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“Take your filthy hands off of me, you stinking bastard!” Isabella snarled, her anger so great she did not register the terrible surroundings of the dungeon. She struggled in the strong grip of the villain who pushed her forwards.

“If you dare scratch me I will break your wrist like a twig,” he barked. To underline the menace he hardened the grip of his fat but strong right hand in which her petite hands almost vanished.

“Ahh… you will regret this,” the comtessa hissed at him between clenched teeth. “How dare you…”

“Stop this now…” Slowly the monk in the robes of the Dominican order turned away from the warming fire and looked into the room. “..and let her go… for now!”

With a sigh of relief Isabella straightened up and massaged her aching hands.

“What is the meaning of this? How dare you imprison me? Don’t you know who I am? And my clothes! Give them back to me at once so I can get rid of these stinking disgusting rags! I…”

“I have been told that you have worn male clothes… more evidence of your guilt?”

“GUILT? Are you insane, priest? I was riding in my forest, and for a ride male clothes are a bit more practical than wide robes! I want them back. AT ONCE!”

“You seem to misunderstand your situation, Milady. You are accused of practicing witchcraft… and you have been brought here for your trial.!”

“That… that is ridiculous! And fully illegal! Men clothed as bandits – men who didn’t show any official sign – kidnapped me. There was no public accusation, no due process. I…”

“Save your breath and listen if you want to end this in a good way. We have enough for a tribunal but I don’t want to harm you…at least not harm you more than necessary.”

“Ah, yes?” She stared at him furiously. “So I suppose I should thank you now for allowing me to spend the night in this stinking dungeon with rats and vermin?”

“Maybe you should,” the priest replied quietly. “But more important for you is to prove to me that you are willing to return to the path of Our Lord.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you! My people will kick your ass and chase you out of my country!”

“They will? Maybe… if they only knew where you were. To avoid such complications I choose the somewhat unusual way you spoke of to bring you here, Comtessa. Let’s come to the point: you sign all of your possessions over to the Holy Mother Church to prove your good will, and you will spend the rest of your life as a nun in the safe arms of our Lord.or…” Thoughtfully he touched the terrible tools hanging from hooks above the fireplace.

“Ah, that’s it…hypocritical bastards! You think, “If I just threaten the little girl a bit I can easily get everything from her,” she spit out in disgust. “Forget it… since my parents were killed in your “Holy War” there were several attempts like this one… and you will not have more luck than the others before you!”

“As you wish… but I’m afraid you force me to hurt you.” He looked for a moment at various devices in the room before he pointed to the rack. “Teach her that this is not a joke, Gregor. Some pain will make her more humble and help her to follow our argumentation!”

“Don’t you dare… AHH!” Her protest ended in a pain-filled scream when Gregor grabbed her arms and bent them brutally backwards to pull her towards the huge ladder where another man waited grinning. Against the combined forces of the two men she hadn’t even the slightest chance; one pressed her against the ladder, his face close enough to hers that she felt ill from the smell of rotting teeth. He held her arms in a strong grip, while the fat one tied thick ropes around her slender wrists.

“You evil bastard! It is you that is an instrument of the devil!” she shouted at the priest. He walked calmly forward and made the sign of the cross over her body. “You hypocritical… “Isabella started to curse him again but the second of her tormentors turned the winch and she was lifted off the ground by the ropes of the rack. Her oaths were lost in a groan of pain as her tortured arms took up the weight of her body. She could do nothing but hang helplessly from her wrists while new ropes were tied tightly around her delicate ankles. The preparations completed the priest simply nodded at the thin man to begin stretching her on the rack.

Isabella’s screams filled the dungeon and drowned out the creaking of the wood and ropes, ropes that tightened painfully around her slender wrists and ankles with brute force and pulled her limbs in opposite directions cruelly stretching her body. Sweat oozed from her every pore and ran down her sides and over her breasts. It made her shift cling to her damp flesh and shimmered on her face, arms and legs.

