Gothic Sacrifice

"Get it over with." Number Three yelled.

She raised the canes above her head and brought them down on her friend's back. She closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears.

"Harder!" Number One shouted, "We'll start counting when you start hitting hard enough."

She tried again.

"Harder!"

Tears rolled down from Number Four's eyes but she would not cry. In the past few days of pain and betrayal, this is what hurt her most. She brought the canes down with a crack. Number Three whimpered and her back became red and welted.

"Forgive me."

"One."

She wiped her eyes and raised those canes seventeen more times. Each time, she felt the pain as if it were her own and she wished it was. Number Three struggled back to her feet several times but bore the pain as only a woman can. Blood ran down her back and sprayed to the walls off the tips of the canes and, still, she didn't scream. Each time it made the same sound. First the whistle of the canes through the air and, then, the sharp slap as they hit and the involuntary moan of a breath too quick. Finally , it was over, or so she thought.

"I think it's time she learned to use the other side of it," Number Two suggested with a sneer.

Number Four looked in her hand at the leather handle. It had a bulb at it's base so that it wouldn't slip but she was too stunned to know what was meant. All she knew was that it couldn't be good.

"Good idea," said Number One, "Number Four, kneel in front of the offender."

She did, still confused but seeing the naked girl in front of her clued her in.

"Oh God. No, she's had enough."

"I will say when she has had enough. Insert the handle."

It was if she couldn't move. She wasn't defying but she wasn't complying either. It just wasn't in her nature.

"Would you rather continue lashing?"

Number Three spread her legs and the newcomer looked up to see her nodding. She gently placed the bulb of the handle between the legs and pushed.

"That's it. ... A little further.... Further... Pull it back and forth."

She noticed Number Three's hips moving but she didn't move away from the strokes, she pushed into them. The handle became wet and slid easier. Just like her empathy during the lashing, she began to feel this herself and it really didn't hurt. She didn't want to feel like this, not now, but couldn't stop the tingling heat of her own. The musky smell of the wet leather was intoxicating and the sight of her pulsating hips was hypnotizing.

"Stop! Leave it there and stand up." Number One demanded, "Remove your clothes and straddle the canes.... Get closer.... Grip it between your legs.... You know what to do. I can see it in your face."

She did know what to do. She needed no encouragement but received it in Number Three's eyes. She liked it and it felt so good to give her pleasure. The feel of their naked breasts squeezing together and nipples brushing against each other. She was careful not to touch her tender back but was drawn to feel her flesh. Her skin was bumpy with tiny scars but soft and warm, especially her ass. She held onto it and fondled it as she pushed their hairy mounds together. Her legs quivered against their instinct as she clenched onto the canes and she was beginning to slip as the wetness ran down her leg. Eventually, she just slid along the strapping and onto Number Three who was biting her reddened lips. She gently pulled the handle out and entwined their legs together, like a moving vine, grinding and squeezing. Sliding in their own juices against each other's legs.

She saw the other two behind them, obviously getting flustered. They seemed to twitch inside their clothes and they had sinister grins but their eyes were unblinking in absolute attention. Number Four began to feel that she actually had some power. She would tease them like she had done to so many men. She kissed those reddened lips, gently at first but Number Three showed her how. She glided down her neck shoulders and paused upon her breasts. Her tongue learned quickly and battled with her lips to give and receive but they were both the same. She even bit pinched the nipples between her lips, learning that there can be pleasure in pain.

She traced her lips and tongue from scar to intersecting scar, winding her way down until she came upon the lips that had been kissing leather minutes ago. They had looked so inviting with the shaft of the handle inside her that she was almost jealous. Now, it was her turn. Her tongue emulated what her own finger had done for herself at night but had a bit of trouble wrestling against Number Three's pulsing hips. Still, she didn't stop until the pulse became a shiver and she knew she attained her goal.

"That's enough." Number One choked on her words and cleared her throat with a cough, "Clean her up and leave her there for the night. Do you think you can do that? Number Two, come with me."

