A peccato meo munda me [Blot out my transgressions] - 4/4
“You’ve been judged guilty of sodomy: the punishment is the Pear of Anguish for the monk and the Judas Cradle for the villager,” the judge declares, gesturing the torturers to lead the culprit to the chambers.
The trial has just taken place, but Pete and Patrick’s fate was already doomed, they didn’t have too many hopes to be left free. Also, they were caught sinning.
“Oh, no, the Pear no! Spare us, I beg you!” Patrick pleads, fat tears running down his flushed cheeks, “Leave me, leave me, oh God!” Patrick cries out, jerking in an hopeless attempt to free himself from the grip of his soon-to-be torturers.
“Patrick! Leave him alone, you bastards!” Pete shouts with fury, fighting his way to help Patrick and run away, but he’s held as well by other people, both guys forced to go in the chambers and face their destiny. They fight, as much as they can, to free themselves, but the two guys are surrounded by guards and their run would be immediately foiled.
A couple of torturers are preparing the necessary: there’s a table in the middle of the room, with some chains scattered at its feet; a bulk torturer checks if the pear-shaped instrument works, if the petals separates without any problem, while the second torturer pushes a rather tall stool, with a pyramid at the top, in front of the table.
Patrick is dragged in the chamber first and bodily put on the table, securing a posture on all fours with the chains; Pete is in a corner, blocked by some guards and forced to look at the futile attempts of Patrick to escape from his jailers.
The torturer tears Patrick’s robe off and the poor guy starts sobbing uncontrollably, begging forgiveness and grace, praying for his and Pete’s safety.
“I heard the younger one liked to take it up the ass,” an ugly monk, who looks like a sick rat, snickers, whispering in another monk’s ear but loud enough for Pete to hear it.
“You sick insensible fucker!” the tanned guy screams, trying to throw himself at the tactless and gossipy monk; Pete wants to kill him with his own bare hands, but he can’t undo the ropes around his wrists and the guards are holding him back. Patrick looks at him, crying incessantly, mouthing a ‘Love you’ before shuddering when the torturer gently moves his legs more apart.
Surprisingly carefully, but it’s just to make the victim feel the evil thing enter inside his body, the torturer inserts the pointed tip of the still closed pear. It’s uncomfortable but quite bearable at the moment, Patrick thinks in a short moment of hope and relief; he doesn’t want to imagine the incredible pain he’ll have to suffer because of that damned tool. He’s totally defenseless, tied at the table and with that thing in the bottom he can only cry silently, closing his eyes not to see the others’ expression at the show they’re going to witness soon, but above all he doesn’t want to see Pete’s torn look: that would be a torture enough.
Giving Patrick some time to get used to it, the torturer stares at Pete somewhat hungrily, sadistically looking forward for the guy’s reaction at the little monk’s pained screams.
The second torturer leads the dark haired guy to the pyramid. After undressing the young man, the torturer fastens his victim with tight ropes crossing his chest and waist, and ties very close together the guy’s ankles with another rope; securing the long parts of the ropes to nails on the walls, he puts Pete up the pyramid , making sure that the top of the pyramid is inserted in his victim’s anus.
Pete winces at the invasive and sharp top of the pyramid. He can’t sit more comfortably, it’s physically impossible; he tries tightening every muscle of the legs, but it soon tires him, being him on the little top of the pyramid with his whole body in an unbalanced position. He has to be strong for Patrick and not to let those mischievous bastards have their way.
“Patrick,” he whispers, turning his face to the boy with minimal movements not to increase his own pain, “Patrick, can you hear me?”
The boy simply nods, with his eyes still closed and facing the table: he doesn’t want to look up at Pete on that evil stool.
“I love you too,” Pete states, feeling the salty flavor of a tear that has reached the corner of his mouth. Patrick whimpers harder.
“Let’s get it over with,” the vile gossipy monk of before hurries in a harsh tone.
The torturer who placed Pete on the pyramid structure stands aside, while the bigger one steps closer to Patrick, takes the screw with a hand and the pear with the other and, at a gesture of the judge, he starts pushing the Pear of Anguish more in depth, turning the screw to slowly open the Pear, causing a fit of cry from Patrick’s side and the outraged shouts of Pete.
Patrick tries to be strong, but the pain caused by the bottom of the pear, too big for a butt hole, is agonizing, the feeling of the skin tearing more apart to let the damned tool open inside is piercing; the young monk cries and shouts and screams all his unbearable pain and blinding hatred for his judges, accusing them of not understanding love, of being total hypocrites, of interpreting God’s will at their own liking. Pete cries with him and for him, screaming insults at the judges along with Patrick, trying to bear the torture stool he’s sitting on all at once.
The red headed boy chokes on his own spit while screaming, ending in a fit of coughs before fainting for the pain and the shock.
“Patrick! Patrick!” a crying and panicky Pete calls desperately for his young lover, fearing the worst.
The judge nods to stop, before leaving the chamber. The torturer stops screwing the Pear: he was so close to tear skin and muscles all the way and mutilate his victim.
Everybody exits the room, leaving a fainted Patrick chained on the table, bleeding from his larger anus, and a screaming Pete on top of the Cradle.
---
It’s only the day after that the guys are freed from their torture devices, dirty, sweaty, dried blood and tears still on their bodies. Pete doesn’t even have the strength to fight the men that are taking him off the pyramid, he’s shouted too much for the past twenty hours; Patrick tries to shy away from the hands that are grabbing him to make him stand up, a choked scream stuck in his throat.
The guys are dragged upstairs, an armful of tattered clothes that they wear quickly before exiting the building, the shame and the rage for how they’ve been treated visible in their red puffed eyes and hard stare. They’re manhandled, without too many ceremonies, out the wooden door.
The tortures that affected their bottoms has left them limping, hopefully for not too long; Pete has to help Patrick walking, because the little monk is the one who suffered the most, the one who’s crying silently feeling mortified and betrayed by God. They slowly make it back to Pete’s house, packing the guy’s little owning and stealing his father’s oxcart.
“What are we going to do now, Pete?” Patrick asks with a broken voice, sitting askew on the hard bench, looking at the young man with teary eyes.
“Survive,” Pete replies, kissing softly the monk’s temple and inciting the ox, heading quickly out of the village and into an unsure future in a bigoted society.