life had its share of pitfalls; a woman's perhaps even
greater.  It seemed as though Mother Nature, the enemy and this strange
land had all conspired to dig Rhianna's pit deeper than any, regardless of
gender.  Now there began this bizarre bullfight, a blood sport infamous for
stacking the odds against the quarry, which, as fate would deem it, was
her. The capture and rapes were sheer misery, but now this bizarre making
her into some kind of bull for the pleasure of the spectators pushed her to
despair.

   Nature's part contributed the unexpected Atlantic storm.  Disoriented,
she and her shipmates were swept away from their fleet.  Outnumbered, they
were overwhelmed by the locals when the roiling seas finally calmed. 
Imprisoned on the tiny island of Graciosa, torments over the past days and
nights disclosed Rhianna as the leader of the unwanted intruders.  Rapes
that followed left the Germanic blonde quivering in her solitary cell,
violated, starving and totally abandoned.

   Tropical air flooded the rotten dark as the small door wrenched open
meaning either surcease or more horrors.  She brushed aside lank strands
that covered her swollen eyes and reflected that the way winds were
blowing, the latter was more probable than the former.  Dark figures
appeared in the lighted doorway, reached in and dragged her naked body out
into the open air.



   Preparing her, they had done many things.  Water had been poured down
her throat.  The hooves of animals securely tied to the soles of her feet
and palms of her hands.  Elderly women had brushed thick coatings of a red
paint over the pinkish nipples and aureole.  The wispy patch between her
legs that had been such a draw before was shaven free of its home, now
puffy and swollen from abuse.  A hand gathered head hair and severed it at
the base of her skull.  It was then tightly braided into a single strand,
attached to a dark rod and this was then hammered into Rhianna's raw and
partially distended anal opening.  A loose end of the fashioned "tail"
brushed against the backs of the sobbing female's knees.  Finally, a pair
of horns was tied onto her shoulders.  The sharpened ends pointed up and
even though the set were from novillos, or young bulls, the added weight
still inclined her upper torso forward.  Thus bizarrely prepared, she was
pushed into the awaiting cage.

   ***

   A riotous crowd shook Las Ventas to the very foundations of its mudejan
style.  The Grand Portal opened and an aged mule slowly pulled in the
rickety cart carrying the rattan cage.  Inside, Rhianna balanced on all
fours.  The sight caused an even louder uproar.  Flags at either end of the
arena rippled.  Colorful peasants' dresses shook.  Brass horns blared.

   Given the small size of the space, the horns protruded through the bars
of the front rattan door.  They scraped as the cart began to move, giving
Rhianna little movement from side to side of her head, but once inside the
ring, she was clearly able to see the stacked bodies of her crew along the
far wall.  Near them sat a platform on top of which stood a large wrought
iron X.  The mangled corpses made Rhianna both sick and filled with hate.
Towering above them rose intertwined rods of black metal that formed the
cross.  Mere shards of sun squinted through where coarse iron coiled
together on the menacing edifice.

   The cart stopped.  Hands unlocked the front door and it was raised. 
From behind, she was prodded out.  Rhianna fell to the sand and then
carefully stood.  With the hooves-platforms on her feet, she wavered taller
than the men around her.  Warily glancing around, the place rocked.  She
kept her hooved hands at her sides.  Before her, some yards away,
arrogantly stood a young matador.  His traze de luces, or suit of light,
sparkled with the same braggadocio.  The large green cape he held
outstretched beckoned.

   Rhianna tried to ignore her nudity before the raucous crowd, and the
tail fashioned from her own hair that hung between her legs.  Her focus was
on the dead of her people just beyond the cape and her eyes narrowed on the
matador.  She pawed at the sand in an attempt to get some traction from the
unwieldy soles, and then lowered her head and charged.  The spectators
roared their approval as the tall blonde began to pound across the arena.

