Author Topic: A Colonial Trial  (Read 1246 times)

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August 16, 2017, 04:56:42 PM

Offline SoftGameHunter

WARNING!    You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex. This story is all fiction and no characters in it are meant to resemble any real person. That’s the legal part. Here’s the important part to me. This is fantasy, by the author, to be shared with readers who share in such fantasies. That is the story’s sole purpose for being here. In the real world, this sort of behavior is simply not acceptable, period, by any of the laws or morals of any humane people. That means you too. If you actually hurt someone without their informed consent, just stop. Take a deep breath and stop right now. That’s not your right. A surprising number of subs exist out there, so take the time to meet one and make your corner of the world a better place. Don’t trash two lives letting your frustrations get the better of you.


A Colonial Trial

Sarah sat awkwardly on the floor of the ice house. They’d given her a blanket, but the building was well-built, and very cold even in the summer season. The floor’s chill sucked the warmth from her bottom and her feet as she sat leaning against a wall, shivering in the darkness, waiting their return for her. It was her trial day.

Both light and sound suddenly flooded in as the thick door opened from the outside. Sarah looked up the stairs to see a contingent of townsfolk sent to fetch her, and she could hear the crowd behind them. “Up, Sarah Miller,” Joshua Glendon ordered her. “You shall go to your trial now.” Sarah knew better than to argue or resist him or anyone else. These people were all she knew, unpleasant as she found most of them. She longed to live in a large city, across the ocean, or even in Boston or New York. But such was not to be. She stood and walked on unsteady legs up the stairs.

The heat of the day hit her hard. After shivering for more than half a day in the dark, the crashing return of heat and light gave her an instant headache and her belly grew queasy at once. She stumbled and slowed, but was shoved rudely forward. Joshua’s hands were not unkind, but they were firm and strong nonetheless. They marched her to the center of the town. She saw as they approached that the public trial would be held not in the church but rather in the square. Many were gathered, some not even from her town. She was attracting outsiders’ attention.

At the center square she saw they had quickly assembled a makeshift courtroom. There was a judge’s bench, two tables with chair, and two punishments. Behind the judge, on her right, was a hangman’s noose and gallows. On her left was a set of wooden stocks. She would either dangle or she would stand with her limbs constricted, but one or the other would be her fate. She had no illusions of freedom and justice.

“The trial begins!” Joshua announced loudly, his voice reaching the entire crowd. “His most honorable magistrate Thomas Sinclair shall preside over these affairs today. For the community argues the honorable Reverend Osborne Climewater. The accused is Sarah Miller, aged twenty years, with the honorable Cadwallader Goodeman arguing for her behalf.”

“Counsels and the accuses shall be seated,” Sinclair said as he took his seat. “State the charges.”

“Sarah Miller stands accused of fornication, adultery, witchcraft, blasphemy, and theft!” Joshua announced loudly.

“The plea?”

“Innocent, your honor,” Goodeman said.

“We begin with the charge of witchcraft, which is the most serious of all,” Sinclair said. “Mr. Climewater, please state the case.”

“Honorable and good court, the accused, the unmarried Miss Sarah Miller, while being caught committing the first two of the charges listed against her, responded with curses and language befitting only one who has consorted with the Devil himself. When she calmed down and realized her error, she sought to hide her guilt with more polite language, to misdirect our attention from her initial virtual admission of guilt!”

“If the court pleases,” Goodeman said, interjecting, “Angry language during a legal apprehension is no kind of evidence. Are we to repeat the Salemers’ folly in creative collection of evidence?”

“This is not Salem,” Sinclair said. “Be wise not to insult the town, good sir.” He turned down and scribbled a note on his pad before him. “The accused will have her body checked for signs of witchcraft. We shall proceed in these matters with grace and wisdom.”

“The community wishes this check to be carried out with all haste, sir,” Climewater said. “And only by a person or persons of such repute that no question of dishonesty can come from their report!”

“We do protest!” Goodeman yelled, rising from his seat. “Sarah Miller has spent her entire life mistrusted and put upon by this town for her unconventional personality and demeanor. What single person or small group can be trusted with such a task who would not be tempted to lie and to fabricate testimony indicating witch’s marks where none exist?”

“You yourself would be present at the examination,” Sinclair stated as the townsfolk grumbled loudly.

“And the court would grant me veto power over such testimony?” Goodeman asked, inciting further murmuring from the assembled audience.

“This I would of course protest!” Climewater yelled.

“The objections on all sides are noted and considered valid,” Sinclair stated. “The examination will be done in full public view!”

“What!” Sarah cried, jumping up from her own seat. “That can’t be!”

“The accused will remain silent or find herself wearing a scold’s bridle!” Sinclair roared at her. “Public examination, being the only acceptable policy in this instance, shall begin at once. The accused will stand on the gallows platform bereft of all clothing of any kind, and all male citizens of the community and those present will step past her, examining her for witch’s marks upon her body. The bailiff will escort her up!”

Joshua approached her. She stood trembling, her heart racing. This seemed impossible. “You must do this,” he said firmly.

“Am I to be shamed?” she cried, even as her feet carried her forward. “I am a virtuous woman!”

“Not according to the charges, you are not!” Climewater shot back.

“Your honor, I protest the presence of the noose during the examination,” Goodeman said. “Sarah Miller should not be forced to stand in such proximity to a punishment she is threatened with, nor should her image to the town include a noose hanging near her head to suggest guilt!”

“The noose will invoke sympathy!” Climewater retorted.

“Then both sides agree to remove it for now,” Sinclair said. “Bailiff, remove the rope from the gallows.”

Sarah continued up the steps as if in a dream, while the townsfolk shouted and cursed her. She stood only a few feet up from the ground, but it was enough to display her like a prized hog. She was relieved, though, when Joshua removed the noose.

“If you do not strip yourself naked, I will have to,” he told her. “It is not up for argument.”

Her mouth agape, and tears rolling from her eyes, Sarah began to undress. Her fingers fumbled, but she managed to unfasten everything, though some fabric tore during her attempt. Removing the outerwear was unsettling, but as the warm breeze began to flow over bare skin, she felt herself growing faint with shame and horror. So many eyes were looking at her. Boring into her. Locked on her most intimate regions.

“Your honor, please!” she wept as she was reduced to her last bits of underwear. “No man has seen me this way since I was a baby!”

“She is accused of fornication and adultery!” Climewater shouted.

“Accused, not convicted!” Goodeman shouted back.

“The community must be certain!”

“Now you are changing up your arguments!”

“Enough!” Sinclair shouted, banging his gavel. “Prosecution?”

“The accused was apprehended in a state of reduced dress,” Climewater stated smugly. “She cannot claim modesty in front of all men.”

“Defense?”

“Sarah was apprehended partially undressed, not fully,” Goodeman said. “She was at least as covered then as now. There is no evidence that any man has ever seen her bare bosom nor her pelvic regions.”

“The issue, though, is examination of her body for witch’s marks,” Sinclair said. “The accused will strip herself completely and totally naked or it will be done to her.”

“Please!” Sarah begged.

“Now, Miss Miller!” Sinclair barked. With shaking hands, Sarah pulled off the last of her clothing. She stood there, from hair to her toes, utterly bare. Joshua gathered up her clothing and carried it off to the judge’s bench for safekeeping.

“There will be no loitering. It takes little time to check her body for the marks. Every adult male present will circle one time around the accused and look for said marks on her body,” Sinclair announced. “The accused shall keep her arms raised above her head and her feet at least two feet spread apart. Do it, Miss Miller!”

Sobbing, Sarah raised her arms and spread her legs as the mass of townfolk approached. They were men she’d known all her life. Old men she’d called mister since she learned to talk. Young men she’d known attending the school house and church as a girl. And then there were the strangers, men from out of town. Sailors. Merchants. Visitors from other towns up and down the coast. All surged forward in order to circle her and get a good, close look at her naked body. It was a small gallows. They stood just feet away. Taller men could lean forward and practically taste her nether regions.

She closed her eyes to block out the sight, and to avoid eye contact. Tears ran freely from her eyes, and snot from her nose, as she stood shamed and inspected. There were hundreds of them, come to leer at her, and it took over a half hour to cycle through them, leaving Sarah spent and exhausted. At least fifty observers claimed to find a mark, stopping the line, but Sinclair at least rejected all of them as mere body variations and not witch’s marks.

“I petition the court to allow Sarah Miller to step off the gallows and put her clothing back on,” Goodeman said.

“Objection! She could be using her powers to hide her marks,” Climewater protested. “A witch has many tricks!”

“What do you propose?” Sinclair asked.

“She should remain unclothed at least for the duration of the trial, and preferably for the duration of her sentence!” he shouted. He pointed at her. “Right there, up where she can hide nothing from us!”

“Oh Lord!” Sarah cried.

“Calm down, counsel,” Sinclair said. “The accused shall remain undressed for the time being, but shall be allowed to rejoin her counsel at her table, seated.”

“Come with me,” Joshua said, holding out his hand. He guided her down the steps and back to her seat where she gratefully sat, though the feel of wood on her bare butt was disconcerting at the least.

“At present, the charge of witchcraft is not substantiated,” Sinclair said. In the absence of further evidence, the charge will eventually be dismissed. What of the charges of blasphemy?”

“She used unclean curses during her apprehension, your honor,” Climewater stated. “They are written here.”

“Approach and show me that document,” Sinclair said. He began reading. “Damn you all to hell. Rot in hell. God damn you. Your God is a bastard?” His eyebrow rose on the last item.

“Only after one of the constables told her, and I quote, ‘The God I know smites an adulteress. What about yours?’” Goodeman replied.

Sinclair nodded and continued. “I’ll see you all in hell. God will smite you. Rot in hell, again. And again.” He set the paper down. “Counsel, really?”

“All verified and uncontested,” Climewater replied.

“And irrelevant. I’ve heard worse dining at the tavern. The charge of blasphemy is dismissed. The charge of witchcraft will be dismissed unless a witch’s mark is found on Sarah Miller’s naked body during the time of her enforced nudity. That time will end either with her exoneration, or at the conclusion of whatever punishment she is sentenced to.”

Sarah gasped but kept her mouth shut. She knew she would never be exonerated. That meant time in the public stocks, naked, or being hung, naked.

“Moving on, there is the matter of adultery. But I see no name listed for who she is supposed to have fornicated with. Is this an error?”

“The, uh, male miscreant ran off into the night, your honor,” Climewater stated. “He was never identified. Miss Miller has refused all directives to provide that name.”

“Well I don’t wish to belabor that point forever. Sarah Miller, I am ordering you to provide the name of the man you were caught having unlawful sexual relations with,” Sinclair stated.

“I committed no breach, your honor,” she said.

“Stand up!” Sinclair barked. Sarah nervously stood, exposing herself once again to a larger crowd.

“I committed no breach, your honor,” she repeated.

“Your honor, I remind the court that Sarah was not found completely undressed. Her most private areas were still covered.”

“They could have already finished,” Climewater stated.

“I’ve never been with a man!” she cried.

“Stop, everyone. Stop!” Sinclair said. “Miss Miller, are you refusing my order to provide that name?”

“I’m saying nothing, your honor!” she sobbed.

“Then you are guilty, at least, of contempt of court. The charge of adultery is dropped, for lack of evidence that the man was married. But for contempt of court, you will spend one full calendar day in the stock provided.”

Sarah felt like she’d been hit by a raging bull. It knocked the breath out of her. She’d known it was coming, but now it was real. A day. At least one day and maybe more. Locked hand and foot in the stocks, stark naked, in public. Surrounded by people, men, women, small and vicious children even, looking at her naked, mocking her naked. Maybe even beating her naked.

“I request the court drop the charge of fornication!” Goodeman stated. “There is no way to prove Sarah Miller committed the crime or not!”

“She claims to be virginal!” Climewater shouted back. “I contend there is a clear way to check her claim, by the examination by touch of the inside of her vagina! And only the examination by the entire town can suffice for full honesty and integrity of the outcome!”

“No!” she screamed, starting to look around for a way to flee. It was all too much. Too nightmarish. Such a violation seemed impossible. Sinclair couldn’t really agree to it.

“Agreed,” Sinclair said. “Miss Miller will stand before this bench and make her vagina available for physical touch inside, by every adult male present here. She will keep her arms above her head to avoid interference, and she will keep her legs spread as before to provide good access.”

“Your honor, this is outrageous!” Goodeman said. “An overly zealous spectator is bound to take it upon himself to break her maidenhead and accuse her on that false evidence!”

Sinclair paused to consider Goodeman’s words. “I shall go first,” he finally said. “Then you, then Mr. Climewater, and then our bailiff Mr. Glendon. All in full view of one another. And then the males of the gallery will take their turns. But I assure anyone thinking of mischief that if I catch anyone breaking an intact maidenhead, I will have that person hung. Further, on withdrawing his fingers from Sarah Miller’s vagina, he shall show his fingers to the accused herself, and then to both counsels and to myself. Sarah Miller, you are ordered to keep your eyes open so that you might participate in this portion of your own defense. Failure to look at any man examining you will be treated as evidence of your guilt. Do you understand? Do you understand me?” he nearly shouted, as Sarah’s crying made her hesitate to answer.

Sarah walked as a zombie to the spot on the grass in front of the bench, facing the audience. She winced and wept as Sinclair pushed two fingers into her vagina while she had to stand there, arms raised and legs spread. He poked at her. She could feel him. Then he pulled out and showed her his fingers, clean of any blood. The two counsels were next, though Climewater scowled as he pushed almost too hard. She was by then thoroughly revolted by these old men, and Joshua’s fingers were the most humiliating to take, gentle though they were.

“The preliminary result is that the accused is virginal!” Sinclair announced. “We shall now have universal affirmation of this fact, and I remind everyone of my warnings against cheating!” For over an hour, Sarah stood unmoving but for her trembling as man after man stuck his fingers into her vagina. Long, short, thick, it didn’t matter. Some were even remarkably cold given the weather, but they went up into her all the same. She was a shaking wretch by the time it was done and she was allowed to be seated again.

“The charge of fornication is dropped, though the court does believe Sarah Miller intended to fornicate at the time of her arrest,” Sinclair said. “That brings us to theft. Mr. Climewater?”

“Your honor, the accused is of a very low reputation, and it is on record that the court believes she attempted adultery, which is a crime against man and God. There have been many unsolved thefts in our town.”

“Mr. Climewater, is that really your best argument?” Sinclair asked.

“The accused was arrested in a room above the gem cutter’s shop owned by Samuel Wilson, less than a day after Wilson reported a significant theft of cut and polished gems worth over one thousand pounds. Clearly the accused or her paramour had the opportunity and ability to enter that building without permission.”

“Irrelevant, your honor!” Goodeman interrupted. “Sarah Miller was searched, as was her domicile. No contraband was found!”

“She hid them well, or her partner did. I ask that Sarah Miller again be compelled to name her accomplice in fornication, under penalty of a year in the stocks if she again refuses!”

“This is very serious,” Sinclair said. “Sarah, under penalty of an additional four days in the stocks for refusal to answer, I direct you to name your accomplice at this time!”

“I, I, no!” she wept.

“The sentence of four additional days in the stocks is noted,” Sinclair said. “Continue.”

“Your honor, Miss Sarah Miller, already a fallen woman of ill repute, was not completely searched! These gemstones were small, and could easily be hidden in her anus! I want all willing volunteers in the audience right now to be allowed to visually and/or physically inspect the inside of her rectum, in public, for evidence that she hid the gems there!”

Sarah cried out loudly, unable to even form words. She sobbed again, sitting on the chair, shaking, weeping loudly, as hundreds of people pondered her lurid fate.

“Well, um, this is most unusual,” Sinclair muttered, looking taken aback for once.

“Justice, your honor, justice demands it!” Climewater shouted. He stood up and pointed to Sarah, sitting alone and weeping at her seat. “Is that creature, that fornicator and low-life to be allowed to steal from our community with impunity?” He was shaking and red-faced with seeming rage. “Shall we allow sluts and whores to rob us blind?”

