(I had to break Chapter 4 into two parts. I’m exhausted. This requires a lot of soul searching. But I’m so happy with what’s coming out and onto the screen. There is a brand new and amazing piece of art from @lurvig thst will be included in part 2, the final part of this story. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to include it in this installment. But it’ll be worth the wait. I hope y’all enjoy this part. It’s really really different. Love you!! XOXOX)
Jean was only eighteen (17 in the histories, but I do not wish to run afoul of Deviant Art content rules, so I’m taking a minor liberty). Despite her youth, she was known throughout all of France and England and anywhere else where news of the 100 Years War had traveled. Her people knew her as Jean D’Arc but her captors referred to her as Joan of Arc. Depending on which name you called her, you may have thought of her as a hero, an enemy, a saint or a heretic.
The one point that everyone agreed on with regards to Joan was that she did not belong. Even Joan knew that was the truth.
Betrayed by her people and handed over to the English, she was tried as a heretic because she claimed that God spoke to her. Which was also the truth. After all, how else could a teenage peasant girl rise up to lead the French to one incomprehensible military victory after another against the vastly more advantaged Royal British Army. Clearly, Joan was following in the footsteps of Moses and allowed the Lord to work through her to produce miracles. Only, the New Testament God did not arm Joan with pillars of fire from heaven of the angel of death. Joan had to come up with her own solutions.
The British were not evil. They did not desire to execute a young girl. Not even a young girl who had embarrassed their empire. But they simply could not permit the world to believe their defeats had been ordained by God above. Far better to have the world believe the unpredictable but bold leadership of a slightly unhinged French girl inspired French soldiers to punch above their weight class and score a few wins. In the end, history would have to tell of Joan’s confusion, France’s temporary luck and the British mercy to sentence their repentant enemy to a life in a British convent. The powers on both coasts of the English Channel agreed and decided Joan would be the scapegoat. After all, like I said, she didn’t belong. Everyone would save face and peace would be achieved.
The only problem was Joan…
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Lurvig had marched halfway into the enormous barn before realizing Tina had managed to free herself from her bondage on the damaged cross that he’d planted there nearly a week prior. He’d quit expecting Tina to get free. If she could, she’d have already done so. And he had resigned himself to adjusting the training program that he originally developed for this prized raw material.
“Good Girl,” he whispered. As if in response, the tell-tale sound of oiled metal sliding against oiled metal echoed out from one of the four dark corners of the space. “Chunk…chunk…” Lurvig recognized the sound of a firearm “racking” from seeing it in action movies. He’d been gone for a while, but he didn’t think long enough for Tina to have released herself AND made it to the farmhouse and back with a weapon. “Americans really must just keep guns laying around everywhere,” Lurvig bemused.
“Put your hands on your head and get down on your knees. Do it now.” Tina croaked the commands. The breaks in her voice were from pain and dehydration. Not from any sort ofuncertainty or hesitation. She knew this script like the back of her hand. And her practiced, Type A forcefulness, was on full display.
Lurvig lifted his hands out and up to about shoulder height and began to pivot slowly.
“I don’t have any weapon, GI Jane. I’m no threat. Not at the moment.” Lurvig paused to see if Tina would repeat the command. He smiled when she didn’t. “I could kneel, but here are two chairs. Let’s sit Little Flower. Sitting is more comfortable. And we have much to discuss.” Lurvig eased himself down into the straight-backed wooden chair. “There, I left you the padded one. Join me, Tina.”
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“They mean to execute you, Joan!” the exasperated monk cried. “And not fast with a guillotine or even the gallows. You’re charged with heresy. They’ll burn you alive if you don’t admit you lied about the voices.”
“You mean they want me TO lie, Padre. They want me to deny the Lord and his words.”
“OK, yes. So what? So, what if you tell them what they want to her? That doesn’t hurt God. Just give them what they want. They’ll release to into the custody of the church. My God, that’s better than burning. Please Joan.” Joan sighed and her hands trembled, barely maintaining hold of the string of rosary beads.
“Thank you, Padre, but I cannot deny my Lord. I serve Him. I submit to His will. And I gladly proclaim His good works done through me.” The monk was beside himself.
“So, you want to be a martyr, Joan? Is that it?”
“No Padre. I never wanted any of this.” Joan slid the beads through her fingers one by one.
“It’s going to be terrible Joan. The fire. The smoke. The pain. Aren’t you afraid?” Joan looked up and the monk saw her face clearly for the first time. She was white with terror. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“I am terrified. I’ve never been so scared. Not before any battle. I’m so scared I can’t stop shaking.” The monk knelt down and put Joan’s hands in his own.
“Then why do this? Just give in and spare yourself.”
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Tina was now seated in the chair across from Lurvig. She kept the pump action Remington shotgun on her lap and at the ready. The chairs were 20 feet apart. Tina only needed 17 feet distance to get off two barrels, either one of which would cut a mad in half. And at close range, it would be impossible to miss.
“I answered your question…” Lurvig began. But Tina interrupted.
“Oh, bull shit! To set me free? You kidnapped and tortured me to set me free?” Tina drank from a metal canteen of water. It was in the same emergency stash where the shot gun was hidden.
