Lydia kicked to try and defend her genitals when they were scourged, and despite knowing the consequences, the pain of having such an area whipped made her suffer the increasing bite of the clamps in a bid to end it.
When the last blow came and none followed it she was turning slowly upon her heel, drips of tainted incarnadine perspiration spattering the weight and the dry dust beneath her. She could barely move, her breath laborious to draw from the sheer berserk power of her exertions.
Winding back the long leather thongs, the Warden looked over her work with an air of satisfaction and fulfillment, and with a light stride she took her jacket and sauntered back into the main building.
The ordeal was far from over, the suspension and the agonies of the whip a brief dalliance when held up in regard to the prolonged attention of the sun.
When the baleful orb rose higher into the sky it scorched them with its rays, the desiccating effects leaving them desperate and sore, their throats parched, their bodies burned. Then when the sun fell below the horizon they froze, the cold of the night seeping into their bones, making them pray for warmth. Of course, when it came, they could only wish for a return to night, the abuse of the day more than they could take.
Lost within the ravages of a tempest of insanity she burbled and muttered for deliverance, her mind filled with the struggling pressure of her inverted pose. There seemed to be no end to the grim realities of her sentence, and she knew she was to perish here, assured that there was to be surviving this horrendous maltreatment.
When the guards came to grant them water it was a chore that she could barely achieve, for her body was virtually dead, unable to swallow. Being upside down made the act of sucking in the most precious substance all the more difficult, the sight of valued drops falling from her loose lips and pattering upon the baleful weight and the dusty ground having her weeping in distress. In addition, no food was to be granted, the continuing starvation hastening her enfeeblement.
After eons of the relentless ordeal, the guards finally declined the granting of water and instead began to lower them to the dirt as the morning sun caressed the courtyard as it had done many times to signal another day of their woe upon the gallows.
Removed from the trappings of the ordeal, their listless bodies were dragged back and cast into the vacant cell, the three of them too weak to renew the feud that had brought about this ignominy. For hours they simply chose to lay still, forsaking all movement until they were touched by the faint scent of approaching food.
The food cart began its slow trek along the row of cells, the smell preceding its dithering arrival, the scent making the ravenous prisoners ache for its attendance, their mouths watering in anticipation of the food they had for so long been denied.
When the trolley stopped before them they slid from their bunks and gathered by the door. The attending guard opened the portal and issued the plates before letting the trustee ladle the thick sludge onto the dishes and then added some bread.
Stepping back they began to attack their meals, guzzling the coarse fare as the cell door slammed shut and was locked.
Lydia settled into a crouch and fed her hunger, the taste of this bland meal divine to her tongue that for so long had only felt the passage of screams and the crushing presence of the gag.
A shove to her arm sent the plate toppling from her grasp as the young woman kicked her elbow. Lydia stared in horror as her meal splashed across the floor and she turned with a snarl to seek vengeance.
A rampant smirk of spiteful glee greeted her, the sight being incredibly infuriating. The girl obviously thought that Lydia would do nothing in response and would accept this bullying, thus she was left utterly unprepared when Lydia’s offensive began.
With a shriek of outrage Lydia hurled a punch into the smiling features, swinging into the girl’s cheek and spinning the villainess aside so that she struck the wall and then flopped to the floor, dazed. The other woman responded without pause, acting in defense of her partner, her sudden rise carrying a driving fist into Lydia’s stomach, the ferocious impact lifting her from her feet before dropping her back down.
The crippling wash of pain made Lydia’s legs buckle when she landed and she fell back, landing squarely on her rump. The woman closed in to continue the attack.
Knuckles lanced at her face, the fist meeting only air when Lydia ducked aside and let them smash into the wall behind her. There was a soft chorus of pops as the dull thump of flesh striking unforgiving rock resounded and the woman gave a startled yell.
Lydia responded instantly, grabbing the dislodged plate and swinging it up, the metal dish skimming across the woman’s temple, flinging her aside and to her knees. Fighting off the effects of the punch to her gut, Lydia struggled to her feet. With anger thumping in her chest she skipped forward and smashed the plate down onto the exposed crown, slamming the woman to the ground before ducking low and sweeping the weapon up and into the down turned face. Flipping the target up, the woman was sent tumbling to the wall as twin lines of red ran from her nose and slender arcs started to weave thin paths from her lips.
The sound of movement behind her alerted her to the rise and renewed attentions of the other tyrant, and while the woman was still groggy from the unexpected assault, Lydia moved to initiate a preemptive strike. Throwing back an elbow to meet her archenemy’s brow, there was a clap of brittle shock that cast the slender form to the bars, where a metallic chime echoed and she collapsed clumsily.
Exhilarated by her battle Lydia took up their plates and finished their meals before setting them aside and laying out on the top bunk.
“Que paso agni?” yelled a guard, opening the door and stomping in as the trolley awaited without.
No response came from the unconscious forms. From the tone of the guard she knew she was in trouble and Lydia spilled startled burbles of excuse. She had placed herself in great jeopardy for having merely defended herself, the truth of the situation lost on the guard as Lydia failed to construct the excuses plausible enough to spare her the punishment.
