The following totally fictitious writings of Faibhar are intended for the sole readership of those of LEGAL AGE. The ADULT ONLY material contained within is also for personal use only where local standards permit scenes of extreme violence, torture and sex. Please do not read further if any of these subjects offend, or if you are not of legal age. The following is for your sole enjoyment and your cooperation in not using the material in any other application without the express permission of the author is requested. Thank you. Faibhar.
The Passions of Zeema Julius the Sweet wrapped his waistcoat tighter about him. The temperature sank as he and his men descended the rocky stairs into the bowels below the city. Not only could one catch cold in such dank surroundings, the place also stank. The sooner he could end this nasty business and get back up to where he belonged, the better. There was the matter of meeting the prisoner, however, and he wrapped his garb tighter as they continued lower into the basement chamber. At last, he could see them. Chained against the far wall stood two females. The tall one had raven locks, the stumpy one blond tresses. Crossing the fire-lit prison chamber with his party, flickering sconces revealed the two. They ignored his arrival and spoke in low tones with each other. "...Lover..." "No, you luverrr." "Nooo...YOU Luh...ver!" "...YOU Luhhhhve!" "YOU Luv!!!" "You...uhm, Sweetie-pie?" Julius cleared his throat and said, "Sorry to interrupt...ladies...but I am Julius the Sweet." He noted that he now commanded the attention of both and that each wore ancient costumes like some Grecian warriors. That and the short blonde had harpsichord legs as piano legs had yet to be invented. "B-man? What is this "Psychomachia" reading these two are accused of, anyway?" He looked to the stout cleric on his right. "Psychomachia, your Excellency, is a published book of poems by a 16th century Spanish author that purports to write about females relinquishing their traditional roles in favor of more male oriented pursuits all supposedly in search of a greater good. The two before you have donned the costumes of ancient warriors as a result of their own aims and this poetry. The book may be popular, sire, but has yet to make the Time's Best Seller List." Julius mused as he considered the two. There was yet to be a New York, much less a newspaper with some list of best selling books, but then, if the Church wanted its people to think that they could see into the future, so be it. The dark-haired one of the two looked the smartest. She must be the reader. He liked smart women. That, and her breast-plate wasn't bad looking, either. He turned his attention to her side-kick. "You must be the one they call the Scribe? And your tall friend here is what? Some kind of Warrior Princess?" "My name is Galluble. And her's is Zeema. Yeah, I write and she kicks butt." "Take care, young friend," Zeema sparkled her blue eyes, "we are prisoners here and we know not what this oaf's intentions are." "But...!" "Shhh...Luv. Just do as I say." "Your tall friend is quite correct, Galluble. You are indeed prisoners. MY prisoners, and it is for me to decide your fates. Understood?" The impertinent blonde with the thick gams glared back at Julius but held her tongue. "And I charge you both with Guilt. Abbot? You are familiar with ancient executions in, say, Rome?" "Yes, your Majesty. Very familiar." "Then I sentence the tall 'warrioress' here to her final passion. The scribe can write it all down. Get her some parchment and quills. Keep her wrists in chains-she'll still be able to write even whilst cuffed." Galluble frantically twisted her head in search of some carpet to munch, but alas the floor of their dungeon was cold stone. Alongside of her, Zeema stoically stood in chains. She too glared back at the men as if to taunt them with the knowledge that it was now too late to stop the rising tide of Psychomachia. Galluble could not help but believe that sisters everywhere would be known as Psychomachianists. Or something.