   Little did the prisoner know that this was the beginning of the first
Faena.  Her strength and courage would now be adjudged.  Little did Rhianna
care as her speed increased and head lowered.  Those savvy of bullfights,
or merely lustful of pulchritude wildly cheered.  The nude charged into the
billowing green.  Surprising the young man, the female abruptly pivoted. 
Caught unaware, the right horn deeply stabbed into the back of his
shoulder. The matador sank to his knees, crimson blossoms blooming over the
back of his fancy suit.  Winded, the tall blonde staggered back.  Rhianna
had impressed those scoring her first Faena.

   A more seasoned matador was summoned as slaves ran out to Rhianna. 
Other slaves bearing a litter ran to assist the fallen matador.  Between
the two of them hurrying to the prisoner sloshed a wooden bucket of water.
With a scoop, they submerged it, and then gave her drink.  One of them
wiped clear the prisoner's face while the other set the bucket down and
helped the female to stand up straighter.  Their missions accomplished,
they fled the ring leaving only Rhianna standing in the middle.  The fallen
matador long sense carried off.

   Three mounted baderillos announced the beginning of the second Faena. 
Their galloping cutting horses burst through the Great Portal and circled
around the curious prey with the painted tits, hooves, braided tail and
horns above her head.  This was unlike any they had encountered before. 
Alongside each saddle, the riders carried brightly-colored barbed sticks.
These were smaller than the usual banderillas used on bulls.  Like the
actual ones, however, they were designed not to kill, but rather, to harm
or infuriate.  With this occasion, today their targets would not merely
confined to the back as was normal with a four-legged beast.

   Rhianna spun in the sand as she tried to keep each horse and its rider
in sight.  The hooves still made her legs stumble, but she was getting more
used to having them on.  She jumped to the side as the first stick flew. 
It landed harmlessly in the sand.  She sidestepped the next.  Sweat
drenched her face-she felt the rest of her slick as well.  Seeing a moment,
she ran head lowered at the hatless rider.  Not wanting to hurt the steed,
she aimed for the human's leg, misjudged and lost her balance.  The sand
hit hard but she regained her footing.  Her animal instincts now prevailed.

   With the crowd, the second rider also saw his chance.  Shoulder blades
glistened as they arose from the ring floor.  A perfect target.  He threw
out his first banderilla.  It hit and stuck.  Saluting the crowd with his
freed hand, he circled his mount but kept an eye on the blonde whose
screech was heard above all as she continued to arch her back in a futile
attempt to shake off the pain.  The stick he had thrown now wedged between
ribs in her lower back.  She tried to reach behind and get it, but the
hooves on her hands proved too cumbersome.  Blood now streamed down the
sheen of tortured female flesh.  The rider lowered the brim of his sombrero
and wrapped his fingers around another shaft.

   Rhianna stumbled as the fire in her back exploded.  Whirling around, she
watched the leering rider gallop around her as he waved to the crowd.  She
lost sight of the first.  Furiously, she whipped her horned head around. 
The sharpened points with its bloodied tusk sliced through the hot air. 
The tail swished backs of thighs.  Sweat combined with paint on bulging
breasts.  Tanned limbs and pink flesh, normally covered but now painfully
exposed, ran slick with sweat.  It turned out the paint covering and
ringing her nipples also contained a chipotle chili sauce.  Spices mixed
with the growing heat caused all flesh it came in contact with to swell as
if branded.

   Rhianna wiped perspiration from stinging eyes using only the inside of
her forearm.  It helped some, but still vision remained blurred. 
Somewhere, in the ring, she envisioned the bodies plus the cross that she
knew was ultimately meant for her.

   ***

   Chipolte mixed tomatoes, garlic, chili and other stuff.  Rhianna only
made the sting sharper by attempting to wipe the heat away with an arm
across the breasts.  The thought did cross her mind that there actually was
very little paint applied as she had earlier assumed.  Most of the red had
been the hot mix.  Already, Rhianna's own body betrayed her, allowing
deeper penetration as her pores opened.  Swelling of the reddened mammaries
increased as the heat further deepened.

   The naval princess jumped away from another thrown banderilla but
awkwardly tripped.  This time, the white bitch would not be so lucky as
before the horsemen all thought as another of them aimed for an exposed
thigh and let fly the barbed stick.  Blood spurted from just beneath the
left buttock.  The shaft remained imbedded.