“Yes, pretty little Tina. That is the reason why.”
“Well, it’s insane.” Tina was relaxed enough to be annoyed by Lurvig’s switch from malicious devil to misguided but well-meaning Dominant. “And I’m NOT calling you Master, either.”
“You should call me Master, Tina.”
“I said no.”
“Because I claimed you. You’re my slave now.”
“I don’t care! I won’t do it.” Tina threw her empty canteen onto the floor. Lurvig sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in displeasure.
“Fine! It was a suggestion and not an order anyway, slave.” Tina stood up to pace. “And sit back down.” She froze like a deer in headlights. “Please. Sit. You must be exhausted.” Tina eased herself back onto the chair. In compliance.
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Joan tried not to struggle. The ropes were not extremely tight. She could probably get loose. But there was really nowhere to go. The logs all around her had been lit. There was no turning back now. And besides, she was on the path God had put her on and to leave that path would be to deny the fact that God spoke to her. She chose to honor her commitment and devotion to her Lord and Savior.
The square was eerily silent but for the crackling of the flames and occasional sobbing of a witness. Absent were the typical jeers and mockery dolled out by the mob to the condemned. No one celebrated this death. And everyone who came to witness it now wondered if their own souls would pay the price. For her part, Joan prayed.
“Father, please forgive them. They know not what they’ve done.” The heat from the flames was growing.
“Please Lord, grant them peace.” Stinging smoke billowed around Joan, burning her eyes.
“Father…ahhh…. it’s been so hard. Thank you for calling me to serve.” Joan recoiled as the fire leapt closer. The ends of her long frock were smoldering.
“Oh God, please make it quick. Please, don’t let it be more than I can take.” In that very moment, Joan’s lungs filled with black smoke. It felt like she inhaled pure fire. And the flames were now upon her. Her clothes were ignited. Her flesh was searing. Blistering. Joan intended to pray until the end, but the body and mind have limits. Joan could do nothing but shriek as she suffered. The crowd shrieked too. And the fire raged.
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“So, you ‘studied’ me and my writing. And you saw that I was a true submissive.”
“I said you were a ‘PURE’ submissive, little slave, Tina.” Lurvig corrected. “And I NOTICED you. Studying overstates things.”
“So the fuck what!” Tina was struggling express herself with all of Lurvig’s interruptions.
“Accuracy matters, little one.” Tina couldn’t really argue with that. “Go ahead. You were saying…”
“The POINT is, you basically decided I was different than other submissives. I was someone with potential to….to what? To be like, a super sub?” Lurvig gave her an exasperated eye roll. “Wait, you said the potential to be free. And to find peace.” Lurvig nodded and feigned applause. “What makes you think I need any of that? What makes you think I’m not already happy just how things are?”
“Poor confused little slut. My Tina. I’m sorry we aren’t having this conversation with you bound as before. Are you sure you don’t want me to tie you up there again?” Tina gripped her shotgun tighter and raised it from her lap. “OK. OK. Pity though. You’d be happier. And you’d understand better. But this will do. If you listen.”
“Just answer me dang it!”
“Because you live the opposite of how you’re meant to, my Kentucky flower. You’re hard as iron when you should be delicate as pedals of fresh lilies. Oh, you have become good. So very good at wearing this mask, GI Jane. That’s your mask when you teach your police how to be Doms.” Lurvig leaned in deeply in Tina’s direction. “Do you know why you play that part, my precious sub? It’s part of a slave’s training. Which you know from Mia, your first Mistress. Don’t be surprised. You know I read all of your journey. You’d have eventually trained as Mia’s Mistress so that you could understand the Dom mentality and become the perfect slave you were meant to be.” Tina was shaking her head.
“That’s not true. I’m just….this is just what I need to do….”
“Stop flailing. If you want to flail, at least let it be bound in my ropes. You crave them, Tina.” Fuck, he’s right about that. “You know I’m right.” There was a long pause. The silence was agony. Lurvig stood up. Tina allowed it. “You’ve become an artist at submitting to yourself, poor Tina. It’s amazing. You are so creative. So bold. Kinky Doms and subs alike revere you from afar. But even THAT is a mask you hide behind. But I can see what you conceal. You cannot hide it from Lurvig. Your bondage games and weak attempts to “break” yourself treat your symptoms. They are a tiny snack. But they do not REALLY quench your thirst. They do not cure what ails you. What you need is simple, little one. You need it all to go away. You need the freedom taken. You need the choices made. You need the responsibilities removed. And then you will understand the peace and the joy of the life you MUST have. Because you are submissive Tina. You don’t just have submission in you. It’s what you are.”
Tina barely noticed Lurvig circling behind her as he spoke. He rested his hands on her shoulders. He gripped her firmly, and she found the pressure comforting.
“I.” Tina’s voice sounded like it was coming from miles away. “I can’t. There are people. There are things I need to do.” Lurvig began kneading her knotted muscles.