II Galluble stood in a corner. Iron manacles rattled each time she moved her writing hand, but all of her focus was on her partner. Despite her protests, they had stripped Zeema and taken her out to the middle of the chamber where she now doubled over, nude legs spread wide, ankles chained and strong arms stiff as they held up the rest of her. "Getting this, so far, Scribe?" Galluble tore her gaze from the sight of her partner so embarrassingly displayed and shot a snide glance at Julius. "Depends on what you're looking for, Big Dog." Julius ignored the slight and placed a hand on Zeema's smooth buttocks. It felt warm. He squeezed ever so slightly. The firm flesh tensed. "Eminence...Given your vocation and all, I would not fault you if you decide to leave at this moment. You, of course may stay, as you wish." Scarlet robes rustled as the Prince of the Church nodded but kept his feet rooted in place. On the walls alongside of them flames crackled and popped from the wall sconces. "I, of course, will be the first to rape this prisoner but someone do summon my favorite officers and senior enlisted. They shall get their turns in savoring this fine female as well." He looked to the bishop standing next to him and queried, "Rape is part of the ancient execution, am I correct?" A chorus of agreement enthusiastically resounded just when a burst of light flashed so bright, all those in the dark chamber were momentarily blinded. "No need for the church guy's imprimatur," the newcomer's voice said, "rape is part of the whole thing, but as something of a demi-god I deserve first crack at things. After all, even if she is just a warrior princess wannabe I've waited longer than any here for a piece of that tail." He pointed to the mass of black curls on his head and said, "See these horns?" Julius the Sweet joined even the lowliest in exclaiming the sudden entrance. Before them stood a muscular, black and studded clothed man with a thin beard. "Who might you be, Stranger? I," Julius proclaimed as soon as his vision restored along with much of his officiousness, "am lord and governor of these parts." "Stupid," Zeema muttered from her linebacker position, "you're talking to Ares the god of war." "At least you do have some appreciation for the finer things in life," the stranger smiled with a nod to the proffered female, stroked his goatee and ran a discerning eye over the nude's toned right flank. Choice. He approved. She must work out, he thought. "Who said anything about finer, Pig? I just told Uncle Julie here what your name is." Ares whirled to face Julius and his astounded party. "Is the girl irascible, or what?" He pouted and said, "Hey, if any don't know the meaning of that word, go look it up. In the meantime, I'd say it's about time for me to start laying some godly pipe." With the others remaining speechless Ares stood behind Zeema's spread legs and hesitated as if trying to make up his mind. His hands finally moved again. Fingers began to unbutton his britches. "You men are lucky as I only have so much time before I have another meeting coming up, so right now I'll only use part of this woman. Her arse does look fine, but I choose her pussy." Galluble gulped as she watched Ares position himself and then probe Zeema's sweet spot with his male member. Absently mindedly, she licked her lips. Tears started to roll over her partner's cheeks. Zeema's white body began to lunge forward as the god of war thrust. Galluble's own eyes welled with stinging tears. The ends of Zeema's black hair brushed back and forth over the cold stone floor. "YES!" Ares grimaced as he shot his demi-godly load of jizm into Zeema. Slowly, he withdrew and buckled up his pants. "Well, fellows. Like I say...Got to run. But," he looked back down at the panting female, "this has been, ah, a real pleasure. Enjoy!" Another explosion of light filled the underground vault. When the smoke cleared, all remained frozen save for the stranger called Ares. He no longer was among them.
III "Sure you are getting all of this in your journal, Scribe?" Galluble didn't have to be asked the question twice. Especially not from the likes of Julius the Sweet. The subject might be tough, but writing came easily to the natural wordsmith. Blinking away her own tears so that she could see clearly turned out to be the greatest challenge as she detailed the various exploits of her hero and lover, Zeema. Faithful to the spirit of "Psychomachia", the 16th century collection of poems by the Spanish author that espoused their breaking away from traditional roles of women and seeking victory for the greater good and had led them to this current predicament, Zeema had not given the male dominated group raping her the satisfaction of screaming out. Her sleek body instead see-sawed as erect male members thrust into her from both ends. The Scribe paused to wipe her forehead before continuing. Despite the dank surroundings of the subterranean prison, the cell block had gotten stuffy. As she did, she noticed the bishop mop his brow again and adjust his miter that had once more slipped to an angle over his bald pate. She looked to Zeema. Agonies had caused the athletic beauty to weaken. Bare knees now scraped the rock flooring. The long back bowed as its owner accepted yet another hard cock thrust into her mouth. By this time, Galluble noticed, one cock after the next slipped easily into Zeema's pussy or arse. Julius the Sweet earlier boasted that even he was not too proud to follow the god Ares though was later disappointed not to find the expected Ambrosia, plunging his organ into nothing more than ordinary cum. He tried save face before his party but clearly was deflated and sullenly observed