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About Deviant ErinFemale/United States Recent Activity
Deviant for 4 Months
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She seems to study her predicament rather thoughtfully, realizing that she will probably not slip her bonds especially with her elbows ...


Waiting to be rescued by harrtsmith
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Waiting to be rescued :iconharrtsmith:harrtsmith 27 1
Waiting to be rescued by harrtsmith
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Waiting to be rescued :iconharrtsmith:harrtsmith 25 0
fotINet 0041 by frogtie
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fotINet 0041 :iconfrogtie:frogtie 10 1
Possible escape? by Plasma-dragon
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Possible escape? :iconplasma-dragon:Plasma-dragon 177 39
Handcuff product testing by Plasma-dragon
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Handcuff product testing :iconplasma-dragon:Plasma-dragon 103 37
Scofflaw Secured by surfertom007
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Scofflaw Secured :iconsurfertom007:surfertom007 67 2
Devoted by rasmus-art
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Devoted :iconrasmus-art:rasmus-art 31 2
Obedient Servant by rasmus-art
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Obedient Servant :iconrasmus-art:rasmus-art 70 19
Photo set N448 by BondageSM-ORG Photo set N448 :iconbondagesm-org:BondageSM-ORG 38 0 Tatiana Tied to the Tracks by Moraxian
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Tatiana Tied to the Tracks :iconmoraxian:Moraxian 41 8
Victoria vol.03 - 07 by Helios-Alchemy Victoria vol.03 - 07 :iconhelios-alchemy:Helios-Alchemy 8 0 Victoria vol.03 - 08 by Helios-Alchemy Victoria vol.03 - 08 :iconhelios-alchemy:Helios-Alchemy 9 0 Victoria vol.03 - 09 by Helios-Alchemy Victoria vol.03 - 09 :iconhelios-alchemy:Helios-Alchemy 11 3 Just laying around by Commanding-photos
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Just laying around :iconcommanding-photos:Commanding-photos 17 3
Protecting her belly by Commanding-photos
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Protecting her belly :iconcommanding-photos:Commanding-photos 59 4
Don't Look Back II by bondagedaydreams
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Don't Look Back II :iconbondagedaydreams:bondagedaydreams 211 4

Newest Deviations

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The Favor - II :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 1 5
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CAUGHT BY THE INQUISITION - CONCLUSION :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 3 10
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CAUGHT BY THE INQUISITION - IV :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 5 4
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CAUGHT BY THE INQUISITION - III :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 2 11
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CAUGHT BY THE INQUISITION - II :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 5 6
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The Favor :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 3 11
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CONTINUE...? 10, 9, 8... :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 2 12
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Under The Sycamore - II :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 3 9
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A Nightmare I Had About Being Thrown Overboard... :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 1 13
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Under The Sycamore - I :iconrunthegamut:RunTheGamut 5 16



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I swallow my fear as best as I can. I got to think of something quick while there's still some breathable oxygen in the room. The inch-wide zipties bite into my wrists. I am sweating heavily, it being probably seventy-five degrees in this room and I am bundled in my letterman jacket trying hard not to lose my composure and die of asphixiation in this room. Fuck me, its getting hot in here. It'll probably get even hotter if I'm caught here. Chances are, they'll burn the house down and any evidence of my being here.

It starts with me tilting myself and the chair I am tied to the side and taking the brunt of my fall alongside my shoulder. The jacket pads most of the blow, and I then slip myself free from the chair and roll onto my knees. I get up from a squat, and soon I am padding around the room looking for something I can free myself with before they find out I'm still breathing and not in my seat. I pad to the kitchenette utility drawer and start feeling my way gingerly through the utensils until I find a serrated knife. Carefully, I get into position against the plastic and start working it against my restraints until I feel them give. My wrist slips out of the constricting loop and I am quickly free.

Blade in hand, I creep back towards the front door and spring on the first man who comes in. I slit his throat and remove the pistol from his hand as soon as his grasp loosens and point it at his partner putting one through his heart and another through his eye.

The air is getting heavy now, and I am getting sleepier and one hell of a migraine. I run outside, pistol drawn. The car stands before me, running its engine and delivering the CO2 that was meant to kill me. I pull the hose off the tailpipe, and quickly jump into the driver's seat. Calmly and without the usual drama of squealing brakes I put the car into Drive and pull out of the driveway.