   There was little she could do, other than cry out and dodge away.  It
was bad enough running naked with a plug up your butt and burning tits. 
Now she had two spears of fire stuck in her backside.  Rhianna fell to one
knee.  In that moment, she glanced up into the packed stands and saw that
there were some that actually were cheering for her.  Tired though she was,
support from the audience and her own personal sense of never being a
quitter drove her on.  Quickly regaining her footing, she ran from the
first horseman.

   Another scream was heard above the roar of the stadium.  The third rider
was waiting and launched his missile.  This one's barb buried itself into
the right shoulder blade, bringing the dripping nude to her knees.  Three
orange-wrapped sticks stuck out at odd angles as muscled bare arms pressed
forward.  Hooves tied to palms dug furrows in the sand.  Points from the
horns landed on either side.

   Alert for any deception, the second rider rapidly fired another
banderilla at the upturned ass.  The prisoner bellowed as it sank into her
flesh.  Arching her stabbed back, she unsuccessfully tried wiggling her
hips to shake the stick free.  The action brought the crowd to its feet. 
Not wishing to be outdone by his colleague, the first rider brought his
horse alongside, leaned down from his saddle and shoved the 2 1/2-foot
lance in his hands toward hanging tit, pushing it forward until the shaft
sunk deeply into the engorged flesh.

   Rhianna nearly fell over, but remained on her hands and knees.  Ignoring
the searing pains proved impossible.  Sweat rained from her lowered head
and formed a muddy puddle in the sand between her hands.  Looking down and
backward, she saw more puddles formed under her nearly defeated body.  The
slightest movement brought sheer agony from the piercing barbs.  Only when
she heard her name being repeatedly called did she raise her wearied head.
When she did, she saw that a new matador stood in front of her, and that
the riders had departed.  Faena 2 was over and now Faena 3 was about to
begin.  Her body wanted so much to lie on its side, but she refused the
temptation and remained on her hands and knees, the now darkened tail
hanging limply between her thighs, the right leg lengthened behind the
other.

   At his repeated entreaty, she finally amassed enough strength to move
her knees and arms toward the figure with the red cape.  Agonizingly, she
crawled ever closer.

   White handkerchiefs waved from the gallery.  Never had they witnessed
such a lustful spectacle.  Chants began and were seconded.  They cried as
if with one voice: The beautiful pirate was to get the cross-not that her
life should be spared, but instead, that she should die upon the iron
figure towering above the wooden platform.

   Rhianna reached the red cape.  Almost pleadingly, she looked up at its
owner.  This matador looked different than the first: Not only was his
fancy suit a different color, but as he looked down at her he seemed wiser
and more experienced.  Prepared to die, she looked for the sharp saber in
his hand and was surprised when she saw none..  The new man instead bent
down, caressed her cheek and then gripped the shaft protruding from her
swinging breast and yanked.

   Fatty tissue and bloody gore ripped out as the barb pulled free. 
Rhianna did then fall to her side.  Assistants to the matador rushed out
and jerked out the other banderillas leaving the female sprawled flat on
the sand.  More blood flowed from the fallen.  They pulled off the horns
and untied the hooves from her feet and palms.  Two of them each lifted up
an ankle and they pulled.  A dark wide wake left its swath in the ring as
the condemned was dragged closer to the platform.  One of them reached down
and pulled out the soggy tail fashioned from human hair.  It had been
pulled underneath the female during the dragging.

   Arms trailing behind, the massive breasts caught each step as she was
dragged up to the platform stage.  A crimson trail stained the gray wood.
Those pulling the female unceremoniously let free the ankles they were
pulling and her lower legs limply fell to the floor.

   ***

   Unencumbered by the hooves heels and rack of horns, they pulled Rhianna
to her bare feet.  She still stood at least a head above those who had
dragged her up to the top of the wooden platform.  The great iron sculpture
behind radiated heat from the day's sun.  Without resistance, she stood as
a rope was passed under her reddened breasts, then tightly cinched from
behind.