the others as they took the warrior princess. He stood next to the perspiring cleric and said after some dozen had had their fun with the condemned, "Let's try something new, shall we? Galluble, drop your quill and parchment and come over here. Stand in front of your messy friend." Galluble paused for a moment and then did as she was told. She stepped into the circle and stood over the black crown of Zemma's head. "So...had your fun yet? Like it when your women are defenseless, huh?" Her fists bunched in anger and her voice was tight with fury. Julius the Sweet laughed heartily. "No, my dear. We have only begun the traditional execution. Is that right, bishop?" The cleric nervously bobbed his affirmation as the governor gripped the neckline of Galluble's tunic costume and ripped it wide. All in the room leered, save Zeema whose lowered head could not see as the young scribe's breasts bounced out. Eyes searched her nakedness down to the exposed blonde triangle. "No need to cover up. In fact, your friend down here wants to have a look too." He gripped a fistful of the raven mane and jerked Zeema's head up. A flaking white mask covered the warrior princess's features as her nose rose to the same level as Galluble's crotch. Through matted lashes Zeema said in a low voice, "Do what you want to me, Pig. But let her go." "Wished that I could...Zeema. But, you see, we want you two girls to show us how much you really care for each other and you get to start by using your tongue." "Forget that shit. Never!" "Hmmm, well it seems that our friend Zeema needs a bit of persuading. Tell me, bitch," Julius the Sweet yanked harder on Zeema's hair, "would you save your little friend here?" He rapidly unsheathed his dagger and pressed it on Galluble's neck. "Better do as I say, Zeema, or this one gets iced. Do you want her blood on your hands?" The bishop searched his cassock, pretending to feel for his rosary beads. Tension in the small room had notably risen. The blonde's bare chest heaved up and down faster as the blade pressed deeper into the side of her neck. He looked at Zeema. Slowly, the tip of a pink tongue appeared and stretched forward into the tight mass of blonde curls between the scribe's legs. Strands of black hair slipped down from the governor's grip. The tongue disappeared as it began to wind its way into the other female. Galluble tensed. First her clothes were ripped, then the knife and now what she had always wanted seared into her. She briefly opened her clinched eyes and looked down. Zeema's head bobbed into her lower belly. She felt the tongue twist and turn and flick over her most private parts. She closed her eyes again, parted her lips and sighed. This was hardly the setting she had dreamed about, but Zeema's power and her own body's reaction overcame any reluctance. Others in the cell were quickly forgotten. The bishop forgot all about finding his beads. The sight provided an epiphany in itself. Slurping sounds and heavy breathing made for a symphony worthy of any classical music. The short blonde with closed eyes and full breasts seemed to slightly sway as the black-haired one serviced her until she balanced on one foot and placed a naked leg atop Zeema's back. His miter slipped forward and again he pushed it back to better see the action. "Sorry to intrude...uhm, ladies," Julius said still gripping hair and knife, "but we do have something of a schedule for this execution." He brought the dagger away from the Scribe's throat and let her go. He watched the blonde drop to her knees and brace Zeema's head between her two hands. Zeema deeply kissed her back before the two were separated. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Bishop...Ah, Bishop? Hey!" The senior member of the church awoke from his trance-like state with a start as he realized that his name was being called. "That's better. I see that I have at last your attention so tell me, what's next in our execution for these history buffs, the one who is to hang is already, in the buff and the other almost there, but anyway, lead the way. Pray do tell, what's next?" Stuttering as he fought to regain control, the bishop looked at the governor and trembled. "Yyyyour...Excellency. I believe a scourging is next." "Very well then. Let's get this crew up one floor to the torture chamber." Julius the Sweet let go of the fistful of hair. Zeema dropped back down to the stone as soldiers pulled Galluble away and others unlocked chains around the warrior princess's wrists and ankles.
IV "The bastards can't take your pride. Remember that!" Galluble's mind was elsewhere but she faithfully listened to Zeema's whispered hiss as the two huddle in the torture chamber. She fingered her blond hair over her ear and bent closer to the warrior princess' lips. It was an awkward position given the way they had chained Zeema for the scourging. Galluble winced at the cramps Zeema must feel hanging by her arms from ceiling chains. Not content to hang her the usual way, Julius and his troops had locked Zeema's wrists behind her when they entered the chamber. A chain was dropped from the rafters, hooked to the manacles on Zeema's wrists and then the slack tightened. The "Psychomachia" proponent now hung face forward, doubled at the waist, her long arms pulled up high behind her back. "Zeema?" Galluble got closer and dropped her voice. "Yeah, what is it? It better be good 'cause I'm not exactly in a position right now for just Girl Talk." Galluble summoned her courage before looking into her lover's blue eyes. She put her index finger just before her lips and said, "Zeema...trust me, okay? Just shut-up." "What the...?" Zeema could not finish her sentence before her