“Don’t break her joints! Not on the first day anyway; you know the law…this is to be allowed only on the third day.”

“LAW? You sick bastard, all you are doing is against the law…you..AHHHH!” Her angry protests ended in another howling scream, one that ended in a suffocating groan when her lungs had emptied and she couldn’t inhale enough air anymore to scream because of the brutal stretching.

“Stupid woman, do you really think you can resist the torture for several days? We have time enough, and if you don’t agree to the business, your sad remains will end in fire at the stake. Is this what you want?”

“You…” Rough coughing interrupted her answer. “You may not burn me without due process, and since you don’t have proof, you will need my confession. And you will not get my confession, never!” Again she screamed, as the torturer turned the wheel to punish her stubbornness, but with a wink the priest stopped him.

“You want proof, stupid girl? Well then, we will have to look for it.” He laid a hand on the shoulder of the fat man.

“Gregor, look for the devil’s mark. And do it carefully; don’t miss a spot on her body.”

“Of course, your Reverend, I will find it.” His voice showed his pleasure at being chosen for this work, and he didn’t waste a second. Quickly he climbed the ladder and began tearing Isabella’s clothes from her tightly stretched body until, with the exception of a few shreds of cloth that hung from her sweat glazed skin, she was completely naked.

“How…how dare you. Don’t you dare touch me with your dirty hands, you stinking bastard. I will…”

“Maybe outside you are a countess, but in this dungeon you are mine, and I will do with you what I want.” To underline his words, his fingers touched her sex. “EVERYTHING, you understand?” His spittle hit her full in the face and made her feel sick. That feeling grew even greater when she looked into his greedy eyes gazing lustfully at her and felt his fingers working at her vagina. Now fully aware her total vulnerability and helplessness, she bit her lip and turned her head as far away from him as possible, still determined to resist whatever tortures these fiends had planned for her.


A strange feeling arose in the monk as his eyes wandered over the exposed, outstretched body of the young woman. For a moment he even wished to be the disgusting fat lout whose hands lay on the soft trembling skin.

“Lord, she tries to bewitch me. This women is REALLY a witch!” He shuddered and murmured some prayers to protect himself from the devil’s forces. In his thoughts he apologized to the Cardinal. This countess was not only here to increase the wealth of the Holy Mother Church – no, in his wisdom, His Excellence had recognized that she had been fallen to the devil. Again he shuddered and imagined how much evil a countess could have brought into this world as a creature of the Dark One.

“What are you waiting for, Gregor. Hurry up and find the devil’s mark!”

He ignored the somewhat astonished looks of the two torturers who immediately noticed the change in his voice. There was no more amusement in it, only the strict will to bring justice to a damned witch.


Isabella noticed this change as well; she felt a new seriousness and thread increase, but before she could wonder what had happened to cause this change, her head was twisted and she felt the sharp, cold edge of a needle touching the skin of her cheek.

“Here is a mole, did the devil kiss you there?” Before she realized what he intended, the thick needle had pierced through her flesh. The shock was perhaps worse than the pain itself and made her mute. She could only groan as the needle pierced deeper and she felt a ripple of warm blood running down her cheek.

“No, not here – it is bleeding. But maybe here?”

His left hand pressed her right arm just above the elbow, and moments later the needle sank deeply into the tightened muscle of her shoulder. Her body arched as far as the ropes allowed, and her loud shrieks filled the room, shrieks that got even shriller when the thick needle was twisted and moved deeper until its tip scratched over the bone of her arm.

“Ah, now it is bleeding here, too… I must search at another place!”

His hand moved along her body, which now trembled like the leaves in the wind. With growing panic Isabella tried to remember where on her body she had a mole – a thought that ended the moment his rough hand grabbed her right breast and squeezed brutally.

“Maybe here – the devil likes to kiss soft flesh, hmm?”

