19.
One by one, we condemned girls were seated on @Harsh Martinet ‘s three hellishly designed wooden horse contraptions. And he must have been proud, for when I say ‘hellishly designed’ I am referring to the fact that he had managed, with the assistance of @Loxuru, to invent an ingenious system of cogs and gears that harnessed the rotation of the cart’s wheels to drive the horse’s two wooden phalluses up and down as the cart rolled along. With wrists bound overhead and weights attached to our ankles, there was little choice for us but to accept the inevitable.
@messaline and @Kathy, seated facing one another on the first horse, were the first to discover this unique feature. Both had been forced to accept the phallic penetration of their most intimate parts, which at first caused them discomfort despite the fact that the oversized bulbous-headed protrusions had been copiously greased with whale oil. But as the cart carried the two women away to circle the town square, they could be heard squealing and cooing to one another in pre-orgasmic excitement … that is until the whiplashes began to fly and their voices turned to anguished screams and cries.
@Jackie1111 and @fat slave girl soon followed, perched together facing one another atop their wooden horse, with Jackie up front, gyrating rhythmically at first to the up and down thrusts of the phallus embedded deep in her loins and FSG behind, bouncing and jiggling about on her phallus while gaily blowing kisses to the throngs along the route. But again, all that initial frivolity changed once the serious business of flogging them was underway.
“An ingenious invention I must say. Such a pleasure to watch the witches at play,” observed @twonines from the vantage point along the way reserved for the town Magistrates.
“I most certainly agree. See how the crowd reacts with glee!” agreed @montycrusto.
Then, it was my turn to be mounted, along with , @Eulalia on the third horse. They took her first, seating her over the front phallus, but facing forward rather than backward as had been the case with Kathy and Jackie. She accepted her place astride the horse wordlessly, offering no resistance to being roughly forced down over the forward greased phallus which swiftly disappeared within her.
I was less cooperative, kicking, twisting and bucking for all I was worth, not to mention shouting and cursing, as the two townsmen assigned to mount me on my phallus struggled to maneuver my bottom over that wicked thing and insert its thick bulbous head into my slit. Twice they got me started, but I managed each time to twist myself free before any serious penetration had been achieved … in addition to landing a lucky kick between the legs of one of my handlers that effectively put him out of action.
And it was at that point that I succeeded in escaping completely from their grasp. I began to flee. But unfortunately my desperate flight took me straight into the arms of Tree’s two assistants, Bull and Gunner, who had been sent over by the master executioner to quell any unforeseen trouble. Ever the professional, @thehangingtree was not in the mood to have his careful preparations upended by the likes of me, and was taking no chances on losing the ability to collect his fee.
I was no match for those two brutes and soon found myself forcibly subdued, seated and fully impaled behind Eulalia. And, as our cart began to roll and the phallus deep inside me began to do its thing … well … you can imagine what that was like … an incredibly unique combination of pain and pleasure.
By the time we were on our second, and then our third and final circuit of the town square, the double whammy of a thrusting phallus coupled with volleys of punishing lashes, delivered from all angles, had begun to take its toll on us both. I pressed myself up as close to Eulalia’s back as my bindings allowed, in a desperate attempt to minimize, as best I could, at least some measure of our exposure to the sting of the lash.
And as another vicious whiplash, laid directly across the middle of my back and wrapping around to tear at a nipple wrenched a shriek of pain from my lips, i slumped fully forward against Eulalia, my breasts flattened and bulging against the sweat-sheened skin of her lash-marked back. Noticing that she had remained almost silent under the blows of the whip, so many of which had broken so cruelly over her exposed breasts and belly, I whispered breathlessly, “How do you stand it? Doesn’t it hurt like the very hell?”
The Scots girl turned and whispered back, “Och ye pur Sassenach! Dinna ye ken that we bes blisst ta this weird? The mair we dree in seelence, and the mair we exheebit oor boss for their hard whips, the mair we have in our coured! A be nae snuil! A tak each whang wi pride” (Oh, you poor English (uncomplimentary form)! Don’t you know that we are highly favored to this fate? The more we endure in silence, the more we present our body (lit, from chest to loins) for their hard whips, the more we submit! I am not a snuil (cringing or cowardly person). I take each whiplash with pride!)
I said, “Oh, right,” while thinking once again that she was indeed mad or a witch. But such thoughts were fleeting as we had by then completed our third circuit of the town square, endured the public flogging that went with it, and found ourselves drawn up and brought to a halt along with the other two horse carrack’s before the six great pyres and stout posts that dominated the center of the square.
And as our carts ground to a halt, and the bulbous pistons ceased their thrusting caresses of our battered loins, and the zinging and cracking barks of the whips fell silent, a surging sea of townsfolk swept forward, closing in around us, jostling one another in a frenzied tussle to secure an advantageous view of the entertainments yet to come. And from hundreds of voices, came the cry, raised in rapturous chorus, “Burn the witches, defeat the Devil, feed the wretches to the eternal flames!”