“This is important,” Sinclair agreed. For the first time Sarah considered saying her partner’s name, just to end the spectacle. She was tempted. But watching the crowd turn on him, probably to rip him to shreds, was too much. She tried to pretend he couldn’t see her even then. “Very well. The accused, Sarah Miller, will be fitted with an anal speculum and bent over to allow visual examination of her anus. All adult males will make a visual inspection. All volunteers may also make a tactile inspection if they so wish. Recess is ordered while an anal speculum is obtained.”

“No need, your honor! I have one right here!” Climewater said with a wide grin.

“Indeed,” Sinclair said slowly. “What luck.”

“Judge, you can’t do this to me!” Sarah cried. “You just can’t do this! It’s just not right!”

“Be silent!” Sinclair roared. “I decide what’s right!”

“Then your decisions are as corrupt as this town!” she screamed.

“Enough! I order Sarah Miller to wear a scold’s bridle, except when she is called to testify, until the end of her sentence.”

“I have one with me, your honor,” Climewater said.

“Then fit it on the girl!” Sinclair snapped. “Lest we be subjected to any more outbursts!”

“I’ll do it,” Joshua said. “’Tis my duty.”

“Step aside, boy, I’ll do it myself!” Climewater snapped. “Hold her. Hold her still, damn you!”

Joshua was almost reluctant to hold her, but did so while Climewater fastened the metal head harness around her skull, forcing the steel bit into her mouth and over her tongue. The sharp spikes quickly convinced her to hold her tongue still or have it cut.

Then they bent her over and Climewater pushed the speculum into her anus. As he adjusted the screws, Sarah cried out incoherently as she felt the edges parting her hole wider and wider. Soon it hurt. Then it was excruciating, making her scream. And then, finally, it was done expanding.

“Very well, begin the inspection now,” Sinclair said loudly as the people surged forward. A reflecting mirror shone sunlight into her anus as man after man went past her to peer inside her bowels. Perhaps one in five stuck his fingers into her and roamed around her innards, seeking gems that weren’t there. A horrid hour later it was over. The speculum came out but the scold’s bridle remained as her only adornment.

“Very well. This court has heard enough. It is not proven that the accused is a thief. The charges of theft are dropped. The charge of witchcraft will remain open until five days have passed and Sarah Miller has completed her time in the stocks. Bailiff, secure the girl to the stocks!”

Sarah rose on rubbery legs as Joshua guided her to the newly-built framework. She was forced to stand with her legs parted wide. Her feet were almost three feet apart. She had to bend over and put her necks and wrists into holding holes that were locked down around her. She just stood there, staring through her tears at the spot on the ground that would be her view for the next five days. She just stood there, senses and wits dulled, wondering what had happened.

“Your honor, I request a guard be placed nearby to secure the accused honor against impure defilement!” Goodeman shouted over the crowd.

“Denied,” Sinclair said. “Let her own family look out for her interests.”

Sarah heard it all. Her own family, that was a laugh. Most refused to talk to her, and the rest used only epithets. In the hours left of the afternoon, the town square remained full and busy, with people surging all around her as she stood. It took about a half hour for the first projectile to hit her. A piece of rotten fruit, a tomato. She never saw her assailant, but his aim was good, striking one of her large, dangling breasts on her left side, setting her tit swaying for a few seconds.

But it was the coming darkness she feared most. There would be nothing to stop anyone from coming at her. From raping her. It was unstoppable at that point, she knew it.

Sometime well after dark it happened. She heard the footsteps behind her just seconds before she felt the hands on her hips and the unfamiliar, hot pressing of flesh to her crotch. She’d wanted so desperately for her first time to be with her chosen lover, and the worst bad luck in the world had derailed it. All afternoon she’d watched for some sign that her would-be lover was watching over her, protecting her perhaps. He was a strong and strong-willed man, but was it fair to expect him to do everything? To defy the whole might of the town? He had to play along and wait for time.

But now, unless that was him behind her, she would lose her virginity to some other man. The hot penis pushed its way into her. She gasped and shook. It felt good. It felt like what she’d wanted. But it was the wrong man. It was an anonymous man, mostly likely one who would rape her and walk away from her. She had no way to look behind her, nor could she even speak to ask him.

“Uh, uh,” he grunted, pounding at her womanhood. She cried, shamed and hurting. The bursting of her maidenhead was brief but intense, putting to lie all the examinations earlier. She was wet. It was actually mostly true. She was wanton. She was whorish, by the standards of her town. She just hadn’t had the chance to act it out yet. Now she just had to stand and take it, and her own wishes and actions mattered for nothing.

He finished the rape. It had lasted at least ten minutes, during which Sarah tried not to cry out lest she cut her tongue on the bridle. She felt hot fluids deep inside her. It should have been wonderful. But it was definitely gross, in its own way. She knew what it was, having one time and one time only given her lover an oral pleasuring. But this was different. It was supposed to be special. Well, maybe it was special for the guy behind her. Unless it was her lover playing games on her, which was possible. She pretended it was him. Pretended it was his strong hands on her and firm manhood in her.

She heard the sounds of him fixing his clothing. Was he going to walk away? It would be safer, or would it? Who would believe her if she reported being raped? Actually, everyone probably would. But no one would care. Not about her. Such was her standing.

But he walked around the stocks. She strained to see him as he came into view, but his face was in shadow with the moon behind him. She made a sound. Not a word, lest she move her tongue on the spikes, but a sound. An imploring sound. And he moved, and she caught his face.

Osborne Climewater himself stood over her, grinning down. He touched her cheek, as if to caress her. “Oh, the demands put upon the town reverend,” he said.

Sarah nearly cried out in relief. It was him at last. She hadn’t lost her virginity to a stranger after all!

“For a moment, I was afraid Tom really would put you in here for a year and a day,” he said. “Good thing cooler heads prevailed, huh? Not that you wouldn’t have looked cute in this contraption all winter long.” She tried to smile.

“Yeah, we fucked it up royally,” he said. “But I won’t abandon you. The next five days are going to be rough on you. I guess your fantasy of sex with many men will come true. But don’t worry about me. I’ll wait, and then we’ll leave this festering sewer behind us. Those gems, they’re really worth over three thousand pounds. We’ll be set up for a life of modest luxury, somewhere down in the West Indies I expect.” Sarah smiled again.

“You really were surprised today, weren’t you?” he asked, and she nodded. “Well, I know how you’ve talked. Try to pretend it was arranged. It kind of was. I’ll make sure the dirtier vagrants are kept off the square. But as I can’t afford to be seen here, I bid you good night, and good sex.” He leaned down to kiss her through the scold’s bridle and then was gone. Sarah sighed. It was going to be a long five days, but probably a worthwhile one.

August 17, 2017, 02:32:18 PM
Reply #1

Offline SoftGameHunter

Apparently this story needs to continue. Sure, why not? Let's see how things get a lot worse for Sarah.



Sarah stood, almost smiling, after Osborne left. He was right, of course. If he were seen having carnal relations with her, it would all probably unravel. Someone would search his home for the gems. And it wouldn’t help her in the slightest. She was just glad her virginity was lost to her lover, however short their acquaintance thus far.

Her joy was short-lived. The moonlight and otherwise quiet of the night told her well in advance that people were coming. They tried to be quiet. They tried to stay low. But they were raucous, rowdy, and probably drunk. Young men, not like her man, pushing forty. They were the other side of the putrid town, mindless hooligans and hobbledehoy apprentices of the shops. But they were coming for her.

The first one ran up out of the dark, from behind. He was breathing fast and fumbling at his trousers. Sarah made a noise of protest. Osborne had tried to lighten her mood, but the fact was her fantasy was simply to share a bed with many men the way a virtuous woman would with one, in a loving or at least a non-hateful manner. Not to be groped by three hundred men in public, and not to be raped anonymously in the public stocks. But there he was, and soon she felt his warm flesh at her somewhat cooler flesh, pressing hard, through the leftover man juice Osborne had left, and at once deep into her. She cried out instinctively. So soon after her first, and so rough, it hurt. And she didn’t want it. And she didn’t like being naked and displayed so lewdly. His thrusts made her start crying. She tried to wiggle away from him, but he just grabbed her hips. When she fought more, he suddenly landed a hard punch to her side abdomen. “Be still, witch!” he hissed in a loud whisper. He could have been anyone.

Soon enough he was done and scurrying off into the shadows. Sarah stood, lightly weeping, drool running from her mouth and nose. And she heard another approaching her. She let out a light wail now, realizing how fast and how many must have shown up. And she was soon proven right. Man after man came for her in the dark, approaching from behind, mostly saying nothing or speaking in whispers. Some just raping her, others hitting her. Some hitting more than fucking. A few chose to press their manhoods into her ass, taking Sarah by surprise and forcing such loud wails of pain from her lips that they acted nervous the whole time, as if the town would awaken and come rushing to her rescue.

The worst came shortly before the dawn. A man of strength of quiet came for her and rudely fucked her, shoving harder than he needed to into her sloppy hole. But he didn’t run off right away. He lingered, growling lightly under his breath, feeling her breasts as they dangled heavy and big from her chest. His fingers flicked over her nipples, which was almost nice if she weren’t so scared. But he also pinched. As he stood at her side, still completely out of her view aside from his feet, he had both hands on her right breast.

Suddenly she felt a sharp pain at the side of her breast. And then it exploded, and drove through her flesh, and another pain on the other side. She felt the sliding of metal along her left breast and as she screamed she realized he had shoved a sharp piece of thin metal clear through her breast, skewering her.

“Take it out!” she instinctively screamed. What came out of her mouth sounded like “Ak ih ow!” and she tasted blood as her tongue bled from the sharp spikes. She burst into more tears as the man walked away, leaving her pierced and bloodied.

And it wasn’t even dawn of the first morning yet! Sarah stood as slumped as she could be, weeping and wondering how she could survive five days. How would she sleep? How could she eat or drink? How would she not bleed to her death? She didn’t hear the next man until he was right on her, pressing his penis to her womanhood and slamming it in.

When the sun rose and the town came alive, they were greeting by the sight of Sarah Miller, age twenty, one of the most reviled women of the town for her ungodly ways, standing beaten, bloodied, and ruined at the stocks. A pool of spit and snot and blood had formed below her face, and the insides of her legs were running white, red, and brown. As Sarah made eye contact with her tormentors, some that had cheered loudest at her sentencing now looked blanched and uncomfortable. Women mostly. But other women looked the most triumphant of all. Children, her loudest hecklers the previous afternoon, mostly found her gross now, and stayed away.

Mid-morning, as Sarah stood mostly untouched and trying to fall asleep, two appointed constables strode up to her. They began to remove the scold’s bridle.

“It’s your lucky day, Sarah Miller, fornicator. The judge ordered this removed so you can eat and drink during your sentence.”

The other one held up a small piece of paper and read it aloud. “May the convicted beware that any abusive language of even the slightest vulgarity or disrespect at any time during her sentencing shall result in the replacing of the bridle except for the express purpose once per day of feeding and the giving of water to the convicted.”

He paused. “Do you know what that means?” he asked her. “Well, do you?”

“I know what it means,” Sarah answered gingerly, her tongue still hurting.

“Tell us.”

“I may not say anything unkind to anyone,” she answered, staring up at him. Somehow, this was worse. When she was speechless, she could remain in a way anonymous. Now they could make her talk, but that meant she had to engage with them, and act like she wasn’t naked and shamed while discussing points of law.

“Sure looks like she fornicated her brains out last night!” the other constable said as he circled around her, looking at her filthy, wretched body.

“I should say so,” he agreed, also looking her over. Sarah had no way of knowing if one or both of them hadn’t been among her dozens of rapists during the night. The one with the notice stuck it on a nail on the side of the pillory for all to read. “Be sure you stay respectful and Christian to anyone that speaks to you, Sarah Miller,” he said before the two of them wandered off.

Sarah stood, dreading the day. Now she had to talk to people, or at least ignore their attempts to make her talk. It was not worse or better, but more work for her.

“Officers, please, I implore you!” she cried before they had gone far. They turned back to her. “There is something impaled in my body. Would you please remove it?”

“Lots of things impaled her body lately,” the lesser-brained constable joked.

“Describe it to us,” the older one said.

“Officer, it’s, it’s a piece of metal. Can’t you see it?”

“Tell me,” he ordered coldly.

Sarah clenched her eyes shut for a moment to try driving back the tears. “I piece of metal is shoved through, through my right breast. Through the flesh of my breast. It hurts a lot. Please remove it!”

“Ah, yes. I see. I had indeed wondered about that,” he said, looking to her side. “You are supposed to be naked, and that means no jewelry. Still, I don’t suppose you chose to put that one in yourself. David, remove the accessory from Miss Miller’s breast.”

The younger constable took hold of the metal and yanked it out of her as fast as he could pull. Sarah let out a loud scream of pain. He held it up. It was just some thick wiring as might be used for a bedspring or a bucket handle. Each end was sharpened. Her blood coated most of it. He tossed it on the ground in front of her.

“What do you say?” the older one prodded.

“Thank you, sirs,” she replied, still wincing in agony.

They left. Sarah stood there, wondering when the crowds would form. As morning passed, she was mostly subjected to cat-calls. “Whore!” “Slut!” “Witch!” She was called a fornicator, a contemptible woman, a Jezebel and a Sheba and a Magdalene. A few food items hit her body, always thrown by someone out of her line of sight.

Shortly after the church bell rang noon, she saw a group of men approaching her. They were the court officers; Sinclair, Goodeman, Joshua, and of course Osborne. Climewater. She forced herself to not even think about him in a personal way while others were around.

“It is time for your daily check for witch’s marks,” Sinclair announced loudly. He turned to Climewater. “I assume the whole town need not take part each day?”

“It will be satisfactory if a random contingent of twenty adult males from the square crowds take part,” Climewater replied tersely.

Sinclair nodded at Joshua, who spoke up. “Here ye! Here ye! The court requires the services of twenty adult males to examine the body of Sarah Miller, age twenty, in search of the mark of the witch!” he called out loudly. Sarah gritted her teeth, trying not to cry again. She’d had her fill of people watching her cry. But the speed at which at least thirty men gathered made it hard not to.

“Perform a visual inspection of Sarah Miller’s body,” Sinclair instructed them. “Look for any signs of witchery, particularly anything that wasn’t there yesterday.” He began, and looked over her entire body thoroughly. Next was Climewater, who paused at her right breast.

“What is this?” he cried loudly. “Two new marks!”

“I believe you are correct,” Sinclair said, returning to look at her tit. “She does indeed have two unpleasant marks on her right breast, one on each side. Explain yourself, Sarah!”

“They, it was a piece of metal. That one down there. Someone came in the night and pierced me with it, sir!” she tried to explain.

“Then how did it get on the ground?” Climewater demanded.

Sarah sucked in her breath, wishing he would ease off for once. “The constables removed it this morning, reverend! You may ask them at your leisure!”

“We will, count on that,” Climewater thundered. “But I see no further marks.”

Goodeman was next, followed by Joshua, and then each of the now forty men gathered to volunteer their services to the court. One by one they gave her body a close and thorough inspection, many of them sitting below her to get a good close look at her front side as she bent over them.

“Hey, we gonna get to check on her cootchie and shitter too?” one rough dock worker asked, flexing his fingers.

“The court doubts the missing gems have appeared in Sarah Miller’s body,” Sinclair said. “Be on your way now, good sir.”

When they were done, Sinclair nodded. “I have ordered you to be fed at five,” he told her. “Drink as much water as you can, unless you can convince the people of this town to give you any. We shall return tomorrow at noon, come along, gentlemen!”

The crowds grew larger later in the day as people from the surrounding farms came in to do business. By mid-afternoon there was a continuous group of people surrounding Sarah, taunting and teasing her from all sides. Their cacophony made it hard to make out individual taunts, but she got the gist of it all just fine, particularly when backed by a piece of hurled fruit or a kick to her ass by an energetic kid. Her struggle to not cry mostly failed.

She was fed at five, as promised, though it was meager fare and little of it. She did drink long and deep from the water pail. Then the was alone with the crowd again, and as the sun sank slowly down they grew rowdier and rougher, with increasingly drunken men fondling and groping her, even as the number of women and children waned. Only when the sun was gone and the increasingly cloudy sky blocked the moon did the men disperse to better-lit venues.

