by Dan Bruce
“Yes ‘a shrine’ - that is a good way to describe how I feel about the place,” the chief said to hammer the horror home. “That is why I protect its integrity so vigorously. Can you imagine – earlier this evening, the set designer of that abomination they are filming outside had the gall to insist I supply a genuine rack for their next torture scene.”
“Is he still alive?” the ambassador asked with a laugh, which quickly trailed away into an awkward cough and splutter.
“She!” the chief corrected. “Women seem to be taking over in the West! And of course she’s still alive! You mustn’t listen to all the gossip - those days are long behind us,” the chief assured him. “In actual fact, she got off very lightly thanks to the intervention of one of my officers. Twenty minutes in the replica rack with a gentle stretch was sufficient demonstration to convince the impertinent bitch that it was good enough for her film... Now, let me show you some of the more unusual artefacts...”
With two very nervous Australians wondering if the chief had been joking or not, the tour proceeded; the ambassador fawning over whatever he was shown, not convincingly impressed but obviously in awe of the man that was affording him the honour of visiting his precious torture chamber. Sally listened in dismay, her mouth dry with fear, too terrified to utter any sound. The fact that she was here was bad enough – the chief would be livid, but the ambassador’s presence would probably save her. To be found like this though: bound in a treasured artefact; her clothes in disarray; her body whipped and beaten; spunk dripping out her naked cunt; a violator of a sacred relic, mocking with her mimicry of times gone passed. If the chief would crush a man’s balls for listening in on some sex, and put a woman in the rack for some minor impertinence, what retribution would he take on a desecrator of his shrine?
It was too awful to contemplate, so Sally kept silent and prayed that the anti-chamber would not be deemed worthy of inclusion on the tour – the pillory being out of place, as Dimitri had explained.
Panic deepened as the voices grew clearer and Sally saw the outline of two figures in the archway – one massively foreboding, the other a fraction of the bulk. Then her prayers appeared to be answered as the men moved away, the chief apparently electing to by-pass the pillory. For the next few minutes Sally barely breathed as she listened to the men discuss some of the items – the chief seemingly even more knowledgeable than the earlier tour guide. Sally took little of it in – the words were a blur, only the volume of the sound was important. It seemed to be receding – the men were walking away to the other end of the chamber where the squeak of a door would offer Sally salvation.
“So ambassador, if you have seen enough, perhaps we should adjourn to my quarters for a nightcap. I have some very fine cognac, or perhaps you would prefer one of the single malts.”
“I think a malt would go down well.”
Sally breathed a sigh of relief. They were going. She was saved.
“But...”
“Yes, Mr. Ambassador?”
“No – it was just curiosity.”
“Please... what is it?”
“Well, there seems to be something missing.”
‘NO!’ screamed Sally silently in her head.
“Missing?” quizzed the chief. “I can assure you, Mr. Ambassador – there is nothing missing. This torture chamber is fully equipped – I am sure it has no rival anywhere in the world.”
‘That’s right,’ cried Sally silently to her countryman. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and it shouldn’t be here. Please, don’t ask! Go for your bloody drink you stupid old twat!’
“The stocks,” said the ambassador. “Aren’t they the most obvious thing?”
“The stocks – yes, or a pillory as we call them... But you would not expect to find such things here in the chamber,” the chief casually answered. “They were always placed in public spots.”
“Oh yes – of course,” agreed the ambassador. “So it stands to reason you wouldn’t have a set here.”
‘That’s right,’ cried the voice in Sally Hunter’s head. ‘They shouldn’t be here – I shouldn’t be here. Go for your drink! Please!’
“And if the Soviets had their way, there wouldn’t be a set left,” the chief informed his guest. “Would you believe that in the first winter of occupation, those animals burned all the pillories as firewood? A sacrilege! They were symbols of our country – every village had one, and they served as the best means of keeping law and order Mastrovia could have. There was no greater deterrent than the pillory for a Mastrovian. And those animals burned them all... except one!”
“Really!”
“Yes!” the chief proudly stated. “It was the one from my own village. My father, God rest his soul, managed to save it. For years it remained hidden in his barn – the secret passed down to me. Then when the Soviets left, I brought this treasure out of its hiding place. There is no artefact more sacred to me, and only a few people have ever set eyes upon it since I installed it here.”
“It is here!”
‘YES, YOU OLD FOOL, OF COURSE IT’S BLOODY WELL HERE... BUT NO! OH GOD! GOD! PLEASE! NO!’
“Yes my friend. And as a sign of the respect I have for you and your dear country, I will show it to you. It is nothing elaborate, just a simple pillory... but it is part of me – my link to the past – to my father, to my village, to the heritage that I cherish and would die to save.”
“Chief Karinov! I am not sure I am worthy,” said the ambassador humbly.
‘NO YOU’RE NOT! OH GOD, PLEASE. JUST SAY YOU CAN’T BE ARSED AND GO FOR THAT BLOODY DRINK!’
