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straps."
Bess hurried off and came back with two chamoise-like strips of leather. She pitched one to Lucia, then
knelt at Faith's feet and tightly bound her ankles together, while Lucia set about lifting Faith's arms up
over her head securing her wrists with the other soft leather strap.
"What the hell are you doing?" Dirk demanded.
"We're gonna hang her from the ceiling and throw darts at her tits and fanny," Bess excitedly informed
him.
"Like hell we are," Dirk shouted. "Untie her."
"Dirk," Lucia said softly, cajolingly. "Come on, honey. It won't hurt her nearly as much as that ramrod of
yours stuck up her ass did. Get the darts, Bess. Show him what they're like."
Again Bess hurried off, this time returning with a large lidded glass bowl. She stopped in front of Dirk
and lifted off the lid. Lucia reached in and pulled one of the tiny darts from the alcohol-soaked sponge,
where the points of all the darts were imbedded.
"See, Dirk," Lucia asked, passing the dart to him. "It won't be a bit worse than getting a shot at the
doctor's."
"Well, I'll be damned," said Dirk, breaking into a smile at the tiny torture implement he held between
thumb and forefinger. "Matchsticks and needles?"
"Yes, and paper strips inserted and folded to serve the place of feathers. We put a lot of time and work
into those things," Lucia exclaimed. "It'd be a shame to let them go to waste."
"Hm," said Dirk, "Damned ingenious." Then he lifted the matchstick dart up to his chin and flicked his
wrist, sending it flying straight for Bess' tit, and hitting her directly in the hole at the end of her nipple.
"Ow! Goddamn it, Dirk, why'd you do that for?" Bess whined, doing a little Indian type dance as the
dart sagged from her skin without falling free. "Pull it out. I've got my hands full," she told Lucia.
Lucia jerked it free and stuck the needle point back down into the alcoholed sponge. "Okay, Dirk?"
"Sure, baby. Where do you want her?"
"Put her on the hook. It ought to be about the right height."
"Now stop it!" Boyd broke in. "I can't let you do that!"
Lucia, grinning again her evil grin, took a dart from the sponge. She turned to Boyd and, hiding the dart
from sight, took his limp organ in her other hand. She held his glans between thumb and forefinger, then
brought out the dart and jabbed the needle into the head of his penis, it all happening so fast that Boyd
didn't know what was coming.
Yelping with pain, Boyd wrenched free of her and pulled the needle from his organ. He started at her, as
if to jab it into her belly.
"Boyd!" barked Lucia, stopping him in his tracks.
"Remember what happened to you at the first of the party? Shut up, or I won't be as easy on you this
time." Lucia smiled, then added with a tinkle of laughter in her voice, "Have you ever had a knitting
needle stuck up your cock? Cross me again, Boyd, and that's what I'll do to you."
Boyd backed away, his head shaking and his eyes wide. His face looked like he could feel the knitting
needle just from Lucia's threat. Lucia laughed and hurried to join the others, as Boyd sat down as far
from his wife's swaying body as the room would permit.
A bewildered Faith hung from the ceiling hook, whimpering and looking wildly about. Her toes dug at
the floor in an effort to raise her body high enough to unhook her hands. It was a futile effort, for only the
very tips of her big toes could make contact with the carpet, and then not firm enough to do anything but
cause her body to twist and turn helplessly.
"Should we blindfold her," Buck asked.
"What are you going to do to me?" Faith's voice was edged with terror.
"Oh God, don't whip me...not like this."
"You want a blindfold, Faith?" Lucia calmly inquired.
It made Faith think of an old Foreign Legion movie. It was all so unreal, she the one being executed, and
Lucia the captain of the firing squad. She shuddered, and shook her head. "No, don't blindfold me.
What are you going to do?"
The bowl now rested on the floor. Lucia bent and took a dart for each hand. She aimed one of them for
Faith's breast, and sent it flying.
Horrified, Faith watched it come at her. It dropped short of its mark and stuck into her upper stomach.
She screamed out and wrenched her body, the leather strap biting harder into her wrists as she turned
jerkily about. Then she gasped aloud, hunching forward as a second dart hit its mark and stuck into the
left cheek of her trembling ass. "Oh Lord! Don't throw any more...please don't hurt me."
"We've got almost a hundred darts here, Faith," Lucia told her. "You wouldn't want us to waste any of
them, now would you? Don't be so inconsiderate."
Another dart hit into the back of her right thigh. Faith groaned, but made no verbal protest. It would do
no good to beg. Lucia would become all the more excited if she begged. So she hung limply from the
hook, closing her eyes and feeling dizzy as her body jerked and twisted. One dart after another pricked
her skin and dangled like a banderillos from a weakening bull in a Spanish arena. They would not kill
her, as the matador did the bull, of that Faith was sure. It was little solace, however, as the endless darts
imbedded into her flesh painfully. She moaned and groaned, almost constantly, jerking involuntarily and
twisting as each new dart found its place and bit sharply into her.
The waiting was the worst part of all. As the game progressed, Lucia'd assigned differing points for each
part of her anatomy. The players were taking more careful aim now, and recording their scores after
each shot. Faith wouldn't look. She kept her eyes clamped shut and tried not to wonder when the next
dart would prick into her flesh. But she couldn't help but anticipate the next dart, especially when all got
quiet. She knew someone was taking aim and involuntarily tensed her body for the stab of the endless
supply of needle-darts. When it hit, sometimes in her breast and sometimes in her buttock, she'd yelp
and wrench her torso, despite her resolve not to show any feeling whatsoever.
Blood trickled down from her punctured tits and buttocks, candy-striping her white skin obscenely. She
looked like a peasant girl in an old torture dungeon, a picture from right out of the dark ages. She knew
this, and it humiliated her. Her body hurt all over, the physical pain fusing with the psychological pain and
causing her to weep bitter tears over the atrocious manner in which they were debasing her.
All was quiet for an exceptionally long time, then she heard Lucia announce happily, "I won," and knew
that all the darts had now been thrown, that almost a hundred of the dreaded little things were hanging
from her flesh. The voices came closer, then one by one the darts were pulled from her body. It was
worse than when they'd hit into her. She hung as still as possible, whimpering with pain as all the darts
were withdrawn from her.
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