Team of Seven Heroes Shorts Tales 1; Chapter 13 & 14

The Torture

13.

“Yes, Mistress. I will be obedient.” The whip came down hard across the back of the figure crouched on the four limbs on the flooring. The figure was strapped in leather throngs with the leather piece serving as a blindfold. Standing before the crouched figure was the lady in the tight leather corset, and tight pants to the above the knees with the long socks and leather boots. The lady was holding the cat-o-nine whip in the right hand. The lady stepped to the front of the crouched figure who was a man.

“Lick at me.” The leather clad lady spread her legs towards the crouched figure. “Do it well and I may just let you feel the real flesh.”

The crouched figure leaned forward using his scent to reach the lady and performed the task as requested. The lady stood there and trailed the whip gently over the spine of the man. The spine to many is an erogenous zone and it excited the man awaiting the hard blow; unpredicted which made the senses peaked for it. The blow came just when the man was intensely licking the leather outside the flesh.

“Ah…” The man was satiated then by the last blow. He fell with his face to the toe end of the right leather. “I… salute you.”

That was the safe word for the act to end.

The so named Mistress stepped away from the spent figure and approached the lady held in the cage. The lady there was a foreigner by her looks to the local blonde look on the Mistress. She looked at the seated lady there chained to the cage bars and voiced out.

“You will learn these moves. There is honour and power in it. The men you will served needs to be made servient to you.” The Mistress looked at the lady. “They are pleasure to the pain.”

The Man who was spent on the flooring then stood up and walked to the wash basin. He stripped off the leather bands before using the wash towel to sponge off the sweat and dirt off his body. He then donned on his three-piece suit and took on his alter ego as Major Bromshead. He took to the stairs that led him to the corridor that held doorways to the normal life style of the local society. He took to the first doorway that opened him to the living area where a long bar stood on the right side with the rows of liquor bottles. The long bar was served by the walrus lipped elderly man dressed like a butler.  

“Martini, shaken and not stirred.” Lieutenant Bromshead placed his order while he picked put the ones sharing his social space. There were two other officers there; one a Lieutenant and the other a Colonel. Senior in ranks and age but not in taste; they were paired to a lady each; foreigner by the looks and dressed tardily for other purposes. The Lieutenant smiled to himself; the place was an establishment of sorts for one to induced in without the restriction of the authorities. It was a reminiscence of the parties they used to hold at the Frontiers; where their lives could be shortened any moment.

“Sir, I can’t let you in without an invitation.” The words reached the ears of the Lieutenant. He knew the voice of the Sergeant who was in charge then of the main doors. A fine non-commissioned officer with a rather long list of misfeasors on the list but obedient to the Colonel like his yappy pet doggie.

“Sergeant Haskell, I outranked you. And I am here to see some friends.” Doctor Watson raised his voice. He looked over the Sergeant and saw the Lieutenant approaching the doorway.

“Doctor Watson, I am afraid today is a closed session for the invited officers today. They cannot admit you but perhaps next week.” Lieutenant Bromshead looked at the Doctor. “Most embarrassing but you were not updated into my list then.”

“That explains it well, Lieutenant. I will be on my way then.” Doctor Watson did a turn and took his walk down the drive way. He paused to look at the spread of the ground there. He was standing in the drive way; the distance of over a hundred yards from the high walls and the main gates manned by a solitary sentry. To the right of   
him was the pavilion struck in the middle of the flower beds, and there was a small pond besides the structure. To the left was the stables for half a dozen horses and there were the staff quarters. He noticed there was a sentry thereby the stables but there were no signs of horses. He recalled on his arrival the huge two-level house with the nine windows; five on the right and four on the left with the main doorway. There was the left doorway after the second window with the path leading to the pavilion. He recalled during his stay there were eight bedrooms upstairs; one dining and library with the two living areas, the kitchen and the stores. There were two doorways from the living areas each to the rear of the house opening to the gazebo and the vast green area with narrow spread to the line of trees and after it was the high walls. There was a rear gate where the stores were replenished by the wagons from the nearby village. He believed they have hounds there for he heard the barking from the rear.

“Nasty encounters…” Watson muttered to himself.

“Would you be needing a carriage, Doctor?” Doctor Watson heard the question from the Lieutenant who had approached him. “I can arrange one in an hour perhaps.”

“None, whatso ever. I am fine. I will walk back to London. Ten miles was it? Nice distance to walk.” Doctor Watson strutted off on his long journey back. The Lieutenant watched the healer walked out of the gate before he returned to the house. He saw the Sergeant hurrying down from stairs upstairs.

“Pardon me, Lieutenant. The Colonel needed some help with his lady. He was trading for the tradesman entry and she was …. non-complying.”

“Sergeant, discretion please. If the lady was not gratifying, get her to be coached. We cannot have the seniors feeling left out.” Lieutenant Bromshead reminded the Sergeant. “And another thing, keep your eyes open for the Doctor. I don’t think he is here by mistake. He may return soon here, and he cannot be allowed to leave.”

It was then the Lieutenant saw his Mistress stepping past his walk. He bowed before her and watched her strut her way towards the rear where the carriage was awaiting. The lady stepped into the carriage and then tapped on the carriage side to signal the driver to return her to London. She had worn on the skirt over her tight pants and threw on the shawl over her shoulders. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

It was to be a long ride.

14.

