Slave to the Satanists

By Lee Ash

Illustrated By: Luis Ortiz

* * *

There was a chance in that first moment when Cara could have escaped.  One of the guards had a knife hanging from his belt.  Jewels on the ornate handle glistened in the moonlight of her bedroom.  For an instant she could see herself snatching it, holding it tight in her delicate hand, then plunging it into his abdomen.  The image was so real that, for the briefest instant, she could even see the blood spilling over his bare stomach and feel the sticky heat as it poured onto her hands.

Then the moment had passed and the opportunity to escape had gone.  The cowled guards, acting on the instruction of their hooded leader, snatched Cara from her bed and dragged her away from the sanctuary of her home.

Naked, save for her torn shift that was now spattered with filth, Cara was thrown to her knees before the hooded members of the inquisition.  She was a stunning brunette and, ordinarily, confident and proud of her good looks.  But, with the majority of her clothes torn or missing, and dirt caking the rags they had made her wear, she knew she must have looked like a pathetic and noxious spectacle.  Stifling her sobs, placing a protective hand over the swell of her buxom breasts, she dared to raise her gaze. 

An elderly inquisitor stood before her.  His face was hidden in the shadows of his hood.  Even though he didn’t have the muscular physique of the guards who had dragged her to him, Cara found herself fearing this man with a cold, chilling dread. 

You are accused of a fearful crime."  The inquisitor croaked.  He held up a scrawny hand.  One gnarled finger pointed at her face.  "You are accused of witchcraft.  Are you guilty or innocent?"       

A shiver of terror passed through her slender body.  She was appalled to notice that her fright and the chill had turned her nipples hard.  Blushing furiously when she saw how they jutted at the front of her shift, Cara tugged the filthy clothes more tightly against her chest and glared at the inquisitor. 

“Why are you accusing me of witchcraft?”

A hand slapped across her face.  The blow was so hard and unexpected she was momentarily too shocked to feel the pain.  When it did come she was treated to a burning welt across her jaw.  A red flare, the size and shape of a scrawny handprint, scalded her cheek.

“Answer the question,” the inquisitor snapped.  His voice was a shrewish whine.  He raised his hand again, as though preparing to slap her for a second time.  “You are accused of witchcraft.  Are you guilty or innocent?” 

He moved slightly and she saw the sign of the inverted cross tattooed on his scrawny chest.  The black ink was a stark contrast to his dry, pallid flesh.  Cara felt chilled by dread as the shock of realization flooded over her.  She had heard rumors that Satanists were trying to establish their reputation in the village but she hadn’t expected to find herself facing their wrath. 

“Guilty or innocent?” he demanded. 

His bony fingers turned into a claw that snatched away the filthy rag she had worn.  Cara was left naked in the arms of the guards and unable to defend herself as the chief inquisitor stepped closer.  One hand went to her breast.  The reptilian fingers were abrasive against her sensitive flesh.  She could feel the scratch of his calloused caress as it rubbed across her nipple.  The treacherous nub of her breast stiffened beneath his touch and, from the depths of his hood, she saw the glint of his smile.  It was a terrifying sight and it made Cara find the strength to break free from the guards. 

She wrenched her arms away from them and managed to stagger from the pair.  There was a fleeting instant when she thought she could escape and it crossed her mind she should snatch the inquisitor’s blade – like his subordinates, he wore the ornate dagger in his belt – and she was tempted by the fleeting idea of plunging its cold steel into his stomach.  But, rather than use violence, she thought it best to run as fast as she was able.

A muscular hand grabbed her arm. Another caught her hair. Before she had even made it as far the dungeon’s stairwell, the pair had caught her again and locked her in an inescapable embrace.  They held her more tightly this time and she knew there was no chance to escape their hold.  When they dragged her back before the inquisitor again Cara was unnerved to see that he was no longer smiling.

His claw-like hand reached for her breast.  He squeezed her with a repellant intimacy that made her want to scream.  “If you’re not going to confess your witchcraft voluntarily, we have ways of making you say what we want.”  With his free hand he pointed to the dungeon walls.   "Look around you,” he demanded. “Look carefully and see how we deal with insubordination."

Reluctantly, Cara did as he asked.  The smoke-blackened walls of the dungeon were decorated with the twisted bodies of former victims.  The skeletal remains of a young woman hung from manacles on one wall: the fresh corpse of another was suspended by her side and Cara was sickened to recognize this woman.  She knew that one of the cleaning girl’s from her father’s castle had been missing for the last two days.  Now Cara understood where the poor wench had gone.

For the first time Cara noticed the stench of burning flesh and saw the torture being conducted by the room’s vast fire.  As though she was stepping out of a dream, she finally heard the pitiable moans and cries of her fellow victims.  Realizing the horror of her surroundings, Cara felt ill with dread and foreboding.

“Put her on the rack,” the inquisitor demanded.  “Let’s get this one talking as quickly as we can.”

The guards were flawlessly obedient. 

Cara was wrenched to a diabolical bench fitted with manacles and chains.  The flat slab of the bench was slick with blood from previous victims and she was chilled by the greasy way her bare buttocks slipped against its surface.  Her wrists and ankles were tied in the restraints; the chains were pulled tight; and she had never felt so completely helpless and vulnerable.

