A tear falls from her eye in memory of the loss of her cherished mother, as it does most nights. Tonight, though, for the first time, she allows her hands to wander to her own private place between her legs. Her fingers fondle shyly into the deeper layers of her flesh and she feels her opening moisten in response to her touch. This feeling soothes her, connects her to her core, more so than anything she has experienced since being taken away. As her fingers continue to caress and play they discover a secret point of pleasure and she gasps aloud at the heady sensation.
These feelings temporarily subdue the inexhaustible pain and cruelty she has both witnessed and experienced in the recent past and for a brief moment, she allows her mind to be set free as a fragile cry escapes her lips through the door of her dormitory.
Within minutes of this occurring, a figure runs toward her, towering above her bed in the darkness and grabs hold of her hands. Caitlin screams with fright as her wrists are roughly seized, the evidence of her grave sin immediately exposed by the slippery fluid on her fingertips.
‘You wretched, evil girl … after everything we have done for you.’
Her arms are stretched and bound above her head, and attached to a ring in the wall. A cloth is stuffed in her mouth and secured with a rag tied around her head to subdue her cries lest she disturbs the other servants.
She spends the rest of the night trapped and shivering, unable to sleep due to her fear of what may become of her in the morning, yet unsure of exactly what she has done wrong.
Hours later, Caitlin struggles to see what is going on when she hears the old priest talking to someone as he pauses at the doorway. ‘She can no longer remain here. She is dirty in the eyes of god and her mother declared a witch. It’s an intolerable situation. Any ordinary form of work is now out of the question. Her sins are an abomination.’
She strains to see who the old priest is speaking with and recognises a well-dressed man, whom she has served on numerous occasions when he has dined with the priests.
‘What will become of her, Father?’ The man’s voice is gruff but his accent is educated. He is not young, nor old but always immaculately attired.
‘We may be able to torture the demons out her, and should she repent before God she may undergo some cleansing. This has worked for some but it may take many years. My fear is that the rack will do her no good as, now that she has engaged with the devil, there will be no stopping her attempts at deceiving others in her witchery.’ There is a pause and Caitlin’s nerve endings remain on high alert. ‘I feel the only option is the wheel. This way we’ll know one way or another whether she be witch or not. God will either have mercy on her and grant her salvation at the gates of heaven or she will descend into the depths of hell where quite probably she belongs.’
At these words Caitlin screams into her gag and thrashes her body wildly, causing her nightshirt to rise up high on her thighs. She has learnt from her time here that barely anyone survives the wheel, least of all a young woman declared a witch. She knows that after a few turns of the monstrous contraption everyone drowns, particularly as it so often gets stuck and the person tied to it remains trapped under water.
‘She will need to meet death and declare herself before God, just as the flames took her mother. There is nothing more we can do to help her.’
The well-dressed man steps into the tiny room and moves in closer to inspect Caitlin in greater detail, as she writhes on the bed with fear in her eyes. His hand lingers over her thighs under the guise of adjusting her nightgown to ensure her decency, while the priest remains distracted at the door adjusting his robes. She squirms beneath his touch, unable to alert the priest nor prevent the man’s firm fingers pressing into the tender flesh of her inner thigh as she watches him appraising her curvaceous body and pert breasts, his eyes lusting over, rather than making contact with hers. Her muffled screams are barely audible to herself, let alone to others.
‘Would you consider another fate for this sinner, Father?’
‘It depends what you have in mind. She is a risk to society and herself, her urges now proven to be uncontrollable. I caught her in the very act of the forbidden myself, hence her restraints. She cannot be trusted alone, lest her fingers continue to search for the devil.’
‘I see.’ The man, never looking directly at her, ensures Caitlin’s gag is secured before sliding his fingers along her décolletage and deliberately lingering over her breasts. The slightest of smiles quirks his lips as Caitlin’s body freezes in fear, her nipples responding uncontrollably to his touch.
‘She would need to be securely bound at all times, to give her any hope of salvation. Given her lineage, we already know she is unfit to be wed and to reproduce.’ Reluctantly removing his hands from her body, the man continues his discussion.
‘On the condition that I keep her restrained, and away from society, would you consider allowing me to resolve this quandary for you?’
The priest contemplates this offer for a moment; it would certainly save him a good deal of paperwork. The Church authorities aren’t so quick to burn the condemned these days without due process being followed. He also has no mind to deal with another young, vile creature and her tireless screams, begging for forgiveness when being tortured, which of course comes far too late. The evil has already possessed their souls and the noise just gives him scorching headaches. The men exchange looks that indicate a deal sealing her fate could potentially be brokered. Caitlin, desperate to hear what the men are discussing, lies silent and still, her eyes wide with alarm.
‘She would need to be permanently marked, to readily identify her as unclean to anyone who happens to cross her path.’
‘That could certainly be arranged, Father, though the fewer who come in contact with her the better from my perspective,’ he reflects, returning his gaze for one last salacious glance at Caitlin lying helplessly on the bed. ‘Perhaps an additional offering for the restoration of the church’s altar in preparation for Easter may help lift her bevy of sins.’ The priest has been hoping to restore the altar for many years, but funds have needed to be allocated elsewhere and Easter has always been the most sacred of events in the church’s calendar.