"But ..but she..."

"You know the rules. Come with me."

Number Four went to the kitchen to retrieve a pot of water and a cloth. She returned and stained the cloth red but the wounds weren't deep and stopped bleeding quickly.

"I will let you down like you did for me. I can't watch you suffer. I will gladly take your place."

"No. Let me be. This is not the first time and it won't be the last but there is no reason to invite it on yourself ...any more than necessary."

"Then I'll stay with you."

"Get some sleep. I'll be fine. Dream of happy times, it's the only escape we have."

"Fine, but I'm still staying here."

She tried to stay awake but she had been through so much in the past few days. Her head hurt so badly that she almost forgot the pain of her body. When she awoke, in the morning, Number Three had disappeared, chains and all. She went down to the kitchen where Number One and Number Two prepared breakfast for His Lordship.

"Where is she?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Well, I am concerned. Where is Number Three."

"Standing right in front of us. You are Number Three now."

Her mind raced with the implications of what she just heard but, after the horrors she had been through, she couldn't help but assume the worst. She ran down the grey stone corridors to the torture chamber and opened the heavy arched door. The room was empty except for the implements of pain but that didn't relieve her anxiety, only made it grow. She ran from room to room and only came across one locked door. This door was larger than the others and had ugly carvings indicating it was special. She assumed it was His Lordship's room and backed away in fear. If Number Three was in there, she didn't want to know. She continued her search outside in the courtyard and the stables but did not find her. All through her search she eliminated possibilities. She couldn't have gone to village, they never travelled alone. She was only left with three options, Number Three had been released, killed or this was all a cruel joke. Since they had never shown either mercy or humour, she feared it was the cruellest. She thought she was, partly, to blame. She expected to cry but couldn't. She just felt numb and collapsed to her knees, oblivious to the mud covering her dress.

She remembered when she was younger and saw a murder of crows cackling from the trees after one of their fallen brothers. She thought they were mourning but they were just testing before they swooped in and pecked it's eye's out. That's why they call a them a murder. She had seen sheep slaughtered in front of their own flock and the flock just continued to eat grass and blindly fill their days until it was their turn. She was nothing more than flesh and blood, a beast of burden dressed in black. Deep inside her was still that little glimmer but not of hope, just doubt that, maybe, she was wrong. She almost wished she wasn't wrong, at least, it would be concluded. She kneeled in the mud for hours without purpose and without feeling. Eventually, they came and led her back and she followed orders without question.

Most of the next day was just the same and it seemed, to her, that it had passed in minutes. Her chores were consuming but not exhausting. She was assigned to refill the water tank on the roof. This was a monotonous job of transferring buckets that had been lifted by mule and pulley from a well. Once on the roof, the water could be diverted into spillways running down to the kitchen reservoir and others. She felt as though she were already dead but her body hadn't caught up yet. They didn't torture her for those two days, it would have been useless. It only made her heart jump a little bit when they called her Number Three. She kept looking around to see if she was there. It was actually kind of nice to be left alone and even when she did start feeling better, she kept up the act. By the third day, she felt bad for not feeling worse. She wanted to be numb again but, at least, she knew how to fake it. Unfortunately, she still couldn't grasp who she was dealing with. They had years of experience and knew exactly how much a human mind and body can endure and what it took to break..

She heard their footsteps coming down the hallway and then the creak of her bedroom door. Candle light filled the room and Number Two led the way. From behind stepped ....

"I thought you were dead," she screamed as she jumped up and threw her arms around her.

She felt hands squeezing her ass an a tongue inside her ear and withdrew to see her face, to see if she had been mistaken.

"Glad to see you too, sweet cheeks,"

It was her but she was different. She winked slyly and wore a smiled wickedly. Suddenly, it struck her. She had been fooled all along. The torture was not only on her body. It was all just a game to them.

"So, I am back to being Number Four?"

"You are Number Three. I am Number Two and she is Number One.

