Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as described in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may portray different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain adults at all times.
Writer: Regis
Subject: CATERINA AND THE YOUNG MOORS 1
Story Codes: Erotic Horror, Young Ones, Snuff, Torture
Synopsis: A young nun, from the Abby in Tarantino, Italy, in the Thirteenth Century, does the unthinkable when she rescues a pair of shipwrecked Moorish girls and hides them in the Abby. They are discovered and put to death in the town square for the entertainment value of butchering a pair of naked females. Catrina is dealt with in the same manner, with a delightful variation that creates a split personality.
Caterina And The Young Moors 1
Caterina struggled helplessly against the rough hands of the soldiers who held her. Her arms were being twisted viciously behind her as her wrists were lashed tightly with strong, coarse rope. The white robes she had worn as a novice nun hung now in tatters around her waist, exposing her fair, uncovered skin to the unrelenting heat of the fierce Mediterranean sun.
Her large white breasts bounced wildly in response to her futile exertions; the perspiration glistened on her hot skin. The hands imprisoning Caterina were not content simply to hold her firm. They were roving over her, taking liberties with her body, stroking, squeezing, and kneading the soft flesh of the beautiful young novice.
The faces of the soldiers were hard and cruel. Their eyes glinted with lust – lust not merely at the sight of a beautiful young woman, but at the prospect of the hideous destruction of her naked beauty through protracted torture and death. Some made coarse comments that brought evil laughter from their fellows; some whispered hoarsely in her ears, gloating over the variety of torments awaiting her, filling her mind with untold horrors.
Until two days before, Caterina had lived a simple, happy, untroubled life. For the five years, since the age of ten, she had lived in the convent of St. Veronica near Taranto in Southern Italy. She was a gentle, hard-working girl, well-liked for her humility, gentleness and striking beauty.
Yet some in the convent disliked her, jealous of her beauty and favor, and angered that she kept herself apart from others, refusing to be ensnared by lesbian relationships that were commonplace in such establishments, and refusing also the advances of the corrupt priests who made frequent visits to the sisters.
Life in southern Italy in the thirteenth century was turbulent and fraught with danger. Life was cheap; distinctions between rich and poor were great. There was corruption at every level of society, and the penalties for activities judged to be criminal or illegal were swift and merciless for those unable to bribe their judges.
There was also the constant threat of attacks by the Moorish raiders, and the inhabitants of the coastal towns found themselves virtually unprotected against such incidents, having to repulse the savage Moors to the best of their abilities by themselves. There was, understandably, a deep-seated fear and hatred against the barbarous pirates in the heart of every man, woman and child.
Two days before, a small Moorish vessel had been wrecked on the rocks near Taranto, the town in which she had grown up, and where she was now a novice in the convent. An eager mob of citizens had sought out and butchered every one of the survivors they could find. Only two escaped.
Caterina had been walking the cliffs in meditation when she spotted the two figures lying on the beach. Her heart went out to the two Moorish girls. One was near her own age. The other was younger, scarcely more than twelve years old, she judged. Caterina knew and feared the vengeance of the mob.
She understood what the fate of the unfortunate pair would be should they be discovered. She herself had no hatred for these Moors. They were merely fellow creatures in need of help. Her heart was full of pity as she saw them cowering before her. She took them back to the convent with her, and there she hid them.
But the gesture of compassion was in vain. Within two days, the fugitives had been discovered, and Caterina’s part in their concealment was uncovered. The mob had gathered in the dusty streets of Taranto to witness the death agonies of the three females. It was the custom that whenever there was an execution, the mobs witnessed it.
The men who were to deal out the justice were strong-limbed and cruel-faced. They prodded braziers heaped with coals, or tested pots of searing oil, and gaged the heat of branding irons and pincers with which they would torture the condemned. Nearby stood their assistants; young apprentices in the evil craft, chosen for their brawn and steady stomachs.
The young men wore on their loins only strips of rough leather or coarse cloth hanging from a belt, so that their raging erections stood out between them, displaying their level of interest in their work. They cracked their braided leather whips to appear more important than they really were, and waited for orders.
Caterina heard the jeers, the obscenities and threats shouted at her. The greater part of the townsfolk were here, including her family, her relatives and friends, and several families she had grown close to in her duties at the convent during Sunday worship. They had all been shocked when they learned that Caterina was the one who had offered refuge to the Moors, and they hated her for it.