“I know lovely slave. That is why you need Lurvig. You are rare. You want to submit. You would do anything to GIVE your submission. Only, you cannot. GI Jane. You cannot go down without fighting. You rage against the one thing that will give you true contentment. True happiness. That is the tragedy of Tina. You need your freedom TAKEN from you. You need your resistance stripped away from you. You need to forget the masks that you’ve carefully crafted. You cannot do this precious Kentucky flower. And neither can bondage. And neither can pleasure. Only pain can.”
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To the peasants in the square, Joan appeared to have died. Her screams had ceased. Her writhing body was now still, and slowly being consumed. Every heart was heavy to have witnessed the death of a saint. Every mind was confounded and frustrated that she had made such an incomprehensible choice. Why? It didn’t have to happen at all. Joan just…. she just didn’t belong.
However, Joan still lived. She was in her final moment. Her perfect, final moment. The pain was still there. In fact, it was at its highest strength. But Joan was changed. She was no longer experiencing pain as before. She was no longer confined by mortal comprehension. She had been lifted to a higher understanding by her devotion and submission to God. She had always only heard His voice. Now she could see His face.
The fire still burned but Joan’s pain was now reassurance. Her fear had turned to peace. Her doubts were nothing but certainty. The first had cleansed Joan and the pain was the doorway to her reward. She was leaving the world and finally on her true journey to practice her submission and devotion to her Master who loved her. Joan had finally learned to turn pain into pleasure. Joan was on her way to the place where she would belong.
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“I know what you wanted to ask, Sir.” Tina continued looking straight ahead as Lurvig’s hands staked their claim on her shoulders.
“Do you little one. Very good. Let’s see. Tell me what I want to know.” His hand moved from shoulders up to her neck. So much tension is kept in the neck.
“You want to know how I escaped.” That felt so good. Lurvig’s hands were so strong.
“Go on. Tell me how you found a way out.”
“Yes Sir. The rigging was too much. I had no strength. Not with my legs collapsed on each other and my arms crossed behind and pulled out as far as they could stretch. You had my torso tied flat against the post. I could not move away from the post, no matter how hard I threw myself against it. I couldn’t budge my arms or my legs. And movement is where strength comes from. I could not move, so I had no strength.”
“Yes, my lovely bondage slut. I saw this. For days I watched you repeat your futile struggles. Move along.” Lurvig spoke with encouraging tenderness.
“Yes Sir. The only leverage I could find was to twist my shoulders or my hips. The ropes connecting the two cross posts were not tight enough, and I could rotate them…”
“Except doing so…” Lurvig was anticipating Tina’s answer.
“Except doing so pulled the cords you’d tied all over my nipples, my clit. The tethers were….perfect. They were already stretched taught like piano wire. When I twisted the posts, I felt like my flesh was being ripped apart.” Tina’s breathing had quickened.
“Your flesh was being ripped apart. And you were being choked as well.” Lurvig stated.
“Yes Sir. Correct. The tethers were also wrapped rightly around my neck. When I twisted, the pain was searing. White hot. But even if I had tried to fight through it, the cords around my neck were choking me out. I nearly blacked out every time I made a serious attempt. It was hopeless.”
“But you found hope somewhere, slave. Didn’t you. Where did you find the hope to push through?”
“From the shadow’s Sir.” Lurvig’s hands withdrew from her neck as thought retreating from a snake. “One evening when the moon rose, I saw a shadow cast by the rigging. And the shadow showed me that the main tether stretching my arms out behind me was anchored out to the end of the cross post under my arms with just a single nail bent over like a hook. I knew I couldn’t break the cords or the posts, Sir, but I could bend a nail!”
“It was a nail?” Lurvig’s voice was icy.
“Yes Sir. So, I rested that night as much as I could. You came the next day as always and mentioned you’d be gone for a while. And knowing now that I only had to defeat a nail, having that end in sight, I resolved myself to fight through the pain.”
“Fight through the pain?” Lurvig was pacing anxiously.
“Yes Sir. When you had been gone long enough, I started twisting the posts. Not slow, sustained presses anymore. I switched to violent, forceful thrusts. Each one took my breath away. I screamed so loud I was thankful for the gag you’d stuffed down my mouth. I grew dizzy as the noose tightened and tightened. But each time I jerked the post, I thought it spun a little farther. The nail was bending. I was getting free.”
“It was just a nail??” Lurvig was stuck on the nail…
“I was basically semi-conscious and running on autopilot. I was in the “warrior mentality” that I teach my students. “Stay in the fight,” I tell them. “If you’re going down, go down fighting.” I don’t even remember the end of the struggle. I just eventually woke up and my left arm was hanging limp beside me, no longer tethered back behind. Getting all the way free with only one hand was a long, slow process. But I managed. I was down off the post for only 30 minutes when you arrived back, Sir.” Tina waited for a response that didn’t come. “That’s all Sir.”
“So you’re telling me that you learned to fight through the pain because you knew there was an end to it?” Lurvig asked, barely masking his anger.
“Yes Sir. I pushed past my limits. I’m so proud.” Lurvig circled around in front of Tina and crouched down practically in her lap.
“I am not proud, little GI Jane cunt. You were supposed to learn to love the pain. You failed.”
TO BE CONTINUED…..