CALIENTE ALTO
Despite all of their attempts, motives and progress members of the group held
little sense of the ultimate destination they would find, not unlike itinerant
sagebrush that bounced across the long-abandoned airfield. Now the site of
impending hopes of a homegrown video, catering to the unique wishes of the
group, was soon to become their Waterloo.
A semi-restored Hudson aircraft had been donated as transportation for the
select five and their chosen subject. It rolled out of sight into one of the two
remaining hangers still in existence at the former WWII training base.
The other hanger with its number "2" barely distinguishable on one weathered
side became the sound stage. With wild ambitions, to negate callous
professional snubs by making a film their way, the production was set to begin.
Inside two bulky studio cameras warmed on illuminated white cards as those
members who had made the actual trip got used to their Roman military uniforms.
"At last," said Master Briefs as he lifted with his wooden sword the
mock-leather skirt of the retired accountant next to him, "an answer to the
age-old dilemma."
"And that would be?" the retiree asked shoving the dull edge aside and
adjusting his new breastplate.
"Boxers or Briefs? Why of course."
"Easy for you to say, Sharkman."
"People! People! Peeeople!!!" The voice of Allan Smithey, the director
echoed the cavernous interior. "We are almost set to begin. Here, Candi put on
this gown."
"That old rag? Are you kidding?!"
The attorney looked at the bimbo talent he had negotiated with for this
project, his patience on edge. Not only had he allowed her to bring along her
little friend, but he also had tediously procured the various permits for
shooting a "nature film" from the distant county seat of Elvira. "Just shut-up
bitch. You got what you wanted," Master Briefs and again cursed what he had to
shell out in terms of his own time and bucks for the broad. "Get to work. Don't
forget you're my employee me, sister!"
Candi darted glares at the lawyer, then looked again at the coarse robe
Smithey offered. She shrugged. Well-versed in working any room, she secretly
smiled a diva's smile and decided she might as well make lemonade from lemons.
She lifted up her crop tank. An actress at heart, though credits to date only
included a few porns and stage work with blaring music and a vertical pole,
Candi played it cool. Proud of her full tits, she took her time.
"Hurry it up, sister. We haven't got all day."
"Oh don't you look so cute in your little skirt, Mister Lawyer-man," she
sneered.
"Look, people...The cameras are ready so let's just get on with it, shall
we?" Smithey adjusted the bill of his ball cap one more time. "Candi, don't fix
your hair. Just put that thing on and take off your shorts and shoes and sox."
"But the floor's dirty," Sandra said. Unlike Candi, who was loving it as a
sort of rural Miss Starlet O'Hara/ Drama Queen, Sandra was Goth Grrrl.
The contentious lawyer swung around and smugly said, "Of course, 'the floor's
dirty'. What do you think it would be? Swept clean by the wind?" He was about
to further vent frustration by kicking a prickly sagebrush with his open-toed
sandal when the repercussions from such an action caused him to reconsider.
Smithey intervened one more time and said, "Now, now people... When I yell
'Action!' that's what I want. Save your energies for that, okay? Sandra, step
out of the light with me and let's get this thing going."
Scene One was to hang Candi from the ceiling by her wrists. Pads protected
her skin, of course, and the "soldiers" ripped away her garment leaving her
shining form nude. Smithey ordered a break, and judiciously applied his mixture
of food dye and syrup across Candi's back and legs. The red trickles made for
fine special effects in the footage.
The scene went fairly smoothly until just as he was applying the last of the
fake blood, a new voice stopped all. It came from the darkness near the side of
one interior wall.
"Now... just what do we all have going on here?" the voice asked.
The shadowed stranger repeated, "I said, what all do we have going on here?"
Smithey was the first to react. As he and Susan were not accustomed to the
blare of the lights, he could almost make out the dark figures standing near a
far wall. "Hi. Uhm, we, well, we..."
"Let me handle this, Allan", Master Briefs said as he officiously stepped out
of the circle of light and peered into the shadows from where the strange voice
had come. "Look, friend. This is all perfectly legal. I have the permits. But
unfortunately, this production is a closed set, so I'm afraid that I..."