Her own father had turned his back on her when she was brought before the magistrate. He had to keep his standing in the community secure, and she had jeopardized all he had worked so long to establish. She had been reduced from nun to cunt, and was disowned, now despised by everyone in the coastal town in Southern Italy.
She stood between her captors on a rustic wooden cart beyond the limit of the crowd. Raised as she was, she could see over their heads to the preparations taking place in the center of the square, while she herself was prominently displayed in her shame to the leering eyes of the rough populace. But now there was a stirring opposite.
There were young female voices raised in fear and pain; foreign voices, crying for mercy in a strange tongue. There was men’s laughter, women’s laughter, the worst of all. Guards brought the young Moorish bitches to their doom. The pent-up hatred of the crowd for their enemies was unleashed upon the captives.
Unlike the young nun Caterina, who still wore her robes, they were both naked. Like Caterina, their arms were strung tied behind them, their young breasts bouncing as they were sent scurrying to their punishment, chased by the sticks of their guard at their naked heels and buttocks.
They ran the gauntlet of the wild mob as they stumbled through the narrow gap that had been cleared for them. Their unprotected and vulnerable young bodies were both struck and badly abused by the hands of those nearest to them. The older girl reached the clearing first. She was a beauty.
A girl with long black hair and a perfect Vee at the base of her stomach; The black Vee of pubic hair crisscrossed by her strong thighs as she careered forward. Then the second girl emerged from the clutches of the mob. A pre-pubescent girl with an appearance of childish prettiness; her breasts were already developing, pointing pertly with impudently thrusting tips, but between her legs she was still without more than the lightest down, invisible from just a few feet away..
In the center of the clearing, the two captives were halted and roughly thrown to the ground. The younger one, a beauty of about sixteen, was taken first and held down as a rope was lowered from a gibbet and secured around her left ankle. The bonds around her wrists were cut, then she was raised from the ground by her one leg as the tormentors heaved on the rope.
Soon she was dangling in mid air, revolving and swinging like a puppet; her free leg kicking and thrashing wildly, and leaving none of the secrets of the child’s most intimate body parts hidden from the eager spectators. The pink inner lips of her fear-opened vagina were conspicuous and attracted attention.
In this village, children ran and played naked during the summer until they reached the age of ten, but when they reached eleven, their bodies were hidden by clothing, as by that age, they could begin to develop the roundness that men found sexually attractive, and it was a sin to gaze upon a female of any age with lust.
The Moorish child’s skin was fair, with the color achievable only from birth to before puberty, but looking like a slowly developed tan. Her long dark hair trailed down below her as she dangled by one leg stretched high above her, the other leg bent outward by gravity, immodestly revealing her naked groin area to the crowd.
Her arms stretched vainly to touch the earth beyond reach. Caterina watched what was taking place as one of the throng, rather detached, for the moment unmindful of her own predicament. She wondered irrelevantly whether the two girls were sisters. Who were they? What cruel stroke of fate had brought them to these shores?
Now, one of the apprentices, his erect penis wagging between the thongs as he walked, a glint of moisture appearing on the head, approached the swinging, twisting body of the youngster with a coiled leather whip. He trailed it on the ground for a moment, collecting dust, and then drew back his arm and swung the lash forward.
There was a loud crack as the dry leather struck flesh, wrapping itself around the girl’s hips and soft belly. The whip snaked out again, this time wrapping itself around the slender column of her left thigh. Each stroke brought a squeal from the young girl; each left behind an angry red line across her smooth skin.
“C-r-a-c-k!”
The next blow snaked around her middle, twisting her dangling body as it was retracted.
“C-r-a-c-k!”
This blow wrapped around her shoulders and slapped violently against one pert breast.
“C-r-a-c-k!”
A deliberate stroke was delivered accurately across the centers of both her pointing breast buds, painfully squashing the delicate little nubs against her ribs.
“C-r-a-c-k!”
A vicious downstroke was aimed right between the poor child’s open thighs, bringing a sharp gasping scream as the tip of the slender weapon snapped against her delicate dally-lips. The young Moorish victim jerked and writhed like a crazy thing. The enthused mob cheered wildly.
The savage strokes were applied remorselessly, each directed at a newly selected target on the fully exposed naked child. Now the apprentice with the whip changed his ploy. Starting from the fettered ankle, he applied each stroke a little lower on the hanging body, working his way down to the hanging arms.