“NO! Not my breast, I don’t have any mole there! I don’t! I…” Her protest ended in a desperate shriek when the needle pierced the skin just below the nipple.

“Not a visible one, right, but the Devil is clever and deceitful enough to hide his traces, especially here.” His grip that hold the soft flesh was so hard that it almost stopped the flow of blood in to her breast, so he pushed the needle deeper and deeper into her flesh, twisting and moving it, while her whole body convulsed uncontrollably and her hoarse screams echoed off the walls.

When a small ripple of blood finally left the wound he didn’t let her breast go, but pierced her again and again, first at her breast, then lower, thrusting the needle into her stomach and belly. When the needle finally pierced her navel she was too exhausted to move anymore.

“Does this feel like the devil’s teeth on your skin, little witch?” She didn’t answer anymore only sobbed quietly, too exhausted to even scream.


But then she felt his fingers touching her private parts, opening her lips, spreading them wide.

“What are you going…?” In answer to her unfinished question his fingers pressed painfully against the soft flesh spreading them further. Fear gripped her like a vise when she felt the cold tip of the needle slide into her vagina.

“The devil’s favorite place. I’m sure here I will find the spot.”

“NOOO!” she screamed.

Her rising panic gave her new strength and she pulled desperately at the ropes trying to free herself. He pressed the needle against the moist tissue inside her sex and her struggles became so violent the ladder vibrated beneath her. Quickly her other torturer turned the wheel, stretching her enough to prevent any further movement, while the fatter one slowly pierced the delicate flesh of her vagina. Her legs spasmed in pain, her head bent back and she screamed like a wounded animal as she fought the hopeless battle to break free of the rack and pull away from the fiend who was torturing her pussy.

“No blood yet,” Gregor stated firmly, increasing the pressure of his fingers to be sure of this – he was experienced enough to know how to find the devil’s mark.

“Deeper, we must be sure without a doubt!” the monk advanced and looked up at her, while Gregor followed is order and pierced the needle even deeper into the flesh of the screaming woman.

“Still no blood, that is it!”

“Yes, we have the proof… all we need now is her confession. Whip it out this devil’s whore!”

When the fat man pulled the needle from the delicate flesh of her sex, Isabella groaned loudly with relief. She sensed more than saw the man step down from the ladder and through her pain felt a surge of hope that her torture was now over. The priest’s words had been lost on her, drowned out by her own terrible screaming. Now the torture had stopped and she thought it must be because they had realized her innocence. But her relief was short lived, for as soon as the fat man climbed down from the rack the other tormentor once again began to turn the wheel. Once again the bloodstained ropes bit into her ankles and wrists, scraping yet more flesh from her lacerated limbs. Her mouth opened in shock from the renewed pain, but the only sound was her desperate gasp for air as the rack pulled her yet tighter.

“Confess witch!” the priest shouted at his helpless victim, “We have our proof – you are guilty! Save your soul and more unnecessary pain; for know this – I will not stop your torture until you yield. The devil cannot help you here witch!”

This time Isabella heard him but her only answer was a hoarse scream of fury and pain: pain from the horrid stretching of her already taut body and fury at the hypocrisy of the priest and her own powerlessness to stop him. Again the wheel was turned a few degrees and now her screams were of pure agony. She pulled with all her strength against the ropes arching her back off the rack just as the fat man sent the long leather whip whistling through the air. It snapped across her taut belly with a loud crack, adding the fiery pain of the lash to her already unbearable torture. Isabella’s screams rose to an even higher pitch at this new outrage to her naked body.

“Don’t mark her skin at this degree,” the priest ordered.

“This is not my first witch,” Gregor replied, sounding somewhat offended at the mild rebuke, but he didn’t pause and the next blow hit Isabella’s belly less then an inch above the first. Isabella’s skin was fair and sensitive and immediately turned red and swollen where the lash had fallen. The pain was beyond what scarce moments before she would have believed possible and she screamed unashamedly as the whipping continued. Systematically Gregor let the whip wander along her thighs, belly, ribs and breasts. He counted the blows silently to himself wondering at what point the tortured young woman would shriek, “No more! I confess!” Ten, twenty, thirty lashes and still she did not beg for mercy although her nude body was covered with red welts from her knees to her neck.