TBC
One by one, we condemned girls were seated on @Harsh Martinet ‘s three hellishly designed wooden horse contraptions. And he must have been proud, for when I say ‘hellishly designed’ I am referring to the fact that he had managed, with the assistance of @Loxuru, to invent an ingenious system of cogs and gears that harnessed the rotation of the cart’s wheels to drive the horse’s two wooden phalluses up and down as the cart rolled along. With wrists bound overhead and weights attached to our ankles, there was little choice for us but to accept the inevitable.
@messaline and @Kathy, seated facing one another on the first horse, were the first to discover this unique feature. Both had been forced to accept the phallic penetration of their most intimate parts, which at first caused them discomfort despite the fact that the oversized bulbous-headed protrusions had been copiously greased with whale oil. But as the cart carried the two women away to circle the town square, they could be heard squealing and cooing to one another in pre-orgasmic excitement … that is until the whiplashes began to fly and their voices turned to anguished screams and cries.
@Jackie1111 and @fat slave girl soon followed, perched together facing one another atop their wooden horse, with Jackie up front, gyrating rhythmically at first to the up and down thrusts of the phallus embedded deep in her loins and FSG behind, bouncing and jiggling about on her phallus while gaily blowing kisses to the throngs along the route. But again, all that initial frivolity changed once the serious business of flogging them was underway.
“An ingenious invention I must say. Such a pleasure to watch the witches at play,” observed @twonines from the vantage point along the way reserved for the town Magistrates.
“I most certainly agree. See how the crowd reacts with glee!” agreed @montycrusto.
Then, it was my turn to be mounted, along with , @Eulalia on the third horse. They took her first, seating her over the front phallus, but facing forward rather than backward as had been the case with Kathy and Jackie. She accepted her place astride the horse wordlessly, offering no resistance to being roughly forced down over the forward greased phallus which swiftly disappeared within her.
I was less cooperative, kicking, twisting and bucking for all I was worth, not to mention shouting and cursing, as the two townsmen assigned to mount me on my phallus struggled to maneuver my bottom over that wicked thing and insert its thick bulbous head into my slit. Twice they got me started, but I managed each time to twist myself free before any serious penetration had been achieved … in addition to landing a lucky kick between the legs of one of my handlers that effectively put him out of action.
And it was at that point that I succeeded in escaping completely from their grasp. I began to flee. But unfortunately my desperate flight took me straight into the arms of Tree’s two assistants, Bull and Gunner, who had been sent over by the master executioner to quell any unforeseen trouble. Ever the professional, @thehangingtree was not in the mood to have his careful preparations upended by the likes of me, and was taking no chances on losing the ability to collect his fee.
I was no match for those two brutes and soon found myself forcibly subdued, seated and fully impaled behind Eulalia. And, as our cart began to roll and the phallus deep inside me began to do its thing … well … you can imagine what that was like … an incredibly unique combination of pain and pleasure.
By the time we were on our second, and then our third and final circuit of the town square, the double whammy of a thrusting phallus coupled with volleys of punishing lashes, delivered from all angles, had begun to take its toll on us both. I pressed myself up as close to Eulalia’s back as my bindings allowed, in a desperate attempt to minimize, as best I could, at least some measure of our exposure to the sting of the lash.
And as another vicious whiplash, laid directly across the middle of my back and wrapping around to tear at a nipple wrenched a shriek of pain from my lips, i slumped fully forward against Eulalia, my breasts flattened and bulging against the sweat-sheened skin of her lash-marked back. Noticing that she had remained almost silent under the blows of the whip, so many of which had broken so cruelly over her exposed breasts and belly, I whispered breathlessly, “How do you stand it? Doesn’t it hurt like the very hell?”
The Scots girl turned and whispered back, “Och ye pur Sassenach! Dinna ye ken that we bes blisst ta this weird? The mair we dree in seelence, and the mair we exheebit oor boss for their hard whips, the mair we have in our coured! A be nae snuil! A tak each whang wi pride” (Oh, you poor English (uncomplimentary form)! Don’t you know that we are highly favored to this fate? The more we endure in silence, the more we present our body (lit, from chest to loins) for their hard whips, the more we submit! I am not a snuil (cringing or cowardly person). I take each whiplash with pride!)
I said, “Oh, right,” while thinking once again that she was indeed mad or a witch. But such thoughts were fleeting as we had by then completed our third circuit of the town square, endured the public flogging that went with it, and found ourselves drawn up and brought to a halt along with the other two horse carrack’s before the six great pyres and stout posts that dominated the center of the square.
And as our carts ground to a halt, and the bulbous pistons ceased their thrusting caresses of our battered loins, and the zinging and cracking barks of the whips fell silent, a surging sea of townsfolk swept forward, closing in around us, jostling one another in a frenzied tussle to secure an advantageous view of the entertainments yet to come. And from hundreds of voices, came the cry, raised in rapturous chorus, “Burn the witches, defeat the Devil, feed the wretches to the eternal flames!”
TBC
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