Then he worked his way back up again. Caterina lost count of the strokes. She was only aware of the movement of the lash, the jerking of the young body, now flecked with blood from many whip-cuts, and the shrill, desperate screams that easily pierced the loud babble of the excited crowd.
At last, the whipping ceased. One man lifted the girl’s head by her hair and looked into her face, determining she had lost consciousness, then signalled to the others to leave her for the present and turn their attentions to the second Moor, a girl of perhaps eighteen to twenty years, with the fully developed body of a woman.
The naked cunt was lifted to her feet and half dragged toward a thick post that stood six feet high, with a flattened crosspiece across its top. A few feet below the crossbeam on the upright projected a short metal bar, on the end of which was fixed, pointing upwards for eight inches, a four-edged serrated blade looking like a silver fir tree.
The kicking, struggling bronze-skinned Moorish captive was lifted up until her full breasts lay across the table-top surface of the crosspiece, and her arms were stretched along its length, then the men holding her separated her thighs, and she was lowered until the opening of her gaping cunt dropped onto the wicked blade.
There was nothing she could do to stop the weight of her body forcing the jagged metal up into her, tearing her cunt and ripping its way up into her womb. Her hands were laid, palm uppermost, at the ends of the crosspiece. The people watching gasped as the point of a large nail was placed on the heel of her left hand.
The mallet struck. There was a grinding, splintering sound as the metal pierced the bone and drove into the wood. The nail was hammered home, impaling the wrist. The same was done to her right hand, so that her arms were mercilessly attached to the beam, securing the bitch in place.
Now heavy pincers were closed over her right nipple, stretching her breast forward. More pincers drew a metal spike from a brazier, and the glowing end of the spike was placed against the outer surface of the elongated breast. The point pierced the skin. There was a smell of burning flesh as the metal slid further into the orb, the executioner twisting it as he thrust harder.
The point broke through the surface on the inside of the tortured breast, burning right through the huge gland. The Moorish girls agonized screams were deafening. Now her left breast received the same treatment; the grip of the pincers on her nipple pulled the breast taut, and the red-hot skewer was forced through the soft meat.
While her breasts were being treated in this way, another torturer was busy securing her arms more firmly to the crosspiece. Another wicked spike was placed against the hollow of her elbow joint and steadily hammered home with the mallet, shattering the bone; the process was then repeated on her other arm.
Meanwhile, large heavy metal rings were brought forward. They were pried open to pass them through the wounds in the young woman’s breasts. Each ring was worked through the fleshy globe, and then the ends were closed tight. The tortured orbs hung down over the crosspiece, dragged down by the weight of the heavy metal rings.
And now Caterina was sweating profusely in her heavy novice robes as she could see the purpose behind the cruel preparations. Ropes were tied around the victim’s knees and passed up through the rings hanging from her breasts, pulling her knees up high, while stretching her pierced tits outrageously.
The brutal treatment was accompanied by hideous, incessant screams from the Moorish girl, bearing testimony to the agony inflicted through her breasts; and also her cunt, where the shift in the position of her legs had lifted her body slightly, changing the angle of the jagged bar’s vaginal intrusion.
The sharp metal barbs tore her internally with every movement. The ropes, passed through the rings, were tied off at her ankles. Now the chief executioner took from one of his apprentices a heavy hardwood mallet and a thick wooden rod. The piece of wood was more than a foot long and about three inches thick at one end.
It tapered down to a rounded point at the other end. The small, brown, open hole of her anus was prominently displayed between the hapless victim’s spread bottom cheeks. The executioner roughly pressed the narrow end of the plug into her exposed rectum and commenced hammering it home.
Each blow from the heavy mallet drove the wooden plug further into the pinioned female. Each blow sent a shock-wave of agony through her helpless, fettered form, and the involuntary spasms of her leg muscles inflicted fresh agonies upon her tortured breasts and blade-impaled vagina.
The pounding of the mallet ceased when the stake had been driven for three-quarters of its length into the Moorish girl’s asshole. The crowd were yelling and cheering constantly, celebrating the horrific torture the girl was enduring. Caterina, gripped and mauled continuously by her captors in the cart overlooking the scene, watched horrified.
Both of the young Moors had been ravaged by their severe torture, and she was certain the worst for them was yet to come. She felt pity in her heart for them, and then realized with terror that her own turn was yet to come, and it would be as bad for her as it was for them. But not yet.