young pal smothered her own lips with hers. She tasted the soft tongue sliding over hers. Her eyes opened wider and then closed. Her body swayed forward, prevented from smothering Galluble only by her bound wrists. Her eyelids closed and she deeply sucked more of Galluble into her. Breathing came in short gasps as her heart pounded. She gave as much of herself as she took of Galluble. Julius the Sweet elbowed the bishop's robes and said, "Let's see where those two uhm, head. Okay with you padre?" Regardless of what the pious one had to say, Julius knew in his own mind that there was more to see and that there was no way he was going to allow this show to end. Just how often does an important person such as himself get to see lesbo-bondage action anyway? Question asked and answered. His satisfied smirk was hard to hide. Zeema hung in chains. She softly protested only when Galluble broke away from their kiss and was going to get more forceful until she felt the young blonde's warm breath on her inner thigh. Zeema closed her eyes and slowly lowered her head until her black tresses nearly touched the stone floor. Galluble ignored the men in the corner and concentrated on the toned thigh brushing across her cheek. Raising her head she saw Zeema hanging over her with black hair as a curtain at one end. Being the savvy observer that the Scribe was, she also made note of the hanging tits. The curtain of hair would give them at least some privacy. Kneeling under Zeema, Galluble reached up and fondled one of the chained warrior princess' breasts. Her left fingers remained on the muscled thigh. Galluble's other hand caressed the malleable orb. Zeem's body warmth stirred her own. Galluble's mouth found its way to the protruding peg of flesh. Teeth nibbled at the nipple. She felt the peg harden and grow. She sucked on it more. Galluble felt Zeema shift her hips and moan. She sucked the nipple deeper. Fingers from her other hand found Zeema's mound. They slid down and into the burning slice. Galluble's mouth released the hardened nipple and tit. With a secret smile, the Scribe knew that she had other "things" to do. "Did I tell you this was going to be a show, or what? You ought to deliver a homily on the subject." The cleric shook his heavy girth as he chuckled. "Your Excellency, I am not at all sure how those in the order or our parishioners would interpret such a sermon." Sweat dripped from Zeema's brow. Thanks to Galluble, she had forgotten all about getting chained up. The little wordsmith was now sliding her tongue from Zeema's nipple and along her abdominals. Zeema felt herself all gushy inside. Zeema was about to clear her throat when she jerked. "Galluble, don't you dare!" Her own voice rasped a lack of conviction and the short blonde ignored her. She continued to ease her finger in and out of Zeema's tortured arse. Zeema craned her head to gaze back. Between her legs Galluble was just beginning to slide the tip of her pink tongue over the mass of tight black curls. Zeema gasped. Lips sucking her clit electrified her. She felt Galluble lapping, then Galluble's nose between her pussy lips. The finger in her ass... The nibbling... The sucking and chewing of her labia. Zeema felt herself surrendering. She felt an impossible slide toward the very real edge of an imaginary drop into space. Her lungs gasped for air. Her muscles clenched.
V Only the sounds of the women and the occasional crackling of lit torches filled the torture chamber, with the various slurping noises played in concert to heavy breathing being the most pronounced. The gathered assemblage of men played a silent audience to the dungeon scene until the corpulent bishop shuffled his slippers and spoke quietly to Julius the Sweet who stood next to him. "Why you old perve, you. Two bitches in heat not good enough, huh? Still," Julius considered as he stepped closer to where the women were, "you might have a good point about the Passion Play... Girls? Excuse me, girls? The goodly friar here has reminded me that we do have something of a schedule. I am afraid that you two will have to stop what you're doing as the Scourging must begin." Zeema protested as Galluble was pulled out from under her. She had been ready to cross that 'edge' and now it was all to be denied. What cruelness, she thought. The Scribe retrieved her writing materials and turned back to face the center of the chamber. Brazenly, she left the torn front of her costume hang partially exposing her breasts. Doing Zeema had made her hot. She no longer cared what the rascally males could see. She looked instead back at Zeema's bent form and the smouldering azure eyes lidded with desire as they returned her stare. "This is our executioner, Zeema. He will now scourge you. See what he carries?" The half-naked man held up a stout bar before his barrel chest. From it dangled three strips of leather, each strip ending in sharp bits of bone. Julius the Sweet Grabbed Zeema's hair again and pulled her head up so that she could see the torture weapon held before her face. "They say it can rip away thick hide. Hmm..." Julius stroked his goatee as if sincerely concentrating. "Wonder what effect such brutality can have against your tender skin. Let's see, shall we?" He stepped back and motioned for the executioner to station himself to Zeema's right flank and begin. The Scribe flinched as the first blows rain down upon her lover's bare back. At first, she held her quill suspended in mid-air. The action was riveting. Red lines appeared over Zeema's lower back, just above where her hips began to swell. The lashes made a drumming sound as they struck the lower back. She checked on Zeema's face but saw only firm determination