For a while Sarah just stood there, weeping and broken. And utterly exhausted. She’d not slept the previous night. Would this one be better? There was no moon to guide anyone’s steps to her, but that would hardly deter a man with lust and a lantern. Even so, despite her pain position, she managed to fall into a fitful and light series of catnaps early in the evening.

She awoke, disoriented and confused, as a man’s cock slid into her pussy. They called her wanton, but it was she that was only learning these words in the last day. Her vagina was apparently a pussy or a cunt, and maybe a snatch, but she was less sure of that one. So the penis/cock entered her vagina/cunt. It sounded worse that way, but it felt the same. She was dry, and it hurt, and it was unwanted, and she wanted to scream at him to fuck off until her brain recalled the warning on the paper still nailed to the pillory. Be polite or get the bridle.

“Thanks,” he whispered before running off. Thanks. She wanted to scream. How dare he thank her! As if she had a choice. She wanted to lash out and punch his smarmy mouth, but he was gone and she had no knowledge of who he was. He could be anyone. He could be known to her. Or he could be a traveler, or sailor, never seen by her before or again. She was left unmolested, though, and fell back into her sleeping trance.

Several times she was literally awakened by a cock entering her body. Somewhere. Mostly her cunt, what a horrid word. Or her ass, what a horrid action. They arrived without warning, came in her, and took off. Her muscles and joints ached. Her mind was shattered. But she stood and took it all.

As one man was fucking her, she started to catch a deep sound from somewhere far away. It grew louder, though. She saw a glow in the gloom, directly ahead. The guy behind her fucked faster, eager to finish. He seemed to have heard and seen it too. As his warm spunk, another new word, filled her, he fumbled to fasten his trousers. Sarah could see torch and lantern light coming, and the thundering of horse and riders coming in fast.

“Oh shit, oh fuck!” the man said, speaking in a normal voice, the first of them to do so. She heard him fleeing into the woods. She didn’t know his voice. But she was transfixed on the rumble and the orange lights coming, racing towards her. Directly towards her. She could make out individual lights. Ten? Sixteen. Something like that. At a full gallop they charged her, closer and closer and closer. Did they even see her? Would she be trampled to death by mistake?

She screamed as they seemed to be atop her, but they veered and screeched to a halt, surrounding her. In the cool night air, she could see the mist of the horse’s breaths in the orange light. It was the only light around them, as they were locked in a zone of dark all around.

As if in a nightmare, Sarah watched as the riders dismounted. Black riders, cloaked in dark, unreflecting fabrics. Hooded with more black cloth and leather. She screamed loudly as the first of them strode firmly towards her.

“Sarah Miller! You stand accused of witchcraft, blasphemy, and crimes of the flesh and passions! You have evaded man’s justice, but not God’s justice!”

“Who are you!” she cried. “Please, I’ve done nothing to you! Nothing!”

“The punishment shall be carried out tonight!” he continued. Sarah watched as most of them moved to her rear, out of sight, while some of them quickly started a fire not far away from her, in her vision.

She heard the swish before she felt it, the whip striking down on her fleshy buttocks. It bit deeply into her skin, cutting through skin and fat and nerve. She screamed in blinding agony. The pain sucked the breath out of her, but she had no reprieve before the next one came, striking higher up and equally pulverizing her flesh.

Again and again the whip landed on her body, up her back and down her legs. Sometimes extra harsh, but always hitting hard. Sarah’s pain went up beyond her ability to comprehend or process. All she knew was the pain. Agony. They, these men, were Satan’s bringers of pain. They had to be.

After some time, they produced keys that allowed them to actually unlocked the stocks. They had to include at least some court officers, her frenzied mind realized. She was doomed. But they unlocked her only to flip her over. Now she stood with her ankles locked in the opposite holes from before, still spread wide. Her neck was in the same hole, and her wrists flipped, so now she stood but bent backwards rather than forwards. It was a vastly harder position to hold, while rendering her naked front side vastly more vulnerable to attack.

And attacked it was. The whip, that godawful whip, came down on her as a scourge. Striking and pulverizing her most sensitive areas. Her tits were whipped. Her slender belly was whipped. Her crotch, her pussy, her cunt, whatever new words described it, they whipped it. The tip of the whip slashed and smashed directly down on her slit, putting pain into her that made her ass-whipping tame and mild by comparison. How she screamed! Up and down her body it went. How many scars would form? How badly was she ruined for life? She couldn’t imagine, and the pain gave her little chance to ponder it.

Eventually Sarah’s tortured mind realized that the whipping was over. Turning her head from her view of the dark sky, she saw some of the men still milling around her. They seemed to be waiting. She just stood, straining to stay upright, waiting in blind terror. She didn’t wait long.

A man walked away from the fire. She could see him, and that he was holding something. Something that glowed. Something that was obviously and clearly a white-hot branding iron.

“Oh, sweet Lord, no!” she rasped, her voice hurt from her many screams. “No! Don’t brand me! Please, do not brand me! I can’t take that! Please!!!”

She hadn’t seen what shape was on the iron. She would learn it later. But when they unceremoniously pressed it hard and firm to her lower belly, just above her pubic hairs, she learned for the third time in one night how to blast away all previous conceptions of great pain. As the iron cooked her flesh, sizzling and putting the odor of freshly broiled meat into the air, Sarah’s pain reduced her to a shrieking animal, whipping her head back and forth as her body tensed. And then she fell limp.

When she recovered she was held up by two of the men, still locked backwards in the stocks. One hooded figure stood over her face.

“If you lose consciousness without someone to hold you, the pillory will choke you to death in this position. Try to stay awake, sinner! Gentlemen, we leave now!”

Sarah stood in agony as they mounted and rode off. Only the faded fire gave any light, and it was just a dull glow out of her vision. They must have doused it while she was passed out. Now she stood in horrid pain, straining her muscles to stay upright lest she strangle or break her bones. And she cried in continuing pain and shame and misery as no human could or should know.

August 18, 2017, 06:08:02 PM
Reply #2

Offline SoftGameHunter

I don't know where this is going, but there's no point in being late. Here's the next part.



“Where is the girl now?” Climewater demanded, pacing the small room excitedly. “She was supposed to serve five days in the stocks! Most assuredly, this is not acceptable to the community!”

“Please restrain yourself, Reverend,” Sinclair said. “Her injuries during the attack were severe enough that her life would be in danger were she to remain pilloried at this time. She is locked in Warren Gilthorpe’s grain shed at the edge of the village. She will not escape. When she has regained her strength she will take her place in the public square for more punishment, I assure you of this.”

“As counsel for the accused,” Goodeman began.

“For the convicted!” Climewater thundered.

“And as the chief of the constabulary, I want to know who this group is and how they rode into our town square to conduct this assault!”

“The assault on a witch and a thief and a liar,” Climewater added. “You have two constables reporting to you. Did they see nothing?”

“It is a large town, and very dark in the night,” Goodeman said. “If some of our subjects gather together under nightfall, it is not easy to find them.”

“But find them we shall,” Sinclair said. “I assume the constabulary and the church will provide their full support.”

“As always,” Climewater growled before the meeting disbanded.

Half a mile away, in a grain shed and lying on a cot with no blanket, Sarah Miller lay in agony. There was no side of her body she could rest on without pain, and rolling over meant even more pain. After hours to try resting, she took to her feet, which were unharmed in her whippings. Thus she stood, pacing in the few feet available in front of the grain sacks, when the door opened. She turned expecting Sinclair, or constables, or even Osborne. She found Warren Gilthorpe, as prosperous as he was nasty, leering in at her with his kinfolk at his side. Sarah quickly realized her danger.

“So, we meet again,” Gilthorpe said, stepping in, stepping directly towards her and forcing her back against the grain stacks.

“Have we met formally, sir?” she asked timidly, guessing that her prohibition on foul language still stood.

“Two days ago, of course. At your trial, when I helped to inspect you for evidence.”

Sarah drew in quick breath, being reminded of that ordeal. She knew most men had taken part. But face to face with one reminding her of it while she stood still naked and hurting in front of him was an extra level of shame. “Of course,” she said, praying for his departure that she knew was not coming.

“I never did think you were innocent, girl,” he said, stepping still closer, his body nearly on hers, and hers pressed to the sack stacks.

“I’m sorry about that, sir,” she squeaked as his face drifted closer to hers. His relations were in the door with them, some of them anyway.

“And now I have to put up with you here on my property, bleeding on my produce!”

“If you would let me lie down again, sir!” she cried, feigning an attempt to move to the cot. He slammed his hand into the wall, his arm blocking her path. She let out a light cry.

“Don’t you dare try to evade me, sinner girl!” he spat angrily. His body was pressed to hers. His rough clothing and the rough grain sacks rubbed on her many wounds, rubbing pain into her body.

“Please, do not hurt me sir!” she begged. At that moment she would have given anything for the constables to show up, or Sinclair, or even Osborne pretending to be a rampaging beast.

“They offered me payment to hold you,” he said slowly, quietly, and with great deliberation. “I told them to offer it not, but that I would take payment from you directly!” Sarah listened, shivering in horror. “And that is what we will do. Right now!”

With that, he seized her arms and flung her towards the cot but making her land on the dirty, rough floor. Sarah wept in pain as they were suddenly on her, fighting over her with fists for the chance to be first until a sharp yell from Warren quieted and separated them. She turned to see the man with his pants already unfastened. She smelled his cock as soon as she saw it, and unlike her blind night rapes, she saw this one just fine, growing, thickening before her eyes. Pointing at her.

“Hold the bitch down!” he yelled at two of his younger kin. Two men, perhaps only in their teens, held her arms while Warren Gilthorpe climbed atop her, his crotch lined up obscenely with hers. She cried out as he thrust into her.

Multiple men. How, she wondered, had she ever dreamed of relations with multiple men when they were so horrible to behold? He slammed her, sliding her light body across the dirty floor an inch until her pinned arms stopped her. In a frenzy, with heavy breathing and spittle spraying onto her face from his mouth, Gilthorpe thrust into her hard and repeatedly. Sarah wailed and shrieked as her pains competed for her notice. Her body was a mass of red cuts and welts, some still bleeding, but her vagina, or rather her pussy, was blistered and in bad condition too. Each thrust may as well have been with a piece of un-sanded wood.

It wasn’t a long ordeal. He finished his business in her soon. She felt his hot ooze inside her. But after he climbed off her body, he glared down at her in contempt and hate. “Have your fill of the wench, boys,” he said. “We may not have her again.”

“Please, no! Please!” she sobbed as he walked out, leaving her with six more men, his sons and nephews judging from their ages.

A mile away, at the docks, the captain of a merchant craft stood talking nervously with the town preacher. The churchmen always made him nervous. They had so little to say that he cared to hear, but so much power to make life difficult for those who didn’t listen to them.

“We are not a passenger craft, sir,” he tried to explain. “We don’t sail to England. We go back and forth, see, to the West Indies and back to the northern colonies.”

“You carry anything someone pays you to carry, do you not?” Climewater asked. “My cargo is human, and my destination is the West Indies. Kingston will be suitable. Or Barbados.”

“Aye, that is so, sir.”

“Then kindly carry out your job!” he snapped. He withdrew a handful of coins from his pocket. “I assume we can reach a price agreement.”

“Aye, as you wish, preacherman.”

“Show me the accomodations.” Climewater demanded.

“Come with me then.”

Down below, Climewater stared. “I told you we are not a passenger craft, sir. I’ll have to boot my first mate just to give you this.” Climewater barely heard the captain’s words as he stared at the space that would not be rated as a closet in his home. A hammock, with a trunk space below it, in an indented space barely three feet deep. “It’s the only private accommodation other than my own,” the captain tried to explain. “But surely enough for your needs, yes? You didn’t plan on more than yourself, did you?”

“No,” Climewater said. “Just me. And you sail tomorrow?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Very well. I shall be here. Good day to you.”

As Climewater surveyed his accommodations with displeasure but with grudging acceptance, Sarah Miller wailed and thrashed under her fourth rape of the afternoon. The boys that Gilthorpe left alone with her proved eager and rude, fighting each other to get on her and in her, with several of them interrupted before finishing by being flung off in favor of a new assailant. Sarah could only lie underneath it all as they fought over her on her.

“Open your mouth now, devil woman!” one of them finally said, sitting on her chest with his cock dangling out over her face. “I want you sucking me dry, understand?” Sarah’s eyes bulged, but she understood. Even so, the lad produced a small knife and pressed it to her neck, the tip digging into her skin. “You understand me, eh? You work with your tongue, not with your teeth, or I rip your throat out of your neck and hit you with it, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Sarah weakly replied. She shakily opened her mouth, and suddenly tasted and felt the warm cock on her lips and tongue. He gave a few quick shakes.

“Come on, do it!” the boy snapped. As another cock raged in her sore cunt, Sarah frantically tried to guess what to do, and swirled her tongue over the smelly appendage, wincing and gagging all the while. The boy helped, sliding in and out of her face, but Sarah was bewildered and confused as she tried to do something. He drove in deep, hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, violently, her stomach churning as she spit up very little.

“Ew! She puked on me!” the boy yelled, provoking only laughter from his kin. He glared down at her, his cock still buried in her face, and clutched both sides of her head in his strong hands. Sarah stared up at him, trying to breathe through her nose, trying to plead with her eyes. “You are a rotten and filthy whore!” he shouted at her. “They should have hung you!” He released her head but grabbed his knife and held it just inches over her left eye. “Suck my cock or I’ll blind you!”

Even as the rapist at her cunt was readying to fill her with more seed, Sarah tried ever so hard to work his cock with her mouth. She swirled her tongue more, and smacked her lips over it. She just didn’t know what he wanted! Were there other girls that did? In this town? She thought she was supposed to be the wild outcast, but everyone seemed to know and do more than she ever dreamed of. But her energies, chaotic as they were, seemed to marginally satisfy the boy. He removed the knife from her view, and his face showed his pleasure even as another prick slid into her pussy. She couldn’t even see who it was.

They were the last two. The cock in her mouth suddenly released fluid into her mouth. There was no warning. Her instinct was that he was peeing in her mouth, but soon realized it was his seed, a thick, viscous slime that reeked of tobacco, bad beef, and bread. She coughed, trying to expel it. “Drink it!” the boy said, putting the knife in her view again. He pulled out enough to let her swallow.

Sarah blanched, gagging, revolted. Crying. How could she possibly swallow? But the knife blade was just a fraction of an inch from her eye, and the boy was grinning viciously at her. She closed her eyes and gulped it down. Her belly quaked but held it in.

She lay on the floor, in the dirt and stray grain, her cuts all over her body now burst back open and full of granular debris. She was utterly filthy to look at. She could see enough of herself to know that. The boys got up and dressed, leering at her, some spitting on her. One of them, an older boy named Reginald Logan whom she’d attended schooling with, kicked her hard on her cunt. His foot just lashed out, catching her unawares. She screamed and clutched her crotch, closing her legs, curling up on the floor.

“Whore!” he hissed. Sarah had no reply. Not even one that would get the scold’s bridle replaced. She would almost welcome it if it kept cocks from her mouth. Almost. The boys laughed and left, locking the door behind them, leaving Sarah sobbing on the floor in pain and disgrace. She saw no hope for anything to get better. Not until her sentence was done, whenever that would be, and Osborne would take her away.

In time she crawled back up onto the cot, but it was little better. She lacked the strength to stand, and was still lying there sweating in the heat of the day when the door opened once more and the court officers appeared, with some town elders behind them outside.

“Sarah Miller, rise and be questioned,” Sinclair said.

“I, I hurt, sir,” she said. “Please, show mercy.”

“Arise!” Climewater snapped, striking her with a riding crop. Sarah nearly lost her composure, but kept her tongue in check. She struggled to her feet, standing and swaying slightly before them.

“Outside,” Sinclair said. She followed them out, to see the entire elders council joining them. Only the bailiff, Joshua Glendon, was not among the leading citizens. She stood in the hot, bright sun, more conscious of how beaten and dirty her nude body must look to them all. Indeed, their lustful gazes were tempered by disgust and revulsion among some. And enhanced in others.

“Tell us that you repent of your actions, Sarah Miller,” Sinclair said.