She wondered if this was just another game as she was led down the hall but they entered the room that contained the large wooden tub. There were no chains, just the tub and a fireplace used to heat pots of water. The new Number One gestured toward the tub. Such an exquisite luxury to bathe in hot water that she found it hard to believe. She suspected that water would be scalding so she tested it with a finger. It was merely warm. She looked up to see Number One gesturing more impatiently. Number Two had already moved behind her and began to unfasten the straps of her dress. It fell to the floor and she carefully stepped into the tub. She slid into the water and breathed a sigh of relief. They washed her hair and padded her back that was still sore from the lashings. They were quite concerned with washing her breasts and between her legs but she didn't really mind. The thought that they were just preparing her for their pleasure seemed much less offensive than the lash, even exciting. Another pot of hot water caressed her legs as it blended and the scent of lilac filled overwhelmed her. She was disappointed when she was urged to get out.

They dried and brushed her hair and powdered her skin as if she were nobility. She was handed a silk dressing gown that tied in the front, black of course. What a strange place of pleasure and pain this was. She had not forgotten, there was so much more pain. She was still a prisoner, a slave and a victim and a few moments of happiness could not balance that.

She was led down the hallway, following the other's candles and this direction only led to that one carved door. She stopped in her tracks. The other two also stopped and she looked back at her. She imagined the slap of canes and her back twitched involuntarily. She was expecting to be threatened or forced but that didn't happen.

"You are ready."

It was finally happening. She knew it had to, sooner or later, but she had been so distracted that it was pushed to the back of her mind. Now, all of a sudden, she had a date with the Devil, almost.

"Is it true what they say about him?"

"What do they say?"

"That he's in league with the Devil."

"We all are," Number Two said with a laugh, "Have been since we came here. Now, it's your turn."

"I would rather die than sell my soul."

"He doesn't want to buy it, merely borrow it for a while and it's not just your life in the bargain."

They both turned around and walked up to the door assuming she would follow. She glanced into the darkness of the hallway behind her and knew that she couldn't go back. They swung open the door as though they were expected and gestured her inward. Only a few candles flickered in the room and it was difficult to make out details. It must be a large room because the light never seemed to find a wall. She could make out a large four post bed and, as her eyes adjusted, a small table and a high back chair. The door closed behind her.

"Welcome," came the sound of a calm male voice.

"Your Lordship," she answered with a hint of a curtsey to a shadow of a figure sitting in the chair

"I will not waste words but you need to make a choice... Nearly a century ago, the village was a corrupt and sinful place. The Devil held sway but I made a deal to bestow all their evil on myself and let the village be. The Devil made some stipulations to the deal, which you know, in part. For what is evil by itself? I am damned and ageless but you, in time and deeds, can earn your freedom. Do not think for a moment that I do not enjoy this or that the danger is not real. I contain evil beyond bearing and lack compassion. It is my curse and it can be yours but you have to choose it. Deny it and we are free but the village's curse has just begun... Make your choice."

She didn't take more than a moment to consider, but in that moment, she saw a memory of her family and her village on a fine summer Sabbath.

"My name is Number Three."

She tugged on her gown and it fell and crumpled to the floor, leaving her naked to those penetrating eyes. The outline of his figure raised and drifted toward her. She couldn't see his face until he was right in front of her. Those black eyes, that she once thought were so sad, were just empty. It must have been her imagination that ascribed feelings to them because, now, there was none. These were the eyes of a crow that knew nothing more than survival. He pulled her, by the hand, to the bed.

In the darkness, he inspected her with is hands. He cupped her breasts and squeezed, checking their firmness. He firmly ran a hand down her thigh and spread her legs apart. His weight pressed against her and her breathing became shallow and difficult. This all seemed so familiar to her, as if it were not the first time. It was like a dream she had another time and another place. Perhaps that other time and place was the dream. It all seemed so faded and unreal. Then, between her legs, a surge of both pain and pleasure. That was real.