by the closed eyes and clenched jaw. The second series struck lower. The Scribe began to write as the lashes whistled through the stagnant air. More lines appeared over Zeema's ass. The executioner was already sweating heavily, but he must know something about his craft. More blows rained across the backs of thighs. He wiped his face and swung again, this time crossing earlier lines. The victim had been silent until now, he thought as he swung again, crossing over more previous welts. He spotted shiny drops of crimson begin to bubble. It was time to cross over to the other side. Galluble gasped as she heard each scourge swing, but she continued to document the event especially noting that Zeema had bravely not uttered a sound and remained on her legs. Her face was sweating, though, and her breathing was clearly labored. Galluble did not know how much more Zeema could stand. Already lines of blood slid from her torn back. "Release her from those chains." "Do you think that wise, your Excellency? The condemned might try and escape." "Escape to where, bishop?" Julius tore his eyes from the stricken female to answer. "With her on the floor our man here," he indicated with his ringed thumb the executioner, "will have better access to her upper back. Besides...I have a plan." With the tension holding her arms up high released, Zeema dropped to the floor. Arduously, she used her arms to prop her upper body up until only her waist and legs lay on the stone surface. "Watch this..." Julius the Sweet shoved aside the executioner and stood before Zeema's lifted head. He bent lower to her and said, "Zeema...Defiant One...One who would be a warrior princess..." He worked the room smiling at the other men's reactions. "I want you to lick my boots." Zeema panted as she lay in pain. The scourging had been tough to take so far, but she knew it was only beginning. Her head spun. Agony already almost clouded all of her thinking. She arced her back a little more, croaked to the owner of the two boots in front of her and said, "No way...pppig." The response sapped the strength from her arms and her chest fell to the floor as the next lashes ripped into her shoulders. The hard coolness of the floor offered some relief. Her legs tried to move but could not. Zeema almost gasped out loud as the next flurry hit. She lay prostrate as more blows rained down on her. The throbbing continued long after she realized that the scourging had stopped. Galluble looked at her lover's torn body as hands pulled her to her feet and then chained her wrists overhead. The one who had first taught her that many men and women respect powerful females hung before her. All of the talk about 16th century Spanish poets, "Psychomachia", goddesses, costume rentals, all of that now hung chained by...men. She set her tablet on a nearby wooden rack and walked up to the taller woman. Nervously, Galluble tossled her Tomboy hair cut and peered into Zeema's eyes. Holding her cheeks in her hand, she kissed the warrior princess fully on the mouth, then stepped back and swung with all of her might. Zeema was most hurt by the shocking slap across her cheek. Her eyes burned and blinked. Galluble stood for a moment facing her, then turned and walked back to the rack. The next face that Zeema saw was the evil face of her executioner. She braced for the same tearing of her back to begin on her front.
VI Roxxo, the executioner spat contemptuously. Anger welled. He looked to the female nude hanging in front of him. She didn't seem to care that he was missing out on all of the fun. Roxxo gripped the scourge handle tighter. His beefy arm flexed. He would take his revenge on the one they called Zeema and make her give him not feel so left out. Galluble had surprised the other men when she walked over to where they stood. With her bare chest showing under the ragged top, the Scribe smiled sweetly at them, moved her blonde hair behind an ear and then kneeled. It didn't take them long to retrieve their male organs from beneath their garb. Only Roxxo apparently was ignored. Gripping one cock in each hand, Galluble opened her mouth and softly sucked Julius the Sweet's erection. Always the celibate, the bishop adjusted his miter and peered over their shoulders as Galluble licked first, then another of the proffered cocks. Roxxo saw what he was missing. He turned his attention back to Zeema. He could see, her front relatively unmarked. Gripping the handle tighter, his eyes narrowed at one nipple atop a creamy tit. The rest of her looked splendid with a little help from his expertise. He would let the others get their satisfaction from the short one. His pleasure would come from the taller one with the black hair. Roxxo waddled closer to Zeema. His face close to her cheek, he could almost smell the fear. Traversing down her glistening neck, his hand reached out and wrapped thick fingers around the firm tit. "...Let go of me, dick-for-brains..." "Ah, Zeema. I aya see that you still like to talk-ah." Roxxo reached over to a small table and lifted up a short bar. Over in the corner the others watched as they were serviced by hand and mouth. Using the bar as a bit, he rammed it in between Zeema's upper and lower teeth. "Arrrgggh...!" Zeema tried to toss her head away as her jaws were pried open and the bit set in place. She felt her lank hair pulled back, straps attached to each end of the bit and then tightened. The chains made it impossible to avoid this latest intrusion. The wooden bar was pulled so far back she was unable to close her mouth. It forced her mouth and teeth into a grotesque grin. "Now we gonna pull you up-ah, but first, I anchor you ankles." Roxxo admired the legs as he bent