Sarah tried not to glare. She’d done nothing. Almost nothing, but they knew nothing of the gem stones. “I repent, sirs. I’m truly sorry for my actions and behaviors. It took the hand of God, working through the acts of anonymous men, to make me realize my bad faith.”

There was a slight murmuring among the elders. Happy murmuring it seemed. Sinclair nodded. “Then in light of your additional suffering, the town has granted you a pardon on your remaining sentence. You are free to go at this time. God speed and have mercy upon your soul.”

With that, they mostly turned and left. The elders left. Sinclair left. Osborne left. Joshua remained, though, trying to look at her while not seeming to look at her. Goodeman remained briefly.

“I tell you this, Sarah Miller,” Goodeman said, “It will not be wise for you to remain a citizen of this place. You have no future here. None whatsoever. Go to Boston, or even New York. Whore yourself out for passage to England or France if you must. Stay not with us. You will surely get no fresh chances.”

“Sir?” she asked, now daring to timidly wrap her arms over her breasts, hiding at least some of her nudity. “I cannot return to town like this!”

“You’ve been pardoned, not beatified. You’re on your own.” With that, he turned and left. Sarah stood, mouth agape. What could she possibly do now? Joshua remained.

“I think he speaks true,” the young man said sadly. “They won’t allow you to stay.”

“If I could get to the church. To some sanctuary. Surely the church will provide to cover me up.”

“With Reverend Climewater? I don’t believe he likes you!”

“I’m a walking sin in his town. He will provide, if only to get rid of me. Could you help me, Joshua, I beg of you? Please?”

“I have nothing to cover you with, Miss Sarah Miller. But I can escort you to the church, see that nothing untoward happens to you.”

Sarah gulped hard. “Yes, thank you.”

They began walking back into town. Soon enough she was surrounded by people in the afternoon crowds. They gazed, gawked, and stared openly at her naked, filthy body. This was worse, even, than the stocks. There she had no recourse to cover herself. Now she acted on her own agency. She could see them, eye to eye, with all of them knowing she was choosing to walk naked down the main street. But she had no options left.

At the church, having been spit upon several times despite Joshua’s attempts at protection, Sarah nearly raced inside. She gave Joshua a hurried thanks as she fled the street and burst into the building. She fled into the nave, only to realize that there were people there. Mostly older ladies, engaged in prayer. She’d never been in the church except on Sundays, and rarely enough then. She’d expected it to be deserted.

Now those ladies looked up and saw her bloodied and vulgar appearance. A few screamed, and a few fled the scene. Sarah realized she may have erred badly. Was Osborne even there? Hadn’t he returned to the church right before her? Wouldn’t he have expected her to come to him there?

“Please, I only seek the aid of the reverend!” she said. “I only seek Christian charity!”

“Sarah!” She turned, relieved to see him there. She smiled for the first time in days, however briefly, before his stern, angry visage reminded her they were not alone.

“Your honor, your holiness,” she stammered. “I know not where else to turn!”

“Step out of the holy places of our church and come with me!” he snapped. She quickly followed him out, and into some small side room she’d never seen. They were alone at last.

“I cannot believe this has happened!” she cried loudly once they were alone. “We must flee this town, Osborne! We must flee together! We must!”

“And we will,” he said. “Try to calm down, Sarah, beloved. Keep your voice down,” he said urgently. “All will be well.”

“I know you had to!” she blurted out. “I know you had to keep the secret! But please just protect me now! I can take no more! I’m a fallen woman now!”

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s alright. I have passage booked,” he said. He seemed to hesitate a moment. “We’ll make it out together. It will be tight passage, but we’ll leave together.”

“Thank you, Osborne. Thank you!”

Many dozens of miles away, while Sarah enjoyed her brief relief, there was a knock on a door in a bland but rich neighborhood of Boston. The older gentleman that opened his front door a crack saw three well-dressed and severely dour men outside.

“Richard Whitman Benally?” the leading man outside asked. He spoke in a thick but clear accent, Dutch probably.

“Yes, I am he.”

“Guild-master for the Boston branch of the International Gem and Jewelers’ Guild?”

“Yes, of course. Your accent. Are you from Amsterdam?”

“May we enter?”

Once inside, the man continued. “My name is Pieter de Voore, investigative officer for the guild. These are my associates, assistant investigative officer Jan Parshoot, and security officer Wilhelm Kleinmann,” he said, gesturing to the younger man and what looked like an old mercenary soldier. “There was a significant theft of gemstones in your territory a few days ago. We are here to investigate.”

“How, um, did you…”

“Word reached New York as it reached Boston, but as I was there on official business I was able to receive the news. Now we are here. Please tell us how to reach the crime scene at the workshop of Samuel Wilson, resident of Piedmoore Point so we may begin at once.”

“Yes, of course,” Benally replied. His fingers shook on recognizing the name. He remembered de Voore from fifteen years earlier, when de Voore had been the junior officer visiting from Amsterdam. A small part of him wanted to ask if that young lady de Voore had ‘interviewed’ had ever regained her mind or her knickers, but he buried that small part of him deep and found the address.

“Here you go, the address and some directions to the town,” he said. “I believe a carriage could get you there in a day or two.”

“Thank you, sir. And now, as the hour grows late, my companions and I will take shelter in the Guild House.”

“Well, there is not particular house per se,” Benally said.

“Your house, then, as regional officer,” de Voore said. “I thank you in advance for your hospitality.”

“Of course. Of course,” Benally said, vowing to feed them as quickly as possible, and praying his sole surviving daughter Catherine stayed in her bedroom until morning when the trio had gone.

August 19, 2017, 12:13:50 AM
Reply #3

Offline SoftGameHunter

Bonus chapter today!



Sarah sat awake early in the day, shivering from a combination of shock and pain and fear for her future, but also hope. When Osborne told her of his plan to flee with her the next day, she had been overjoyed. But she still feared for their effort. What if something went wrong? What if someone else in the town made trouble for her?

Osborne had a mirror in his room in the church attic. She saw herself for the first time, and it was a terrifying sight. She wasn’t just bruised and beaten. She was virtually ruined, or so it seemed. She’d seen whippings before, but somehow never connected it to what she would look like. And there on her belly, just above her pubic hairs, was the large W branded deep into her skin and flesh. It still burned. It would sit there in her flesh, four inches tall, for the rest of her life. Whore? Witch? She didn’t even know what their message was.

Sex with Osborne had been painful, but a pain she was willing to endure for escape, and for love. The few days they’d been together were magical, and now he could stop the pretense of persecuting her. Just a couple more hours and they would be away from Piedmoore Point forever. When the daylight came, and her lover awoke, he dressed her such clothing as he could obtain from his own wardrobe. After several days of nudity, the clothing hurt her skin, but relieved her dignity. With his crates in tow, they hurried through the predawn glow and mist to the docks where he hustled her on board and belowdecks.

“The quarters are, cozy,” she said, gazing at their closet space.

“It will only be for sleeping,” Osborne told her. He got some of his crates jammed in, and went off in search of the captain for more room. Sarah reclined on the hammock. It was the least offensive on her many wounds of any surface she’d tried yet. Still tired, she dozed off, awakening only to Osborne’s angry shouts.

“Where are they? Where have they gone?” he was nearly shrieking, a chest open and half pulled apart. Sarah looked to try to see in the dim light what was happening.

“Osborne, what is it?” she asked.

“What is it? The gemstones! They’re missing! They’re gone! They’ve gone missing! Every last one of them!”

“What? No! How is that possible?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I packed them and hid them myself!”

“Do we have time to go search your room?”

“We’ve already sailed, you stupid girl!” he yelled. “We put to sea thirty minutes ago!”

Sarah recoiled at his cruel words. She felt a shiver go through her, the worse for knowing that this time he may well have meant them. “Please don’t say that,” she whimpered.

“Don’t say what? That we’ve sailed? Or that you are very, very stupid!”

Sarah felt a tear run down her cheek. His words hurt. Not like the whip, but more personally. “Please, I can’t take your unkindness!”

“Can’t take it?” He paused and glowered. “What do you know of the gemstones, Sarah? Did you get into my chests?”

“I did not, my lord,” she said. She heard her own words. Had she really called him that for real?

“Maybe you did! Maybe you’re planning your own getaway. Get off at Charleston harbor, maybe, and vanish into the southern colonies?”

“I would never!” she cried.

He stood up and grabbed her, yanking her from the hammock, and dragging her through the cramped passage to above-decks. Sarah was screaming, as his manhandling aggravated her wounds and from new terror. The crew of the ship turned to watch as they were able.

They were a rude lot for sure, a mixture of low Englishmen and West Indies freedmen negros. But as Osborne began pulling his clothing off Sarah’s body, exposing her nudity yet again, their attention focused on her nearly to the exclusion of all else.

“Focus on your tasks!” the captain shouted at them, but he too was watching as Osborne stripped Sarah naked again, leaving her sobbing and kicking at him on her back on the deck floor.

“I hate you!” she screamed. “How can you do this to me!”

“Where are the gems?” he roared. “You stole them! You tried to cheat me!”

“I didn’t!” she cried. He knelt down and began punching her, first in her belly to knock the breath from her, and then on her battered face. She tried to flail back at him, swinging wildly with her weaker fists and doing nothing. For a churchman, he was strongly built and still young enough to have energy and vigor.

“Are they in here?” he asked, clutching at her pussy and driving his fingers up, roughly scratching around inside her, hitting her blisters, making her scream. “Did you stick them up your snatch? Or was it your ass?”

He flipped her over, pinning her down, her whipped front side now rubbing on the salted sea deck. She felt his fingers clawing at her anus. She tried to clench, but he landed several hard punches to her back that weakened her resolve. She felt him feeling around inside her ass for a while before pulling out.

“You hid them somewhere, Sarah! And if they’re not on you, then you need to get off the ship now!”

“How? No. Oh lord, please, Osborne!”

He turned to the captain. “I know sailors are a lusty lot, and Sarah is a fallen whore anyway. Tell your men they may have her if they wish, but kindly toss her overboard when you are done with her.”

“Sir, that is not the kind of people we are,” the man protested, clearly offended, but unable to keep his eyes off the young girl.

“Don’t play at sanctimony! I am a minister of God’s church, and I assure you His forgiveness. Now rape the whore and cast her into the sea!”

Sarah watched and heard the encounter, writhing already in pain as her old injuries re-opened yet again. It had taken Osborne hours to clean her up just yesterday. Now he had broken her again. Would these men really rape her? They were attentive, staring at her, practically unable to look away from her naked form splayed out for their viewing. Osborne went down belowdecks. It was her and them. The captain looked unhappy, but could he even control the men?

“Take her,” he said loudly enough to be heard. “But do not kill her! Do not even beat her! Rape her if you must.”

Practically with a roar of assault, the men were on her. There were nine of them on the smallish cargo craft now jumping onto her body, though a couple couldn’t leave their posts. Sarah cried out frantically, begging them not to. Begging them to leave her alone. But they ignored her pleas utterly, and soon she felt the first of the cocks in her pussy. It hit her blisters and made her scream.

But it failed to end there. She was flipped around. These men had used whores before, and they knew how to share. They knew how to be quick, probably to pay the prostitutes less. Soon she was atop a man, on her back, and she felt a cock pressing at her ass. He was trying for the wrong hole! But soon she realized what he was really doing, and it chilled her mind.

“Noooo!” she shrieked frantically, but too late, as the other cock slid hard into her anus. There was some slick fluid on his, but she felt the pain of being pierced back there and screamed. It was much worse than a finger, though not as bad as the speculum at her trial. And as she screamed, she was laid back, and felt and saw the third cock in her face. It was a black man’s, but it made no difference. She opened her mouth, having learned her lesson well the previous day with the lad.

Three cocks. Three penises were inside her body at once, and Sarah felt sick to her stomach. How was such a thing possible? To the extent she’d dreamed of many men, she meant one after the other. Not this demonic abomination. Three cocks in her body. Three holes in her body were large enough for a cock, and that was what they forced into her. Three cocks would spew their filth into her, and probably twice more the other men would repeat it. And all Sarah could do was lie there and cry in pain and humiliation. And still Osborne’s betrayal and mistrust shamed her the most.

They did indeed keep her filled with pricks as she lay there being raped again and again, barely able to even catch her breath. It was a nightmare come real. Eventually all the men she’d seen came to fuck her, even the captain. The few needed to steer the ship were relieved so all might have their turn with her body. She finally lay spent and sobbing, covered in sweat, blood, and semen on the deck floor. She shook with misery and painful breaths. And she saw Osborne, come up from the supposed cabin, watching the last of her defilement, grinning. And she realized, finally, that the gems were almost certainly not even lost. He just wanted to be rid of her. He had never loved her. He just needed a whore to fuck and an accomplice for the burglary.

“Keep her, captain?” one of the sailors asked.

“No. Get her off the ship,” the captain said. “Right now.”

“Please! Don’t throw me overboard!” she shrieked. “I cannot swim! I’ll die! You’ll kill me!”

“Hold your breath in as much as you can, and kick your legs while you turn your arms round and round,” the captain said. “There, now you can swim. Off you go.”

“No! Oh God, no!” she screamed, trying to fight them, kicking at them. She actually could swim, but they were a couple miles from the shore. Her pleas and struggles came to nothing. They carried her to the stern and hurled her into the Atlantic. She splashed down, and saw the ship crisply sailing off when she got her head above water. The salty sea soaked itself into her many deep cuts and welts, setting her body afire. But she had no choices left. The ship was going, and she had to try for shore.

Back aboard, the captain was disgusted to see the churchman approaching him. “Thank you kindly, captain.”

“Tell me, churchman, why did you bring that girl on board if you only want us to rape and kill her now?”

“I just needed her out of the way and out of Piedmoore Point,” he said.

“You shouted about gems.”

Climewater grinned. “Just a pretext. They’re safe in my luggage.”

“That’s good,” the captain said. Suddenly Climewater felt a sharp pain on his skull and the world blacked out.

He awoke staring up at the sky, his head pounding.

“He’s awake,” someone said. The captain appeared standing over him.

“Good. We don’t want you here. If the gems are safe, you can leave too.”

“What? What is this?” Climewater roared. The gems were in his pocket, of course, but he had no wish to go overboard.

“Now I get my cabin back,” another man said. He motioned, and the men picked the preacher up and carried him to the stern.

“We waited for you to wake up, and that took patience. We don’t kill people, even low characters like you. If you don’t swim, listen to the lesson I gave the girl.” With that, they hurled him off the back and into the water. Climewater sputtered in rage, but checked his pockets and found the gems where he left them. But the rest, his belongings, his money aside from what he had on him, was back on the ship, now briskly sailing for Charleston and then for Kingston. He could swim, and had no choice but to head for the land and try to figure something out fresh.

August 19, 2017, 03:15:43 PM
Reply #4

Offline gscmar64

Best way to read this story in one long uninterrupted chain! Such a fantastic scenario you created SoftGameHunter!

August 20, 2017, 01:11:39 PM
Reply #5

Offline SoftGameHunter

“Hello, you are Mr. Cadwallader Goodeman, chief of the constabulary, yes?”

Goodeman was suddenly confronted by three well-dressed men as he walked across the town. He pondered the center one for a moment. The man spoke well, but in a thick accent.

“Yes, I am he.”

The man bowed and handed him a wax-sealed letter. It took Goodeman a moment to recognize the seal of the Royal Governor of Massachusetts. “My name is Pieter de Voore, investigative officer for the International Gem and Jewelers’ Guild. These are my associates, assistant investigative officer Jan Parshoot, and security officer Wilhelm Kleinmann. The document you hold grants me liberty to conduct an investigation into the theft of gem stones in Piedmoore Point recently.”

“Yes, we had such a theft,” Goodeman said as he broke open the seal and looked over the letter. It looked legitimate. “We briefly had a suspect, but she had no evidence on her of conducting the theft, so she was freed after a trial.”

“Please tell us of this trial and this woman.”

“Very well.” As they walked, Goodeman recounted the trial, in increasingly detailed terms as de Voore asked more questions.

“It is possible that the woman is innocent, but also that she is not. Where may I find her?” de Voore asked.

“I don’t rightly know,” Goodeman replied. “She was released early yesterday after her attack in custody. I don’t believe I’ve seen her. I’d guess she fled the town.”

