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The Georgia Peach - A Story of the American Civil War
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 25 – The Slave Pens at White Orchard, Around 6:50am, May 12th 1864
It was time. There would be no more waiting. Suddenly Catherine wished the lingering could continue a little longer just as passionately as she had so recently wished for it to end. Yet she knew things would move quickly, leaving little time for thought … or hope.
Straining to look into the direction of the sound, to the large wooden-framed doorway where the General and his small retinue stood, her eyes shifted anxiously towards the jangling of keys. A slow click of booted footsteps grew ever louder as they approached.
Despite her being naked, chained and exhausted, two armed, blue-coated guards assumed positions next to the pen, bayonets affixed to their newly issued Spencer rifles. One of the troopers reached down and slipped a key into the small lock.
“You need to come out now Miss,” was all he said, as he used the same bunch of keys to unshackle her wrist. This one had been with her all night. He knew what had happened, knew how she had been appallingly used … but she detected not one morsel of sympathy for her plight.
Catherine recognised there was no point in fighting, and so she hurriedly slithered out from within the confines of the caged pen, her outstretched arms appeared first, then her bent body, poised on its knees.
A hand gripped her upper arm, making her wince, and pulled the girl to her feet. Looking up she saw Uncle Billy with the Lieutenant and a third, portly looking man along with them. Someone that she had not seen before.
Catherine felt trapped. She fidgeted apprehensively, the skin of both thighs rubbing nervously together. The warm, trembling flesh of her bare bottom bitten by the relative chill during the night, her back aching from being pressed down against the bars of the cage by those monsters.
She felt the slight breeze between her legs and suddenly remembered that she no longer had pubic hair. The memory of that particular act made her feel unclean and noxious … A bilious sensation rose once more into her throat, causing her to splutter as she coughed it away.
Defiantly, she eyed the silhouettes of the approaching group ... and with dismay sensed her nipples harden in the morning air, feeling thicker and longer than ever.
“Bring her to me,” said the stout man, clearly an officer, maybe a medic given his tunic, “… Where I can scrutinise her more thoroughly in the light.”
Seizing her arms, the soldiers wrenched the girl outside. As the realisation of what this was a prelude to, coupled with the cramping pains that permeated constantly throughout the soles of her feet, Catherine’s newly found fortitude evaporated. As a table was brought into the doorway of the slave pens outbuilding for her to lay on, her spirit felt thoroughly crushed.
He was here to examine her, she had already realised that, and the very need for such a thing caused her levels of panic to heighten. How bad was the whipping going to be?
Uncle Billy spoke.
“Catherine this is Major Watson, an army surgeon, and he is here to ensure you are of sound enough health to undertake the ordeal that is planned for this morning.
The General and Lieutenant Sampson took a step back.
Ordeal …
The word made the poor girl tremble. She was completely unfettered, but the close attention of the armed guard and her maltreated state of mind and body rendered any thoughts of escape futile.
With little point in delaying what was inevitable she hoisted herself onto the smooth wooden surface of the table and the Major looked at her with an appraising eye. Catherine flushed red and tried to cover herself with her hands.
The touch of the surgeon was surprisingly gentle as he opened her legs, spreading them wide, following which he took her wrists in his grip and slowly drew Catherine’s hands away from her breasts.
"Lie flat on your back, please, Miss McCown" he said. She shivered slightly, but could not make herself comply, never had she felt so vulnerable …
Gently, softly, the surgeon placed his hands upon Catherine's shoulders. "Lie down, please." He pressed lightly but firmly, until she was lying flat on the table.
“Hold her by the wrists,” he instructed one of the troopers who stood at her head gazing down upon the prostrate girl’s very desirable nudity. He quickly acceded to the command and Catherine felt her arms pulled high, her delicate wrists secured in a firm, male grip.
“Now her ankles, please … and separate them.” The second guard and Lieutenant Sampson were now on-point for this subsequent order, securing Catherine to the table, her legs pulled wide apart.
“She has been shaved?” Major Watson looked up waiting for a response.
“She has, Sir.” It was Lieutenant Sampson’s voice.