The bumps on the ride woke her. The lady named the Mistress tapped on the carriage side and turned to sleep. It was a short sleep for she was awakened by the non-movement in the carriage. Her instinct told her she was not in London yet and the carriage had stopped. She tapped the carriage side and heard no reply. She reached for the bottom of the seat and removed the Webley she kept there. She then opened the door. She peeked out. She was not on the road but behind some wall. She stepped out and saw that the carriage was parked inside the compound of small house with the white walls surrounding it. She looked for the doorway on the wall and saw that she was in the rear part of the house. She then saw the lady standing there, dressed in the traditional wrap of the Frontier with the machete in the right hand.

“The one that got away.” The Mistress smiled. “I was wondering where you were hiding. How did you find me?”

“Questions, Mem Sahib. May we do the formalities first?” The lady with the machete spoke up. “My name is Sushila. I am also known as the Silent One.”

“Madame Rosalind. Margaret Arthur Rosalind. I am also known as the Mistress or the Bitch to some.” The other lady introduced herself. “I am the silent one too although my friends are vocally loud.”

“What can you tell me of the House where you have departed from?”

“House? Oh, you are ignorant of the place. With that fact established then I will not speak anymore.” Madame Rosalind replied. “We shall continue on how you escaped from the wagon and what am I do with you?”

“Perhaps I will ask the questions.” The madame looked to her right and saw the figure in the uniform of the Regiment standing there. He held the Webley in his right-hand level.

“And to whom am I addressing, Sir?” Madame Rosalind asked. “Do you know its rude to meet strangers behind walls? Gossips may spread wide and my reputation tarnished.”

“Fear not, Lady Rosalind. My name is Doctor John Watson and in this uniform, my behaviour is impeccable. We have been watching the house for over two days and night. We saw a few guests pulled up there and then there was you. The only non-uniformed person and that intrigued me for that was an officer mess.”

“Officer Mess? John Watson, Doctor? Messy? I am indeed.” Madame Rosalind. “I am afraid I can’t tell more. It will be undignified of me to tell you more.”

“I may suggest that you drop the gun, Madame.” The Doctor told her. “We can then speak more freely.”

“Drop? I say, dear Sir. You should had said it very clearly as discard.” Madame Rosalind reached with her left hand to unnotched the catch on her skirt and it dropped off. It caused a momentarily distraction on Doctor Watson and he did not noticed the Webley aimed at him.

“Gun!” Watson saw the Webley and was prepared to raise his own. It happened so fast.

“Arghhh…” The scream came from Madame Rosaline. The machete had crossed the distance to hit the Webley held by the lady. The blade hit the barrel and caused an impact which Rosalind dropped the gun.

“That was quick.” Rosalind rubbed her hands. She looked from the fallen weapon and the machete that caused it. She was upset her action was foiled. She was not one to be taken by surprise. She looked at the lady who tossed the machete.

“Bitch! Fight me one on one! No weapons.” Rosalind was not the unforgiving one/ She stood there with her hands spread to show her bare attire was devoid of weapons. The other lady took the first steps towards Rosalind.

“No one calls me a bitch!” Sushila replied in her native tongue. Her steps took on quick steps and then she leapt high with the twist to her body, she lashed out with the side kick with her right leg. It was a form of the Oriental fighting art that she had mastered. The other lady retreated and held her left arm to block the kick.

“A good move.” Rosalind took up her battle stance. “I know some moves of my own. It’s taught in Paris.”

The kick came fast; the ‘chasse frontal’; the front kick was high and caught Sushila in the upper chest. Rosalind followed on with the ‘crochet’; the bent left elbow with the right leg firmed to add power to the blow. She was stopping there with a jab at the reeling foreigner. Sushila went down barely missing the last blow but she was ready.

Sushila went down and did the under kick at the other lady. Her left leg swung for she needed her right leg for the balance. The left leg hooked the other lady at the right knee. The kick would had dropped the lady, but she had moved. The kick scraped her knee cap when she bent her leg back. Rosalind had braced herself for the next move. She turned her body and did a back-swing kick at the other. It was met by the upper block of the right arm and Sushila left fist went at the right leg ankle. The bones there crunched at the hit.

“Arghh…” Rosalind screamed. She was a mistress at pain inducement but hardly on the receiving end although she lusted for the occasional rectum intrusion. She pulled back but the other was onto her. The next hit was the fist into the right ear of her’ and then she went black.

Sushila pulled back on her fist although she had clenched her fingers. The other was defeated.

“Sushila, are you that … I am not that kind of a killer.” Doctor Watson watched the defeated naked and hog tied and hung face down over an upright sword. Sushila looked at the doctor. They have moved the battlefield to the emptied cottage a few miles away. They needed intel and the defeated was the informer. It was the proposed methodology that concerned Doctor Watson. At the Frontier he had seen many forms of torture and some of it, he had personally done it too. He had victim on a slow noose death but that one was new to him.

“She will talk. Or end up with an open ribcage soon.” Sushila pulled at the rope that swung the lady in a pendulum over the sword. The cuts were there; shallow but deadly.

And painful.

“Now we know. I need to go back there.” Doctor Watson looked at the other lady. She was dead; the chest a mangled piece of lacerations with blood dripping.

“She told us many things. One was the Mullah which intrigued me.” Sushila focused on her task. “I kill him, I can bring Duncan back to my home.”

“We still have to clear the stain on the Regiment.” Doctor Watson added in. “We cleared that, and Duncan may be a hero.”

That last line came out flat out.

“There are no heroes, Doctor. Not even for us who had to do the messy tasks. We are all the soldiers in the war. We will go on fighting and we die or live to fight another until they tell us the war is over. And we begin once over. We can go different tasks. You take on the scum in the Regiment and I will kill the Mullah.”