Storyteller's Notes: Thank you very much for your reviews. I greatly appreciate the time you are giving to read the story and write the reviews. I tried to make the chapters longer, hope now you'll find the length to your liking.

Note of caution now. This chapter contains a development that may offend some readers' sensitivity. No offence intended. As ever I tried to be true to my perception of realism in the given situation - what could one do in such circumstances if it was the last thing one ever did without any other means of a lasting revenge while expecting to suffer some torturous death - so much I can say without giving the plot away.

Also, I wanted to track the change within Clarice Starling that later in the book lead her into the arms of Dr Lecter. I felt that there was not enough of Starling's and Dr Lecter's inner world exposed within the book to show their thoughts and reasons that eventually brought their lives together.

Having said that, I hope you'll enjoy the story and give me your support.

CE

Disclaimer: as in the first part as it is a continuation of the story...

story continues…

"Hello ex-agent Starling," Krendler said, and, when Starling regarded him with silence, went on in his kindest voice. "You blew it, Starling. You should've accepted the offer when you had a chance and your cornpone country pussy would've had much more enjoyable time."

I should've shot the son of a bitch, when I had a chance…, in that damn room on the seventh floor…

"Now you'll gobble up everything that's coming to you and that smart mouth of yours," Krendler paused to reflect if he should store the last phrase for future use and regretted that it would be out of context anywhere else. He remembered another one.

Krendler leaned over Starling, brought his face close to hers. "You're old to still be fucking your daddy, even for Southern white trash." He waited for her reaction. Starling just looked on, her mouth stiffened into a line. When her body recoiled at his touch, Krendler loved every minute of his feat. With his left hand fondling Starling's breast, Krendler moved his thumb over her tightened lips, pushed through to the clenched teeth and grinned towards Dr Lecter, "Have you got a good view, Lecter? This is the nearest you ever get to fucking former Special Agent Starling."

"Did you say, Doctor: Like the old times? Quite right, too." Mason Verger wished he could rub his hands in delight. "Can you smell your old cell? Because that is all you'll be able to do - smell, watch and dribble..."

"I must commend you on your self-observation, Mason. The solitude enhanced your analytical skills. Do not dwell on it, though, if you work hard, you might make a second grade." Lecter said.

"Oh, you will appreciate my efforts, Doctor." Mason let the flash of anger die while he waited for the breath. "It's well worth a wait."

Krendler's hands moved down to Starling's inner thighs, pushing her knees apart. He bent down to look into the opening and whistled. "You never had it so good, Starling"

"All good things to those who wait, Clarice," said Lecter, reverberating 'wait', his eye sparkling.

"Do tell the Doctor how she fucks, Paul." Mason said.

Starling felt the penetration like someone plunged fingers into a fresh gunshot wound. She didn't look away. Frost in her eyes.

Teach us to care and not to care. Teach us to be still.

She felt Krendler's breath getting heavy and strained, his stomach tensing, his hands bruising her breasts, groping her thighs and buttocks. He withdrew and she felt a searing pain shot through into her back as he entered again.

Krendler, pleased with his self-control, bared his teeth and drooled, "Sweet, fucking sweet, but I can tell you, Lecter, her cunt is better still, a dream of a cunt, guess, you'll never know. Wish you were here, Lecter?" Krendler grabbed Starling's waist and switched over again. "How selfish of you, Starling, to keep this cunt to yourself... "

Sensing the culmination of his efforts, looking directly into his eyes, Starling said loud and clear, lips quivering, "Cocksucking faggot."

Krendler choked and, robbed of his moment of triumph, came around to Starling's side, pulled her head to his gleaming cock, ejaculating.

"I have big plans for this smart mouth, open it,... bitch, I'll make you swallow. You'll fucking eat your words, Starling."

She did not flinch as she tasted his semen but her stomach turned. Still looking directly at Krendler, she launched herself as far up as the restrains allowed and closed her teeth around his shrinking penis, engulfing good three quarters of it.

An awful scream cut through the stunned silence. Krendler, bewildered, in shock, left hand still holding Starling's hair, brought a hard punch down her face. As her head reeled towards Dr Lecter, the same way went a large chunk of Krendler's pride and joy, still in Starling's mouth.

Struggling with the taste of blood, semen and flesh, Starling was grinding her mouthful until she could not hold any more and was sick. The sorry pulp of flesh fell in front of Dr Lecter, causing sparks of exhilaration in his eye.

"At last, a progress, Clarice, this drumbeating tattoo was becoming tedious."

She did not look, her face now drained and tired. She just said, "Shut up," and turned away, wishing she could wipe away along with the blood and semen the repulsion she felt this moment for herself.

Krendler dropped to his knees, screaming high-pitched cries, both hands grabbing the remains of his manhood, blood oozing through his fingers.