Now the executioners were turning their attention back to the younger girl, who had regained consciousness and once more writhed in pain and terror at the end of the rope. The youngster was lowered to the ground and released from the rope around her ankle, but only to be lifted and carried towards a heavy cartwheel set at an angle on its axle, a few yards away.
Here, she was bound spread-eagled to the spokes and rim, her limbs stretched taut in their bindings. One of the assistants took an opportunity to force the fingers of one of his hands into the confines of her tight young cunt and finger-fucked her, abusing her young body in a way in which it had never been violated before.
She howled, her body involuntarily responded to the play of his fingers, and he persisted. The crowd was thrilled to see that in moments, he managed to work his whole fist into the young girl’s tortured cunt. She screamed; his fist was hammering her relentlessly as the young man became carried away with the violent abuse of the bound and naked girl.
Her battered organ gripped desperately at his wrist as he pounded into her, jerking his arm in a pummelling motion, seemingly deeper into her with each violent blow. At last, she gave a piercing shriek, and the pumping of his arm subsided. He pulled his hand out of hers, and his fingers were sticky with her blood. He had torn her uterus.
The young girl was to be destroyed by a traditional and popular form of execution: she was to be broken on the wheel. Her bones would be systematically smashed, then her flesh would be cut and slashed, until she was dead. Once that was complete, her nude carcass would be torn and cut to pieces.
One of the executioners, wielding a heavy iron bar, brought the weapon smashing down across the young girl’s left forearm, splintering and fragmenting the bone. Her slender frame bucked uncontrollably, lifting and thrusting her damaged cunt obscenely, so that it opened like the gasping mouth of a carp taken out of water. That was to be expected: the child was a Moor.
Her screams drowned out the cries of the poor young woman transfixed on the upright post, howling her agonies of the nails, the jagged metal post in her vagina, the anal plug, and the stretched and impaled breasts. She was a remarkable sight, and the erect penises of the two assistants were dribbling pre-ejaculation fluid.
CRASH!
The sickening crunch of the bar descending across the naked youngster’s taut right arm was followed by another shriek. The third blow broke her left leg below the knee; the fourth accomplished the same with the right. The torturer worked steadily. He had performed this task many times before.
Breaking a woman on the wheel was not to be carried out hastily, but gradually, methodically, almost lovingly, as he loved his work. Now the bar drove into the young female victim’s upper arms; first one, then the other. Caterina tried to look away, to close her eyes, to shut the evil scene from her mind.
She was unable to close her ears to the piercing screams, the dull, sickening sound of the blows, or the harsh sounds of the screaming mob, and she felt herself drawn unwillingly to witness the full horror. The next two strokes landed across the young girl’s thighs. Now all of her limbs were shattered and useless.
She hung there like a broken doll. And still the executioner worked – carefully now, skilfully – he did not want to lose the girl too quickly through carelessness. The blows across the ribs would not be applied with the same degree of force, but with sufficient might to serve their purpose. Striking her torso too hard would kill her too quickly.
He began with the lower ribs on her right side, plying the heavy bar with restraint in practiced hands. Her rib-cage was prominent under her skin from the strained position of her bondage, and each blow of the bar fractured a small curved bone, taking them in order. He worked up her trunk, over her pointed little breasts, right up to the collarbone.
Then he moved over and worked up her left side with the same measured and effective strokes. The sound of snapping and popping of the girl’s ribs was buried in the din of the blood-lusting crowd. They were too excited at the sight of her demise to quiet themselves, and nobody wanted to try.
The sight of her violent demolition was enough for them, as they enjoyed seeing the skilled executioner work the heavy metal bar on her crushed torso. The final swing oft he bar was delivered over the suffering victim’s open crotch. This blow was delivered with much more force, smashing the young girl’s pelvis.
If the victim were to be dispatched immediately, this would have been followed by the breaking of her neck and then the smashing of her skull, but in the present case, there would be more entertainment value in her killing if the naked young female victim had more to endure. She was, after all, a hated Moor.
Another executioner replaced the man with the bar. He wielded a large, heavy butcher’s cleaver and demonstrated his skill with it. He first severed her right hand at the wrist, then brought it down on the left wrist, cleanly removing her other hand. Next, both of her feet were chopped away in the same deft fashion.