“Hmm. Yes, that would be logical,” de Voore said. “But almost impossible for a despised, injured, and very naked girl to pull off. Not without help. What is her living situation? Does she reside with family?”

“No, I believe she rents a small room with another young unmarried woman in the attic of James Martindale’s home.”

“Please take us to this place, sir.”

Ten minutes later, Prudence Fairfield sat surrounded by five men, all staring at her. She’d expected such a thing since Sarah’s arrest, but the three strangers troubled her, particularly their obvious leader. Goodeman and Martindale were less worrisome.

“It is your contention that Sarah Miller said nothing to you about planning a theft, is this correct?” de Voore said.

“Yes, sir. I’ve explained as much days ago. Sarah was my roommate, but we weren’t really friends.”

de Voore turned to Parshoot. “Go upstairs and search the room thoroughly,” he said.

“Wait a moment!” Prudence cried. “You can’t do that!”

“I’ve granted permission,” Martindale said.

“As have I,” Goodeman added.

“And I have as well,” de Voore said calmly as Parshoot hurried off. He turned to Goodeman and Martindale. “Gentlemen, I would like to conduct the interrogation alone if you please.”

“I needed to be in town on business twenty minutes ago,” Martindale said. “Please enjoy the hospitality of my house, such as it is.”

“Please keep me informed,” Goodeman said.

“But of course, chief. But of course.”

His searing eyes returned to Prudence when the other men had gone. She fidgeted in her seat as de Voore stared into her eyes. Kleinmann just stared, unblinking.

“I should tell you, Miss Fairfield, that I do not believe that Sarah Miller would share her plans with you just because you share a room. If she is guilty, it would be foolish to randomly brag to a casual acquaintance, as you essentially are to her. Mr. Martindale has informed me that you’ve only shared a room for four months now. So only on the off chance that you are both accomplices would you know anything. I simply must be sure.”

“I understand,” Prudence said.

“It is, however, possible that if she is guilty she may have inadvertently let slip some hint or clue or minor detail to you that you would not necessarily see as important. It would be something forgettable to you, but very important to me. So I will be asking you many, many questions about your living arrangement.”

“I see,” Prudence replied more cautiously.

“But first things are first. I must be sure that you are not obviously an accomplice. My associate is searching your room. I must search your person. So please stand and remove your clothing now.”

“I will certainly do no such thing!” Prudence replied. She was trying to put on a strong face to these men, though they scared her badly.

“Herr Kleinmann, if you please,” he said. Kleinmann suddenly was out of his chair and grabbing Prudence’s arms as he lifted her up.

“Hey, no!” she cried, trying to break loose. de Voore stood up and suddenly pulled a short, sharp blade from his waistline.

“I make no allowances for stubbornness, Miss Fairfield,” he said, grabbing at her bodice.

“No, wait. Wait! Wait!” she cried, but he placed the blade at her bosom and slid it firmly downward. Its honed edge tore easily through every layer of her clothing over her chest, the cold, dull backside sliding along her soft flesh. In seconds her upper body was exposed on her front side. Her breasts popped out, large and magnificent. Kleinmann pulled the fabric along her arms and everything slid off her at once, leaving her naked above the waist.

With a cry of shock and shame, she tried to bolt for the door. de Voore’s arm blocked her, knocking her backwards onto her ass, and then his booted foot on her bare breasts pressed her onto her back on the floor.

“It is ironic that your modesty will survive better if we find all the gemstones in your discarded clothes,” de Voore said calmly while Kleinmann tore at her ruined clothing in search of the gems. After a few minutes he shook his head.

“Please, please sir. Don’t do this! Don’t put me through this!” Prudence begged.

“Such a pretty girl,” de Voore said. “Today will pass into memory, if you are innocent. Don’t make your situation worse by fighting me. If we walk out of here convinced of your innocence, no one of your townsmen will know of this, and your prospects for a good marriage will not be diminished. But fight, and I may have to involve your community in a more public way.”

Prudence froze. It was a cruel threat, but a good one. An effective one to be sure. When Kleinmann took hold of her skirts and knickers, she didn’t try to kick. She sobbed a bit as she felt the fabric sliding off her skin. The gentle silks touching her legs and butt were replaced by a wooden floor. With her hands free, she clasped them over her womanhood, desperate to save some flicker of modesty. Kleinmann again picked through every lace and ruffle. Her clothing was not particularly rich, but there was always plenty of it. He took his time, but again shook his head.

“Go assist Mr. Parshoot,” de Voore said. With a nod, the older tough man left the room. Prudence was alone with de Voore, still lying naked on the floor with his foot pressing down on her breasts. “Now we are alone,” he said to her.

“W-what do you wish of me, sir?” she asked, terrified, and knowing his verbal answer mattered for nothing.

He took his foot off her. “Stand up, girl,” he said. She got to her feet, still clutching her hands over her crotch. He slapped them aside, and she didn’t dare protest or resist. But she trembled terribly in shame and terror under the man’s vicious gaze. He put his hand on her back, between her shoulders, almost gently, and guided her to step forward. “Your interrogation is going well,” he said to her. “We have found nothing in your clothing. My associates have not yet reported finding anything in your room. But there is still the matter of your body!”

He shoved her quickly, knocking her thighs into the table he’d walked her towards and slamming her upper body down onto it bending her over. Prudence cried out and tried to stand up, but he got behind her and held her face to the wood. “Cease your struggles or be found guilty!” he shouted angrily. Prudence froze, terrified of his threat. But then she heard him fiddling with his trousers and felt something smooth and hard poking at her entrance. Her eyes widened as she realized almost too late what he sought.

“No!” she shrieked, twisting away and lashing out with her foot. She rolled and fell off the side of the table, crashing to the floor, but she saw de Voore wincing and grabbing his manhood area, making low pained sounds in his throat that he clearly was trying to suppress. Prudence wasted no time now that she realized his intent was to rape her. She bolted to her feet and fled to the door. As she found it locked, she heard him shambling up behind her.

“You lousy thief!” he hissed as he came up to her. Prudence frantically fumbled with the lock, finally sliding it away and throwing open the door. She fled the building with de Voore’s fingertips brushing against her arm in his attempt to grab hold of her. “Seize her!” he shouted loudly. “The thief escapes!”

Prudence ran to the edge of the lawn, realizing vaguely that she had to seek safety in a public place. Stark naked! It was a horrifying thought that began her tears flowing, but glancing back to see Parshoot and Kleinmann racing out the door and de Voore hobbling along behind them was enough to spur her on. With her feet pounding on rough gravel, she turned to her right and raced for the center of town.

“Help me!” she cried. “Oh, somebody, please help me! He’s attacked me!” Soon she had the attention of folk looking out their windows and passers-by in the street. Her face burned in shame as she ran naked, her breasts flapping obscenely with each step, but the men were catching up fast.

“Help! Help!” she shrieked as she heard footsteps just behind her. And then she was shoved hard and sprawled forward, hitting the dirt road on her naked front side and sliding to a halt.

“Please, please!” she yelled in pain as the man knelt on her and yanked her arms behind her. She saw Parshoot running up, so it had to be Kleinmann that caught her. She felt metal locking onto her wrists. “Don’t let them rape me!” she cried to the gathering crowds of familiar people. “Oh God, make it end!”

“Good people, I encourage you to move along and go about your business!” de Voore yelled as he approached, still walking awkwardly.

“Who are you?” someone asked. “I don’t know you!”

“And who is this man handcuffing Prudence Fairfield?” a woman asked. “Sir, what authority are you?”

“We act with permission of your constabulary!” de Voore shouted.

“What’s going on here?” Prudence recognized Chief Goodeman’s voice. Soon he was standing there, out of breath from running, but the crowd calmed on his arrival.

“Mr. Goodeman, I am glad to see you,” de Voore said. “My attempt to question this witness ended with her attacking me and fleeing.”

“He tried to have indecent acts with me!” Prudence cried from the ground, still under Kleinmann’s knee.

“I tried to serve her person for gem stones. Procedure, surely.”

“Then do so,” Goodeman said. “Here, with witnesses.”

“Chief! Please, no!” Prudence cried. “I’m not on trial!”

“You ran,” Goodeman said.

“From a, a rape!”

“Conduct your search,” Goodeman said.

“Of course,” de Voore icily replied. Prudence lay face down in the gravel, and now felt fingers at her womanhood. She let out a long sob of misery as several of them slid up her opening, stopping at the barrier. He pressed at and around it, making her wince.

Kleinmann suddenly coughed and jerked his arm, banging into de Voore, whose fingers suddenly then surged forward, tearing through her barrier. Prudence screamed in pain and shock.

“My apologies,” de Voore said.

“That’s plenty,” Goodeman said in growing annoyance. de Voore quickly withdrew his fingers before any blood got on them.

“Mr. Goodeman, I did not find gem stones in Miss Fairfield’s vagina, but she did attack me during a lawful search. I must insist that justice be rendered.”

There was nearly dead silence among the forty or so people gathered around. Prudence lay weeping, praying Goodeman would say no. Praying he would resist these outsiders.

“This is correct procedure,” he said. He spotted one of his men in the crowd. “Daniel, please place Prudence Fairfield in the public pillory until such time as Thomas Sinclair can rule on her case.”

“Oh, no! Please don’t make me do that!” Prudence wept as they pulled her up and removed Kleinmann’s handcuffs. Daniel Vetterman took a firm hold of her arm and guided her over to the town square, letting her walk on soft grass as much as possible. The crowd was quiet, but they also followed, growing in number. “Please, sir! Please! This is wrong! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Vetterman kept his grip on her and walked her to the pillory, the same one Sarah Miller had occupied so recently as a few days earlier. Prudence just broke down crying as her legs were spread and her arms and head were placed through the holes. Both were locked in place, putting her naked body on full display even as her virginal blood leaked down her inner thighs.

“We shall continue our investigation, sir,” de Voore said brusquely before moving off with his associates in tow.

“We need this resolved soon,” Goodeman said. He turned to Vetterman. “Daniel, go find Reverend Climewater. I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I shall inform Magistrate Sinclair. I don’t like that trio. Not at all.

“Nor do I, sir. Still, you have to appreciate some benefits of their being here,” he said, glancing none too subtly at Prudence’s naked body, her big breasts swaying gently as she wept in shame.

“Even so,” Goodeman said quietly. He turned to the crowd. “She is not for touching,” he said. “Am I clear?”

There was murmured acknowledgement from the sixty or so people gathered, allowing Goodeman and Vetterman to head off and do their jobs.

August 23, 2017, 04:32:46 PM
Reply #6

Offline SoftGameHunter

Sarah crawled up onto the rocks, barely pulling herself from the growing waves of the sea. Her long swim for life had begun in calm waters, but the wind had picked up and the waves had buffeted her around, particularly as she approached the shore. Her whole body felt drained of strength as she slithered up and collapsed on a larger boulder, still dozens of yards off the shore. As she lay there with the sun beginning to fade away behind the trees, she wondered if this was truly her end. Could she even get to the shore as the waves crashed harder and harder? Would she die of chill out there as night came? Could she find her way to safety if she got to shore?

After an hour, and with light fading fast, she realized that the tide at least was going out. What had been rough water deep enough to knock her off her feet was now open ground, albeit soaked and pummeled with waves. But crossable. She waited as long as she dared for the water to recede more, but the fading sunlight prompted her to venture out with her bare feet onto the rocks and sharp edges of the shoreline. Slowly, barely a couple steps per minute, she made her way to the high-water mark. With relief and prayers of thanks she crawled up onto the forest floor, greeted with leaves and pine needles that could just as easily have been the softest silks to her at that moment. She stood and walked further into the woods, but realized all too easily how dire her situation remained. She was cold, wet, naked, lost, famished, and thirsty with night almost upon her.

She walked, keeping the shore on her right. With no other knowledge, she could think only to try returning to Piedmoore Point. It was her only home. Maybe knowing that the reverend tried to take her to Jamaica would change their minds about him and her. She recognized the desperation of her thinking, but had no other thoughts to fall back upon.

Within the hour it was dark, cloudy, and she couldn’t move. She soon couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. With the last possible light, she found some thick bushes and tried to curl up under them, shivering and crying herself to eventual sleep.

When she opened her eyes, having finally achieved slumber, she sat up and stretched. It was daylight, and late in the morning. She was standing when she gasped in shock and nearly jumped. Two men stood silently and motionless, not fifteen feet away, watching her. Both were Indians. She quickly clutched her hands over her cunt and tits. Such awful words, she fleetingly thought. She didn’t speak, and they barely seemed to even move. She guessed they were from the nearby Sarrenassetts tribe. Sometimes they came to Piedmoore Point for trade. The last wars with them had been over fifty years ago.

“Hello,” she said slowly. Her heart was racing. Wars or not, she realized they could kidnap and ‘adopt’ her into the tribe, and she would never see civilization again. Or they could just rape and murder her on the spot. Or they could feed and help her. But they just stared at her. “Hello,” she repeated herself. “I’m lost. I’m in trouble.”

One finally turned to the other and spoke, not in English but in their own tongue. Both were young men, probably unfamiliar with English. They conversed for a moment and turned back to her. “Bonjour,” one said.

French. She shook her head. “I don’t know French,” she said. “No French.” They looked annoyed, and the younger looked angry. Sarah continued standing, trying to hide her body. “Piedmoore Point?” she asked.

They conversed again with each other, keeping an eye on her. It seemed to be a disagreement. Over her, obviously. Whether to rape and dismember her? Whether to feed her and guide her to safety in Boston? She couldn’t tell, but they were each vehement and their voices grew angrier. Sarah started to slowly step back, but that caught both men’s attention right away. She remained rooted in place.

Finally they seemed to resolve it. The younger one grinned while the slightly older one just walked slowly away. Sarah stood terrified. What would happen? Removal of her fingers? Elevation to honorary Indian princess? There were so many tales out there, and so few actual witnesses to any of them.

The younger now came at her. She realized only too late the lustful look in his eye and he grabbed her shoulder and forced her to the ground.

“No, please, don’t do it!” she begged as he pushed her onto her back. He was tall, muscular as his kind tended to be, and she was no match. Both men were dressed in summer garb for Indians, with little clothing on, and she spotted his erection before he even got her down to the ground. “Please! Stop this!” she sobbed. “No! Don’t rape me! Don’t rape me!”

He wasn’t rough, but his iron grip moved her body as he wished it, parting her legs and pinning her hands above her head. She felt his cock at her cunt, pushing, sliding in tightly, hurting her as her countless pains never managed to heal. Each thrust was a stinging, blinding pain in her pussy. He was rubbing a bit different, hitting spots of her body that seemed to feel good in their own way. It was a lewder rape than the others, making her queasy with new sensations that just seemed wrong, but her weak and frenzied mind couldn’t process what she felt. She just felt raped, this time by a savage of the woods. Could she ever live with it? What if it became known? She was already as fallen as a woman could get.

His staying power was strong, and he changed their positions a few times, fucking her from behind as well as the front. But she did finally feel that hot ickiness filling her womb. Disgust ran through her mind. What if a brown baby shot out of her loins next year? What could she do?

She lay weeping, hoping he would leave her now, but he pulled her to her feet. “Oh god, what are you doing?” she asked as he held her hands behind her back. She felt the cords and realized he was tying her. Soon her hands were bound. Another loop went around her neck, and soon he could guide her forward on a leash. He walked briskly in the direction of his friend. Sarah was still exhausted and famished, and his fast pace was difficult. He continually yanked on her leash as they caught up with his friend. The older one glanced at her and smiled but said nothing. The two of them continued walking inland, away from the sea, towards wherever they were going. Sarah was utterly lost and out of hope. So she stumbled along, tripping, swaying, and feeling miserable in every possible way.

Hours later the two men stopped. They spoke among themselves again, seeing to argue. About her. Now the older one was eying her lustily, but the younger one was adamant. Even so, they argued for a while and seemed to reach an agreement. Now the older one forced Sarah to the ground, but facing down. Her hands were still bound, but he lifted up her hips. The younger man didn’t leave them alone, but stood watching. Sarah lay weeping, wondering which of her openings was in danger.