"Consider it as a little keep-sake, Mr Krendler." Blood from Starling's split eyebrow was seeping over her eye, crushed cheek muffled and strained her speech. "Next time you look at the "cornpone country pussy", sir, and clutch your sad little stump remember the day you sold out, was it worth it?" Starling licked her lips and again revulsion distorted her aching face, she was sick again. "Do not despair, Deputy Assistant Inspector General Krendler, all is not lost, sir, you can always resort to sodomy. This time, I believe, you'll be on the receiving end..."

Starling had some time to ponder the dark satisfaction she felt when she said it before her head swelled with pain and she lost consciousness. Watching her clenched fists relax and her body go limp Dr Lecter filed away the sight of her, naked, smelling of blood, semen and fury, fierce and vulnerable...

"You bitch!" Krendler was rolling on the ground spitting pain and rage.

Fucking idiot, Mason contemplated whether Krendler was an asset or a liability, perhaps, I should cut my losses with this investment and feed the son of a bitch to the pigs?

He watched Krendler, squirming on the barn floor, howling. "You, fucking bitch!" If Mason Verger had a face, it would display an utter contempt for the budding politician. It's tempting, but after this and the video I'll have a total control over the faggot. The possibilities... the entertainment...

"Moving on," Mason said. "Cordell, see to Mr Krendler's bleeding."

Krendler twisted his face to Mason Verger, perched in the wheelchair at the bottom row of the seating. "I want to watch... the fucking bitch die," more howls as Carlo and Tommaso dragged him to the tack room where Cordell was waiting with a temporary bandage. "I want, ar-r, fuck... be here... watch... when the witch wails and begs..."

"You're an idiot, Krendler. You couldn't just fuck her, you had to indulge." Mason said.

"That is the company you keep, Mason. Rude and idle. What does it say about you, hmm?" Dr Lector offered his observations.

"I am glad, Doctor," Mason waited for a breath pump, "you are amused. I wouldn't like to insult you with boredom. Hence, our dinner appointment is only postponed. You'll have your turn at the table," he chuckled, "after we watched agent Starling here to dance for her daddy with the pigs." The prospect had a calming effect on Mason.

"Cordell, get Mr Krendler on the helicopter, make the arrangements for him to be seen to without delay." Cordell was starting the van when Mason said, "You have until tomorrow afternoon, Krendler." Mason closed his eye, calculating the timing, said, "We'll have a long menu to get though."

"In a meantime," Mason turned to Dr Lecter as Krendler's cries and curses dissolved into the night, "we'll have some more fun with Ms Starling. After all, she is to blame for the interruption in our carefully crafted plans." Mason reflected on the situation while machine hissed over the fallen silence. "On the other hand, it seems to follow the script perfectly. First, she gets her punishment and then, Dr Lecter, I'll present you with a little tableau I have arranged for you. You will love it, Doctor."

Nobody, except Lecter, has noticed a silent flexing mass shouldering each other in the dark outside the Dutch gate. Attracted by Krendler's cries, the beasts hurried from the woods, their little eyes gleaming with anticipation.

Under the barn ceiling there is a single railway for transportation of heavy loads. It has a pneumatic crane with a hook. Clarice Starling is hooked up to the crane by the cuffs on her wrists, her shackled ankles are chained to the farrier's anvil on the dirt floor underneath to prevent swaying.

She is raised high enough for Dr Lecter to see her face even as she drifts off and her head rolls onto her chest. His good eye never leaves her face.

She is being flogged, using Mason Verger's description. His prior thorough research provided Mason with the amount of lashes it's believed Jesus received before his crucifixion. Unfortunately, the cart-whip is not authentic Roman flagellum, but Mason is satisfied that'll do.

Clarice Starling is now half way through the punishment the procurator Mason Verger had sentenced her to. He gave her an option to appeal as long as she would kneel before him, admit her sins and beg for forgiveness.

"Fuck you," she replied.

She drifts in and out of consciousness. When she drifts out, she may see herself alone in a desert, the sun and sand burning her skin and breath. Or, her body may seek a relief in a soothing run of cool water and a refreshing breeze at a lakeside. Or, perhaps, she just feels the water, they hose her with to bring her back from her temporary respite. When she regains reality, her brain explodes with pain as the lash lacerates her skin or falls across an open wound. She then bites into her shoulder to capture her escaping cries.

When reality stays a dash too long to be endured, Starling bites into her mind to draw out an ultimately more insufferable pain – she questions the essence of her being. What has she done to deserve this? Abandoned by her side, surrendered to the enemy, sold out to serve as a tool in this ugly game of twisted revenge. The white-hot spire is piercing through her heart, burning a hole in the essence of Clarice Starling – her sense of right and wrong, the only link she finds the strongest to the memory of her parents. She is disarmed, exposed and behind the enemy lines – her sense of right and wrong is at a conflict with the morality of the world she swore to give her life to. This conflict is intolerable to the flesh of her mind. It drains her, overwhelms her, drives her insane. That is when Dr Lecter observes the pain of Starling's mind twisting her face, clenching her bloodless fists, gritting her teeth and letting out one long primeval scream she never hears.

Just before drifting off again Starling wonders if she should welcome the insanity...

to be continued…

Thank you for your time. As ever I'd appreciate your reviews.

CE