“Might I ask why?” The Major continued.
Sampson did not have a ready answer and so he paused, but then somewhat cryptically replied, “I felt it appropriate in order to maximise the effects of her impending punishment. I have discussed this with the General.”
His logic referred to the fact that he had already had General Sherman sanction the sedile attachment, and a hairless mound would undoubtedly enhance the impact of its intended use, not to mention create a more pleasing aesthetic. The Major nodded, seemingly satisfied.
The Lieutenant once more gazed upon Catherine’s face as if daring her to contradict his story. She did not. In fact, her expression gave way to a gasp as the surgeon's touch slid down her body, over her breasts, along her sides, to roam across her smooth thighs. She let out a small squeak.
The Major stepped over to the other side of the table. His fingers stroked the girl’s inner thigh, before gliding slowly down her leg. The feeling of repulsion in her stomach was sickening. In one moment, as she turned her head away to the side so that she might emit a quiet whimper, she saw Uncle Billy standing apart from their little group staring into the space of the open fields before him.
Her attention was switched back to the examination when she felt the cold metal of a stethoscope being pressed against her chest. A quick cough from her seemed to satisfy the surgeon, who was now ready to move on.
"Open your mouth, please."
Catherine obeyed him reluctantly, her heart pounding furiously. The Major pressed her tongue down and peered inside, and then exhaled heavily.
"Dear girl, I am tasked by General Sherman with this examination. It is important that you answer all of my questions truthfully and completely." He took her chin in his hands and turned her to meet his gaze. "Did you engage in rough oral sex recently?"
Sampson felt his heart flip. Were the unpalatable details of his night time visitation about to be exposed? The Lieutenant stared down at Catherine, who returned his scrutiny with her own expression of defiance. Her heart beat faster, but then the whole situation got the better of her and she looked away, unable to provide the Major with an answer.
Sergeant Oak’s voice echoed in her mind, instructing her to do as she was told. In the jumble of thoughts and emotions within her head, the recollection of his words made her feel even more helpless than the hands now holding her to the table.
Quietly she whispered, "Yes."
"Did these men, whoever they were, also ejaculate into your mouth?"
She hesitated, but the surgeon increased the intensity of his gaze.
"Yes."
"Did you swallow any of the ejaculate?"
She shuddered. "Yes."
"At any point while these men were ejaculating in your mouth, did you experience sexual gratification?"
She could not hold his gaze when she answered. "No, I did not." Her voice sounded small and far away.
"I see,” the Major replied, his questions seemingly serving no other purpose than to provide titillation to service his own whimsical perversions. He turned Catherine’s head sideways, stiff, long fingers combing through her hair. He bent over to inspect her, his face so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. "There appears to be tiny traces of dried semen in your hair. Did they also ejaculate on your face or body?"
Catherine felt a new level of humiliation as these questions were posed to her. Was it not bad enough that she was to be flogged before her household and a group of gawking, lecherous soldiers?
"I … I … do … not th … think so,” she whispered.
Not once did the Major ask her for any names or descriptions of ‘these men’ … much to Lieutenant Sampson’s relief, and the examination moved on.
Probing hands moved down the sides of the captive girl’s neck and over her collarbone. He peered closely at her as though searching for something. His fingers moved over her breasts, examining, fondling. Her nipples hardened even more, an involuntary response that both horrified and embarrassed her.
"There are small bruises on your breasts, consistent with the marks made by fingers. Did the men squeeze or fondle your breasts forcefully?"
Catherine opened her mouth, but no words would come. She nodded, then said, “Please sir, unless you are so-minded to bring these evil perpetrators to justice, would you kindly stop asking such questions, they have nothing to do with …"
But Major Watson ignored her pleas, and continued, in his own sweet way, with the task at hand. He examined each of her arms closely, from her shoulders all the way down to the tips of her fingers. Catherine felt dehumanised under his gaze, like an object being poked and prodded to reveal its secrets. The inspection felt clinical, detached, objectifying; but at the same time, being looked at in such a meticulously degrading manner seemed appallingly intimate. She struggled, trying to move away from his scrutiny, but the hands gripping her limbs held her immobile.