The attorney gasped and fell to the floor clutching his wounded groin. The
other had blind-sided him with a swift kick between his legs. Unable to complete
his earlier sentence, the proud officer of the court lay chastened and writhing
on the dirty floor.
"They all call me Lord," the voice said as he stepped closer and came in view
of all. Lord was unconventionally handsome, but beefy arms, facial scars and
tattoos really got him all the attention ever desired. Members of Lord's bunch
gathered around just on the perimeter of light.
Clearly, the shooting party was not being visited by a roving band of Cub
Scouts.
Smithey and the others grimaced at Master Briefs on the floor, and then
sheepishly at the newcomers.
"Let that tall girl down and , " Lord started as he tripped against the
huddled body of Susan. "Oh, excuse me, Miss. I didn't know that there were two
of you." As Lord helped Susan to her feet, the others let down the chain holding
Candi's arms aloft.
Soon as her arms were freed, the tall blonde rubbed her stretched forearms
and biceps in relief. She quickly bent down and picked up the fallen gown to at
least partially cover herself. Modesty suddenly became an issue with the new
arrivals.
Lord seldom missed noticing anything. "Oh, no need to cover-up on our
behalf, Miss," he said to Candi who stood flat-footed and unsure of what was her
next cue for motivation, "As a matter of fact, just the other day I was telling
the boys here just how much I have been wanting some cutting horses. Isn't that
right, Clem?"
"Yup boss."
"But right now I'm thinking I just might have to start out with a couple of
ponies." Lord appraised the two women before him. "Like maybe these two, eh?"
Racuous laughter rang inside the metal hanger, startling the already shocked
members.
"Seems to me I saw some saw-horses just outside the door we came through.
Some of you boys go get them and young lady," he said patronizingly to Susan,
"Let's see what you're hiding under that dumpy costume."
"No way, bastard!" Susan shouted and grabbed her pants pocket but her hand
was stopped by one of Lord's minions.
"Hey boss. Lookee here. This one's packin' heat."
Lord slowly examined the small revolver in his hands, then looked back at the
defiant Susan. "Nice weapon, little girl. But way too big for you. For now I
think that I'll just have to hold on to it." He nodded to the two holding her
and watched as one roughly tore apart the shirt she wore while the other sliced
her pants at the waist with his knife. Soon the Goth Grrrl was naked, too, just
like her friend Candi.
Daylight shone in as a small door creaked open. The wooden horses could be
heard as they were dragged closer to the group. 2X4's scraped dusty concrete,
making noises like a nest of pissed rattlers.
"Somebody get lengths of that rusty cable. We'll need that to hold these
two. Suppose we should lock-up the 'Romans' too, but don't kill them they might
come in handy later." Lord turned back to face both Candi and Susan who now was
fighting to keep from crying wet fury. "Well, girls, looks like it's just about
time to 'saddle up'. Shall we?"
The leer spread creases in Lord's face that frightened both.
Scene 2 further tested the hanger's acoustics with much raucous laughter and
heightened wailing. The rusted metal walls reverberated as the sordid action
began and reached a crescendo of male sighs and female groans. Those first
planning to act in this passion play were rudely escorted away to a shed out
back where the door containing them was locked securely by three of Lord's men.
The young women stayed, lashed to the rough wood "horses" with rusty cable.
Tender skin tautly wrapping wrists and ankles easily chafed with raw roughness.
Lord considered the helpless two. The girls appeared to offer individual
features no two quarter horses could ever hope for, speaking for himself, of
course, in making that generalization. Bestiality never made much of a personal
turn-on. Regardless, what lay before him presented themselves as "ponies" of
value that spoke to his more human qualities.
"You'll get your turns, don't worry, boys," he said, "But first I know that
none of you would think of first allowing your leader not to have first crack at
things." Lord's chiseled features set as he appraised the pair. One was shaven
and the other was not, variety he could enjoy.
It turned out to the satisfaction of all that Lord was good for his word.
Small rough boulders wedged between the two women and the wood rails so that
both ends were propped up. By the end of the afternoon, small pools of blood
muddied the dusty floor, much dried or drying semen mixed with the sweaty female
nudes.
"Thank ya, boss," Clem said in eternal gratitude as he hitched up his chaps.
