She had spent the whole afternoon driving. From narrow roads to narrow roads. From one path to another.
Sometimes stopping in front of an old household, a stony track, an underwood.
She then stepped out of the car, an old barely repaired VW Beetle, repainted in an aggressive pink color (an error made by the garage, that she recurrently rumbled about), grabbed her digital camera on the passenger’s seat, and shot picture after picture.
A strange behavior that had people turn over. When some were around. Part of a wall, dirty rough coats, bark of a tree..
“Patterns”…
Agnes drew to illustrate her stories.

Computer generated images that required such “patterns” to give life to the 3D models she created.
She had undertaken a short trip in this area she barely knew, and that she wanted to be the background of a story she had planned to write.

For a few days already, she had travelled the countryside, crossed hills and garrigues.

She had followed up this small road running along an irrigation canal.

Agnès didn't pay attention to the driving. Her eyes ferretted about, from left to right, searching The Pattern.

The strange equipage that emerged from the little bridge spanning the canal, surprised her totally. Agnès jammed on the brakes and the little car stopped grating very close to the young woman harnessed to the sulky.

She was collapsed on the rugged asphalt. She was panting and her dispropornionate breast raised, dropped down to the rythm of her jeerky breathing. Sometimes a groan burst from her mouth, cruelly torn by a bit.

Staggerred, Agnès got out of the car, came up to the kneeling woman.

At every step, she discovered new details: the muzzle grabbing the young woman's head; the savagely held corset; the wrists tied back and hung on a wide leather collar; the high hobnailed boots.

And the rings ! The two of them piercing the nipples, linked to the bit by chains, most probably were used to lead the girl, pulling her enormous breast. Draught animal reins like.

And the ring crossing the genitals, clipped to the sulky.

And ...

Agnès knelt down, removed the clip, found the stake ploughing the young woman's womb, the brand marcks on the pubes and the buttocks. The scars of crop on the body.

"I can't believe it!!! Who do that to you ?"

The stories that Agnès wrote was ...spicy, erotic, with a BDSM leanings. She had a vivid imagination but now !

That was beyond all understanding !

She helped up the woman and began to untie her.

It was one surprise after another. The amazement became dismay. Then revolt.

And anger when she removed the muzzle. The poor girl's teeth were been extracted.

And her tongue chopped. The reason why she couldn't answer.

"That can't be true. That can't be true !" Agnès kept saying the same thing.

" What about your hands ! They are paralyzed ... We need to call the police ...

But at first, I must dress you. I probably have some clean clothes in my suitcase"

"Oh... My God, what a plug !"

« hon hon ng ahi » the martyred young woman moaned and cried.

I can't understand nothing, it's awful. Not now, the police. At home we shall find the way to understand you.

Agnès dressed the poor girl.

"You are bathed in sweat, sweetie" She slipped slowly the short skirt along the young woman thighs, scared with cruel welts.

A strange felling of turmoil overcame her. Memories of old affair came back.

Agnès reprimanded and began to button the blouse.

"The fabric is lightly elastic... OK it's buttoned...You're not looking very elegant but you need a very very large breast size.

Come in. Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you"

At home, Agnès washed first the poor girl.

In the bathroom she saw that no humiliations had been spared her. They didn't only cut and pull out any possibility of communication; they had deformed grotesquely her young breast; they had branded her, they had numbered her; they had pierced her with steel rings; but they had sheared her too.

While Agnès removed the heavy rings ( except the one piercing the woman's intimate labias), he unfortunate victim, naked, just veiled in a innocente shamelessness, was purring.

She gave a start when a ring was torn out, sometimes with difficulty, but she stared her benefactress, smiling with her empty mouth that seemed inordinately gaping.

It was in the living room where Agnès found a way to communicate. A laptop! She tied a silver jewel to the young woman's finger. This fingerstall, like a tiny splint, stiffened her index.

With difficulty first, clumsily, Julie tapped her firstname.

Next, quite easily (if I can say that) she wrote some words.

And short sentences. Longer and longer.

Agnès learnt all.

The abduction and the slaughter.

The drugs and the "animalization".

The training and the sexual abuse.

And the flight.

Julie wanted to describe all, to tell all.

The silver fingerstall run on the keyboard with a nice lively noise sharing the living room silence between the fire creaks and the women breath.

Agnès slept lightly this night.

Julie didn't want to sleep alone in the large room of the first stair and now she was resting, snuggled up to Agnès.

It is the end of this tragic story. An happy end.

The next day the police was called, the torturers arrested.

There was a long and spectacular trial. Julie was not the one victim. Alas !

Julie met again her young husband. He turned her away with pity but with disgust so.

Since this time, Julie had very good teatment.

With the stop of drugs her body has recovered ordinary proportions.

Her hair are growing again and nice ceramic teeth give a lovely smile.

Unfortunately she hasn't recovered her speech but a great surgeon has succeeded in healing her hands, her fingers.

She has learnt the language of dumbs. Agnès so.

And now, her hands are like two light butterflies twirling around when Julie and Agnès are walking together along a steet; when Julie and Agnès are seated at the terrace of a "café"...

Because now, Julie and Agnès are living together.

THE END

( achevied on september 2005 )