"I can see minor abrasions on her wrists, that is consistent with what might be left by shackles or manacles.”
“She was secured, Sir,” The Lieutenant offered.
The surgeon nodded, and then continued with his narrative.
"I see." He said, "I am now ready to begin Miss McCown’s internal examination.”
She closed her eyes and whimpered softly as he opened her wide … causing poor Catherine to groan when she felt the touch of him penetrating her.
… It was a short while later that Major Watson sidled up alongside General Sherman, leaving the girl to guzzle down the water now being offered to her.
“How is she?” The General asked without shifting his gaze one inch from the direction in which he was previously looking.
“She is, General, a fine specimen. Young fit and healthy.”
Sherman nodded his face expressionless. He turned around just in time to see Sampson and the guards pulling Catherine up from her humiliating squat position, the night’s urine still dripping down her thighs.
He watched as her wrists, neck and ankles were shackled once more in heavy irons and a collar, ready for her approach to the post. She was to be hobbled, which would, in turn, ensure that the degrading and terrifying walk was made at a slow pace.
“Major Watson, is she a virgin?”
The surgeon paused briefly, before responding, “Yes General, she is.”
The General recalled the sedile that had been added to the whipping post. Emotionally he was appalled at what Sampson had planned, but he agreed with the Lieutenant’s words, rationalising that the harder the punishment, the more certain the desired outcome would become.
“I suspected as much, she was brought up to respect her womanhood …” Sherman responded, “… but that makes no difference to her fitness for what we have planned.”
And with those words the fate of Catherine McCown was sealed.
To Be Continued ...
It was time. There would be no more waiting. Suddenly Catherine wished the lingering could continue a little longer just as passionately as she had so recently wished for it to end. Yet she knew things would move quickly, leaving little time for thought … or hope.
Straining to look into the direction of the sound, to the large wooden-framed doorway where the General and his small retinue stood, her eyes shifted anxiously towards the jangling of keys. A slow click of booted footsteps grew ever louder as they approached.
Despite her being naked, chained and exhausted, two armed, blue-coated guards assumed positions next to the pen, bayonets affixed to their newly issued Spencer rifles. One of the troopers reached down and slipped a key into the small lock.
“You need to come out now Miss,” was all he said, as he used the same bunch of keys to unshackle her wrist. This one had been with her all night. He knew what had happened, knew how she had been appallingly used … but she detected not one morsel of sympathy for her plight.
Catherine recognised there was no point in fighting, and so she hurriedly slithered out from within the confines of the caged pen, her outstretched arms appeared first, then her bent body, poised on its knees.
A hand gripped her upper arm, making her wince, and pulled the girl to her feet. Looking up she saw Uncle Billy with the Lieutenant and a third, portly looking man along with them. Someone that she had not seen before.
Catherine felt trapped. She fidgeted apprehensively, the skin of both thighs rubbing nervously together. The warm, trembling flesh of her bare bottom bitten by the relative chill during the night, her back aching from being pressed down against the bars of the cage by those monsters.
She felt the slight breeze between her legs and suddenly remembered that she no longer had pubic hair. The memory of that particular act made her feel unclean and noxious … A bilious sensation rose once more into her throat, causing her to splutter as she coughed it away.
Defiantly, she eyed the silhouettes of the approaching group ... and with dismay sensed her nipples harden in the morning air, feeling thicker and longer than ever.
“Bring her to me,” said the stout man, clearly an officer, maybe a medic given his tunic, “… Where I can scrutinise her more thoroughly in the light.”
Seizing her arms, the soldiers wrenched the girl outside. As the realisation of what this was a prelude to, coupled with the cramping pains that permeated constantly throughout the soles of her feet, Catherine’s newly found fortitude evaporated. As a table was brought into the doorway of the slave pens outbuilding for her to lay on, her spirit felt thoroughly crushed.
He was here to examine her, she had already realised that, and the very need for such a thing caused her levels of panic to heighten. How bad was the whipping going to be?