"But 'cha know, I think that long one has plastic boobs."
"Really," Lord said distractedly as he cinched the buckle on one of his
boots. "Then, Clem, I suppose you should verify that charge. With at least one
of them, I mean. Here's a carpet knife from my vest. Don't worry, it's got a
new razor blade in it so it's sharp enough. Cut her open and let's have a
look."
The bewhiskered soldier gulped, but rather than risk offending his Superior
with insubordination, gripped the offered knife and knelt down near Candi's
stretched arms.
"Remember now, just do her right one. The other can remain as it is for
now."
Susan softly sobbed. Goth Grrrl had never been taken before so violently, and
by so many. Long after losing her anal virginity, she succumbed to the multiple
penetrations. No longer was she defiant. It no longer was of any consequence
where she was or what fate had befallen.
The one called Clem knelt alongside the prone figure. Candi breathed slowly
as she too rested atop a wooden sawhorse. She had at least been more
experienced than her sheltered friend, Susan, and that helped somewhat but any
advantage previously enjoyed was now about to change. Clem wrapped his thumb and
four fingers around the bloated breast. It felt warm and slick, even under these
conditions soft. Imploringly, he looked up to see Lord towering over him.
"Go ahead boy. Check it out. If they are plastic, make her like she used to
be."
Candi stirred in her bounds, but any movement on her part was way too late.
She felt the sharp point of the razor, then the start of the incision. Her
tussled mane flew up, eyes wild. The animal-like shriek made all jump.
Inexperienced as the wrangler was in cosmetic surgery, Clem compensated with
sheer diligence. Using a firm grip on her pliant breast, he used the other hand
to manipulate the knife. Sinking it deeply into the woman-flesh, he sawed open
a deep incision. Satisfied at his trial effort, he sat back on his haunches and
looked at the gaping wound.
"Now," Lord said slowly as he too took in the view, "Reach your claws in
there and tell us, Clem, if it's Live or ..."
Candi thrashed and bucked as the cut was being made, but after Clem was done
with his tool work, she slumped gasping on the boulders. Her wet sternum rubbed
harshly over the gritty surface.
Gulping again, as Clem had little stomach for doctor's work, he reached his
two fingers between the separated flesh. More gore gushed out, wetting his hand
and wrist. Finally, after some probing, he felt something smooth inside the
girl. Gripping it, he pulled and slowly revealed to all the wet plastic bag of
saline.
Lord watched with a degree of fascination thinking that this was much better
than any other hospital operating theater and he just might be helping one of
his people through a form of rough-and-tumble med school. Sort of a School of
Hard Knock-ers. Coming to his senses he grabbed a roll of duct tape and said,
"Here, Clem. Not exactly surgical sutures but tear off a strip and it should
seal her up somewhat."
The others gathered closely about and watched as Clem's gooey fingers
struggled with the tape. He applied it as tightly as he could to close the
wound. Someone brought over a canteen. Water from it was used to wash off
Clem, his hands and the girl. The newly downsized tit looked crinkled with its
makeshift bandage.
From the hot shed out back where members of the original party had been
locked, they could easily hear the racket from inside the hanger. No one needed
much imagination to realize why the noise was being made, but when they heard
the shrillness of Candi's caterwauling, the packed group fell silent.
Already discolorization flowed around Candi's right flank. Trickles of blood
continued to seep from edges of the silvery duct tape, smearing its shiny
surface. Matted hair fell over her sweat and tear-stained face. Reflexively,
inner thigh muscles twitched.
"You know boys? I'm thinking that these two have maybe had a full day of it.
Perhaps it's time to get both off those wooded things. Now the one is going to
be a little lopsided, but I do suppose that's why they call it a 'practice',
right?"
Lord cooly sipped from an engraved sterling silver flask. "Take them both
outside to where that wine-barrel half is. I want them both to sit easy inside
of it, but first Clem another chore."
The ashen-faced "surgeon" wearily looked up to acknowledge Lord. "Yes...sir?"
"The boys will sit these two in the barrel. While they're doing that you go
and gather up some of your little friends."
Clem eagerly nodded his balding head. Collecting ants and their natural
enemies, scorpions, had been a special hobby ever since coming out to this
desert. Surgery wasn't his game. Collecting critters was more like it.