   From the opposite side of the ring, a figure grew closer.  It was that
of a stocky, bare-chested man.  As he grew closer, Rhianna could see that
the man wore a ribbed helmet made of some metal.  A plume of feathers lay
across its crest.  Sweaty chest hairs came closer into view.  Leather
worked a lattice pattern across the bare top.  The man signaled and a crude
derrick was wheeled out.  Rhianna watched it as she stood until it
disappeared from sight behind her.

   The cinched rope suddenly tightened around her ribs.  Jeers from the
crowd rang out.  Impulsively, she looked down.  Reddened breasts ballooned.
Almost immediately, two shining nipples looked back up at her.  Rhianna
twisted, but the rope continued to pull.  Her body started to lift.  Her
head jerked up, but all she saw was the still sky above.  Looking back
down, her breasts now looked bigger and their reddish color was darkening.

   The crowd screamed its delight as the executioner ordered the rope
leading from the derrick to lift the tall blonde higher still.  The
squirming hips and bulging tits electrified them.  Between the long legs,
the single braid wildly swished.  This "bull" was at last to be crucified.
Higher up she was lifted.  Sweat streamed down the writhing contours along
with new rivers of blood from the many puncture wounds.  The dark cavern of
the female's navel, topped with the tiny dome of flesh many had noticed
before, now stretched to a narrow slit from its home in the sunken belly.
They applauded her every cry.

   He needed the help of another to grip an ankle and press its sole onto
one leg of the iron cross.  Heedless of the burn such action might cause
the condemned, he quickly wrapped the foot secure with a short length of
chain and did the same with the other leg.  Allowing himself the liberty of
looking up, he thinly smiled at the protruding ribs and purpled tits above
before ascending a short ladder with a block of wood, hammer and nail.

   Once in position, the executioner extended the condemned's left arm
outwards and upwards until it was pressed flat onto the heated iron bars
that interwove as part of the sculpture.  A short length of rope was used
to secure the wrist.  With one hand the executioner placed the wood on the
other side and pressed the nail firmly into the upturned wrist.  The other
heavy arm drove the mallet down onto the nail head.  Positioned correctly,
nail passed through flesh, a hole in the wrapped iron, and then into the
wooden block, effectively locking the arm in place.  Just to be sure, the
mallet crashed and crashed upon the nail.

   Ecstatically, hysteria ensued.  The crucifixion reverberated tensions of
all sorts.  To the white body, the black cross had become less a backdrop
and now more an engine of torture as the nail was further pounded in. 
Gleaming muscles, tendons and veins pumped in stark relief.  The entire
structure shook.  Bright blood spurted out and ran down the executioner's
positioned arms.  Flexed knees straightened and the enemy leader's neck
stretched ever higher as her chin raised to the sky.

   He moved to the right side, and then repeated the same sequence with the
other arm.  Before climbing down, the executioner cut free all ropes.  As
he did, the purpled breasts that had so grown in dimension lowered slightly
and regained some of their natural color.  Standing on the platform, the
heavy fellow then nailed both feet to the X.

   Rhianna tearfully squinted and tried to relax the contortions made by
her face muscles but found that she could only grimace as she peeked.  Her
limbs contracted and the verge of panic presented itself as she now felt
herself pinned.  Hanging from nails in her wrists, she fought to keep her
head up.

   Breathing was difficult as inhaling came in short gasps, and exhaling
was impossible.  Gritting her teeth, she made ready to use her legs again
and pull herself up.  The try failed.  It proved too demanding, and yet it
was either that or asphyxiate.  She tried again and this time gasped
quickly before her knees bent once more and she slumped lower.  Sweat ran.
Already exhaustion consumed.  Rhianna made ready for the effort once more.
Clenching her jaw and then screaming in a voice that sounded altogether
foreign, she repeated the process.  Regardless of sapped strength, the will
to breathe to live became supreme.

