Candles flicker, a cat watches, instinctively senses the Hell's ambience this medieval age.

Each body part had one there: arm pits; breasts, specifically each nipple; and finally the secret place is not forbidden, the nether region.

For a woman in particular, crawled upon and sucked upon is horrifyingly beyond imagination. Wriggly little terrors.

A bit of blood ran on the skin.

Mentally blood ran black, from deepest recesses that feeling that rises, refusing to go away, one that cannot, must not be named, lest the mind crack.

From the skin the brain is told of the assault - tiny biting sensations in those areas, could be only teeth. Told there was a moistness, her blood running – wished and prayed her mind had cracked already for it not to try to make sense of the sensations!

Moving! Moving upon her body. The wriggling! Felt as it were ran deeper, to befoul what lay below the skin, bad enough felt like her skin would crawl off the very flesh.

A beheading was bliss eternal by comparison.

Screaming, how could she not? Pleads and denials are merely brief respite. Muscles react and make her squirm.

Just let me flee!

Restraints lash her firm to the wooden board. Not dragged into some deep, dark castle or court of a 'good' liege. Torturers arrived to her abode, good as any chamber.

A specialized cruelty for the fair sex, preying on mental aversion. Times of the dark ages.

Her struggle reflects upon the feline's eyes.

Screams, her screams are the most genuine. Blood curdling. Pierce men's souls and disturb the dead, for that the torturers pry her mouth apart, bringing one more herald of nightmares, a leech, toward her tongue…