lower. Her ankles already looked chaffed, but he knew that his idea of a vertical rack would not work if her legs were left free. Cranking the wheel that operated the pulleys for the ceiling chain got harder as he turned, but the effect on the female was as he liked. The ribs stood out more, concave flesh was punctuated by a narrowed navel, limbs strained and tits rose. He smiled as he cranked further until he could barely turned the wheel. Zeema's head and her long black hair now hung back. Forget Galluble and the others, he thought, this Zeema was going to make an excellent prey. He locked the wheel and once more admired her splendid form. His attention was caught by the accelerated rhythm of her stretched stomach. Something like that of a scared rabbit. Roxxo caught himself smiling in the realization that this hare was his and already in his trap. For Julius the Sweet it was hard to keep his eyes open. Galluble obviously had talents other than writing. The Scribe worked his member with her hand when not with her mouth and did the same with the two officers on either side. In one brief moment of vision, he saw Zeema being gagged and then her body stretched taut. He decided she was worth watching, and besides, what Galluble was doing was about to make him lose his load. He aimed for just above the navel and swung hard. He watched as his swing followed through and the contact of the barbed lashes left three streaks of bright red across the white flesh. The smacking sound made got everyone's attention. Zeema's head flew up when the lashes hit. Lines seared across her belly. She thought that she had been hit just above her navel, but knew for sure that the welts continued until they scored over her right hipbone. She fiercely bit down on the bit and tried to shake the overwhelming senses from her consciousness. Scattered applause erupted in the chamber as more lashes fell striking the tops of thighs, across the pelvis and dark delta, and wobbling the raised tits. Hands still as more of the scourging continued. Streaks of blood covered welts. "Your Highness...? Don't you think she's had enough? Remember, there is still more to come in the passion of Zeema." "Quite right, bishop." Julius the Sweet gazed at the torn figure stretched before them. It appeared as though the warrior princess wannabe had passed out. Her head lolled along one upper arm. "Soldiers...Throw some water on the bitch to review her." He knew what was next and didn't have to ask. "Then get some rag to cover her with and sit her on that bench." Galluble wiped the corners of her mouth free of the men's taste, swiveled on her haunches and looked back at her former sister-in-arms. Better she be bloodied than me, thought the Scribe.
VII Zeema sat on the bench like a pugilist waiting to be untapped after losing a match. Lank hair hung down over a humble robe loosely cinched at the waist. Bruises, cuts and more shone between the humble material's lapels. Naked calves stretched out supported by bare heels. Julius the Sweet motioned Roxxo aside as he stepped forward to where she sat. Looking down at the battered creature stirred his loins almost as well as the versatile blonde. Using fingertips of his gloved right hand her lifted Zeema's chin, seemingly empathized with her sorry plight as reddened eyes met his and said, "Now Zeema...I trust you are ready to lick my boots? Yes?" Zeema went to the well again to draw on her anger and summoned a voice barely louder than a whisper to say, "Eat shit and die..." "Ah! It seems as though our warrior princess wannabe here still refuses to obey. Galluble, my dear," he said and reached over to put an arm around the harpzicordian-legged scribe, "What is it that princesses tend to wear on their cute little heads?" Galluble looked bemused as Julius stroked his goatee and tentatively offered her answer. "A royal crown, Sir?" Julius frowned and pondered. "No...'Crowns' are worn by queens and here we have a mere princess." He pondered more, and then, as if an idea had just come to him, loudly clapped both hands. "Of course!" "What is it your Highness?" The bishop rustled his scarlet robes with enthusiasm meant to flatter his entertainingly secular boss. "She needs to wear a ...tee-ARE-ahhh! Why, of course. A tiara for our warrior princess here about to soon be crucified is just what is required." Julius the Sweet animatedly surveyed the onlookers and suspiciously cocked and eyebrow. "Who has one?" Jocularity filled the chamber from the male ranks. Someone suggested that the royal gardener ought to prune some rose bushes to create appropriate headgear for the warrior princess. Julius the Sweet liked the idea. A long-stemmed bunch, with thorns, was summoned. More derisive laughter accompanied the command. An eager young recruit who sported a corsage for a badge took the trimmed flowers in his mailed fists and formed a crude half crown. This he placed over Zeema's matted bangs. A young colleague placed a mock scepter made of nothing more than a thin cane in Zeema's right hand. The two stepped back proudly expecting congratulations for their handiwork in setting the royal faux tableau. Blows replaced the anticipated praise of the eager lads. Zeema was buffeted from side to side as she sat. Most of the hits struck the bunched roses. Red petals fell to the pewter colored stone. Others pasted over the coarse robe in a macabre collage. Shards from various stems, thorns and flowers stuck to the bare throat and exposed cleavage. Tendrils of scarlet blood where thorns snagged scalp began to snake out from under raven locks when Julius the Sweet ordered an end. "Save our crowned princess for the cross! Get rope. The townspeople above await."