“You can avoid this unpleasantness if you want,” said the inquisitor.

Cara tried to respond but it was almost impossible to talk.  Her hands and feet were being stretched by the rack and her terror of what might yet come held her breathless.  To make the ordeal worse she realized the inquisitor had slipped his fingers against her sex.  The repulsive creature was stroking her most intimate places and she wanted to recoil from the invasion of his loathsome touch.  One gnarly digit slipped against the delicate folds of her labia.  She could feel him testing her wetness and knew he was trying to slide his finger into her tight confines.  Panic began to swell in the back of her throat but she forced herself not to struggle against her restraints knowing it would do no good. 

The inquisitor continued. “Confess to practicing witchcraft and give me the names of the rest of your coven. 

She didn’t contemplate lowering herself to respond.  Cara guessed that the cleaning girl had been given the same option, and she could see how poorly that had served the helpless wench.  Sickened by the idea of putting anyone else in the situation she was now currently enduring, Cara turned her face away from the inquisitor.

He snatched hold of her hair and pulled until she was forced to face him.  The rack was close to the dungeon’s huge fireplace and she saw he had retrieved a branding iron from the sullen orange coals.  Its tip glowed a dull cherry red and she could see wisps of smoke rising from its end.

“You’ll start talking soon,” the inquisitor told her.  “Even if you’re only begging for me to stop!”

She stared at him in horror.

And, when he pushed the branding iron against the swell of her breast, and she heard the hiss of her flesh sizzling beneath the heat, Cara understood that he was right.  But, while she begged him to stop, she didn’t lower herself to answering any of his questions.  Even when an hour had passed, and by then she was too weak to scream as fresh pain assaulted her body, Cara was still determined not to give him the satisfaction of making her talk.

Not concealing his fury, the inquisitor demanded the guards take her away.  “Put her in a solitary cell and chain her to the walls,” he insisted.  “Make sure her wounds are treated because I want her fully able to appreciate the next bout of punishment that I make her suffer.”

And, even though she was numb from the torture, Cara could still feel a cold chill twist her stomach when he said those words.

“She was looking at me when she made that suggestion.”

“I don’t care who she was looking at. I outrank you!”

“Oh yeah!  And do you outrank this?” 

She was both sickened and excited when she saw the glint of the blade.  It was exactly what she had hoped would happen and, while the opportunity to escape raised her spirits the prospect of causing violence made her feel ill.

The first guard lurched at his colleague.  His blade was in his hand and the steel glinted in the gloom of the dungeon.  The second guard sidestepped, dragging his own blade from his belt and using it to slice at his companion. 

A spray of wet blood splashed across Cara’s bare breasts. The pair grunted and cursed, slashing at each other and calling on the names of all the sacred demons to assist them in their battle.  Cara watched with avid curiosity as the pair wrestled together in their life-or-death battle to claim her as a prize.

And, when they each plunged their blades into the other, ending their fight with a savage exchange of fatal blows, she didn’t know whether to be proud of her own cleverness, or repulsed by the waste of human life.

The chief inquisitor appeared in the doorway and took in the scene with a deepening frown.  “You must truly be a great witch,” he mused.  She couldn’t sense if he was being sarcastic or serious.  His face remained in the shadows of his cowl and his stiff posture gave nothing away.  “You’ve had two of my best disciples kill each other,” he grunted.  “That’s a truly formidable power.”

She fixed him with a beseeching expression.  “The power could be yours, if you wanted.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow. 

“I could reign by your side,” she explained.  It was a struggle to keep her voice low and seductive but she knew she was gambling for her survival and she made the performance as real as she could.  “I’d give you all those things you would normally have to take by force.  I could help you spread your dominion over other hapless victims.  Let me live - let me live by your side - and I could share the gift of my witchcraft for your higher purpose.”

He licked his lips.  When she saw the dark tongue slip from his mouth, Cara knew she had caught his interest.  She willed herself not to show any relief or triumph as he released her wrists from the manacles.  She even managed to fall convincingly to the floor when her hands were free.  Without letting the chief inquisitor see what she was doing, Cara stole one of the steel blades from the dead guards who lay at her feet. 

“You’re agreeing to remain by my side for the rest of my life?” the inquisitor pressed.  “And you’re saying you’ll share your powers with me?  Is that our arrangement?”

“That’s our arrangement,” Cara said.  She stood up and fixed him with a look of black fury.  “But it’s not as much as you think.  I’m not a witch so I don’t have any powers that I could share with you.”  As she thrust the blade deep into his stomach, she added, “And, while I agreed to remain by your side for the rest of your life, that’s just about over now.”

His expression was twisted with shock and disbelief. 

The knife slipped so easily into his stomach Cara was momentarily unsure that she had done it properly.  As she had pictured it a thousand times before, the blade effortlessly penetrated the taut skin of the man’s stomach.  For an instant there was a gaping hole, then a flood of hot, wet blood poured over her hands. 

He tried to reach out for her.  His thin hand snatched at air before the effort became too much.  Cara turned away from him and didn’t even watch as his lifeless body toppled to the floor.  She snatched a cowl from the wall to protect her modesty and then hobbled bravely out of the dungeon and home to her well-earned freedom.

 THE END