It was her ass. He spit onto his manhood, and then pressed it mightily into her anus. Sarah shrieked in pain, enough that the younger one slapped her face and shouted something at her. She guessed it was an order to be silent. But it was hard as the other man ass-raped her hard, jerking her whole body back and forth, driving her face and her tits into the leaves and twigs of the forest floor. But he finished up eventually and pulled out from her.

As they were sitting down and fetching some dried meat from pouches to eat, Sarah suddenly heard war whoops from all around them. She turned frantically, seeing another group of Indians coming out of the trees at them. Her two captors were on their feet in an instant, knives drawn, and Sarah barely had time to process the fight that began. Someone tackled her and she found herself under a man’s knee, lying on the ground yet again. There were some shouts and some cries of pain, and the scuffled moved away. She heard running off into the distance, but they regrouped around her in minutes.

Now Sarah looked up and saw eight Indian men gazing down at her bound and naked body. They looked slightly different than the other two. Different tribe. Not the Sarrenassetts. Or maybe they were and the two men weren’t. Or maybe neither was.

“Please tell me you speak English,” she said tearfully to them.

They looked among each other. “I speak the tongue of the Orange King,” one of them said slowly.

“Thank God,” she said.

“Who are you, a bound female, to address me so?” he asked. She wasn’t sure if he was bothered by her or not.

“My name is Sarah Miller,” she said. “I’m from Piedmoore Point.”

“This place is known to us, Sarah Miller.”

“Will you take me there?”

“We will not take you to Piedmoore Point. We will take you to our home and decide there how to proceed. You were the captive of the Mohanicans, but now you are the captive of the Sarrenassetts.”

“What, what will you do to me then?” she asked, trying not to cry.

“This question will be answered at home. To speculate now is without purpose. You will remain bound and you will march with us, Sarah Miller.”

Sadly, Sarah had no option but to go with them. They walked for a while, just as quickly as the Mohanicans had, and leaving her just as weak. Then they stopped, seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

“Sarah Miller, at our home you will be judged and our actions in finding you will be evaluated by our chieftain. But now we eight men have a unique claim to you that could be lost later. We claim it now from your body. Lie down and do not resist or we will be forced to use tortures on you that the white peoples usually find unbearable even to watch.”

Now terrified, Sarah got herself down on the ground, spreading her legs wide and clenching her eyes shut in shame as they gathered to look at her open gash. One by one the men mounted her, piercing her opening with their cocks, flooding her womb with their man juices. How many, she desperately wondered, could she take before she ended up with a baby in her? Each of the eight took her in turn, the ordeal lasting well over an hour. The Sarah that stood up afterwards was more shamed and despondent than at any time of her life. Eight men raped her easily and calmly. What would happen in their village, with hundreds? Would they ever stop raping her long enough to let her womanhood heal up properly?

They walked again, and Sarah saw signs of settlement. There was tilled farmland, with crops in some. And soon enough they were in an Indian village. The Sarrenassetts presumably. They took her to a recognizable center of town, and there she saw it.

A fire was burning in a pit, with a line overhead for drying clothing. And on the line, she saw several thick English fashions, including the summer outercoat that Osborne Climewater wore during the voyage. He wasn’t on the boat anymore. He was there, in the village, having his clothes treated and dried for him.

Sarah’s mind rebelled. She didn’t know what to think anymore. Had he come to rescue her? Had she misunderstood back on the boat? Had he repented of his accusations? Was he there to kill her as a witness to his crime? Was the boat waiting somewhere nearby? She couldn’t even formulate the words in her head. It was just too confusing and she was terribly weak of body and mind, almost faint.

She didn’t wait long. The men dispersed, and others gathered around, talking amongst themselves. Soon enough there were older men there, probably the chief among them. And shortly after that, she spotted Osborne quickly leaving one of the huts and coming towards her. He was speaking to them. He was speaking their tongue!

“Sarah, I guess you can swim after all,” he said with a smile. “Come meet my friends.”

“Your friends?” she asked.

“I’ve ministered to this village for almost twenty years now. I count most of them as my friends.” He turned and spoke loudly to some of them, gesturing to Sarah. Suddenly they burst out in laughter and smiles.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“So, it looks like we’ve been reunited. Interesting.”

“Osborne, please tell me true what is going on? Did you betray me?” she asked.

“I did. Does that surprise you? I’ll get away eventually, but you have no future here nor anywhere else. Take my advice, Sarah. Beg the chief to trade you to a friendly tribe far away and live out your life as a pleasure captive there. It’s your best option right now.”

Sarah stared at him, mouth gaping open in shock. She hadn’t expected to hear anything so blunt, and the phrase pleasure captive sounded terrifyingly obscene. As the semen from nine rapes still stuck to her inner thighs, it wasn’t hard to guess its meaning. But it also meant she had no friends here and an open and active enemy, one who had convinced her to commit a major crime and then framed her for it.

Osborne began talking to one of the elders, probably the chief. The conversed for a short time, and she heard her own name, but the chief didn’t seem terribly impressed by Osborne’s words. Finally the chief switched and began speaking slowly in English.

“Reverend Climewater, many seasons have we known each other, but today I feel I am talking to a stranger. You speak to me in my language that you speak well, but I do not sense you do this from respect for me, but instead to keep your white-skinned female compatriot ignorant of your words against her.”

“Chief, this man has framed me for crimes!” Sarah cried quickly, trying to get her say in before she was cut off.

“Your words are also from a stranger,” he said to her. “I cannot learn the truth when there seems to be much dishonesty.” He turned to a group of men nearby and spoke to them. Osborne fidgeted as they spoke. Sarah stood there, useless and humiliated. Her hands were still bound and she was still leashed.

“I have given orders that I will repeat to you, Sarah Miller of Piedmoore Point, so that you may know them true. We will send a runner to your town and inform the people there that Osborne Climewater and Sarah Miller are our guests. If either of you is in disfavor, they will send a party to fetch either of you back there. Osborne Climewater, you have been our friend and shall have free movement within the village, but do not attempt to leave here. Sarah Miller, you are unknown to us and your feminine beauty both allures and distracts us. You shall be bound to the ground during the wait. No violence upon you will be permitted, but pleasures shall be granted at will. Osborne Climewater, make no contact with Sarah Miller during this time. If the town of Piedmoore Point sends word that they do not seek the two of you, Osborne Climewater will be freed with our friendship and apology as our atonement to the people of white skin for our trouble. Sarah Miller will be traded to a distant allied tribe at our earliest opportunity as the people of white skin’s atonement to us for their trouble. Everything will be then in balance.”

“But chief, I’ve done nothing wrong!” Sarah cried just before they seized her and dragged her to an open spot of ground. She screamed and tried to break loose as they drove four stakes into the ground and lashed her tightly to them, spreading her out wide, legs wide, naked and exposed to everyone. And what had the chief said? No violence, but pleasures at will? What did that even mean? They could rape her but not hit her?

As the assembled dozens of Indians dispersed, Sarah looked around in desperation. She saw no friendly faces. No one was willing to help her. It seemed her fate to lie naked and spread eagled on the dirt for days until the townsfolk came for her, probably to hang her at this point.

Within the hour, at least, some of the village women came by and gently fed her. She found their food different but tasty enough and healthy. None of them spoke English, at least not to her. She tried to ask them questions, but if they understood her they certainly weren’t answering. After the meal, they engaged in a curious ritual, spreading dyes onto her naked skin in patterns she couldn’t really see. But decorate her they did, in swirls and shapes with blues and reds, up and down her body. She had no idea what she looked like.

The afternoon played out with people mostly ignoring Sarah. She felt absurd and ridiculous, lying there stark naked like a rug while apparently a couple hundred men, women, and children walked past her from time to time. But as darkness came, so too did the men.

“Please, can’t you understand me?” she begged him, a lone brave who smiled at his good fortune while he knelt between her legs. “I don’t want this! This hurts me! Can’t you understand me? Please, no!” she sobbed, shaking her head wildly, but he utterly ignored her words and tone, casually lining up and thrusting himself into her. Once again she cried out as her injured cunt was pummeled with a cock until the hot stickiness flooded her. He smiled and got up to leave.

He hadn’t been gone even a minute when the next man appeared for her. They weren’t crowding. They weren’t fighting. They weren’t even really talking. But they were waiting their turns. Sarah cried wildly as the reality of her next few nights sank into her realization. One, two, a dozen, two dozen. She lost count before, sometime in the deepest darkest time of night, they finally ceased to visit her pussy.

August 24, 2017, 05:58:27 PM
Reply #7

Offline gscmar64

Always said you can't trust the church, they'll screw you every chance they get!

August 24, 2017, 06:29:55 PM
Reply #8

Offline SoftGameHunter

The contingent of men strode out to the pillory, Pieter de Voore tried to lead them in some meaningful, menacing way, but only his own men seemed inclined to keep up with his long strides and stern demeanor. Sinclair and Goodeman walked slower, talking to each other about crops and the coming harvest season. Vetterman was quiet and stayed behind Goodeman, and his younger partner who no one had introduced yet held back further. Samuel Wilson walked with his teen son, a bit to the side, apparently talking about their sister/daughter’s new dress from Boston. Wilson had been remarkably unhelpful considering it was his shop that was burglarized. He certainly had no cause for such an attitude. It was not as though de Voore suspected him of any wrongdoing.

A sudden stray thought crossed him mind, and he almost faltered in his pace. Parshoot seemed oblivious, but Kleinmann glanced at his boss. de Voore resumed his pace, and soon they were at the pillory where Prudence Fairfield still stood, frazzled and broken. He saw the cum on her legs. Someone had enjoyed her during the night.

“Miss Fairfield,” he announced. “Your search yesterday was unfinished. We now shall finish it. Mr. Parshoot, if you please.”

“What else do you want?” Prudence whined? I’ve been here! I’ve been violated! Oh Lord, I’m ruined!”

“You were never that exalted,” de Voore said as Parshoot smiled and pried apart her ass cheeks.

“What? No!” she cried.

“Clenching will make only my job harder, not impossible,” Jan Parshoot said to her. “Please try to relax and it will be less hurting for you.”

“Please, magistrate, don’t allow this!” Prudence begged to Sinclair. “I’m truly innocent, I swear to the Lord.”

“When you are cleared of crimes, you will be freed,” Sinclair said. Prudence wanted to say more, but her face twisted and contorted right before their eyes as Parshoot inserted his fingers into her anus and felt around her innards. Her whole body shook, making her big breasts sway and her soft flesh jiggle. But her sobs overwhelmed her words. Of course a crowd had gathered to watch.

“There are no gems in the girl,” Parshoot said after a bit of deep searching. He used the bucket of water they carried out to wash his hand off.

“Then we should free her,” Goodeman said. “I see no need to detain her longer.”

“This girl has been unattended for over half a day, including all night,” de Voore snapped. “If she has an accomplice, he could easily have come by and removed the evidence. Plus she resisted a lawful search and must serve a term of punishment!”

“Keeping her here won’t make the gems show up in her ass, sir,” Vetterman said, speaking up finally.

“But it will keep her from fleeing town, and it will allow her to serve out a proper sentence!”

“That is my call to make, gentlemen,” Sinclair said, looking uncomfortable.

“May I remind you, sir, of my granted authority by the royal governor’s office?” de Voore said.

“I read the letter, sir,” Sinclair said. All eyes were on him. de Voore chose silence at that moment. “She, um, Prudence Fairfield will serve out a sentence for obstruction until tomorrow at noon.”

“Please, protect me, sirs,” Prudence managed to sob. “I’ve been raped. Many men came.”

“We will discuss Prudence Fairfield’s disposition before her release,” de Voore stated coldly. “I don’t wish for her to run away to Boston.”

“As you wish,” Sinclair said, turning and heading off. They left Prudence sobbing in her pillory. The constables departed.

“Mr. Parshoot,” de Voore said, speaking in Dutch, “Conduct a full investigation of Wilson’s shop. Look for irregularities. Take Kleinmann.”

“Of course, sir,” Parshoot replied. They departed, with Parshoot telling Wilson he wished to check the crime scene again.

“Do you wish to converse with us again, Mr. de Voore?” Goodeman asked.

“I wish to understand your system. Your way of life here in the towns,” de Voore said, softening his expression. “I am accustomed to larger cities. Amsterdam. London. Or even New York or Boston. A crime there would be handled very differently. They have dedicated investigators. They have dedicated judicial employees. But here I discover that the town preacher is the prosecutor and the chief of police is the defense counsel. I clearly am out of my element, as you say in English.”

“We don’t have a lot of trials,” Sinclair said. “I’m the only judge, and it is not even my primary duty.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for the preacher, the shepherd of the flock so to speak, be the defender? Wouldn’t the policeman be the prosecutor?”

“We trade off,” Goodeman said. “We all know everyone. There isn’t a person in Piedmoore Point I don’t know well. With Thomas it is the same, and Osborne as well. We all have our opinions, but we need to do the court’s business.”

“Where, may I ask, is the good reverend? I have yet to meet him,” de Voore asked.

“I don’t rightly know,” Goodeman said. “I was seeking him as well.”

“You don’t suppose something has happened to him? Something untoward?” de Voore asked. “There is still probably an unknown thief running about free.”

“Oh, I doubt it’s come to that,” Sinclair said, but he sounded unconvinced. “But I should like to find him. Cadwallader, didn’t your constables locate him?”

“He was not in his quarters nor anywhere in the church when they called upon him.”

“Look further,” Sinclair said. “This is becoming odd.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, I understand better now. You seem to have made good allowance for your smaller population.” He nodded to them both and headed a different direction.

“Well that was kinder than most of the big city folk act,” Goodeman said.

“Yes. Indeed. Why do I take no comfort in that?”

Blocks away, Parshoot and Kleinmann were conducting their business at Wilson’s shop and home. Parshoot had the ledgers open while Kleinmann again examined the window frame. They both turned when they heard the rustle of satin, and were presented with the beauty of a teen girl dressed in finery that failed to conceal her remarkable charms.

“Good day to you fine gentlemen,” she said with a hesitant smile. “We have not been introduced. I am Chastity Wilson, my father is Samuel Wilson.”

“Miss Wilson,” Parshoot said.

“Please, it is a small community here. Call me Chastity. My friends call me Chass, which sounds odd, I know.”

“Perhaps Chastity, then, until we can honor ourselves with your proper friendship,” Parshoot said.

“I’m very happy that you are here to aid my father. The loss of the gems hurt our fortunes badly. The insurance policy will be a godsend for our recovery.”

“It is our job to ensure that for members with goodness of standing the Guild pays for them,” Parshoot said. Chastity gave a little giggle.

“I’m sorry, but you have such a charming way of speaking, sir.”

“Please pardon my speaking. Language is not my strength, and I studied more French than English. I still am learning it.”

“You come from Amsterdam!” she blurted out before blushing and recovering. “Such a fine city I’ve heard. So many interesting diversions and entertainments. It must be difficult to be a young lady of virtue, though.”

“We Dutch are famous throughout Europe for our open attitudes on such things,” Parshoot said. “Or perhaps we are being infamous rather.” Kleinmann was smiling a little and moving closer to the pair. “Unlike my German colleague here, who hails from Dresden where they are perfectly dour at all times.”

“Dortmund,” Kleinmann said. “I come from Dortmund, not Dresden.”

“Of course.”

“It’s all fascinating to me,” Chastity said. “I’ve only been as far as Boston, and only once. The pleasures, the pleasures of the world are a mystery to me.”

“I see. And which of the pleasures do you mean to speak of?” Parshoot asked.

“I think all of them.”

“I see.”

“I’m very innocent,” she said, pushing the theme. She put a smile on her face. “I suppose that seems very quaint to men of the world such as yourselves.”

“If you are innocent, do you wish to become guilty?” Kleinmann said in his thickly accented English.

“Heh. That is a good way to put it,” she said, closing the door so the three of them were alone. Her eyes darted from one man to the other and back again. Her body was trembling as she took a few steps closer to them.

Parshoot walked over to her. “You are not being a subtle young woman,” he said. “But that is acceptable to us.” He touched his fingers to her bodice clasps and felt her shake at the touch. But she smiled and began working the fastenings herself. As her chest began to grow bare as the fabric fell away, Kleinmann also moved closer to the young girl. She gasped and breathed hard as the two foreign men surrounded her. But she kept the smile on her face as her clothing dropped away. She wore very few undergarments, but those too were soon lying on the floor, discarded and kicked aside. Now the naked young girl stood between the two dressed me, smiling, trembling badly, and breathing hard.