I get the car moving and I maintain the speed limit. Granted, I might have to ditch this car soon. Someone will eventually find the mess behind me, and someone will eventually be in pursuit. I'm going to have to find a safehouse. Weapons. Perhaps a passport?

How did they find me? I ask myself that question, and no sooner I finish that thought than I see the cop behind me hit the lights. I pull over, and two more come from out of nowwhere and surround my car. They order me to step out with my hands above my head, guns drawing a bead on little old me.

How is this day going to get worse?
The Favor - II
Having escaped nearly been murdered by hitmen in her own home, Erin jumps from one close call into another.

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The drums roll...a toiling rumble that's sounding my imminent death.

Its cold, yet I am sweating. I'm taking my last look on the crowd. My last look if anything at all on a crown staring back at me. A mixture of faces and a mixture of differing reactions that have come to watch me die. Some in prayer, and some faces bared in expressions of ridicule and some in fascination of getting their rocks off at watching a woman die. And I stand before them with a rope around my neck powerless to stop it all.

They erected that scaffold with the wall of the rampart above behind me, and the guards have cleared the space behind me and return down the scaffold steps. No one as far as I know sees me withdraw the lockpick concealed in the hem of my fleece, and so I start working on one of the manacles on my wrists as the drums roll as I try to maintain my posture and poise and perhaps my dignity in the slimmest of hopes to cheat this goddamn noose.

The drums roll for what seems like forever.
And then they stop.
All I hear is the breeze. If anyone coughs, prays or weeps then I do not hear them.
I suck in my breath. Probably my last one ever.

And then a musket shot rings out.
I hear the shot a second before I see the Inquisitor's shoulder shatter in a spray of crimson. He falls over with a scream.
And then a sea of masked soldiers storm the place and a melee begins with screams of "Liberté!" and "Victoire!"

And I am pleasantly surprised, distracted enough to forget what I am doing but surprised that a revolution is happening before me and perhaps even more surprised that the hangman spoke the truth. I've been fucked over so many times, and especially after a day of torture that I just sort of took it all with a grain of salt and resigned myself for a minute that maybe I was going to die at the end of a rope. I didn't think I was going to get rescued, and in no way did I want to be some damsel in distress but as mon ami the hangman removes his hood and steps forward to remove my noose I am for a moment really glad to see that I've got a savior.

Distracted we are by the melee and the surrounding excitement we did not see the Inquisitor rise. He surges with speed faster than we had anticipated and grapples with the guard. The Inquisitor lands a blow to the side of the hangman's face but it is ineffectual. The hangman overpowers him and headbutts the Inquisitor, knocking him out cold.

And that would have been all well and good if the Inquisitor didn't land unconscious on the lever operating the trapdoor.

I hear the mechanisms fall and give way, like some unseen clockwork that noisily creaks and groans before striking the hour. I instinctually bare my shoulders and tighten my neck muscles and then I feel the floor give way.

And for a brief moment I fall.
And then the slack instantly goes taut.

It's a short drop and my neck is not broken.
But the pain-and it is a terrible sensation- is sharp and intense. I feel the coil constrict around my windpipe and the burn of the rope about my neck. I start shaking instantly. My knees instinctively jerk, and a cold sensation starts to creep from my toes and upwards along my feet to my legs as I kick on my rope and spin around and around not unlike a tire on a swing.

Fight it, Erin.
Maintain your grip on that pick.
Keep your neck tight.
Try to shift your weight.
Fight the urge to pass out.

Pain...all and everything at this moment is pain. I start to grunt, using a technique I learned from a jet fighter pilot I once dated who explained to me that to maintain consciousness in high G spins pilots grunt to keep from passing out.

The irons that bind me add to the weight and cinch the noose harder. I bare my teeth in agony, but I continue to grunt.

Stay focused, Erin...stay conscious and you will live.

Resisting the urge to not struggle any more than I have to, I work the pick life my life depends on it.

Never in my life have I ever been more aware of working a lock blind and solely by touch as I am now even as I start to see red spots around the edge of my vision. The colors of everything I see start to turn as I fight for breath.
Indeed, the lock is simple and when the tension of the pin gives it falls from my wrist.