After each amputation, an assistant quickly coated the terrible wounds with a heated, thick, tarry substance he ladled from a cauldron with a stick. They were working a little more quickly now, as the girl’s responses were diminishing, and there was still Caterina left to undergo torment.
Knives slashed away the young girl’s ears, lips, and nose. The flow of blood was quickly stemmed by the thick oil, blackening her face and head. Now it was the turn of those impudently budding breasts. A pair of tongs dug cruelly into one cone, sinking into the yielding flesh of the flexible mammary.
The instrument gripped tight, squeezed together by powerful hands, and then the torturer dragged remorselessly on the soft and sensitive meat. The small breast elongated surprisingly, the skin stretched, the victim howled, until suddenly a split, a tear, appeared in her flesh; an ugly red mouth that opened wider and wider.
The young girl’s breast was parting company with her chest, being ripped away in the jaws of the tongs. At last, the little hunk of soft flesh separated, the last few shreds of skin tearing away from the meat. The assistant began to ejaculate as he dabbed with his dripping stick on the mound, as the torturer closed his tongs over the little girl’s remaining breast.
The crowd thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of the protracted torment of the foreign female devils. There was no compassion, no feeling of sympathy for them. The punishment inflicted on their bodies was God’s will, God’s justice. The poor, broken, mutilated body of the youngster hung on the wheel, life slowly ebbing within it.
The supreme cruelty inflicted upon her was the application of tongs to the young sex lips, dragging them apart and tearing them from her body as brutally as they did her breasts. There she was allowed to hang, mewing and twitching, her pained breathing becoming irregular as her young life slowly drained away.
Her only crime was to be born a Moor, and then to fall victim of the townspeople of Taranto. She was allowed to hang there, mewing and twitching, her damaged cunt and anus beautifully presented, for the crowd of zealous villagers to observe, her excessively ravaged body on full display.
Her pained breathing became irregular as the last of her young life slowly drained away. Her capture and merciless execution had brought a brief but exciting deviation to the humdrum life of the townspeople, and their hostility toward the dreaded Moors was focused on this innocent young lady until she at last gave up the ghost.
Meanwhile, the mob was distracted by the preparation for the execution of the surviving Moor. Faggots of brushwood were piled around the base of the pillar on which she was impaled. Small pots filled with drippings and cooking grease were hung on hooks from the tortured girl’s breast rings.
The contents of the pots were set alight, and immediately flames rose to lick around the large tortured mounds above. The skin turned red and shrivelled. Her pointed nipples began to smoke. The woman’s cries were inhuman, more resembling the sounds of a tortured cat than those of a young woman.
Already, the brushwood beneath the stake had been lit, and as the fire crackled and spat, the flames curled upward. The fire in the hanging pots that were cooking her breasts soon burned through the ropes fastening her legs to the breast rings. Her legs, unresponsive and uncontrollable through lack of circulation, both dropped, and her feet fell into the creeping fire beneath.
Her cooking round breasts were quickly crisping with the heat of the licking flames; her erect nipples were already blackened and charred. Now the faggots below were all alight, catching the pillar itself on fire. She writhed and jerked as the flames mounted higher and higher. Her thighs were cracking, the skin splitting under the intense heat.
The fire burnt away the skin and exposed her arteries and burst them, cooking her thick, delicious flesh like hams. The flames cauterized the open wounds so that she would not bleed out. Her whole body was shaking as if with a raging fever, even rocking the heavy, burning post that supported her.
The metal blade projecting deep into her cunt was like the devil’s phallus. She fucked it in her pain. It pumped in and out of her as she writhed, tearing her inside horribly. Already the metal blade was searing hot. Her sex organs sizzled and swelled, and then burst under the fierce heat.
Flames caught alight in her long hair, flaring around her shoulders and head. The wooden plug projecting from her rectum smouldered, steamed, and then burst into flame, its heat blistering the flesh of her buttocks hollow. Her body fat dripped into the fire below and flared. The cooked breasts burst open as the meat sizzled.
And so the young Moorish woman died, cooked by the heartless executioners like a stuck pig. Guilty of no crime, she died with her sister in that town square because she was unfortunate enough to have been born in another country, with a different language, appearance, values and a different faith.
Fate had cast her mercilessly into the hands of frightened foreign and implacable enemies. They had merely followed their instincts; the instincts of survival and the protection of their own, at the cost of the destruction of their hated enemies. That was simply the way nature ran its course.
THE END OF CHAPTER ONE