“Truly, this is completely new to me,” she said.

“Completely? You have no young male friend in the town?” Parshoot asked.

“No, never,” she said. “This is, it’s more fun, don’t you think? To do it, and be dirty about it? Yes?”

“Dirtiness is what we can show you,” Parshoot said, cupping her two breasts with his hands, rubbing his thumbs over her hard nipples.

“Yes! Oh yes, that feels good! Pray do continue!” she said. Suddenly Kleinmann’s finger was up her pussy. She gasped, and her jaw quivered. A few tears broke free from her eyes.

“You, you give me a treat, sir,” she said, grinning even wider, but soon her efforts faltered. She jerked herself free of both men and fled across the room to the corner. “I can’t do it!” she sobbed. “I simply cannot!”

Parshoot followed her closely, with Kleinmann sauntering to the door first to lock it before joining them. “What is it that you cannot do?” Parshoot asked.

“I can’t, I mustn’t. I’m not a whore! I can’t do this!” she cried.

“It seems that you are indeed a whore,” Parshoot said, grabbing her arm. He was grinning now. For once, Pieter wasn’t going to get to go first. “And later we shall be discussing what happened here just now. But first you will perform!”

“No, you don’t understand. I must go now! I cannot do this. I won’t!”

“Oh, you will,” Parshoot assured her, shoving her backwards onto an empty section of table. “We insist.”

“No!” she cried, realizing their intent. She rolled away and darted for the door, only to find it locked. As she fumbled with the lock, Kleinmann yanked her away and hurled her to the floor. She fell and skidded, crying out in pain before the two men were on top of her.

“Hold her!” Parshoot yelled in Dutch. “She’s not pulling this nonsense with us!” As Kleinmann pinned her to the floor, Parshoot removed his trousers and exposed his cock to her. Chastity’s eyes flew open wide at the sight of it, and she looked repulsed. As he got down on top of her, she turned her head and puked onto the floor beside her. He ignored the puddle and parted her legs to drive himself into her cunt. He felt her break and felt the hot blood surround his cock. A virgin at last, his rather than Pieter’s. He drove into her hard, angrily, wondering a bit what she’d been trying to do so badly, but not caring that much. Instead he focused on hammering the ignorant little slut and tease, pounding her hard and fast in her extraordinarily tight little box. She screamed in real pain with each thrust in and each yank out. Harder and harder he went until pumping his seed into her womb.

“Your turn,” he said as he pinned her arms and Kleinmann took his place. The older man’s cock was longer and thicker, and he wasted no time before slamming it into the young girl’s pussy. She shrieked in agony as he pulverized her cunt with his manly tool. She flailed about, threatening to break free of Parshoot’s grasp until he punched her on her nose and adjusted his grip. Now she was better secured, and utterly helpless against Kleinmann’s savagery.

He was done soon enough, and the two men dressed and looked down at their girl, curled up and screaming in pain as she clutched her crotch and belly. It seemed likely she was injured inside, as she continued shaking with agony.

“Well?” Parshoot asked.

Kleinmann gestured to a closet. “I think they have room in there?” He grabbed Chastity by her ankle and dragged her to the closet. “Who sent you?” he asked. “Why did you try to seduce us?”

“I, I…” she wept incoherently.

“Knock when you wish to talk,” Kleinmann said before shutting and locking the closet door on her. Then they went back to work.

“It can only have been the father,” Kleinmann said. “Does Mr. de Voore suspect him?”

“He must. We are here, aren’t we?” Parshoot said. “Maybe he was working with Sarah Miller to fake a burglary.”

“And he doesn’t want us snooping,” Kleinmann said. “He gave us his daughter just to distract us.”

“The Guild insurance fund will not pay out for a fake burglary,” Parshoot said. “Let’s see what we can find.”

August 25, 2017, 12:35:04 PM
Reply #9

Offline SoftGameHunter

Climewater paced and grumbled during the long wait. It would take a couple of days for the round trip, and then there would be questions about his departure. Meanwhile, every time he went walking in the woods, there were some friendly Sarrenassett warriors within waving distance, more of them the further off he ventured. These people, he realized, were much smarter than he’d believed possible for half-Christianized savages. And worst of all was that he couldn’t get close to Sarah Miller and either fuck her or strangle her. Luckily there was Lonely Doe to keep him company evenings.

Across the village, Sarah entertained more company than she ever wanted to see again. Each day the women of the tribe fed her good food and washed her up from her eliminations. For a half hour, she was not bound to the dirt until they tied her once again. And each day they decorated her skin with bright colors that she finally learned were allocating access to her body among the various clans within the tribe, lest they fight over her. She couldn’t really tell most of them apart easily, particularly as they came for her in the dark. But she felt there had been many dozens of them, maybe a hundred or more during her stay. She couldn’t be more fallen.

And then she was looking up into the face of a new white man. It was daylight, not the time for the men to come for her. But there he was.

“I’d ask you if you were Sarah Miller,” he said in a thick accent, “But I doubt really that you could be anyone else. My name is Jan Parshoot, and I’ve come with your town’s contingent to see what’s happening here.”

“Who are you?” she asked. His name meant nothing.

“Oh, of course. Forgive me. I am a junior investigator for the International Gem and Jewelers’ Guild. We came to Piedmoore Point to investigate the theft of valuable gems of worth from Samuel Wilson’s shop. I believe you are familiar with this case.”

“I’m innocent!” she cried, tugging at her bonds, feeling very helpless in front of this strange white man.

“Perhaps. We are telling the chief of these Indians that the company of both you and Osborne Climewater are much wanted back in the town.”

“I did nothing! It was Osborne Climewater! He seduced me! He convinced me to help with the burglary! He has the gems! He always has.”

Parshoot looked surprised at her outburst. “Well, your testimony will be noted,” he said.

“Just listen. Just believe me!”

“In time, Miss Miller,” he said with a widening grin. She didn’t like his expression, and when he knelt down on the ground in front of her Sarah couldn’t help but groan in frustration and shame. He soon had his cock sliding in and out. It still hurt. She’d had no time to heal at all, with fresh fucking every single day. But at least he was alone. It was her sole solace as she sobbed while he dressed.

Before long Sarah found herself handcuffed, leashed, and walking behind a pack horse. She was still naked. Climewater walked freely, speaking to Parshoot, as well as constable David Tumbridge. She couldn’t tell what they were saying, but she guessed Osborne was glibly lying his way out of trouble yet again. Two other townsmen accompanied them, militiamen by their looks. She vaguely knew them both but spoke to them rarely in her lifetime.

Nightfall came, and the small party camped out along the path. Sarah was the first item of business. They’d obviously decided to stake her out again. Parshoot was the first to rape her that evening after supper, as the darkness closed around them. Then the two townsmen. Then Tumbridge. Finally Osborne was allowed onto her, and he vigorously raped her with hatred and anger.

“Why did you do it?” Sarah wept when he was done.

“Because you are a good lay and God wills it,” he told her.

“No. Why did you frame me! I never did anything to you.”

He shrugged. “So what? Do you think you are special, even to God? You are not. And I’ve already fed Parshoot a line that will earn me exoneration.”

“What did you tell him?”

“And give you time to formulate a reply?”

Sarah had no reply. He had probably beaten her yet again. Ever since she foolishly spread her legs and opened her mind for him, her life had spiraled downward. There seemed no end.

In the morning, after a brief breakfast and a group effort at raping Sarah, they were on their way again, expecting to reach the town by nightfall. They marched fast, ate little along the way on the last day, and reached Piedmoore Point before supper.

Right away Sarah noticed something odd. Her roommate, Prudence, was standing in the pillory, stark naked, looking weak and sickly. How long had she been there, to degrade so much? And a new pillory stood there, with two stations. They were filled, and she recognized Chastity and Anna Wilson, wife and daughter of Samuel Wilson. And they each were naked as well. As they walked past, she saw the familiar, revolting, signs of cum leaking from them and running down their thighs. Chastity’s young, slim body bore the marks of a light whipping. Anna Wilson, considerably fleshier of body and ample of bosom, just stood glumly, staring ahead, expressionless. Were they now implicated? Sarah knew she had to confess about the theft. But she had to convince them it was Climewater who planned it all.

Sinclair looked firm and angry when the group went to visit with him at the town meeting hall. “Reverend Climewater, this is most irregular behavior,” he said.

“I am sure it looks that way, Thomas,” Climewater replied. “I’d like to discuss it with you. I’d rather the whore not be present, though.”

Sinclair turned to Vetterman. “Is the next pillory ready?”

“It is, your honor,” the constable said.

“Put Sarah Miller in it, in the square, but not close enough to converse with the others.”

“Please, magistrate, let me tell you what happened!” Sarah cried. “I’m willing to confess.”

“And we shall listen in due time. Get her out of here!”

Vetterman pulled Sarah from the room. Along the way he sent Tumbridge off to the workshop to fetch the pillory, then escorted Sarah to the square. A crowd seemed to be ever present there, and it grew slightly seeing a fourth naked woman there.

“Please, sir, let me explain everything. You are a constable, aren’t you? I want to confess to a crime!”

“Very well. What have you done?”

“I participated in the gem theft. And I was with my accomplice about to fornicate when we were interrupted. But he has the stones, and it was his plan. It was Osborne Climewater, I swear to you!”

“The reverend Climewater? That’s unlikely.”

“He was taking me and the gems to Jamaica. We got on the boat to flee. But he never intended to keep me. He betrayed me as well as the town. It’s the truth, I swear it! Please, believe me!”

“That’s not up to me, Miss Miller. Tell it to the magistrate, or to the court when you are surely re-tried.”

Tumbridge arrived, huffing as he dragged the heavy pillory along. It was built just as the others, locking her legs spread and bent over. She wept as they placed her in the fowl thing again. She was a good fifty feet from the other women, from Prudence and the other two she did not know well. She couldn’t even talk to them, nor see them once she was locked in place.

For hours Sarah stood there until it was near dark. Then someone walked up to her, and for a moment she thought Osborne had come for her, but she realized it was a different man when she got a better look. He was a stranger to her.

“Sarah Miller. We meet now. I am Pieter de Voore, investigator for the International Gem and Jewelers’ Guild. I hear you have been confessing to the very crime that brought me here. Please tell me of it.”

“It was Osborne Climewater’s idea,” she said, and repeated quickly the story she’d been telling Parshoot and Vetterman. de Voore listened without a single change in his stern expression. He asked a few questions about the planning and commission of the burglary.

“I will note your claims in my investigation,” he said. “We shall discuss this further. Do not worry about spending the night locked in this pillory. I shall arrange different quarters for you, Miss Miller.” His eyes roamed her body as he spoke the last line.

“Thank you,” she said. She didn’t know how else to respond. de Voore walked away, and she was alone again with the gawkers and the troublemakers and the fading daylight. An hour later Tumbridge came to release her.

“You won’t be causing trouble now, right?” he asked. “Because I can chain you if I have to.”

“I won’t cause trouble,” Sarah said. She fidgeted, wanting to use her hands to cover herself. It seemed like a trivial thing after so many days. She just longed to put the ordeal behind her. But she kept her hands at her sides as Tumbridge walked her through town to a boarding house. She was puzzled until he led her up to a door and knocked.

de Voore answered. “Thank you, constable. That will be all,” he said. Sarah realized his intent, but was too worn down to resist. He was going to fuck her. That just made him the latest man to use her body. She walked in and sat on the edge of the bed.

“How good of you to come,” he said to her.

“I’ll do what you say, sir. I won’t cause trouble,” she replied sadly but resigned to it.

“You won’t cause trouble. I see. I see. How very admirable of you, to cause me no trouble.”

“Is there something you wish of me, sir?” she asked, suddenly wary. de Voore suddenly seemed extremely menacing to her. Her whole body and mind told her she was in danger.

“Lie down on the bed and spread out your arms and legs. I am going to tie them down,” he said.

“Oh, but sir, I’ll take any position you ask. There’s no need to bind me,” she said, trying to force a smile.

“I gave you your instruction.”

Sarah gulped but did as he ordered, spreading her body out for him. He was probably just scaring her. He was indeed scaring her. And true to his word, he bound her quickly and tightly to the corners of the bed. Sarah was completely helpless, and the more so when he quickly stuffed a cloth into her mouth and tied it in place. Now she was gagged and silenced. She could scream murder and get no help from anyone in the building.

“And now, Sarah Miller, we will have a longer interrogation,” he said with a wide grin. “Feel free to end it by providing me with relevant information.” He reached into his baggage and began pulling out leather items. Metal items. Sharp objects. Sarah’s eyes bugged open with terror, and she did try to scream. It was a muffled and useless attempt.

“We shall save the bloodier items for closer to morning, agreed?” he said. “But don’t worry. This is certainly going to hurt you a lot!”

Sarah threw her head back and wailed into the wall and ceiling, praying for someone to hear her cries. No one did.

He brought over a couple of candles and a long, thin spike with a sharp end. “I hear you had a piercing several days ago. This will be different,” he said as he held the spike over the candles, letting it warm up until it glowed. Sarah was gasping to keep her breath steady, her body sweating. de Voore pulled the spike from the candles and pressed the sharp tip to her left nipple, holding her tit still with his other hand, and pushing the glowing hot spike into her tit flesh. Sarah felt the horrid stinging burn and shrieked, jerking about. He slid it several inches into her body, waiting a bit, and pulled it out. Then he held it over the candle again.

“I do so love your cries of pain. Female agony is the most wonderful sound and sensation,” he said. Sarah tried to beg him to stop. Even if she could have spoken in words, he seemed unlikely to stop. He just heated up the spike again until it glowed and then pressed it into her right nipple.

On and on it went. The thin spike left almost no mark and drew no blood. But it pierced and burned pain centers all over her body as he moved randomly around her front side. Her sexy bits, breasts and cunt, got extra attention, with her clit alone getting pierced over ten times during his long torture of her body. But she was tortured all over. Her legs, arms, belly, cheeks, all of it. Sarah just screamed in pain and terror, praying each minute for it to end as the hour grew late. She’d gone into his room just after sunset, and he was still at it when the town bell chimed midnight and for over an hour after that.

How could it be happening to her, she desperately wondered. What had happened to her life, that she was now a naked sex prisoner to a sadist? There was only one answer. Climewater had happened to her.

de Voore finished off, eventually, by mounting and raping her where she lay. It was a relief to finally feel his thick cock inside her, punishing her cunt. He fell asleep beside her, and she eventually slumbered too.

Sarah awoke from a whip crashing across her chest. She screamed into the gag, opening her eyes and almost seeing Osborne before realizing again that it was de Voore. He was thrashing her with a short flogger. When she was good and awakened, he mounted her and fucked her again, taking his time, grinding his cock into her perpetually wounded pussy. He’d pried her open with his fingers last night briefly between pokes, and commented on how blistered and scarred she was down in there, and how she should treat the best part of herself with better love and care. Now he just fucked her, sliding along her cunt injuries. She was in the usual pain. She strained at her bonds, out of instinct more than a belief she would get herself freed.

“This is going to be very unpleasant,” he said to her after he’d shot his load into her womb. He was gathering more devices. “It will go down your throat, and it will cut you on the inside, in your belly, and cause your stomach to empty into your insides. It is a painful way to die.”

He paused, letting the impact of his words sink in. Sarah had only been halfway listening to him by then. But now she realized he was talking of killing her. “Painful, but hidden,” he said. “I will simply say that you collapsed. No one will ever know.”

She tried to scream, to speak, to say something. “I realize you can’t imagine why I would do something like that. Why would I kill you now? Or ever? Well, Sarah, you’ve gotten caught up in something, and it’s your bad luck that your continued living will just make trouble for us. So, goodbye.”

He sat down on her chest and pulled the gag out in order to jam the metal rods down her throat. She screamed frantically as soon as the gag was off. “Help! Murder! Murder!” she screamed, but he grabbed her face and pressed the sharp irons into her mouth, trying to get them down her throat.