   Resounding cheers met every thrust upward by the crucified.  From down
at his perspective on the sand, the executioner looked up at the figure
nailed to the cross on the platform.  The flexing thighs now parted enough
to show the female's inner sex.  The sight inspired.  Next to his sandal
lay one of the bloodied banderilla earlier removed from her back.  He bent
down and grabbed it and stepped back up onto the platform.  The pink and
black shone as an easy target.  Turning back to the crowd, he waved the
barbed stick high above his head and then turning back to face the nude,
took the shaft and plunged it up between the legs.

   Rhianna screeched as it entered her.  No longer did lack of strength in
her legs concern as her entire being reached skyward.  Arms pulled her
higher as feet stood upon the nails piercing them.  She felt the barb being
twisted inside her.  When it pulled out, her body sank.

   The bloody stick yanked free.  He reached in and yanked out the hanging
hair pulling the plug that held it out.  Crimson rivers flowed down the
muscular legs.  He jammed the stick back into her, twisted and again pulled
it out.  More blood flowed.  The small crown now shown with a necklace of
liquid rubies.

   High up the iron cross, the gleaming globes thrust out invitingly.  Two
more banderillas were snatched up from the sand.  Again, the executioner
took particular aim.

   ***



   The captain encountered noticeable chop in the seas as the wooden
sailing vessel headed towards what appeared to be a small bay on the tiny
island in the Atlantic.  Beyond, a village or small town sprawled.  Visible
near its center arose a plume that further darkened the waning light. 
There had to be a connection to their leader and her crew, he thought, and
willed his ship to sail faster through the bucking waves.

   La Ventas was not a large bullring but making the circuit around the
perimeter seemed endless to Rhianna.  Siesta time was spent in the stands
for many of the onlookers and now that sunset was almost upon them, a
renewed excitement buzzed amongst the awakening crowd.  They cheered as the
oxen team turned the platform with the black cross and the white female
crucified to it toward the center of the arena.  It stopped and the animals
were released from their harnesses to be taken back to the barn.  More
horns blared.  From the Grand Portal rode colorfully garbed picaderos.  The
three horsemen each carried burning torches that lit up the twilight and
trailed showers of sparks as they galloped around the ring.  Slaves stuffed
kindling under the platform as the riders paraded.

   A landing by sea on strange soil was precarious any time of the day, but
when reduced visibility was added to the many pitfalls, all men and women
aboard the ship knew that their chances for success were greatly reduced.
Regardless, the chance to rescue their own had all keenly prepared for
whatever they might face.  Armor bumped armor as the pitching and rolling
continued.  Fingers tightly gripped spears; swords were sharpened again and
again.  All concentration was focused on getting ashore.

   The stadium reacted as one voice and shouted.  One of the riders leaned
down from his saddle and set the burning flame on the torch he carried to
the brush stuffed beneath the wooden platform.  Sparks flew in many
directions.  The brush ignited.  One orange flame appeared, and then
another licked up between the wooden slats atop which the corpses had been
tossed.

   Rhianna was forced to look down.  From the darkened bodies near her
bloodied left foot she saw the smoke, and then the flame that almost
blinded.  The sight caused panic.  Exhausted knees stiffened.  Her body
lifted up a little.  The naked torso twisted as more smoke climbed.  It
choked.  She coughed.  Spittle flew.  Her lungs seared.

   Another of the riders bent down with his blazing torch on the other side
and ignited kindling under that end of the platform while the third stopped
his horse, dismounted and held his torch under the front center of the
platform.  Three small fires quickly grew.

   Spectators stood again and wildly cheered the activity.  Fascination
captivated them as the fires quickly grew.  Soon, the fires melded into one
blaze.  The wooden platform started to smoke and then burn.  High on the X
cross, the maiden rocked in fright, shaking her splendid body as well as
the banderillas stuck from it.  One of the dead limbs hung over the
platform, just over where flames licked.  It too ignited.

   Darkness was falling out at sea and visibility was poor as the pirate's
ship approached the bay.  As soon as they could, men and women from the
vessel jumped over the side and waded to shore, their helmets and
chest-plates wetly gleaming in the surf.  On the beach, the intruders met
with little resistance from the small band of locals.  Fighting ensued, but
their superior numbers quickly overtook the defenders.  Grouping together,
they animatedly pointed toward the center of the town.  That seemed to be
where all of the action was.  The captain led the crew through the narrow
streets at double time.