“It will be an honour,” stated the chief.
Footsteps were heard – death knells clamping on the flagstone floor. Light grew stronger as a torch was picked up and carried to the archway. Shadows could be seen – one a shadow of power, both portents of doom. Then figures emerged silhouetting.
‘NO!’ cried Sally silently screaming.
“NO!” yelled a voice loud and clear – a fury of rage blasting the air.
“Oh My Lord,” gasped the ambassador, shocked to the core. “Now who in the blazes would be stupid enough to do something like that?”
Chapter 6
“An Australian! No! This cannot be!” exclaimed the frail little ambassador in utter disbelief.
“Here, look for yourself,” snarled Chief Karinov. “Sally Hudson, age twenty-three. And by God if I have my way she won’t see twenty-four.”
With Sally whimpering, blubbering how this was all a terrible mistake, the passport that she carried everywhere with her, and that the chief had found in the pocket of her shorts, was tossed to the ambassador. It was inspected with horror, the man muttering a string of abject apologies that he knew would never satisfy the chief – a man whose reputation struck terror in all of Mastrovia, including the diplomatic community.
“Chief Karinov, what can I say? I feel so ashamed.”
“Stay here!” snapped the chief as he snatched the passport back. “Do nothing! Touch nothing! I will give you five minutes alone with this embarrassment to your country. Advise her of her rights and what she can expect. And advise her above all else to give me the name of the scoundrel who did this to her, for much to MY embarrassment, I see a Mastrovian hand at play.”
‘More than a hand,’ the ambassador thought as he looked at the spunk seeping out of Sally’s shaved pussy. ‘There’s been a cock at play here as well.’ But these thoughts he wisely kept to himself, knowing better than to state the words out loud in the irate company he was currently in.
“I will council the trollop, be sure of that, Chief Karinov... and thank you for giving me the opportunity.”
“Five minutes, then I will be back with some men to take the necessary evidence before incarcerating this sluttish piece of lowlife.”
The two Australians said nothing as the chief of police stomped out of the anti-chamber, cursing in Mastrovian. They kept their peace as the chief stormed through the main room and out the door slammin
“No chance of making a run for it then – you stupid, stupid, bitch!”
Sally strained her head up to look at the elderly gentleman dressed in a dinner jacket, his miniscule frame far from assuring. “Please, you’ve got to help me. I was tricked,” bleated Sally feeling like a total jerk.
“Really?” mocked the ambassador, disgust to his tone. “Don’t mess with me, sweetheart. If you want my help, and I don’t at this moment feel inclined to give it, then you’d better tell me the truth and nothing else. Were you kidnapped?”
“No!” Sally answered, nausea creeping in along with righteous anger. She was the victim here, yet she was being treated like a criminal.
“You came here willingly?” the ambassador asked. The question struck like a hammer hitting another nail into Sally’s coffin.
“Yes, I suppose!” Sally snapped, her blood rising to the boil. “But...”
“...Then they attacked you, and did this?” the Ambassador hopefully interrupted.
“That’s not quite how it happened,” Sally was galled to admit. “And there was only the one.”
“Then for Christ’s sake tell me!” shouted the ambassador. “How were you tricked?”
“He said it would be fun!” Sally yelled back at the man, furious at the ambassador’s approach – furious at how stupid the answer sounded.
The ambassador strode about in front of her, slapping his brow in exasperation. “Fun! Fun!” he exclaimed, mocking Sally and making her feel even worse. “You’ve an odd sense of fun, sweetheart, if you get your kicks by being put in the stocks and having your back and ass thrashed, and then... and then... being used. God preserve us! So you’re actually telling me you got in this contraption willingly!”
“Yes... But I didn’t agree to...”
Showing surprising grit, the old man grabbed a handful of Sally’s hair, forgetting that he had been ordered not to touch, and pulled the girl’s head up to snarl in her face. “Don’t lie to me! This will go to court, and if you want the embassy’s support then I don’t want lies. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.”
“Court! You can’t be serious!” Sally yelled back in disbelief. But the look on the ambassador’s face was all the answer she needed. Then the full horror struck. This was more than the chief feeling mightily pissed off – he had meant what he said about incarceration. Sally had been told it was a crime to get in the pillory. Of course, in the heat of passion, she hadn’t really thought of it as such, just a bit of a lark. Now she could see it was more serious than that. And then there was that bloody tape which evidenced her guilt. She’d said that Dimitri could do anything, so where was the non-consent?
“Okay! Okay! I suppose I did agree to get in this,” Sally grudgingly admitted. “I agreed to it all, up to a point. But I had no idea the bastard was going to thrash me – and I certainly didn’t realise it was the chief of police’s prized possession.”
“That won’t carry any weight!” yelled the ambassador. He chugged Sally’s hair again then let it go, shaking his head as he resumed his stomping. “Bloody hell – I feel sorry for you. It’s just as well you’re a filthy bitch who enjoys getting fucked.”