VIII Hallucinations burned Zeema's brain as she hung crucified. Amongst the rabble below she was able to at times recognize familiar faces such as those of Galluble and Julius the Sweet. Apart from them stood many. An irregular ring cordoned by soldiers surrounded her cross. Fever overwhelmed. She thought she heard her own voice screaming but could not be sure if it was her's, or not. In another puff of brilliant smoke, she saw Ares reappear. "Hmmm...Not exactly the fictional action heroine I have always imagined crucified, but as body doubles go, you do do, and nicely, I might add." Zeema wearily raised her chin from her clavicle where it had fallen to rest as the familiar voice pierced into what remained of her lucidity. Blearily, she watched as the tall dark stranger appeared near the inner ring of the onlookers. Guessing by their lack of recognition, Zeema guessed that only she could see and hear the macho god of war. "Oh, what's a matter, Zeema? You do recognize your former lover, don't you?" Zeema swallowed. A feeling of sandpaper clogged her throat. "...I see you...Ares...but, you said..." "My 'meeting'? Yes well, I did have one. Went to it and like a flash, well here I am, back again. What can I say? Just came to watch and see the latest fates coming your way. Call me a Fool For Love, but here I am. Uh-oh. Better look out, Zeema. Watch out for Galluble approaching you with that long rod." Zeema's tortured eyes swung in the direction Ares pointed. Sure enough, the Scribe was coming closer and holding a long pole. Zeema's innate fashion sense remained intact despite the hallucinating. She noticed the fresh smock Galluble now sported. In the recesses of Zeema's mind, she made a note to tell the blonde that with genes producing legs like hers, she should always wear long dresses. Perhaps now was not the best of time to pass on the fashion advice. Galluble was another who did not see the god of war. Her mind had been on the female statues at the ancient library of Celsus. There was the one representing Sophia or Wisdom, Arete's for Virtue, Episteme's for Knowledge and Ennoia's for intelligence. Galluble hoped that her own writings would someday grace the library and curiously wondered what the ISBN would be given at the Celsus. Who knows? One day that might even make a statue for her, something to do with her Psychomanchia approach to things. Her library thoughts were distracted when Julius the Sweet handed her the staff and pointed toward Zeema. Galluble wrapped her fingers around the wood and stepped toward the cross. Once there, she did as told and fit the high end under the thin leather holding the two thin loincloths given to Zeema back in the torture chamber. The strap and cloths easily fell away, leaving Zeema's scourged and crucified body nude. Galluble looked up. Her former cohort now wore only what remained of the floral tiara. Galluble pivoted and rejoined Juilius. "I told you she was coming..." Ares hated to state the obvious, but then there were circumstances that made being not so subtle, suitable. "That you did, Ares." Zeema spat through clinched teeth as she once more strained her legs and pushed herself up higher to ease the pressure in her diaphragm and gulp needed air as her arms lessened their angle. She screamed as loud as before, gasped for needed air, and then sank back down as the agony in her legs became too great to support her rise. Julius motioned those around him and said, "Galluble, come here scribe. I have something for you." "Oh? What is it kind Sir?" Why this, from my pants." Julius the Sweet swiftly removed his broad sword and as the gullible Galluble enthusiastically approached, he stabbed her. Her eyes buldged as her belly met the point. Clutching the rapidly wetting fabric, as if to hold in her life and too astounded that anyone would be so rude, Galluble staggered back. Her jaw dropped to utter words of alarm to Julius then looked down at her fingers. The sight of her own blood flowing over them chilled her senses. She was too startled to hear the reaction of the crowd. Galluble's last words as she spun around and fell towards Zeema's cross were spoken as her bloodied fingers slid over the warrior princess' nailed toes. She begged for Zeema's forgiveness as the pear-shaped one crumbled to the ground and lay still. "Get what parchment the scribe hasn't already used," Julius commanded. "We can use the rest for scrap. You others, uproot that crucifix. We are now going outside of the city walls." Unseen, and therefore unbeknownst to those around him, Ares grimly smiled, folded his muscular arms and watched as they lowered the cross to which Zeema was nailed. Some half dozen military and civilians supported the beams above their heads and began to move toward the city gate. Zeema's head rolled off of the upright and hung upside down as she was carried away. Ares watched the swinging hair and Zeema's rolling upside-down head as she left atop the cross supported by the hands. The scene reminded him of one of his own favorite concepts and speculated if just perhaps someday mosh pits would become popular. As for crazy ideas, however, mortals seemed to be doing a pretty good job. Ares looked at the sky. He had the time. He decided to tag along and see what was coming next for this warrioress princess wannabe they called Zeema.
