1751 06-87 Perverse Magics Underground
PREVIOUSLY: Chastity has been completely deprived of vision, hearing, smell, and taste, disoriented, choked, and hogtied with her wrists tied behind her back to the center of a spreader bar binding her ankles, being carried towards the edge of the platform. She has no idea who is manhandling her, or what they mean to do with her, knowing that being thrown to her death by precipitation or devouring are both very real possibilities. NOW:
The people carrying Chastity stopped, and for a moment Chastity could not sense activity of any kind. Then they began backing up slowly. At first, Chastity felt relieved, since it meant they had moved farther back from the ledge. But then it panicked her when it occurred to her they had literally backed up, instead of turning around and walking in the opposite direction—implying they were going to move forward again. What was happening?
Suddenly they lurched forward, accelerating to a speed two or three times faster than their previous pace.
Chastity screamed, realizing she was going to die, as they accelerated towards the edge, waiting for them to release her and send her tumbling and flying.
It was another stupid, silent, utterly useless scream, as useless as all of her struggles and suffering had been; and she keenly felt how little difference she made—or possibly could make—to the world as helpless as she was now.
And then the moment came as they stopped abruptly, letting the momentum of her suspended body carry her forward, and Chas felt a sharp pang of sadness and pity that consumed her as she fell.
More straight down than forward, on top of what felt like a pile of people.
Everyone was still for a moment, and then there was a scramble of movement all around her until she felt herself being dragged forward, pulled across the stones and across a metal bar until one of them straddled her back and pushed down on the back of her head. At first she was afraid they were trying to slam her head into the stone, or perhaps into something filthy, but then her stomach flipflopped as she realized what they had already done. What she had been shown, but been slow to appreciate: her head had been forced below the level of the deck, and possibly her shoulders. Definitely, there was nothing supporting her shoulders.
Her head and shoulders were dangling over the edge!
In her mind’s eye she imagined what she would see if she could: a dizzying drop down the sheer edge of the platform to the writhing desert below. Stupidly, she caught herself screaming—or trying to scream—once more, a scream that turned into a helpless sob as she became aware how useless it was, how useless she was, how little agency she had.
While the person on her back held her head down, other hands loosened one of her ankles.
Chastity didn’t move. She didn’t start kicking or do anything that might be interpreted as resistance. She was too scared. And of course that was the point. After leaving her alone for long enough to convince them—and Chas—that she wasn’t going to give them any trouble, they undid her other ankle and waited again.
Finally, carefully, the person on her back stood up over her, letting go of her head, and there was a third pause, before Chas felt her wrists being pulled upwards by whatever they were tied to—the middle of the bar that had been used to separate her ankles. As best she could tell, there were hands on both ends of it, using them to pull her arms up painfully behind her back while bare feet and sharp nails kicked her sides.
In despair, Chastity struggled to her knees, then her feet, and was shoved forward until her pelvis hit a horizontal iron bar at what she knew to be the very edge.
Shaking with fear, heart racing, terrified of losing her balance or knocked over, either on purpose or by accident, she stood still like a good girl while they pulled her ankles apart and secured them in place.
Last, without releasing them from the spreader bar, they pushed upward on her wrists, pushing further and further up until Chas’s only choices were to disclocate her shoulders or bend forward. She wept with frustration and confusion as they kept raising and pushing her arms, up and up—and apparently, securing them to something overhead, high enough that Chas’s arm muscles remained stressed to a point of significant pain.
And there they left her, alone, tortured in place without requiring any effort, or even attention, from her torturers.
They could leave her here forever, and she could do nothing to escape or even to alleviate her suffering.
Refusing to scream again uselessly, Chastity imagined herself screaming, the grating, terrible sound reverberating through every part of her head, her body, her soul.
Literature Section “06-87 The Agony of Chastity II”—more material available at TheRemainderman.com—Part 87 of Chapter Six, “Le Saccage de la Sale Bête Rouge” (“Rampage of the Dirty Red Beast”)—750 words—Accompanying Images: 1751-1752—Published 2025-05-09—©2025 The Remainderman. This is a work of fiction, not a book of suggestions. It’s filled with fantasies, idiots, and criminals. Don’t believe them or imitate them.