“What do you mean?” asked Sally, consumed with panic. “What’s going to happen to me?”
“You’re going down sweetheart, no question about it. Ten years I’d say, probably more. There’s no way the chief will let you away with this. And the prison here isn’t like the ones back home – a holiday paid for by the state. Here the conditions are appalling, and as for the wardens... well, they’re nothing better than animals. A foreign girl like you will get devoured by them. All of them! You’ll be nothing but a sex toy – a cum bucket for their spunk. And don’t think it will be fun because you’re a cock loving slut – it will be a nightmare – a hell on earth - at least for the first couple of years. After that you’ll probably be in such a mess they’ll leave you alone unless they’re desperate. Are you getting the picture?”
“No way! No fucking way!” yelled Sally. “They wouldn’t dare do that to an Australian. You can’t let that happen! It was just a bit of fun – he tricked me, honest! There’ll be uproar if I get put away for this. It’ll become a major international incident. You don’t know my mum – she’ll be over here on the first possible flight and have everybody’s balls for breakfast – including yours and that chief of police’s. Trust me, she will! Now do your bloody job and sort this out!”
The ambassador stared at Sally, who stared back, daggers flying between them. The girl had spunk, figuratively as well as literally, and she was right – all hell would break lose if the chief put the bitch away – it was a complete and utter pigs sty of a mess.
“Look, my dear,” he said, trying to calm the situation with a friendlier tone. “Whatever way you cut it, you’re in serious trouble. The shit will hit the fan once news of this breaks, but I know the chief – he won’t bow to international pressure. A crime has been committed and we can’t prevent a country exercising its right to enforce domestic Law.”
“There must be something we can do?” Sally asked, almost pleading – softening her tone as well, appreciating that the ambassador was her best, if not her only hope at present.
“Telling him who did this will help,” replied the ambassador, his mind reeling, searching for a straw to cling to. “Yes... maybe, just maybe, we can use that to barter with,” the old man mused as he strode back and forth. “He’s pissed with you, but I bet he’s even more pissed with the man who did this to you... I don’t want to know it, but do you have a name, any idea who it was that did this to you?”
“I know his first name, at least he gave me one... and he’s a policeman, a lieut....”
“That’s enough! I don’t want to hear any more.” cried the ambassador. “Holy Bejesus! One of his own men! Boy is he in trouble – I pity the poor bastard. I doubt if he’ll come out of this alive.”
“No! He doesn’t deserve that!”
“Don’t think about trying to protect him,” the ambassador snapped with growing authority. “The chief will find him anyway, and when he does, he’ll take his own revenge before he hands him over to the courts. You’ll be protected, up to a degree. You’re lucky I was with him when he found you like this, otherwise Christ knows what would have happened.”
There was a squeak from outside – the chamber door opened. A number of footsteps were heard approaching the anti-chamber.
“Now be a smart girl and leave this to me,” the ambassador snarled before rushing out the anti-chamber. “Chief Karinov! Might I have a word in private before this goes any further?”
Sally was left to contemplate her fate. It seemed incomprehensible that this had happened – in the space of an hour her life had spiralled out of control. She felt helpless, but refused to buckle. Okay, so a crime had been committed, but she was a mere accomplice, an unwitting victim – it was Dimitri who was at fault – he knew what he was doing – surely that would come out in the end. And as for the prison, that had to be a bluff – a threat to get the name of the man the chief really wanted. The ambassador was right – it could be used as a bargaining tool. That name could save Sally’s neck.
It must have been at least five minutes she waited as the two men discussed the situation. Sally heard only snippets: the ambassador meekly entreating, pleading for mercy; the chief vociferous, initially refusing to consider any form of leniency then slowly being brought round to the voice of reason, his tone softening as he was finally won over – but won over to what, Sally couldn’t determine.
Then finally the chief of police walked into the anti-chamber alone. Sally knew it was him even though she kept her eyes fixed to the flagstone floor before her. The man’s presence filled the air – his authority crackled like lightning, electrifying and deadly.
Slowly, as if appraising the situation with a fresh set of eyes, Chief Karinov made a circuit of the pillory and its captive. Sally was shaking with fear. She was hardly able to draw breath. She could feel the chief’s eyes burning her flesh. She could sense the man’s power – that bitter sweet drug that made her tingle in her dread.
The circle was completed. Boots appeared before her – Sally didn’t dare look up to meet the man’s face. A finger touched her chin. Slowly her head was raised. Sally registered the uniform trousers, dark blue and foreboding, covering two tree trunks of masculine legs; she saw the groin that impressively bulged, housing such magnificence. Sally groaned in her fear; she took in the massive torso that swelled out a uniform jacket, richly adorned, bearing the insignia of top rank. Then she saw the face of Yuri Karinov, chief of police and unofficial master of the land of Mastrovia, ruggedly handsome, wonderfully matured like a fine old wine, all the better for its age, with those coal black eyes that screeched of raw power.
“Do you understand what will happen to you if this goes to trial?”
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