Immediately, I get my hands in front of me and I manage to get my fingers under the noose to keep from strangling. I'm doing my damnedest trying hard to not pass out from hypoxia. As I try to keep my momentum, I see the battle between the Inquisition and the resistance rage before me. But I can't seem to get the noose to loosen. Is anyone noticing me?
I might have bought myself some time...but how much?

It seems to be long, and time just slows to a crawl.t
The chains at your feet are a difficult thing, adding weight and subtracting the time and the air. It's harder to breathe.
I'm getting weaker. Everything is going dark.
Limbs getting heavy. Maybe now is a good time to stop after all. This is a fucking chore.

I wonder if that motherfucking Inquisitor is dead?

And then I feel strong hands under my armpits.
The tautness of the noose decrease.
I get a gasp of air and I am confused and then my vision floods back from the dusk latitudes of hypoxia and I realize that my supposed executioner is again trying to save my life.

He gingerly cuts the noose from my neck with his dagger, and the constriction gives way to a gulp of air. I suck in large amounts of it, nearly get sick and cough again trying hard not to retch.
I turn my head and see that damn Inquisitor lying crumpled with his lifeless eyes staring at me and a knife buried to its hilt in his damnable black heart.

I turn my head again and I see the hangman smiling at me. He proffers his hand to help me up, and I take it.
"We have freedom to win, with our own hands! So let's go to the battle!"
I wearily smile in return.
My friend hands me a cap and ball revolver and a sword.
"Fight like a lioness," he tells me. And so I do, with a rage that revitalizes my hurt and tired body. I rush into the melee, intent on ending the madness that infects those who would rape and kill women and harm the innocent.

The battle by now has largely been decided in the favor of the resistance. I empty my revolver in the faces and skulls of as many enemy soldiers as I can until the hammer falls on empty chambers. I  fling the empty pistol hard into the face of one guard, distracting him long enough to disembowel him with my blade.

But I am no soldier, so I find a corner away from the fracas and collapse. I pass out there, and it is dusk when I am shrugged awake and greeted with a pint of ale by my liberator. The battle is over, and the Resistance is victorious.

The device that allows me to traverse time is restored to my keeping, and before I cross time and space again I wonder about the witch I was chasing that led me to this situation and whether or not the bounty on her is worth it.

What if she was innocent? What if I were successful in turning her in. Surely, she would have been subjected to the same punishments as me, if not worse.

I ponder this while I sip my ale. I ponder the future, and whether I got any more jobs like this in me still.
At last! The final chapter of a story co-written with the awesome princeps76, who if he is willing to take some time from his busy schedule might perhaps reenact scenes from this tale with his lovely models.
Thanks to the 500-or so something views that this tale in its chapters have received along with all of your kind words of encouragement and praise. I didn't think it would be a favorite with anyone, really. I am really pleased with how it turned out, and I cannot thank JB enough for helping write it with me. 
Scramble Suit by RunTheGamut
  • Listening to: Tom Waits
  • Reading: Prisoner In Cell 13
  • Watching: Castlevania
  • Playing: Breath of the Wild
  • Eating: Light...because its hot out.
  • Drinking: Water...lots!

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I come to an hour later after I am returned from the torture of the rack. Somehow, I find the strength to get up. I don the spare clothes I have in my rucksack--a black Patagonia fleece and a pair of jeans...and discover the lockpick I've hidden discreetly in a stash pocket I sewn in the waistline. I'm happy to have some dry clothes at least to ward off the damp and the cold of this cell.

The soles of my feet hurt and are tender, but I learn to ignore the pain. I glance around and analyze my surroundings. I hear a guard pacing around outside, but I cannot see him. I stash the pick and start to pace around like a wounded animal, trying to build up my strength again that I lost from the torture. I wonder about my odds of cheating the noose and wonder if I could probably plead my belly, like the pirate women of old did; but highly unlikely with all the crunches I do. I do some kata, trying to steel myself for what's to come. Do I make my last stand in this cell? Likely I'll be overpowered, perhaps even killed. Suicide seems pointless.