“No has aprendido tu leccion? Lo reparamos ahora mismo!” said the guard, and grabbed Lydia’s hair, yanking her off the bed before hurling her towards the door, sending her roughly through and against the fence beyond.
“But I was—” Lydia began, her words ending upon a vicious slap stripped her aside and to the floor, where she paused to recover her senses, only to have her arms twisted forcefully back and snared in handcuffs.
“Get up! You have an appointment with the box, Perra!” growled the woman, hauling Lydia to her feet and frog marching her along the balcony.
Slamming her to the wall, the guard turned and addressed the awaiting trustees, this interruption in their duties leaving them confused as to what they were to do. Their incarceration had left them unwilling to take the initiative in case they presumed too much or erred and were reprimanded for their enthusiasm.
“Limpien ustedes este suciedad antes de yo retorno, o juntaran a ella!”
Once more Lydia was drawn out onto the courtyard, and struggling against her jailer she tried to resist while she was moved towards the tiny boxes. Her body had wasted considerably in her inverted confinement and she was no match for the robust and brutality tempered guard.
Whimpering her words of imploring Lydia tried to talk her way out of the sentence, the cell too much alike to the first box she had been shipped in following her capture, but the guard just ignored her.
Dragging her to the small steel device the gloved hands of the female opened the tiny hatch before grabbing the nape of Lydia’s neck and forcing her down and into the box. Lydia fought to escape the cramped interior, but the rough hands of the guard drove her in and molded her until she was pressed against the interior, the stern walls holding her into a compacted and impossibly tight ball.
“No! Please! Not this!” she wailed against the metal wall her cheek was pressed against, and then squealed as the leather palm of the woman swung down and slapped to he
r rear.
“No dime esta respuesta insolente, perra.”
Lydia cried out for the guard to stop as she swiftly spanked her rear, applying her hand with ruthless swats. The sound of loud slaps rung through the courtyard as Lydia was mercilessly chastised. The heat in her buttocks grew with each impact, the guard attacking the same spots numerous times, raising the fires in her skin, making it throb, leaving her tensed and fighting the dense walls of her cell.
Exploiting her quiescent state after dozens of strikes, the guard threw the door shut with a deep booming note of malediction. The scratching of the locks sealing Lydia in filled the shrunken cage, the sound being drowned out by her sobbing fits while she cried out and fought to break free.
Condemned within this minute shell, she strained her body against the riveted metal walls, fighting to break free, her exertions heating the cramped interior with frantic breath, the metal becoming slick with her fevered condensation. Screaming in panic, she fought for her breath, the token array of holes able to sustain normal respiration but little else, her despondent howls eating away at the air, leaving her wheezing at the stagnant reservoir that remained, a supply barely replenished by the exchange through the holes. The more heated and foul the air became, the more she was lowered into a well of animal panic, the process spiraling until her rasping voice started to ebb and fade, shriveling as she was drawn into black out. The process was so uncannily like death that her dread flared afresh when she felt her consciousness withering. She had no pressing belief in any form of afterlife, but even cold oblivion would be preferable to this. If her afterlife warranted a sentence to hell, and her trials here did not make up for any sins in her earthly life, then surely such satanic realms would prove pleasant and perhaps mildly uncomfortable when compared to the savagery of her current diabolic abyss. Perhaps she was truly dead, perhaps her plane had crashed, or the soldier at the airport had indeed shot her, and this was her punishment. It amused her to think this, for at least it applied some shred of righteous endorsement to an otherwise unjust lot.
Chapter Thirteen
Chill droplets fell upon her frame as rain pummeled the box like a stampede of hooves, the drumming upon the metal filling the interior with sound as cool trickles wove through the breathing holes and ran down her body.
Stirring from her swoon she tried to straighten, the box curtailing her attempt and making her strain afresh against its fortified walls. The urge to panic was snatched and held at bay, the consequences of letting her fright run amok were now known to her and she had no wish to tempt fate a second time. She had no real love of her life at present, but the hope of freedom was still there and made her hold on.
The waters were refreshing and glorious, allowing her to twist her head slightly and drink from the thin flow, banishing her drought. While she had lain as an insensible heap the sun had desiccated her with its rays and now the night was numbing her flesh to the very bones.
Shivering, she tried to do something to keep herself warm but she could not even move, and any attempt at increasing her breath in order to cast out the chill would only promote another session of self-suffocation.
The metal had gathered the cloak of night and now radiated the cold superbly, filling her entirely, stripping away the warmth that had been such a dogged and relentless enemy during the day.
Lydia wept softly to herself, knowing that she could not cope with this plight again. The last time under the sun had been trying enough, but to endure it again so soon after the previous torment! There was no way she could maintain her reason, she was sure to go mad this time.
Cramps suddenly manifested in her feet and shins, squeezing the ligaments in a monstrous fist, making her scowl and shudder while she tried to find a way to get rid of this bane. Again, there was to be no succor, the box being a prison to which mercy was an unknown element.