   Rhianna cried out.  Billowing smoke gagged.  Toes that could not flee
began to feel hot fingers lancing their tips as they desperately curled. 
She wretchedly coughed.  Her entire being hurt from so much that had
happened, but this newest threat took precedence.  Burning alive was
impossible to embrace.  Skin began to crinkle.  Blisters erupted then
cracked as fissures formed.  Any semblance of composure became a forgotten
memory.  The nails held fast.

   Stomping feet pounded the stadium stands.  Wildness ignited with every
corpse that sprang to life in flame.  The crucified began to be burned upon
a pyre of her own.  First one of the lower legs blackened as more smoke and
flames reached it.  Scorching fire flickered its ascent.  It lapped at the
wooden stick, quickly exploding into flames its paper and cloth wrapping.
Another body on the platform flamed and burned the next living leg.. 
Riotous fans pointed to the second banderilla, also now aflame and the
shriveling breast to which it was forever joined.  Still the crucified's
head could be seen to shake from side to side.  A balmy breeze from the sea
blew much of the smoke from the flaming pyre.  It also further stoked the
raging flames.  Passions of the populace were well fired.

   The Great Portal doors swung open and there entered a group of more
foreigners.  Those cheering from the stands stood silent for a moment.  All
appeared stunned.  Only the crackling of the burning bodies, and platform
along with Rhianna's continuing cries from the conflagration were heard in
the muted moment.

   Horns blasted again.  The people looked on in awe.  Surrounding the
shocked foreigners were Graciosa's finest, weapons at the ready.  The mass
capture seemed to confirm that La Ventas would once more play host to
bizarre blood sports, though surely, none as grand as the mock bull fight
they had witnessed this day.  For that, they could thank the blonde they
called Rhianna.



   -30Connie's Fast-Track



   Was it a sparkle, or merely an errant dust mote that caught Connie's eye
as she pored over the seemingly endless spreadsheets sprawled over her
desk? Was something telling her that she would soon be dancing a dance
never before expected?  The favored miniature figurine of a ballerina
pirouetted the center stage on what had become her chosen work area. 
Girlhood memories returned.  Aspirations to be a ballerina resurfaced and
now that she was all of 25, Connie had made other plans.  Plans that had
her on the fast track to a senior vice presidency with the firm, glass
ceiling be damned.  Let the other girls her same age dance and party and
look at her with their covetous eyes as she strode past their humble
cubicles on her way onward and upward.

   A sigh signaled how tired she really was .It was getting late.  Connie
rubbed her exhausted eyes and turned off the banker's light shining above
the tiny figure.  Packing her laptop and papers into the attach case,
thoughts ran to what lay ahead.  Another solitary night.  She'd get home,
take a bath, and then go to bed.  First though, she had to get out of her
office and down to where her new car sat by itself in the darkened parking
lot.  After today, even a machine would be welcome company.  She grabbed
her tailored jacket from off of the valet, slipped it on, snatched up her
keys and case and left the office.  The last to leave, again, but that was
a price that had to be paid.  Someday, all of these extra hours were bound
to pay off.

   Her heels clacked through the marbled hallway.  The shoes were awfully
expensive, but matched the navy blue suit she wore.  As did her bag.  She
waved strands of dark hair from her face.  Maybe it might be wise to also
color coordinate her work stuff with her business outfits.  It couldn't
hurt her image she thought as she reached the parking lot floor.  There
across the pavement sat her car as she had expected.  She pointed the key
chain device in its direction.  The honking horn and flashing lights were
reassuring, but just to be prudent, her fingers inside the purse wrapped
around the tiny canister and clutched it in her grasp.

   "Working late tonight, are we?"

   Connie whirled around startled.  She recognized the male voice as one of
her colleagues; one she always thought was jealous of her promotions in his
ambitious zeal.  "Jim!  You nearly scared the shit out of me.  But, what
are you doing dressed like that?"

