This was originally submitted as part of a novel-length story
IMPALEMENT
“Good morning”. Dmitri was amused to see a younger woman briskly enter the interrogation room and plant herself in the seat opposite him and was also struck by her beauty; her ash-blonde hair was cropped like a boy’s and her lithe, small-breasted form modestly sheathed in a charcoal grey trouser suit and high-necked blouse.
Dana had insisted that she was ready for the challenge and Katya could find no reason to deny her. Nonetheless, she was studying them through the two-way mirror and was ready to intervene if her protégé showed any sign of losing her composure. Crossing her long legs, Dana began by asking a series of routine questions – going by the book – which Dmitri answered compliantly enough but without the intense engagement he had brought to his sessions with Katya. As she watched, Katya’s mind wandered to the vision which had disturbed her thoughts since their first encounter, the unbidden image of herself kneeling naked in front of Dmitri alone in the cell. With a start, she realised that she was now picturing Dana’s young, willowy body offered in the same pose of abject surrender. She took a deep breath and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her forehead, focusing afresh on the interview.
“And then there were the designs discovered in the possession of your co-accused, Pierre” Dana was saying. “We will find him, and he will tell us how this machine was used, but it would be interesting to hear from you, now, what role it had in your activities.” She was being unduly harsh, Katya thought, deliberately maintaining a distance between herself and her subject. She wondered why.
“We all enjoyed impalements” Dmitri replied “but it was Pierre’s particular favourite, of our various methods of slaughtering victims. It demands complete submission and great courage from the meat”. His deep, musical voice wove its spell again. “Many faced the challenge; one particularly eager victim stands out in my memory, although I probably never knew her name. She was the second of four we were to kill that afternoon, and she caught my eye more than once while Pierre disposed of the woman ahead of her in line. She wanted it so badly”.
In the derelict coach-house Pierre had built what looked like a stage for theatrical or musical performances. A row of four brass plates ran across the polished wooden floor, each with a five centimetre hole at its centre. In four pits beneath the planking, eight-foot stainless steel rods were aimed at sockets in the ceiling above and would be driven relentlessly upwards by low-geared electric motors.
“We had just watched the first killing” said Dmitri “The meat was completely impaled. A rod ran into her cunt, through her body, out of her mouth and into the ceiling above. She was transfixed beautifully on tiptoe, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, fingers outspread, a thin trail of blood dripping from her mouth”.
All eyes were on the last flutter of the dying woman’s eyelashes, except for Dmitri’s. He drew on his cigar and watched the next victim in line, a full figured blonde woman of about thirty who had come dressed in a white corset and stockings and gold court shoes. Round breasts heaved and her sharp, white teeth worried at the tip of her little finger, coquettishly. Her other hand was buried in her head of sandy curls; her eyes smouldered with a hellish fire from beneath heavy lashes. Dmitri watched intently as a single drop of moisture fell from her cunt onto the stone floor.
Pierre turned and beckoned for the next victim. The blonde sighed and took one step forward, a second step and then collapsed, trembling, against the platform. She put a hand out to steady herself and fought to control her breathing but lust overcame her. Sliding to the floor she spread her legs apart to reach for her crotch, driving her fingertips onto her clit and letting out a low, bestial wail. Pierre flashed his teeth in a wicked grin as he bore down on her.
“Come, I will help you to keep your feet“ he said, taking her in his strong arms and guiding her up the steps to her place above the second brass plate while she clung to him, whispering her thanks. He moved away to the lever which would start the motors and she sank to her knees, slack-jawed and empty-eyed. Her nipples were as hard as bullets and her pupils black as caverns.
Pierre pulled the lever and the motor began to hum. The woman stared in fascination at the floor between her knees, her knuckles white as she dug her fingers into the flesh of her thighs to keep her hands from trembling, amber locks tumbling over her face. Dmitri put his cigar aside and sat forward, enrapt, to watch the stake emerge slowly from its socket. At the sight, the blonde turned her eyes briefly to the spitted corpse beside her then dropped to grovel on her belly, licking and sucking at the cold metal as though she were teasing a lover. In time, the rod stood a few inches proud of the floor and she squatted over it to rub her clit against the dull steel point, thrusting her pelvis to and fro with wild abandon. Her heavy breasts swayed and the muscles of her thighs and stomach were sharply defined beneath their shimmer of sweat. The pole continued its inexorable ascent until there was sufficient length for her to splay her thighs and grind her cunt up against it, sighing blissfully while watching Pierre through hooded lids. As it reached higher she knelt astride and positioned her rounded hips so that her open cunt bore down on the stake. Crying out like a banshee she began bucking up and down violently, pinching and tugging at her nipples. Then she knelt before it, sliding her soaking cunt up and down on the cold steel until it reached high enough for her to stand, spread her thighs wide, and with her hands braced on her knees again take the rising tip inside her. A sigh went around the room as she bent and straightened her knees a little higher on every stroke, panting and groaning quite shamelessly while her juices ran slickly down the merciless steel shaft and her bosom quivered and jerked.
She threw her head back, tossing her hair from side to side and scrabbling wildly at her clit with one hand, squeezing a fistful of breast-flesh with the other, while the rod rose remorselessly between her legs. Her knees began to straighten and her feet shuffled closer together. The tension in the room was palpable now; this was the point at which she must either move her body away from the shaft or else settle herself irrevocably atop of it for the final time - the decision would be hers alone. Nobody moved or breathed. Looking boldly around her the nameless blonde licked her lips and smoothed her hands around her ribs and flanks to clutch her buttocks. Panting, she thrust her hips forwards, dragged her cheeks apart, and pressed her arse down onto the head of the stake until it was firmly embedded. Her inner thighs glistened with cunt juice and her fingers went fluttering frantically back to her clit. As the rod rose higher she stood on tiptoes, clawing cruelly at her breasts, kneading the flesh and pinching the nipples. Her head tossed from side to side, her mane of golden hair swirling around her like a martyr’s halo.
Pierre was flushed and sweating as he stepped up before her and unfastened his trousers. Bending slightly at the knees he lifted her bodily and rammed his cock into her greasy cunt easily, with one thrust of his hips. Weakly, she wrapped her soft arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, pulling him into her as he rode her to death, slamming his groin into hers while the hard steel forced its way up inside her bowels, then pushed her vital organs aside as it rose agonisingly through her torso. A dark blue voice from deep within her sang out.
“The Pallid Mask,” she wailed and her whole body stiffened. She howled and shook her head, the hair cascading in blonde torrents. A long keening came from her for the next few minutes, hands clenching and stretching spasmodically behind Pierre’s back. Her thighs quivered after the rest of her had fallen limp during the final ecstasy.
“He finished with her and I moved closer to the platform to watch her face” said Dmitri “When her head was forced back and the point of the stake emerged from between her lips, I saw her dying eyes follow the next victim - whose cunt was already glistening wetly as she stepped up to the third place.” Dana snapped her notebook closed.
“Thank you” she said evenly “that will do for today“. She nodded to Dmitri before rising to her feet and turning to the door.
“Have you found the Yellow Sign?” Dmitri called after her.
She paused mid-stride and her shoulders stiffened, then she continued on her way more briskly than before. She was ashamed of her instinct to bow her head on leaving his presence - and secretly moist at the thought of making such a gesture of submission.
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