A door along a far wall opened a shaft of brilliant late-afternoon sun that
blinded all present. Susan and Candi were dragged across the hard, dusty desert
until at last they stopped. Both were held up and blearily looked down at the
weathered old barrel-half. Susan started to cry out, but then fell silent as
hands lifted her off the ground. Her bottom sat on the rough bottom of the
barrel. She faced her thighs. Candi was next. She moaned as she was lifted and
placed down into the barrel. The backs of her thighs rubbed against Susan's and
her long legs rose alongside the other girl's shoulders. Both women cried as
they doubled inside of the barrel with barely room for one.
From the side, Clem happily approached the cluster around the barrel with two
pair of white legs sticking up. He carried two buckets, in one of them could be
heard the scraping sound of critters crawling He ambled over to where Lord stood
and awaited his next orders.
Lord scratched his chin as he surveyed the barrel and the two women jammed
inside. "There must be a bung hole somewhere along the side of this old thing.
Ahhh, here it is... Clem? Give me what ants you've found."
The hobbyist cum reluctant surgeon gleefully handed Lord his bucket
containing the angry black ants. "Here ya go, boss."
"Good lad," Lord said taking the bucket and carefully tipping it so that its
rim nestled next to the weathered hole on the side of the barrel. He watched as
the black stream of crawling legs and bodies marched into the barrel. "Now,
boys..."
Candi and Susan moaned as the two of them pressed together. Neither had
strength to raise their heads, until that is, each felt the tickle of the tiny
bodies swarm across their naked flesh. Both screamed mightily and tried to
escape from the barrel, but both were trapped in the tight confinement. Each
tried to swipe the insects off with their hands but the volume of insects was
too great. Soon the naked laps were covered in moving black
The biting began. The frightened ants attacked anything they could, even each
other. More often than not those that could sought rescue in the dark recesses
provided by their hostesses.
"Now, Clem," Lord said devilishly, "Your other bucket. The one with the
scorpions."
Clem handed over the dark red insects and watched as his leader slowly fed
the tail-barbed critters through the wooden hole. Once they dropped down into
the interior, the claws and tails of the scorpions attacked the swarm of ants on
the darkened battlefield of human flesh. Steep barrel walls precluded escape by
humans or insects.
With this new "entertainment" the two seemed to be yelling louder than ever.
After about ten minutes of watching the writhing scene, Lord stretched and
remarked that he was getting an appetite. Before leaving, he said to the
others, "Get them out of there. They've had enough for now. Lock the two up
somewhere for the night. Tomorrow, I'll get that movie-maker and will see just
how eager those 'Romans' are for taping that crucifixion scene they were after.
Only one thing though, I suppose..."
Clem looked at Lord and seeing that his leader was puzzled helpfully offered,
"What's that, boss?"
Lord patted the stout one's shoulder, grimly smiled and then said, "Just that
instead of taping one crucifixion, I suppose that now we'll have to be taping
two."
The others chortled and began grabbing arms to lift the two tearful females
out.
Dawn unfolded like a dirty blanket over the flat terrain. Already there were
signs of life around hanger #2. Rustling noises dully brushed the rustic walls
of the shed where the would-be cast and crew spent the night. Two of Lord's
gang stirred embers of the dying campfire set alongside one of the towering
metal hanger walls.
Lord rolled over in his deluxe sleeping bag and called to Clem, already on
the rise. "May as well check on those two. That cage they got locked up in
probably wasn't much to their liking."
Clem straightened his denims as he heard his leader's voice and turning to
him said with red-neck jollity, "Boss I reckon that the cage they were locked up
in was the least of their worries."
"Suppose you do have a point there. Get them up anyway, and get the others,
too. No point in any of them eating. Just get them up now." Lord felt the hour
perhaps too early for any of Clem's home-spun witticisms.
Weak rays of sun appeared over the horizon. Already the heat of the newborn
day was making itself known. The earth itself seemed to radiate warmth. From
behind the hanger, shouts were heard and then the rustling of the beleaguered
members, many of whom still wore their costume regalia from the previous day's
planned shoot.
