Unnatural Instinct: Free

24.

'Leave me alone!' you scream, but as usual it does nothing.

It's been three days since you returned to the village and they refuse to cease with their 'cleansing'.

'The demons have penetrated you too deeply. We must continue, in order to save your soul,' speaks one of the older male leaders, the only male in the room.

'There's nothing wrong with my soul! And he was no demon! I was free! I was free, Goddamn you!' But your voice falls on deaf ears as he stands in his usual corner. Hands folded behind him, he watches the healers continue with their humiliations.

With a moan, you turn your head. Around you, the one room of the shelter is gloomy, lit by a few torches and several candles. You hate being here. It's like you've returned to a nightmare—and yet it's so much worse. It's so much worse than the first time. At least then you'd only stayed a day. At least they left you alone. Now ... their attentions are ceaseless.

Remorseless.

Night and day they 'tend' to you, making sure to bathe your hair in holy water and lather your body in holy oil as you lie helpless and naked on your bench. They had already moved it in before your return in preparation of your capture. It's hard an uncomfortable, making your back and heels ache. They give you no pillows. They give you no blankets—not even during the coldest hours. Comfort, they say, keeps the demons comfortable too.

But they don't just stop at the discomfort. If merely discomfort drove these so-called demons away, things would be easy.

So much more easy.

No. It's not enough. Pain, humiliation, despair—what is a true 'cleansing' without such things?

You shriek, thrashing your head and body against the bench as you try to kick out your bound legs and punch out your bound hands. But all it does is make things worse. It makes them nervous. Such wild things are a sign of the devil—you know it because you can see it in their eyes and hear them whispering about it between each other.

They particularly focus on your 'sinful' places: your breasts, hips, thighs and in between your legs. Deep in between your legs.

'Stop it!' you shriek again as the healer inserts her oiled-up fingers deep inside you.

Three women are gathered around you as the man, the old leader, watches silently from his usual corner. Next comes the fire, the hot steel, which they briefly press against your hip bones. The sharpness of the pain, even after so many times, still manages to take your breath away. The women hurt you only a moment, just long enough to make you cry, but not enough to leave a scar. Derrick, after all, wouldn't be happy about that.

And that's what it's all about, isn't it? To make you ready for your husband. The one thing a woman is good for: to marry and breed the next generation. They don't care about your soul; they only care about Derrick and what you can give him.

'Liars! You're all liars!' You shriek, then cackle, then cry until the tears pour down your cheeks. You know how you must look. To all appearances, you are what they say you are, and there's nothing you can say that's going to convince them otherwise.

You grit your teeth against the burning left in your skin as they move onto your breasts.

'No, no, no, no, no!' You continue to thrash but it only makes them more determined to see through with their task, their faces focused, their eyes dark, as they lower their metal clamps.

The cold steel is a shock after the burn in your hips. Then the agony comes as they twist hard at your nipples until you scream again and burst into tears. You try not to thrash because it only makes the pain worse. Your breasts are already swollen and bruised from their countless torments but it does not deter them.

As they twist and twist, you can feel the shock of it through your body. The agony zaps up your spine, through your arms and legs until you can feel the burn of it in your fingers and toes. Even your scalp prickles. Your eyes feel hot. One of the healers wipes the tears from your cheeks.

No part of your body is left untouched.

But it's not the worst of it. They release you but you continue to cry, knowing what's coming next.

'Please, don't,' you croak.

Pointless.

Two of the women hold your legs open as the third prepares the 'instrument'. You don't know what it's called. You doubt it has a name, but it's cold and hard and painful. Once it's ready, she hands it over to the leader waiting in the corner. His eyes fastened on your face, he approaches you.

'Leave me alone!' you scream.

He doesn't listen, his eyes bright, as he starts to pray. You hardly hear him as you turn your head to the side with a gasp. His hand is smooth and cool against your sore hip as he prepares himself for the insertion.

The third healer holds you down as you jerk against the feel of it pressing against your lower lips. Then comes the slow and humiliating push inside. You gasp, then choke out Lurin's name.

Where is he? Is he alive? You try to remember his dark, gentle eyes, his smooth, soft touches as you feel the instrument pushing deeper and deeper inside you. It's so large that it pinches against the sides of your vagina. It makes your hips ache. It pushes deeper still, too deep, until you cry out at the shock of it. 'Lurin!'

Then it starts to burn. A strange smell fills the room. You arch your back at a sudden wave of agony that blasts through your body. You see stars. It's hard to think, it's hard to breathe, as your body throbs and pulses with a pain that shuts down all your senses.

Then the darkness crashes in and suddenly you know nothing.