I wonder if I can trust that guard who says he's on my side. Do I really have help? And do I have to wait until I feel the bite of that rope around my neck to get rescued? I've never liked the idea of being rescued, but the prospect of execution starts to worry me some. It starts to make me shiver. I'm trying to keep calm, but I'm starting to get terrified. I get to thinking about that witch that led me to this place, and I wonder now how things would be if our roles were reversed. Would I feel sorry for her? What if she was innocent? I realize that for the first time, maybe I am not conscientiously numb enough for this bounty hunting business. Maybe I've been bringing the innocent to their death all this time...?

Its nearly dawn, when I hear the main door creak and it them? I got to think fast if I'm going to escape. I set myself in the corner, back to the wall when six guards fill the room and flank me, followed by that damned Inquisitor.

"'s time."
"Fuck you," I spit. "This is foolish," I exclaim as two guards take either of my arms and jerk me to my feet. They force my arms behind my back while the guard who has been my patron in this hell manacles my wrists together with a pair of heavy irons that prick cold on my skin. Leg irons encircle my already chafed ankles.
A commotion down the hall attracts the attention of the guards, and the Inquisitor is distracted. He takes five of the guards with him, while my patron is left alone with me.

"Trust me," He whispers. "We have to wait the last moment. When you will be on the trapdoor, my friends will come..."
"I got to wait until I'm in the noose?" I ask as I test my restraints. The locks seem simple enough.
"Yes. It's the only way," he says as I realize I might be able to slip these chains with enough of a distraction.
"I don't feel good about this at all," I say. Just then, the Inquisitor returns smiling that wicked leering smile I've come to detest. My stomach starts to sour.
"There's nothing to feel good about at all, Witch. You face the Inquisition's Justice. You will be executed and your body burnt as an example to other women who dare to forget their place." He nods to the guards, and I am marched out of the cell.

The cold irons chafe my wrists. I wish I could slip the sleeves of my fleece so they wouldn't chafe so much. I'm led through the hallway of the dungeon. Prisoners come to the doors of their cells to take one last look at me. Some offer silent prayers...some just stare mutely. With my strange clothes a contrast to everything else around me, I must present a sight.

I slump my shoulders as if I am resigned to my fate, but I am looking to exploit any opportunity. What I need is a distraction...only a minute and I can get these irons off. But I've got six guards on me, and from all the commotion I'm probably a high-priority asset and got most of their security on me. I should feel flattered, but they're leading me away to die. I don't think I might be getting away. I hope this guard isn't lying, but I better not be too hopeful. This looks like the end, Erin.

Still, I try not give them any satisfaction. And then they lead me upstairs to the courtyard, and there I see the scaffold and a heavy thick noose waiting for me. I try not to buckle at the sight. Stiff upper left, girl. You got this. Even in the face of death don't give up. I tell myself to have courage.

I shuffle my steps as much as my leg irons will allow. My gait is slow, but my mind races. Can I get out of these irons? Can I take these guards? Where's a distraction when I need one?

And then we reach the foot of the scaffold. There are thirty steps.

And I think to myself...this is really going to suck!

I hide my fear as I start to ascend the scaffold. My bare feet feel the contact of the wood.
Each step means that my death is near. A horrible death!

The Inquisitor is conferring with my patron, then turns to me and exclaims in a loud voice as if he's doing street theater. "I promised a short drop. The trapdoor will open under you. The noose will tighten around your tender neck, but not stop your breath totally at the beginning.
Your young body will start to shake and writhe. Your chained bare feet will try to search for something solid that not exist. Your pretty face will turn slowly red. Your tongue will try to escape from your sweet mouth. Your eyes will be wide open."

I ascend to the platform, and immediately I am dragged by a guard on each arm to the trapdoor.

The Inquisitor then faces the crowd. "And it can be long! Ten, fifteen minutes! An eternity of pain! Some people say that it's possible to feel sexual pleasure...but nothing is sure!" He takes my chin with his slimy, perfumed hand. "You don't want to die, do you? You think you are too young to die. You think you are innocent. You are so pretty tomboy, but women have their place and should stay in it! You should have stayed in yours, and now you shall die."

"Trust me." says the guard, as he reaches for the noose.

The Inquisitor stands near me, reading a proclamation of my crime.
"For the crimes of heresy and witchcraft, this prisoner, "Erin" has been sentenced by this Inquisition to hang from the neck until dead."