“More blows will make her bleed, your Reverend, and she still is as stubborn as before.”

Unwillingly the monk looked up from fireplace. He had turned his back on Isabella. The writhing of her naked body and her shrill screams in response to the stinging lashes had aroused him in shameful ways. He was weak and the devil was trying to take advantage of his weakness in the lewd display of his female disciple. The only way the priest could resist was not too look and cover up her seductive cries with his own prayer. Still he saw her in his mind’s eye and wondered if he shouldn’t keep torturing her even after she had confessed.

“Then turn her over and continue on her back. Must I instruct you in each detail?”

It was no easy job turning the captive young woman. They did not release her wrists or ankles from the ropes or even loosen them. They twisted her fettered body as it lay stretched out on the rack. She gave one long scream of agony which deteriorated into a series of sobs as the pressure of the rack increased with the twisting of her limbs. Now she lay face down against the ladder, wrists and ankles crossed and the rough wood scraping at her wounds. The agony was all encompassing. For the first time she prayed for death and the end of her torment. Her breasts heaved as she fought to breathe but with the first lash she found enough air in her lungs for a high-pitched shriek of pain and despair. Gregor worked with the same enthusiasm on her back as he had on her front; lash after lash tore into the back of her thighs, her buttocks and hips, her back and shoulders with the same cruel force.

“Confess,” the priest ordered, “You cannot resist forever, not even with the devil’s help. Confess and save your soul!”

His words fell on deaf ears. She heard them but could not make any sense of them. All she knew was her pain, the horrible agony that tore at her limbs and burned her skin as though she were being roasted alive. She didn’t even have the energy to turn her head toward the sound of his voice. Still the whip flayed her but now she no longer had the strength to scream. She only whimpered with each blow, while mucous ran uncontrollably from her nose and drool and spittle from her mouth.

“Enough for now,” the priest ordered, “We will probably have to subject this stubborn witch to the next degree. Let her rest until tomorrow. Perhaps some time to think will help convince her of the uselessness of her resistance.”

Isabella’s welt-covered body hung limply from the ropes. Were it not for the shallow breathing one might have thought her dead. Her ankles were unbound and she was lowered into the greedy hands of her torturers. She barely noticed them pawing at her naked body.

“The devil might have helped you avoid more torture for today witch, but he is not here to fuck you. That will be done by us now.” Laughing the fat man touched her sex with the grip of the whip. “Maybe I will have to widen this noble cunt of yours a bit so that my mighty cock will fit in.”

With a shout of fury that had been reserved for his victim the priest interrupted his play. “Stop at once! Didn’t you hear me? I ordered you to bring her to her cell.”

“But…” The monk held up his hand to stop further complaint. His anger which had risen so quickly now abated just as fast. This was part of the price for henchmen and torturers, that they were allowed to abuse and rape their victims for their own pleasure as long as it did not interfere with the business of extracting a confession. But he couldn’t resist the witchcraft of this young women and the thought of these two churls forcing her was more than he could bear. His feelings might even have been called jealousy.

“Do you want to argue my orders?” His voice was sharp enough to suppress any comment. “Bring her to her cell and bind her with heavy iron. She is a very dangerous witch Gregor,” he said, softening his voice to show concern for his minion, “You…we must be very careful.”

Gregor simply nodded grimly showing he understood and lifted her under his arm like a sack of onions to carry her back to her cell.