   "Oh, this?" He chuckled and smoothed down the front of his workman's
overalls.  "You're just always used to seeing me in a business suit.  This
is sort of, uhm, after-hours wear." Jim continued his silly grin at Connie
as she faced him.  "It really is more comfortable than a suit and tie, you
know.  Or, maybe you don't." Jim shrugged.  "Well, at least you know about
suits." He gestured toward the ensemble she was wearing.  "Dress to
impress, right?  Except that maybe that power suit of yours tonight just
lost a bit of its power." Jim's grin faded.  He wiped a hand over his
gelled hair.  She was tall, but he stood at least a half-foot over her.

   Connie turned back to her driver's door and said, "Look, Jim, I have no
idea what you're talking about or even why you are here, but it's late and
now I'm heading home.  See you tomorrow." Her words half-heartedly trailed
into the night as the key turned and she opened the door.

   "Well hey, Ms.  Jennson, the night is young.  How about a little
company? Don't you think the little lady needs someone to ride along with
her Frank?" Connie whipped around and saw Jim's pal also there and dressed
just like him.  Both of them were staring at her.  No one now smiled.  She
glared back and gripped the pepper spray in her purse.

   "I wouldn't try that if I was you," Jim said, "While you were at break
this morning, Frank here stole into your office and replaced your can with
one of his harmless toys."

   "What the?!" Connie reached into her purse and pulled out the canister.
It was ivory, and the one she usually had in there was colored red.  She
pulled it out and tried spraying it, but nothing happened.  "You bastards!
Get the fuck out of here now, before I call Security!"

   Both of them laughed and Frank quietly said to Jim that Security had
left two hours before.  "Connie," Jim said patiently, "there's no one here
to help you now, so why don't we all just nicely get into you car?  Okay?
Okay." The two men moved closer to the single woman and shoved the leather
seat forward to get into the back.  "Now just be a good girl and drive us
out of here."

   ***

   Effects from the stun gun were wearing off.  Connie kept hearing Jim's
words over and over, something about "getting out of here" said more as a
statement than a question.  She remembered driving to some old shack in a
deserted industrial area, getting out and being led inside.  That was when
the jolt hit her.  She had remained conscious as they removed her clothes,
but could not move.  Now she was naked and strapped down to this metal
table.  Lights blazing like rectangular suns encircled her.  A moan escaped
her lips just as the water hit.

   "Throw it over her face Frank.  Maybe the cold water will help her
regain some more of her sense?" Jim looked down at the nude on the metal
rack.  Both of them had admired the toned contours as she lay.  "Better
enjoy this part dear," he said as the water drenched her face and hair,
"because maybe you can't see it now, but we're going to crucify you on that
wall over there." He dropped a section of the table that was between her
legs, then violently pushed a tethered ankle back while raising her knee.
The metal holding the limb retracted into the table.

   Connie gasped.  In the Mylar screen above, she could make out he
reflection of her own knee being raised and thigh pushed open.  That was
frightening enough, but Jim's words about a crucifixion shoved aside his
earlier words in her growing alertness.  She felt her other leg bent and
ankle pushed back.  Looking back up, she saw her arms stretched behind her
wet head and both legs parted.  Connie fought to get free, but her arms and
legs were securely held.

   "Frank?  Why don't you do the honors?  I have other plans at this end."

   As if in concert timed with a master's baton, Connie's hips eased back
to the table as she exhaled a sigh that sang a medley ranging from Glad
That's Over, to I Feel the Edge But Can't Cross Over.  Characteristically
taciturn around the office, Frank squealed like a rutting hog especially
when he ejaculated all over Connie's belly for what Jim had described as
the "money shot".  Already, the spent globs cooled.

   She was just relaxing her tensed form when a panel between her arms
dropped.  Her head and neck fell.  "Whaaaa...!!!"

   "Told you this was the most enjoyable part for you, bitch."

   Connie struggled between her upside down head and Jim's voice from high
above.  She blinked her eyes.  Staring back at her was a semi-erect male
member.