"Here come what remains of the Roman army."
Small cries were heard from just inside the hanger itself and soon appeared
two naked women. They hobbled on bruised ankles, their bodies clear signs of
abuse from the previous day. The tall one, the one called Candi, lurched
forward and stumbled. Her once perfect skin now marked by the many stings and
hurts inflicted. She stumbled forward favoring her right side. Dense dark
discolorization, her swollen right breast with a blackened fragment of tin foil
tape encrusted to her skin, her hanging right arm all offered testimony that she
did not enjoy the most pleasant of nights. The midnight-purple cropped hair of
her shorter friend, Susan, bobbed alongside as both were shoved toward the
remaining campfire.
Lord arose to his feet as he saw the mock soldiers and the battered women
approach. His eyes narrowed in the growing light and focused on the one male of
their group that was not wearing a costume.
"Hey, Director! You in the snazzy polo shirt. Come here, we need to talk."
Allan Smithey heard the call and shuffled over to where Lord stood tall
before him.
"What's your name, boy?"
"Allan Smithey, sir."
"Good. Well, Allan I know you had your heart set on making a movie out here
and just looking at the gear you brought, Lord is here to tell you that today,
my young friend, you will not be disappointed!"
Smithey didn't bother looking up, but merely hung his bare head and said,
"Thank you sir."
Master Briefs had been eavesdropping on the conversation. Having partially
recovered from his earlier groin injury, the attorney marshaled his remaining
dignity. Though he too had spent the night in lock-up with the others, he knew
that being a master of one's domain also carried with it certain privileged
responsibilities. With this in mind, he decided to once more speak up and boldly
said, "Don't listen to him Smithey." Looking at Lord directly, he mustered more
strength and said, "Look. Obviously, you lead this band of renegades. Surely,
we can work something out. I mean, you've had your fun, now let us all go."
Lord slowly turned his gaze from the cowering Smithey to the brazen attorney.
Casually, he looked up at the clearing sky that was steadily getting brighter,
then looked back at the Roman-attired lawyer turned hostage negotiator.
Silently, he narrowly stared at the costume dress.
Master Breifs blinked, faltered, then said, "Okay...Okay. Look: keep the
girls, but let the rest of us go. Agreed?"
Lord looked down at his boot toe and lightly kicked a dirt clod away, as if
seriously considering the demands. He then stretched his arms up high, arched
his back and took a deep swallow before saying, "Friend, what handle do you go
by?"
Bemused, the lawyer hesitated and then said, "Master Briefs. Because I'm an
attorney, you see. Get it?"
Lord casually spat down to the hard-packed ground before him. "Oh. That's
cute."
Clem called out from hanger #1 to Lord and the other bunch. "Hey! They's
got an airplane in here!"
Lord looked at the anxious members, turned to the silver-haired one and said,
"Are you the owner?"
"Yes. I mean, yes Sir!"
"Does it fly?"
"It got us here, didn't it?"
"That's not what I asked. Tell you what,... Smithey?"
Smithey looked up on hearing his name called and tried to smile, eager to
appease his new producer.
"Get your cameras out here. Set them up in a circle like before. You're
going to run the custom-made switcher of yours. And that VTR unit? Does it need
protection from the sun?"
"Yyyyes...Sir!"
"Then we'll get it some shade. In the meantime, get that plane out of
there." Lord walked over and laid a strong grip on the silver-haired plane
owner's shoulder and said, "Today's a good day for flying, right?" Lord's smile
didn't leave room for any other answer. "That thing have parachutes in it?"
The plane's owner and pilot nodded indicating with his fingers that it had
four.
"Great! Smithey, we are going to add some sports-'chuting to your little
movie. I need three volunteers...You, you and you."
"Hey, what about me?" Master Briefs said in protest.
Lord looked at him and his thin lips cruelly twisted and said, "Oh, we need
you here with us on the ground, counselor."
Randy, a member of Airborne in Viet-nam volunteered from Lord's ranks to be
jump-master. Lord gave final directions to those he selected to be jumping and
said , "Keep your cute little costumes on, but Randy make sure after they get
their harnesses on that they have removed their underwear AND sandals."