‘That’s a fine idea. I do believe we could certainly come to some suitable arrangement. God bless you for your kindness and generosity to the church. I just pray our Lord recognises your goodness at the gates of Heaven.’
The men converse with ease as a chill descends on Caitlin’s body and she begins to shiver from head to toe.
‘One more thing,’ the priest adds as they turn to leave. ‘Never look into her eyes, they will trap you in their evil. It has happened before.’
‘Thank you for the advice, Father, I shall take heed.’ He picks up a hessian sack from the floor and as if to prove to the priest how sincerely he takes his words, fully covers Caitlin’s gagged face before leaving the room. ‘I shall send my men to collect her later this morning.’ They close the door behind them leaving Caitlin trembling with the fear of her unknown future instead of the fear of death.
Caitlin has no idea where she is. She arrives at her new destination in the same state she left the monastery. The only words spoken to her during the transit involved the new rules that would govern her life. They involved addressing her new owner as ‘master’ at all times when being spoken to and facing the wall with her eyes closed whenever anyone enters the room.
Her hands remain bound together in front of her and it isn’t until she hears the door close behind the men who fetched her from the monastery, that she dares attempt removal of the sack covering her face, along with the stuffed handkerchief in her dry mouth.
Hungry and desperately thirsty, she gasps in relief as she notices some water and bread on the bench, devouring both in seconds. What is to become of her now?
She eyes the dark room cautiously; there are no windows and she looks to be in a stone basement of some kind. There is a wooden ladder attached to the wall connecting with a horizontal door that see
mingly forms part of the floor above. There is no handle and no means of escape. She huddles into the cold corner of the room in despair, wondering how her life has turned from such light with her mother to such desolate darkness in such a short space of years.
Someone enters the cell and Caitlin cowers in the corner covering her face with her hands, not knowing what to expect. She hears her new master’s voice at the same time as she feels his firm hand grasp the back of her neck, lifting her to a standing position facing the wall. Before turning her around a soft black hood is placed over her head. Fear of the unknown ripples through her body as she detects the smell of molten iron wafting around her cell. Held in place by her master, she feels a rough hand grasp each ankle as she listens to the conversation unfold between the two men.
‘Neither the Church nor God would ever forgive me should she escape,’ her master explains. ‘One as dangerous as she, the daughter of a witch no less, is intent on practising her craft.’
Caitlin feels heat in the room, then feels the heavy wrought iron being clasped around her extremities. She notices that, at the mention of the word witch, the tension with which the blacksmith is working tightens around her flesh as her new master continues chatting to him.
‘Her wrists and ankles will be forever bound and chained within these walls in order for her to repent her wicked life.’ His message is loud and clear as though he wants to assure the blacksmith how seriously he is taking the words of the priest. Caitlin’s movements become severely restricted by the addition of heavily-weighted chains put into place by these God-fearing men. Her body remains limp and despondent as she wonders how her life turned into such a miserable existence.
Caitlin implicitly understands from overhearing her master that he appreciates his elevated position within the Church’s community and will do anything to ensure this continues. He bids the blacksmith farewell and returns to her. Running his hands along the curves of her body as he attaches her bound wrists to the wall he whispers close to her ear: ‘You understand that your life belongs to me now, don’t you, my pet?’ Petrified at his proximity she is unable to respond.
‘Answer me,’ he says in a low commanding voice as his fingers gently caress and stroke her neck and shoulders. Caitlin has never been this close to a man, let alone been touched by one the way he has touched her. Her mind is in a spin as his musky, sweat-filled scent permeates her senses.
She tentatively nods her head, not wanting to say the wrong thing.
‘Speak, my pet, and answer me knowing who I am to you.’ She can’t help but scream into the cell as she feels a sharp bite as he takes her flesh between his teeth on her lower neck. Caitlin quickly tries to ascertain the meaning of his words before replying.
‘Yes,’ she pauses before adding, ‘master.’
‘Good, pet. You learn quickly.’ His caressing fingers return to her available body as she remains hanging. She gasps as he unbuttons her shirt and releases her breasts one at a time. She can feel the bulge in his trousers against her but doesn’t understand why it is hardening against her.
‘My job is to remove your witchcraft, which have no fear I shall take seriously. Your job is to accept your fate and your new life. I own you and your body from this moment until you die. Do you understand what this means?’
She feels his breath on her back before he turns her around, her arms still bound above her head and attached to the wall. Guilt, shame, and humiliation course through her as she grapples with the pleasure she feels as he fondles her breasts. She can’t reconcile any of the wild emotions rushing through her as her palms break into a sweat. She loses all concept of coherent thought as her body responds to such previously forbidden feelings. He pinches and twists her nipples, which sends a sharp, shooting sensation through her entire body that immediately tightens in her lower belly, her body involuntarily thrusting against the wall as she gasps at the painful shock of it.
‘I will ask only once more. Do you understand what this means?’