IX The odd parade left the city by way of the main highway and turned off onto a small rise. Preparations at the sandy site had preceded the main event. From her position atop the cross Zeema had little inkling where she was now being carried but sensed the arrival as progress slowed and voices became more animated. With a sudden drop the crucifix unceremoniously crashed into a shallow trench. The digging roughly fit the dimensions of the upright and crossbeam. Zeema gasped. Her breath was knocked out as she and the wood fell, then hit. Fingers supported the back of her head, tilting it up so that she could see her new surroundings. Stretching before Zeema she could see her own torso and beyond that, her legs. Bloodied knees almost cleared the trench. The lacerations brought a flood of memories. Zeema grimaced. "You no doubt will find the sand is hot Zeema." Julius the Sweet stood behind the crucifix and marshaled those lining the shallow ditch. At his instruction, they began to kick sand. "Be sure and take a close look. Those tiny specs you might see as dirt begins to cover you are actually fire ants. Just imagine, that is if you decide to live through the night, what other species a bit higher up on the chain will do when they decide to dig. Perhaps they too may feed on you." She once more opened her eyes. The fingers continued to prop her head up to view. Dirt was starting to cover her belly. The unseen voice she recognized as the one belonging to Julius was right about the ants. They scurried as more dry earth showered down from the sides of the trench. Zeema could feel them running.. "Uhm, this really doesn't look good Zeema..." She recognized the dulcet tones of Ares voice and looked to her left. The shadow of the god of war loomed high above. Zeema started to answer the vision when sharp stabs bit her inner thighs. She wildly screamed. "Well...there is an upside to all of this. Just imagine," Ares said after Zeema's screams lowered in pitch, "if you were an immortal like me, why, such treatment might last for an eternity! Being the lowly- and no pun intended here, given your present state- human that you are, why this torture might not last much longer in the Grand Scheme of Things. But I suppose Time is all relative..." Zeema panted as she gasped for breath and managed to curse Ares. She felt sand now covering the tops of her knees. No longer were her breasts visible, just mounds of sand. The fingers holding her head shifted and then she felt her black hair being brushed. It fanned out from her head. The thorny rose tiara was removed and more, almost gentle, strokes continued on hair covering the top of her head. When the brushing stopped, only Zeema's head from her chin up remained visible above the ground. No longer needing their support, the fingers behind her head were removed. Sun, sand and silhouetted figures towering like huge statues were all she could see. From below ground, Zeema felt more insects crawling into her and biting. A screech welled up from her underground lungs. "Oh schucks, is it really that late?" Ares remarked as he stood taller. He bent back down at the head in the sand surrounded by flowing waves of hair and said, "Wish I could stay for more fun Zeema, but got to run. Before I do, though, I must say that your impersonation of a real warrior princess has been a genuine diversion for me." Ares paused and poised a finger before his lips. "Tell you what-I'll be sure and put in a good word for you. Okay?" Zeema again screamed. Her swollen lids opened. Ares was nowhere to be seen, but she could now make out Julius the Sweet. More ant bites brought further screams. She had to make a decision and the faster that decision was reached, the better. She had to capitulate, regardless of what it cost her sense of pride. "Oh, I'm afraid it's too late for that Zeema." Julius sadly shook his head at the parched lips below him. He stepped back. "Sorry. Too late to kiss these boots, but do ask the wolves tonight. Maybe some of them sport a pair, or should I say two pair?" The others laughed at more of Julius the Sweet's fabled wit. The Psychomanchia reading warrior princess wannanbe screamed in torment. Her tears were cries of physical pain. There also were wails of despair. The body and mind's broken spirit knew that what had happened and what remained to be, were all caused by the Passions of Zeema. Finale
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