The door to the room suddenly burst open, nearly flying off its hinges. As de Voore turned, Sarah was able to see both constables, with Goodeman behind them, and other men further back that she couldn’t make out.

“What’s this?” Vetterman asked, stepping in. “Having a spot of fun, de Voore?”

“He’s trying to kill me!” Sarah cried. “He’s up to something.”

“Very likely, yes,” Goodeman said. “Bring this man to the town hall, and his associates too. Have a posse standing by. We’re going to resolve this business today.”

August 25, 2017, 02:31:15 PM
Reply #10

Offline SoftGameHunter

Climewater stood in the unoccupied room when de Voore was escorted in. “I’d like to talk to the good reverend for a bit, if you don’t mind,” de Voore said to Vetterman.

“Alright.”

The door closed and the two men faced each other. “This is not working out well,” de Voore said. “What did you say? I was taking care of Sarah Miller when I was interrupted and brought here!”

“I haven’t said anything!” Climewater nearly hissed. “Those sailors I hired threw me off the back of their ship after I had them do the same to Sarah. She’s turning into quite the problematic whore.”

“Fine, I don’t really care anymore about that. I have two outstanding issues in my mind right now. The first is why those men broke open my door this morning and nearly dragged me out. I was in the middle of putting Sarah out of her misery.”

“And the second?”

“Do you have the gems you stole?”

“Of course! They haven’t left my person since I got them.”

“Show them to me!”

“Here?”

“You’re paying me with them, aren’t you? Show me the treasure.”

Glancing at the door, Climewater dug into his vestments and pulled out a small satchel, which he opened and poured a handful of gems onto the table. They shined and glistened in the morning sunlight. de Voore scooped them up and peered at them closely before growling something in unintelligible Dutch. His eyes flared so hard Climewater took a step back.

“You are a fool! You are a colossal idiot of the first order! I cannot believe we share the same paternity! Your mother must have been dumb as a cow. These gems are not worth three thousand pounds! They might be worth one hundred!”

Climewater’s face went pale. He reached for the gems in de Voore’s hands, but the Dutchman clenched his fist and put the stones in their satchel into his own pocket. “As this is the only payment I’m likely to get now, I’m keeping all of them!”

At that exact moment, the door opened and the town officers entered. Sinclair and Goodeman were there, as well as the councilmen. Parshoot and Kleinmann were escorted in, along with two other men. Climewater knew neither of them.

“It appears some introductions are in order,” Sinclair said. Mr. de Voore, Parshoot, and Kleinmann of the International Gem and Jewelers’ Guild, these gentlemen are Mr. Axelrod and de Jong of the International Gem and Jewelers’ Guild, arrived just today to investigate the insurance claims on the theft of some gem stones.

Goodeman and his constables looked surprised, and Climewater was still fuming. de Voore glanced at the newcomers. “Hello Reginald, hello Willem. I didn’t expect to see you gentlemen here.”

“These are the imposters?” Axelrod asked, turning to Sinclair. “They are my colleagues. And Pieter de Voore is actually my superior. What is this about imposters in the town causing trouble?”

“They, well, their presence has been disruptive. And there is the matter of the timing,” Sinclair stammered. He turned. “Bring the other one in!”

Soon they were joined by another stranger. The guildmen glanced at him briefly. “This is, I believe, Henry Schott, of the Boston office,” de Voore said.

“Yes, sir,” the newcomer said. “Well, I was asked to ask a few questions about some timelines not adding up, you see.”

“Speak sensibly, man,” de Voore said. “What is on your mind?”

“Well, sir, you told Richard Whitman Benally, our master in Boston, than you received word in New York and came to investigate, but Mr. Benally didn’t see how that was possible. Even this time of year with the most passable roads, you can’t get from New York to Boston so quickly. And when these two gentlemen came through on their way to Piedmoore Point, well, it seemed suspicious.”

“I happened across the courier en route to New York!” de Voore snapped. “I never said I was there at the time. And as time matters in these investigations, I re-routed myself and my team here. The courier must have neglected to report that. Or he simply didn’t understand. The man was not a sharp nail, I assure you all of that!”

“But Mr. Benally said you were in New York.”

“I’m afraid I woke him. He heard me wrong. But as I clearly am not an imposter, perhaps we can let this absurd line of inquiry drop.”

“Yes, indeed,” Axelrod said. “Colonial communications are always so troublesome.”

“What we need, now, is a new trial to commence immediately!” de Voore said. “I have the authority under the Royal Governor’s Office of Massachusetts to make such a demand.”

“A trial for whom? On what charges?” Goodeman asked.

“Sarah Miller. Chastity Wilson. Anna Wilson. Samuel Wilson. Prudence Fairfield. On various charges related to the burglary and to fraud. I will serve as the lead prosecutor. Reverend Climewater, I appoint you to serve as defense for all of the accused in a single trial. Mr. Sinclair, I assume a trial venue can be readied by noon?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“Then we shall get to it, gentlemen. Now if you will excuse me, I will brush up on Massachusetts ordinances.” He quickly left the room, his two associates following.

“Well, at least we’ll be done with all of this soon,” Sinclair said to Climewater. “Now you get to defend Sarah Miller. How’s that for a turnabout?”

“Yes, most amusing,” Climewater said through gritted teeth. As he left the room, it occurred to him that at least he probably wasn’t being set up to be convicted himself. If he knew his half-brother at all, the brunt of the law would fall on the four women. Samuel Wilson’s role still seemed unclear to him.

At noon, the largest crowds ever were assembled in the town square. Besides virtually every resident, word had gotten to the Sarrenassetts village, and several dozen stood silently watching. All the sailors of the various ships in the harbor also gathered to watch. Finally, folks from the neighboring towns, having caught word of the scandals in Piedmoore Point, had filtered in just in time to be treated to the public trial.

Standing to one side, under guard, the five defendants awaited their ordeal. All of the women had been kept naked on de Voore’s orders, lest they need to be searched or examined once again. Sarah stood at the end of the line. Her hands were chained behind her back, the only defendant so restrained, after she panicked that morning  while being removed from de Voore’s room. Tears flowed from her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. But it was.

“All come to attention for the court!” Joshua Glendon shouted, serving as bailiff again. “The honorable magistrate Thomas Sinclair shall now begin procedings!”

“The court is in session,” Sinclair said, taking his seat again at the outdoor bench. “Prosecution, please summarize the cases.”

“Gladly, your honor. Pieter de Voore, speaking for the prosecution. The cases are very simple. Against Samuel Wilson and his wife Anna Wilson, the charges are that they engaged in multiple cases of fraud, passing off inferior gems as higher quality items and selling them as such. Our audit of their books shows this has been going on for some time, probably for years. Anyone who has purchased gems or jewelry from the Wilsons has probably been cheated!”

He paused for murmurs of shock and anger to run through the crowds. “Against their daughter and son, no fraud charges are filed as no proof is present, but against their daughter Chastity Wilson stands the charge of attempted bribery, attempted fornication, lascivious behavior, and assault. For on the orders of her father, she attempted to bribe my associates with full nudity and sex to distract them from their duties and to soften their attitudes. Upon being rejected, she physically assaulted them both, failing of course.”

He paused again to let the town mentally pass judgement on Chastity. She stood, weeping, but then burst out in anger. “You’re wrong!” she screamed. “It was never father! It was my mother! She led the fraud as she secretly ran the business. My father married into the gem and jewelry business but never mastered it. My mother browbeat him into going along in his limited capacity as she swindled our town blind! And it was her,” she paused, breaking down crying, “It was she that made me debase myself and act whorishly towards the investigators. I knew of her activities and I knew what would happen if we were found out. So I went along with it! But the men raped me when I tried to stop myself!”

“That’s enough. You’ll have a chance to testify,” de Voore said. “Be silent or your voice will be silenced with the scold’s bridle!”

Chastity continued to cry, but said no further words. Anna Wilson stood shaking in humiliation and rage. Samuel just looked beaten down.

“And finally, the action that inadvertently brought everything to life, there is the matter of the theft of these inferior gem stones. I charge that Sarah Miller, who has confessed to the burglary, is at least a willing participant. But on the matter of her accomplice, she has flagrantly attempted to besmirch the name of your very own Reverend Osborne Climewater! Sarah Miller condemns the very man who is now attempting to defend her actions, if you can believe that!”

Sarah listened in growing horror as the crowds roared their hatred. By the time she spoke, it would no longer matter what she said. They already hated her. She had no chance.

“The truth, gentlemen, I submit to you is far more lurid, tawdry, and revolting than anyone had dared to believe, because the people of Piedmoore Point are too good and wholesome to notice the foulness before them. Sarah Miller’s accomplice in crime and her sexual partner in fornication is none other than her supposed roommate Prudence Fairfield!”

Prudence’s cry of horror was utterly drowned out by the roar and catcalls of the gathered hundreds of spectators. Sarah just mentally sank right there. Even the dream of salvation was gone now. This de Voore person had spun a tale she could never repudiate. And she guessed the part about the gems was accurate, too. She’d been doomed right from the start.

The first witness was the defendant Samuel Wilson. Under de Voore’s revised examination, he fully and totally admitted to his own and his wife’s crimes, throwing himself on the mercy of the court.

Anna Wilson’s examination was more colorful, as the older woman swore and shook her fists, jiggling her ample naked womanly flesh with her animated antics until the scold’s bridle was produce and placed on her head. Chastity mere repeated what she said until the point where she accused the men Parshoot and Kleinmann of rape and beatings.

“I plead guilty to everything,” she sobbed, shaking uncontrollably. “The men did not assault me, and I retract my accusation and beg the court to show me mercy as much as Christian charity dictates.”

Prudence was next on the stand, but said nothing. She was just weeping and muttering isolated words, punctuated with various ‘please’, ‘no’, and ‘mercy’s. de Voore was not done with her, though.

“I insist that this defendant be examined for her virginity,” he said. “While she has had damnable relations with another woman, we cannot rule out that this unmarried woman has had relations with men as well. I have read that the precedent exists in this jurisdiction for the entire town to wisely examine her body for signs of past fornication. I demand that this be done as well now!”

“Agreed,” Sinclair said. “Bailiff, lash the defendant’s hands above her head to the tree branch and spread her legs with stakes in the ground. I don’t want any struggling.”

“Please, oh god, no! Don’t!” Prudence wailed as she was tied, arms overhead and legs spread. One by one, all of the adult males present at the trial filed past the young woman and pushed their fingers as far into her pussy as they could manage, all confirming that she was indeed not a virgin. And thus, she was found to be a whore and a fornicator.

Sarah was last. She was trembling badly as de Voore began. “Theft, perjury, fornication with both men and women, making false accusations! There seems to be no limit to what this young woman has been up to. I contend that it was Sarah Miller who masterminded the theft of what she honestly believed to be three thousand pounds worth of gemstones. It was Sarah Miller who convinced her roommate, with little effort albeit, to carry out the burglary. It was Prudence Fairfield who was with Sarah about to fornicate when they were discovered, and who ran off with the gems, probably to bury them somewhere in the woods. Even now, it is likely that a hundred pounds worth of gems sits under some tree stump, to be found someday, perhaps in future generations, and perhaps never. But Sarah Miller operated the entire scheme! Sarah Miller, after attempting to escape justice, tried to accuse your town’s finest citizen the Reverent Osborne Climewater of noxious crimes such as rape and theft in order to distract from her own overwhelming guilt. I repeat, her guilt is overwhelming! There can be no defense of this vile woman! Not this time!

“And at this time, I contend that Sarah’s virginity is in fact gone, and that she is a fornicator with unknown men as well as women, and that the town shall conduct a public vaginal exam on her just as it did on Prudence Fairfield.”

Sarah shook and wept as they took her over to the tree and bound her. One by one, all the people she knew in her entire life walked by and once again shoved their fingers into her cunt. She couldn’t even make eye contact with them, so badly was she shamed. They dove deep up into her, finding no barrier, finding her a woman, and a fallen one at that. Nor were they gentle. Running their fingers over her blistered and cut labia, they used many fingernails to further scratch up her insides and pinch her tender flesh painfully, even as the constables watched and saw nothing.

It was hours later when both girls had undergone the test, and after Climewater protested the differential treatment of the two of them versus Chastity Wilson, leading to Chastity also undergoing the line.

“Your honor, the case is as clear as it can be. I urge you to show justice to these five wretched souls.”

“Your honor,” Climewater said. “These are indeed wretched souls, but mercy is godly and to forgive divine. I urge you to consider that when you render your decision.”

Sarah stood, bound again, fuming at him. At least Goodeman had given her an impassioned defense. Climewater had said and done little. Now she was doomed to listen as their sentences were read out. How much of her life was truly over would now be revealed.

“Samuel Wilson, you are guilty on all counts except that you masterminded the fraud. Your possessions are forfeit. Your citizenship is forfeit. You shall receive one hundred lashes and then be banished forever from Piedmoore Point. Take him away.”

Sinclair waited until he was gone before continuing. The assembled audience hardly cared. They focused their attention on the women.

“Anna Wilson, you are also guilty on all counts. Your punishment is to be whipped with one thousand lashes, delivered once a year for the next ten years. During those ten years, you will be rented out to the highest bidding town in Massachusetts for menial, hard labor, performed in the nude. For your own safety, said towns each year must be located at least fifty miles from Piedmoore Point, so you will not be killed by those you defrauded.”

The older woman burst into tears as her sentence was read aloud, and she was dragged away, cutting her tongue on the scold’s bridle as she tried to beg for mercy.

“Chastity Wilson, you are guilty on all counts, though your testimony against your mother has been noted in identifying her as the true mastermind of fraud. You shall be sentenced to serve one year of hard labor servitude. And because you slandered the names of two investigators on this case, that year will be spent at a brothel on the Boston docks. There you will perform labor in cleaning and maintaining facilities while also servicing at least one thousand men during your sentence.”

The girl was dragged off screaming. Sarah could barely notice. They were saving her for last, but she still had to listen and watch as Prudence, utterly innocent of every single charge, received her fate.

“Prudence Fairfield, you are guilty on all counts. The court believes that you were led astray by your friend and roommate and unnatural lover Sarah Miller. Nonetheless, your behavior cannot be condoned, so you are sentenced to ten years imprisonment, nude, in the very first royal penal colony of the newly established crown colony in Australia, followed by banishment from North America.”

As Prudence was dragged screaming from the court, Sarah was all that remained. She felt the eyes of a thousand angry people boring into her. She stood, still naked, still handcuffed, and totally alone. She was weeping openly before Sinclair even began.

“Sarah Miller, you are guilty on every count, and probably more. Despite the fact that your activities led to the uncovering of fraud, you had no idea this would be an outcome, and it does not alleviate your guilt. You are sentenced to spend the rest of your life in a term of penal servitude including hard labor and public penance. You will conduct your sentence right here in Piedmoore Point so that everyone you see will be the face of someone you once knew before your fall. You will conduct hard labor in the farm fields, in the public latrines, on the docks, and wherever leaders of commerce and industry bid for your services. You will spend every night in a pillory constructed to allow you to lie down, and protected from the elements but fully open to the public. You will conduct this sentence naked, regardless of inclement weather. As you are a confirmed fornicator, you have presumed to have already given permission for men to engage in carnal relations with you without themselves running afoul of either law or church. I assume there is no ecclesiastical objection?”

“No, your honor. The church can accept this reasoning.”

“This may well be the first such sentence ever carried out in the colonies or in His majesty’s realms at any point in history,” Sinclair said, leaning forward to angrily lecture her. “But the court considers it worth it on account of the trouble you have caused and the reputations you attempted to besmirch. If I am wrong, and my superiors see fit to free you after your case has wound through the courts and parliamentary debate in probably twenty or thirty years, so be it. But here and now, and for your immediate future, Sarah Miller, that is your sentence and that is your final fate. So says this court!”

He banged his gavel in time for Sarah to realize what she’d just heard. It was worse than she ever feared. It was unimaginable, inhumane, and utterly unbearable. But as they pulled her away and a thousand leering sets of eyes glared at her body, she knew she had no possibility of escape whatsoever. Her entire life was doomed to pain, shame, and ruination. The tears she burst loudly into were but the first of many thousands to come.

Fin