It was a sharp pain that woke her from unconsciousness. Her eyes needed a few moments to adapt to the darkness, but then Isabella saw the source of her pain. “RATS!” For a moment terror paralyzed her; two fat disgusting rats were tearing away the loose skin from her badly bruised and abraded wrists and ankles. The rats ignored her shrill shrieks, barely looking up at the direction they came from. In panic she managed to shake her heavily chained wrists and ankles enough to chase them away, but the beasts moved off only a short distance, watching her with greedily glowing eyes. The rats had had enough experience and were clever enough to know that a prisoner in chains was not a danger, and that they only had to wait before they could continue their meal.

Isabella shuddered and trembled; it was cold now that the fireplace in the torture chamber was nowhere near. The iron bar that fettered her ankles and wrists forced her to crouch on the frigid dungeon floor and the cold stone seemed to draw the heat from her naked body. With the cold, the pain returned; it felt like every inch of her flesh was alive with it. She tried to move a bit, but the heavy spiked iron collar on her shoulders caused new torment with each movement, and the rough iron that locked her wrists and ankles so tightly grated on the bloody flesh of her wounds, rubbing over raw nerves and bringing tears of pain to her eyes.

Ignoring the pain, she tried to reach the screws of her bonds with numb fingers, but of course there was no chance to loosen them. With great effort accompanied by cries and moans of pain she finally succeeded in lifting the metal above the raw flesh, but she knew that as soon as exhaustion overtook her and she drifted off it would slip down once again “At least the pain from the sliding metal will wake me up before those rats reach me,” she thought shuddering.

She moved her shoulders and arms carefully to ease the growing tension in her muscles caused by her awkwardly bent back before they turned into painful spasms. She looked down at her chest; some blood-crusted wounds from the piercing and countless swollen whip marks, but there was no severe damage yet. This would probably change with the next torture session. Isabella could only hope that her soldiers would find traces of the cowardly kidnapping and follow them to this place, wherever it was. Sooner or later she was sure this would happen; she only had to resist each torture and survive until then. Shuddering she remembered the monk’s eyes that told her all too well that he would burn her at the stake the moment he had her confession.

Suddenly the opening of a door interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see the fat man advancing purposefully toward her. Was the night already over? She stared at him steadily as he approached, trying to hide her overwhelming fear of the upcoming torture.

“Time for my payment, Milady,” he gulped and the smell of cheap alcohol made her sick, but not as sick as the meaning of his words which were underlined by his pressing his foot against her bare pussy.

“You can’t do this!” Isabella’s voice was shrill with panic and disgust, “The monk…he has forbidden…”

“Shut up, witch,” he pushed her roughly onto her back. “You are my whore here and no impotent monk can forbid me taking this noble hole!” Laughing he played rudely with the delicate flesh.

“I… I will curse you, if you dare…” He laughed even louder and his fingers hurt her enough to make her scream through her clenched teeth. “Many witches have tried just that, but my sainted amulet protects me from the devil’s forces.” Still laughing he stood up and lighted the torch on the cell wall. “You are my first noble fuck, Lady, so I will take my time and enjoy it for longer than usually.”

Sick with fear she watched helplessly as he removed his clothes, revealing his fat ugly body and huge erect penis. Terror overwhelmed her and the last of her pride disappeared as she began to beg, “No, please…don’t…please…” but he was already over her and pressed her to the ground with his gross weight. He started to fuck her with brutal thrusts that made her feel like she was being split in two. Isabella screamed and cursed, but nothing could stop him. Two, three times or even more he filled her with his semen. He even fucked her asshole and finally shot the foul stinking liquid in her face.

Breathing heavily he finally dressed… “I bet not even the devil ever gave you such a fuck. Right witch?”

“You dirty bastard. For this you will die very slowly; I will spend my time in this stinking cell thinking about your execution.”

“MY execution?” He laughed cynically,” You would do better to think about the stake where you will burn in a few days.” Laughing he walked out and locked the cell door behind him, leaving her in the cell, once again alone with her pain and the rats. But oddly, despite her humiliation and pain she now felt stronger than before; her rape had given her new motivation to survive long enough to get her revenge, as though that alone would be enough to give her the courage to resist each coming torture.

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