The selected three, plus Randy joined the pilot. The others watched as the
old Lockheed taxied out and took off. Already, the morning sun had burned away
any morning clouds. Most could feel the perspiration building. Those already in
parachute harnesses sweated for reasons other than the morning air. All knew
that coming down they would be dreadfully exposed with just the short skirts.
Without any boots on there was little chance surviving even the best of landings
intact on the hard terrain, parachute or no.
Heat and fear combined to produce more cold sweat.
Once the lumbering craft was airborne, Lord looked back at Master Briefs and
said, "While Smithey is setting up his cameras out here, I want you to start
digging two deep holes, then get that old lumber from where you slept last
night." He strode away, leaving the once proud officer of the court to
contemplate this latest twist of fate.
Another magic moment in movie making transferred the once desolate WWII strip
and surrounding desert into a relative beehive of activity as Allen Smithey
dutifully yelled out "Action!"
"Boss! Look right above us," said Clem as he and the others craned their
necks skyward. Sure enough, one, then two, then three 'chutes appeared to open
as the propeller-driven plane soared high overhead. Looking up, Lord grabbed
his trusty pair of old 7X50 binoculars and focused them on the descending
parachutes. A fourth parachute opened as it left the aircraft, one he
recognized had to belong to Randy. Lord saw that his man was fully clothed,
while the earlier skydivers were wearing fanning costumes, and ...no briefs. It
had to be cold up there, he idly thought as the binoculars focused on twirling
bare legs and bottoms. Chilly, in fact.
Too high to be heard from on ground, the shot fired through the narrow cabin
and into the back of the pilot's seat mortally wounding the silver-haired plane
owner. Just as Lord watched Randy's successful egress from the plane, its left
wing dipped. Lord watched with grim satisfaction as the big metal bird turned
into the first of many flat spin revolutions.
Back on terra firma Master Brief's decision making powers remained intact..
Lord could only marvel at the man's cowardice and vanity. The lawyer had
readily forfeited the lives of the two girls for his own. Given the long odds of
Master Briefs actually being rescued while out wandering the desert, who in
their right mind would actually believe the story of some crazed man dressed for
Halloween in a Roman soldier's get-up?
Lord shrugged at the folly of it all and handed the hairy-legged attorney a
mallet and some nails. His plan was working. "Here's your gavel, counselor.
Now let's see what you can do with it. You be the Judge."
The unwilling divers from on high were getting closer to the ground. The
parachutes were not the commercial variety, but rather military issue, less
resistance to the wind, a faster trip to the ground. At least Randy was properly
attired for the hard landing that was to be, but then he happened to be on the
"right" team for this production.
"Nooo..." Susan moaned as her wrist was grabbed and she was thrown to the
ground. She would be the first. Candi could only stand mutely and watch as the
lawyer pinned one of her friend's arms along the crude beam. Other hands held
the nude girl in place, and once steadied, Master Briefs placed the first nail
in the middle of Susan's upturned wrist. The mallet fell, the girl cried out.
Blood spurted around the wrist as another blow forced the nail deeper. Susan's
thumb reflexively turned inward toward her palm. Her entire body writhed and
shone in the sun.
Candi grimaced and turned her head away. A third blow pounded flesh into wood.
Candi dared not to open her eyes but heard the fast rustling of the men as they
shifted position.
"Not bad, counselor," Lord sad in a slow drawl as he watched both the scene
near his boots and the action in the sky. "Seems as though you've had plenty of
experience nailing clients."
Master Brief's positioned himself and was about to pound the mallet to the
metal when the whole ground around them shook. All except Susan looked up at
the temblor. A huge fireball just over the horizon appeared.
"Well...that's one landing I don't think our pilot friend will be walking
away from," Lord said as the others waited to exhale in the excitement.
"Go ahead, counselor. You may continue."
Master Briefs looked down at his sweating victim. He chanced a look at her
face and the pain there made even he grimace. Driven by motives of
self-preservation, he lifted the heavy mallet high in the air, one more time.
It landed with a crash. He felt the nail penetrate. Rather than waste more
time thinking of the enormity of what it was that he was doing, Master Briefs
raised the mallet into the air again, and forcefully brought it crashing down.