   It took just two zaps from the stun gun, and a threatened third, before
Connie enthusiastically lapped at the bobbing organ.  She took it between
her lips and earnestly sucked the male flesh to a gagging tumescence. 
Despite the lowered voltage on the gun, a pair of rising burns sided each
nipple.  Choking , she nonetheless furiously feasted on the cock until Jim
at last removed it from her mouth and scalded her face with his cum.

   "How's our vee-pee feeling now?" Jim said as he and Frank one of
Connie's arms over their shoulders and helped her off of the table.  Her
toes dragged over the floor until they hit something hard on the floor. 
d"Frank?  Can you switch some of those lights around?  Not only are they
blinding me, but they're damn hot, too." They dropped her limp form.

   "No need to answer , if you don't want to, Connie.  I would like you to
turn over and lay with your back on that board there on the floor."
Straggled hair and all, she did as she was told and looked up with the
lights burning behind the men towering over her.  "Know what this is,
dear?"

   Jim was holding some tool in his hands but she couldn't see and really
didn't care.  Her throat hurt but she said up to the giant figures,
"Llo...loook...Why don't you guys just let me go?  I wwwon't do, anything,
I promise." The figure with the object crouched down closer to her head.

   "Now tell me, how could we possibly do that?  Besides, the real fun is
just about to begin and without you well.  Anyhow, this thing I am holding
is a pneumatic nail gun.  It fires plenty.  Watch." He turned the gun away
from Connie's head and aimed at a distant spot.  A burst exploded and
almost immediately, so did the beam.  "Now, if you're thinking that we
would use that on pretty, pretty you.  No way!" Jim stood up and looked at
Frank.  He gave Frank the nail gun.  "Load it with those rusty ten penny
nails." He looked down at the spattered face whose blues now sparkled with
tears full of pleading.  "You'll only need about three, regardless of how
fast or how many that thing can fire."

   ***

   The mechanical tool's report sounded like a gust of wind coupled with a
thunderclap.  Connie's reactions as the nails drove into her wrists were
more animal-like.  Heels of her bare feet pounded a counterpoint as they
thudded the macadam.  Frank grunted as he sat back, exhausted, his swarthy
skin slick with a different kind of sweat.  Nailing the bitch had not been
so easy, even with the aid of the power tool in his hands.  Jim chuckled as
he stood outside of the circle of light.

   She had shrieked until her throat was hoarse and she could scream no
more.  Now Connie merely moaned as her head rolled from side to side.  She
dared not look at the ends of her outstretched arms for she knew that the
sight would only confirm what she already knew.  She was now pinned to the
beam.  Her eyes tightly grimaced and a surf of tears worthy of any beach
washed over the moans.

   From somewhere, Jim's voice said, almost in jest, "Cummon, Frank.  Let's
get 'er up on that wall.  We need to be getting back to clean up for work,
ya know."

   Frank mumbled something and wearily got to his feet.  Jim walked into
the bright light and together the two grabbed an end of the crossbeam to
lift.  The slightest movement of the wood caused Connie's hoarse cry to
rasp once more.

   A foot's length off of the ground, the nude still looked imposing.  They
grabbed her insoles, bent her knees and Frank's tool again hammered home a
nail through flesh and into wood.  The writhing body did make for an
impressive visual.  Ribbons of scarlet now trailed from the three entries
of the rusted nails.  Crimson streams coursed through curled toes.

   On a slim rail attached to the ceiling hung a hummingbird feeder.  Jim
pushed it closer to Connie, positioning the tiny nozzle just away from her
gritted teeth.  "Just in case you need a drink of water while we're gone,
but you'll have to work for it." He leered upward, imagining the pull that
the bitch would have to exert to lean out to drink the sugar water.  "But,
somebody's got to watch the fort I guess." He gave a final position to the
recording video camera aimed at Connie.  "We'll be sure and tell the boss
you said to say hi and probably come by to see how you're doing after 5 or
so, okay?"

   With that, the two vanished, leaving only Connie and her pain to rue the
day she chose to enter this particular corporate culture.

   -30Faibhar

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