The bursts of cramping pain started to spread, becoming a vindictive demon that possessed her body and made her straits even more harrowing because of its attendance.
Freezing, she whimpered and remained steadfast in her tiny cell, unable to move or act, her howls held at bay. In her renewed delirium she started to converse with herself, simply to hear a voice, to reassure herself that she was still alive and sane, mumbling at first, and then speaking aloud by the time the first golden rays of the sun were touching the courtyard.
The blanket of rain was struck by the heat, rising up as a thin mist before being fully evicted. The puddles vanished and the temperature began to rise swiftly, quickly entering a warm, cozy aura that helped alleviate the horrendous bite of the night’s arctic fangs, and all too hastily started to become uncomfortable, then unbearable.
The ferocious heat within the box was far worse than that experienced on the gallows, for the metal gathered the rays and clung to them, radiating its heat from every angle, turning the barbaric cell into a small oven.
Sweat rolled down her body, the beads of water gathering on the inner surfaces to be evaporated by the fires of the day while her quivering breath continued to feed them.
The day seemed to linger with perpetual intent, threatening never to end until finally the shadows began to lengthen and the heat started to perceptibly drop. The night attacked afresh and then relented to the day, the monstrous battle to slowly slay her running with casual patience.
A straw was forced through a breathing hole and to her lips, allowing her to drink. The act was no concession to kindness, but a sadistic consideration to keep her alive so she might endure even more of the box’s unique and singular gift. Ruled by her instincts she blithely accepted the sustenance.
The process ran on without change, repeating again and again, the inferno of day, the cold of night, and the brief bliss of offered water. Idly she clawed at her sturdy cuffs, trying to scratch through them, to wear the metal away with continual clawing, her addled mental state making the rationale seem sound. The time began to merge and she swiftly lost track of how long a sentence she had served in her coffin, her mind submerged in dementia, her thoughts addled, her rationality boiled and frozen away.
Chapter Fourteen
Warden Folter looked down from her window onto the courtyard, her eyes fixating on the tiny metal cell which held Lydia. The box seemed almost incandescent, the sun beating on the steel, making it glow like a star as it was heated by the savage rays.
Folter could feel her loins growing hot and humid as she contemplated the stark fate of the woman within. The thought of Lydia all locked up tight, unable to move, weeping and being driven insane by the impositions on her body was a luscious one to the sadistic ruler of the prison. She loved to see women suffering, to see them struggle and writhe, weeping and screaming, begging for mercy. She reveled in the image of a glaze of fevered sweat, of lines of salty tears and a stretched agape maw, shuddering flesh, tensed muscles and sobbing croaks and piercing screams. Finally of course there was the relish of breaking a slave, of having them grovel at her boots, doing whatever she bade of them without hesitation, unable to resist her will, rendered amiable puppets to whatever vice or deed she asked of them.
Lydia had been in the box for days now, and dozens of times the Warden had masturbated herself while staring at the plain steel box, dreaming of the woman folded up and contained within. Another day and she’d have her released. Folter couldn’t hold off anymore, she had to have Lydia now.
Chapter Fifteen
The door swung open and her handcuffed wrists were snatched, the limbs used as levers by which she was pulled free of her metal coffin.
Spilling onto the dusty ground she looked up into the weak light of the dawn and found herself at the feet of two impassive male guards.
The two men took up a shoulder and dragged her back towards the building, passing the impassive voluptuous receptionist and entering a small room devoid of all save a table with three wooden stools about it. Upon the table lay a proper meal, with a pitcher and glass of iced water.
Dropping her into the stool b
efore it, her cuffs were released and they indicated to the feast before leaving without having uttered a single word.
Baffled, but ravenous, Lydia began to devour the sumptuous dinner, marveling at the divine tang while she wolfed down all she could, eating with haste in case there was a time limit to this unprecedented favor.
After having glutted herself with the entire feast, she moved over to the wall and slipped down, feeling uneasy about occupying the center of the room, for she felt too exposed, too open to attention.
The door was unlocked and opened and the guards marched in, grabbing hold of her as she tried to shy away to hide in the shadows where they might not see her. Before she could resist she was being hauled out onto the corridor once more and taken in a new direction.
This new section of the prison was dark and moody, the lights rare and the passages even more decrepit than usual. A door was thrown open and Lydia was moved inside with a shove to her back as the guards followed after her.
Stepping into the blackness she looked around, trying to distinguish what awaited her here. Could it possibly be that she was being released? Had something changed in her situation and prompted the end of her confinement in the box, and perhaps a culmination to her unjust sentence? She hoped so with all her heart.
The fetus of this prayer perished in her chest as the light was switched on, the dim bulb revealing a small, low ceilinged box room with the skeletal metal frame of a double bed bolted upright across the far wall. Dense wire mesh filled the interior and was fixed to the rust flecked frame with stout springs, stretching it taut. The only other furnishings were a rough cupboard, a table in the very center of the chamber, and a roll of chicken wire leant in the corner.
Condemned to Slavery Page 14