The collar of my fleece is unbuttoned to bare my neck and the noose is drawn over my head and placed around my neck, snug against my left ear and drawn closed. I feel the bite of the fibers against my bare neck. A passing breeze blows across it, and I'm cold. I fight the urge of my knees to knock. All I show is defiance, but I am scared shitless. I look upon the crowd. I notice a young woman clutching a cross muttering a silent prayer. Several jeering men make faces and mock me. A child stares at me blankly.

The impassive Inquisitor stands before me, a looming spectre of death. "Does the condemned have any final words before the sentence is carried out?"

Of course, I was preparing myself for this. I spit in his face.

"You all go fuck yourselves! I'll see you all in hell, where I might be allowed to torture you all for torturing and murdering me, and all the women you've killed! Curse you all until the end of time!" Immediately, the cries of "Hang the witch!" and "Let her strangle!" fill my ears.

I nod to my hangman. I don't know if I can trust him or not. I've lived my life knowing that words mean nothing and actions rule everything. There's only one way to find out if he means to help me or not, and whether my trust in you was founded and misplaced.

I look at him in his hooded eye. "I'm ready."

The hangman nods, and at once the drummers begin their staccato roll. I trace my finger along my hemline for the lockpick. My heart starts to race, and my teeth actually begin to chatter from the cold and the fear. I try to push it all down. But how does one push their fear down when they're standing on the brink of eternity and death, about to die in front of a bloodthirsty crowd on the whims of sick fucks who brutalize women just for kicks?

I am so fucking scared right now, and as I finger that pick I just wish I could click my heels and just blink and be back in bed with a warm cup of cocoa and some Netflix.


A time-travelling bounty hunter finds herself facing execution for witchcraft. Part IV of V a story co-written with the awesome princeps76.

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A warmth starts to slowly flood my body, starting from my lips and tongue and slowly across my face and down my neck and to my extremities as the morphine begins to take effect. Time almost starts to slow to a crawl. I watch the shadows on the wall from the torchlight, then my attention focuses to a fly buzzing about. I follow that fly for as long as I can until the leering face of the Inquisitor floods my view, and again I remember that I am tied to a rack.

"CONFESS!!! If you confess, your execution will be quick. Just a long drop and a neck broken."

I follow him as he walks from one side of me around the rack to the other. I imagine myself behind him slitting his throat as the lull of the opiate takes hold.

"But if you say nothing, your execution will be long. Very long...a terrific agony."
I say nothing, I feel like I can somehow trust the guard and hope that his group will be there at the right moment.  But what if this is a trick, some ruse to inspire some slim false sense of hope?

My tongue is numb from the draught of morphine, and slowly I find the words of reply.

"Do your worst," I say quietly. "I am no witch. I will not recant."

The Inquisitor makes no attempt to hide his wroth. "So you made your choice. Tomorrow morning, you will hang by the neck until dead. But before, as a creature of evil you will suffer and tell us all your secrets!" He turns to the guard. "Executioner, strip her! All! And after that, do your duty."

The guard comes over as the Inquisitor leaves. He produces a pair of shears, puts a finger to his lips, and then starts to cut my polo shirt off my body.
I wiggle and I squirm as much as I can as I feel the cold steel of the shears brush against exposed skin as he cuts my shirt off me. His hands approach my face as he works his way up to my shirt collar, and I try to bite his hands, even if he is a friend. But I cannot muster an efficient effort to resist. He cuts off my bra, and then works his way down to my jeans and cuts them off too. Then its just my panties, and again, the guard with delicate precision cuts them off me too. And then, I am naked as the day I was born.
Without betraying a scant trace of emotion as if we never spoken before, the guard begins to turn the wheel, creating a terrible metallic creak. The slack rope binding my wrists and ankles at once tighten, and then my body is stretching.

As this happens, the morphine has taken full effect and the pain is not so hard, only discomforting. Yet I realize that I am expected to scream as a subject of torture, so I scream a lot to throw off suspicion. The morphine numbs the discomfort of the rack, but then the guard stops cranking. With the slow deliberation that only a torturer can provide while his prisoner watches, he takes pause to consider the next step in these proceedings.

I pass out during this pause, then a splash of water from a pail revives me. I am cold and shivering, then I am given another stretch and I am hot again. And then I pass out and again another douse of water revives me again. I pant, and though my senses are dulled my limbs ache from the stretch and from my restraints chafing my skin. But I begin to nod off and on again, a lull as I slip back into some dream of escape only to awake again. I forget how many times this goes on, but it seems like hours.