Caitlin doesn’t really understand what anything means: the force of the feelings shooting through her body at his proximity to her, his rough handling of her private parts, the fear pounding through her nerves. His fingers continue twisting her nipple as his teeth clamp down on the other one. The only words she needs to know from this point forward immediately escape her lips.
‘Yes, master.’ She screams through her hood. As soon as she utters these words his torturous twists turn into a long slow suckling of each nipple. She is deeply embarrassed by her feelings and the response of her body as something ignites in her groin and noisy groans escape her lips, echoing around the confines of the cell.
‘Good pet, I’m so pleased we have reached this understanding.’ He turns her around to face the wall and she feels the sharp sting as his hand comes down hard and fast on her buttocks before he promptly turns around and leaves.
Caitlin is left alone in the cell with nothing to focus on other than the confusion of her conflicted feelings. Though she fears her new master, and never knows whether she will be submitted to pleasure or pain, she also fears her loneliness when he leaves. Sometimes she wonders whether death would be any worse than living out the rest of her life in this blackened stone cell, never seeing another human soul again. Every time someone enters fear rises up within her, never knowing what to expect, but always knowing that whoever arrives, thanks to her master’s guaranteed preamble, they believe she is akin to the devil incarnate.
Her master has taught her to face the corner with her eyes closed whenever she hears someone enter the room so her face can be completely covered with a hood. The one time she failed to obey this command she was whipped until she lost consciousness and food didn’t arrive for some time; her only nourishment was drinking water from a bucket in the corner. Caitlin understood, from that point onwards, that every aspect of her diminished life is in his hands and she never makes the same mistake again, learning to meticulously follow his orders and instructions.
Her cries or screams don’t seem to bother the people who come and go so she is never told to be quiet, though she understands her pleas fall on deaf ears. This darkness is her new reality and she begins to lose all sense of any other destiny. Day by day her body becomes his and her spirit weakens.
Caitlin no longer struggles when her wrists are clamped at an angle above her head and her ankles similarly anchored to the wall. She has no choice anyway, given the weight of her chains. Her cotton nightshirt is unbuttoned so her fully naked form is exposed underneath, her body opened in a spreadeagled position, only her face covered with the hood; as usual, she is prevented from witnessing the proceedings in the room with her own eyes.
‘Today is the day you are to be marked, my pet, and I’m rather looking forward to the results. The evil in you may even enjoy it. We shall see.’
Caitlin has no idea what this means as her senses immediately shift to high alert. She inhales the bitter stench of the basement through her hood as well as the strange, astringent smell of alcohol, just seconds before she feels the sting on her wounds and cries out through the fabric with each swipe.
‘Calm, my pet, there will be no whipping today. This young man is ensuring your ongoing health.’ Her master’s large hands cup either side of he face as her wounds continue to be tended to.
‘Hold still, almost done.’ Caitlin is surprised to hear kindness in the young man’s voice, but no longer trusts anyone, especially male voices who talk to her when she is blind, bound, naked, and at their mercy. This man, in her mind, is no exception. She just knows that the stinging pain he administered was almost as bad as the whipping itself. She braces herself for what may come next.
She feels him hesitate with each stroke, sensing that he, like the others, has been warned about her witchery, as though he is trying to distance himself from her fate as a condemned woman.
Sensitive hands fondle her right breast, firmly massaging in circular motions. They are not her master’s large, rough hands. No one has
ever touched her so tenderly; Caitlin doesn’t understand what she is feeling but at least it is not pain. Regardless, she has no way of preventing anything he may do to her body.
The man continues kneading her breast and though she remains on high alert for pain, she finds herself inexplicably relaxing enough to release her from her hyper-tense state, allowing her body to go limp under his touch. Caitlin is as surprised as the young man when she hears a light moan escape from her throat.
‘That’s enough, Lyon. She is never to experience pleasure without pain; that is God’s will and it keeps her witchery at bay. Do it now.’ She hears her master’s command from the other side of the room.
‘Yes, sir.’ Lyon immediately stops massaging and pulls away from her as though she has tricked him into doing something that he shouldn’t. The smell of alcohol fills her nostrils again as the cool ointment is wiped on her nipple. He pinches the tip of her nipple, lightly at first but then he twists it until she gasps in pain and her fear returns like the opening of floodgates. As if sensing her apprehension, he tightens his grip on her areola and she feels a sudden pain shooting through the sensitised skin of her protruding nipple. Caitlin’s body jerks as she releases an almighty scream, sending her chains clanging against the stone wall as she attempts to catch her breath in an attempt to adjust to the shocking, burning sensation of her pierced, tender flesh.
She vaguely hears her master’s voice in the background of her mind. ‘Good work, continue. I’ll be back.’
The man’s hand then fondles and massages the left breast. This time Caitlin knows what to expect and won’t allow herself to be lulled into any false sense of security as she attempts to prepare her body for the pain to come.
She waits a long time with her blinded eyes squeezed shut and her breath held, but nothing happens. Adrenaline continues to pump through her veins from the last stabbing pain, though the fear of the anticipated pain heightens the impact on her. Lyon’s voice is so close and quiet against her ear she thinks she could be imagining it in her delirium.
Destined to Play, Feel, Fly Trilogy Page 60