He tried wiping his fingers free of the fresh blood that shot over them, but the
short soldier skirt he wore was not enough.
After the third blow, Lord spoke and said, "The butterfly is fully pinned to
that crossbeam. Now, the next one."
Master Briefs looked pleadingly up into the sun. Around Lord's head he could
see the approaching shapes of the dangling members.. He also saw the glint in
Lord's eyes that told him he better move, and fast. He grabbed Candi's weakened
right arm by the wrist and pulled her to the ground. With her, he took the time
to look over her body. Once beautiful, it was now an angry map of scratches and
bites. The girl's right flank was discolored in dark hues, the right breast with
the mangled duct tape purplish and swollen. Taking a large swallow that stuck in
his throat, Master Briefs placed the girl's right wrist on the rough wood and
pressed the tip of the rusty nail between the prominent veins. Raising the
mallet high above his head, he brought it crashing down.
She bucked as the nail was driven. Rivulets of sweat pooled into her deep
navel and streamed between her legs and along her long arms. Another blow
rocked her as she lay. Candi's screams pleaded for mercy. A thickness in her
arm, starting at the abraised wrist where the nail was being pounded flooded her
body. Senseless until that very moment, all of Candi's nerve endings seemed to
reawaken with agony.
Lord swiveled at the male cry, then heard the crunch, then the silence. The
first of the jumpers was landing. Tough break to land on the hard macadam. The
silk parachute behind him fluttered like so many crushed vertebrae of the man's
spine. Another scream was heard as the second one landed nearby. Lord had to
wince as he heard what must be the man's two legs being broken in the fall -
that had to hurt.
There was now so much to see and do. Lord looked at Smithey sweating over his
custom-made board. "You getting all of this, Smithey?"
Dark pools stained his now dirty polo shirt, but the young director looked
up, forced a smile and gave Lord a thumb's up to indicate that all was
faithfully being recorded. He readjusted the brim on his ball cap, looked back
down at the monitor and T-bar on his custom switcher. Who needed special effects
with this much action going on?
"Excellent," Lord said and slowly looked up at the crucified females. Their
bloody toes were just about eye-level with him when he nodded to Master Briefs
and said, "Looks like your jobs are done, counselor. Depending on how you look
at it, you are either now on the clock or off of it."
Master Briefs nodded with a foolish grin and tried to hide his sticky
fingers.
Lord slowly rubbed his jaw-line and considered the wretched legal beagle.
"So, I am a man of my word. You can go now. Go ahead, take off!"
Without hesitating a second more, Master Briefs turned and ran barefoot away,
his short Roman army skirt swishing behind him.
Susan coughed, then gasped, then slowly pressed down on her nailed feet and
raised her body painfully up the cross. At the apex of her ascent, she sucked
in air. Her strength gave and she slid back down, supported by her extended
arms and the nails piercing her tiny wrists.
A howling noise was made and heads looked up. The last of the third members,
the most portly was descending and fast. It seemed as though he was going to
land right on top of them. As he fell from the sky, he flashed down in front of
Candi's crucified form but his focus was not on her. He landed with a crash and
moaned in agony.
His parachute draped over Candi's left arm and crossbeam. She shrieked as the
tension jerked her body and the whole cross. The full nipple, dark areola and
shining plastic boob jiggled as the silk caught on the wood.
Lord issued immediate orders. "Get the thing off of her cross, and put this
poor, fat slob out of his misery."
"Boss, Randy just landed and he's okay."
"Of course he is, Clem. Now get everybody and let's head out of this place.
Smithey, you've got your tape. Sell it if you can. There's got to be a market
for it somewhere out there."
Smithey started to protest and said, "But.... you just can't leave me out
here by myself!!!"
Lord turned back when he heard the protest and said, "Oh but we can, Smithey,
that we can."
Epilogue
Smithey looked up at the crucified girls and the other carnage that encircled
him. He then looked down at the dusty cross-trainers. At least, he was better
dressed for the desert than that lawyer, he thought. Potential buyers excited.
He had contacts. Certainly someone would know someone...
For all of the hassles, this could all be really serious money. Smithey smiled
at the thought.
Before making that pitch, however, there was something yet to do. He had to
strike the set.