Cold water in my face rouses me again. I wiggle and spit water.
"You seems to have a great strength. Many witches don't resist as you have." The Inquisitor has returned, pausing to inspect the guards handiwork. So far, he doesn't seem to suspect collusion. "So, you have pretty feet." The bastard traces his finger along my feet, and I recoil at his touch. I might be ticklish there, but this time the effect is only revulsion.

"Nice toes, soft skin on your soles...perhaps they would like to taste some fire?"
At once, I am  terrified to see the executioner approach slowly and deliberately with perhaps a touch of theater the torch near my bare feet. He looks at the Inquisitor, who nods approval, and then he puts my foot to the flame. I scream as the numb sensation gives way to pain, a hot kind of agony that feels like tiny red-hot needles shooting up from the soles of my feet to the back of my knees. The morphine must be wearing off. I writhe in my restraints, pulling and tugging and screaming at the top of my lungs in defiance.

"I KNOW NOTHING YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! I know nothing that you want." I lean over as far as my bonds let me and spit blood over the side of the rack. "You assholes are only killing a woman. You all must feel really good about yourselves killing innocents here."
The Inquisitor smiles that detested, ugly smile. "Whosoever says that you're innocent? You're Satan's concubine, and so you must be purified with pain." Again, he leaves and the guard takes the torch to my feet, and again I shriek and scream and spit invective.

The routine always starts with pinpricks of heat soon followed by agony. I scream, howl and curse. I call my captors every curse I can think of with every bout of pain. I scream out everything but what they want to to hear. Song lyrics, phone numbers at random...everything except the admittance of guilt. Finally, I reach my breaking point and I tell them both to go fuck themselves before I pass out. Again, the water splashes me in the face and I am again revived but the coming to gets harder and harder. I wonder now if I am dying from the torture. My limbs don't seem to want to answer the signals of my brain. The room is spinning. The shadows continue to dance on the walls.

"Inquisitor, she cannot bear any more. If she is to be alive and cogent for the hanging tomorrow as the precepts dictate we must halt the torture."

The Inquisitor holds my face my chin and inspects me. I return his gaze with a baleful stare.
He furrows his brow. "Very well. Put her back in her cell. Clothe her in the strange garments we found in her rucksack." He looks at me with contempt.
"This...tomboy...will hang at dawn. Take her away."
They drag my prostrate body back to my cell. One of the guards, whether by pity or by command puts my unconscious form on the bunk and puts my backpack as a pillow under my head.

I black out. The last thing I hear is moaning from the nearby prisoners, and a buzzing fly. Just before I nod, I hear a woman singing. I try to make out the words, but my French is lacking. Its the saddest song I've ever heard, but I am too exhausted to cry, and I lapse into an uneasy sleep.

                                          TO BE CONTINUED
A time-travelling bounty hunter is imprisoned in an Inquisitor's dungeon and tortured on the rack before her pending hanging for witchcraft. Part III of a story co-written with the awesome princeps76.


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Greensider Featured By Owner 6 days ago  Hobbyist Photographer
thanx 4 the watch :-)
xjustanotherguy Featured By Owner Jul 9, 2017
Thanks for the watch!
MexicanFlower Featured By Owner Jun 5, 2017  Professional Photographer
I'm sorry for the late comment but I wanted to thank you for the watch, hun :heart:
RunTheGamut Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2017
Thank you, lovely! I adore your work! You are STUNNING!
MexicanFlower Featured By Owner Jun 7, 2017  Professional Photographer
Thank you again :huggle: :heart::heart:
Dreamerforever2004 Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2017
Hi Erin!
It's a big pleasure to know that a Deviant like You is watching my Profile!
I hope you'll find some intresting and funny Deviations on it and above all, I hope You'll enjoy my (poor English) written stories!
RunTheGamut Featured By Owner Jun 6, 2017
Of course! I look forward to seeing more!
Godzilla713 Featured By Owner May 6, 2017
Thanks for the watchDoctor Whooves Icon 1 
MasterLurker Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2017  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the watch :D
RunTheGamut Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2017
Quite welcome, sir! I like your work!
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