Uncle Billy spoke.
“Catherine this is Major Watson, an army surgeon, and he is here to ensure you are of sound enough health to undertake the ordeal that is planned for this morning.
The General and Lieutenant Sampson took a step back.
Ordeal …
The word made the poor girl tremble. She was completely unfettered, but the close attention of the armed guard and her maltreated state of mind and body rendered any thoughts of escape futile.
With little point in delaying what was inevitable she hoisted herself onto the smooth wooden surface of the table and the Major looked at her with an appraising eye. Catherine flushed red and tried to cover herself with her hands.
The touch of the surgeon was surprisingly gentle as he opened her legs, spreading them wide, following which he took her wrists in his grip and slowly drew Catherine’s hands away from her breasts.
"Lie flat on your back, please, Miss McCown" he said. She shivered slightly, but could not make herself comply, never had she felt so vulnerable …
Gently, softly, the surgeon placed his hands upon Catherine's shoulders. "Lie down, please." He pressed lightly but firmly, until she was lying flat on the table.
“Hold her by the wrists,” he instructed one of the troopers who stood at her head gazing down upon the prostrate girl’s very desirable nudity. He quickly acceded to the command and Catherine felt her arms pulled high, her delicate wrists secured in a firm, male grip.
“Now her ankles, please … and separate them.” The second guard and Lieutenant Sampson were now on-point for this subsequent order, securing Catherine to the table, her legs pulled wide apart.
“She has been shaved?” Major Watson looked up waiting for a response.
“She has, Sir.” It was Lieutenant Sampson’s voice.
“Might I ask why?” The Major continued.
Sampson did not have a ready answer and so he paused, but then somewhat cryptically replied, “I felt it appropriate in order to maximise the effects of her impending punishment. I have discussed this with the General.”
His logic referred to the fact that he had already had General Sherman sanction the sedile attachment, and a hairless mound would undoubtedly enhance the impact of its intended use, not to mention create a more pleasing aesthetic. The Major nodded, seemingly satisfied.
The Lieutenant once more gazed upon Catherine’s face as if daring her to contradict his story. She did not. In fact, her expression gave way to a gasp as the surgeon's touch slid down her body, over her breasts, along her sides, to roam across her smooth thighs. She let out a small squeak.
The Major stepped over to the other side of the table. His fingers stroked the girl’s inner thigh, before gliding slowly down her leg. The feeling of repulsion in her stomach was sickening. In one moment, as she turned her head away to the side so that she might emit a quiet whimper, she saw Uncle Billy standing apart from their little group staring into the space of the open fields before him.
Her attention was switched back to the examination when she felt the cold metal of a stethoscope being pressed against her chest. A quick cough from her seemed to satisfy the surgeon, who was now ready to move on.
"Open your mouth, please."
Catherine obeyed him reluctantly, her heart pounding furiously. The Major pressed her tongue down and peered inside, and then exhaled heavily.
"Dear girl, I am tasked by General Sherman with this examination. It is important that you answer all of my questions truthfully and completely." He took her chin in his hands and turned her to meet his gaze. "Did you engage in rough oral sex recently?"
Sampson felt his heart flip. Were the unpalatable details of his night time visitation about to be exposed? The Lieutenant stared down at Catherine, who returned his scrutiny with her own expression of defiance. Her heart beat faster, but then the whole situation got the better of her and she looked away, unable to provide the Major with an answer.
Sergeant Oak’s voice echoed in her mind, instructing her to do as she was told. In the jumble of thoughts and emotions within her head, the recollection of his words made her feel even more helpless than the hands now holding her to the table.
Quietly she whispered, "Yes."
"Did these men, whoever they were, also ejaculate into your mouth?"
She hesitated, but the surgeon increased the intensity of his gaze.
"Yes."
"Did you swallow any of the ejaculate?"
She shuddered. "Yes."
"At any point while these men were ejaculating in your mouth, did you experience sexual gratification?"
She could not hold his gaze when she answered. "No, I did not." Her voice sounded small and far away.
"I see,” the Major replied, his questions seemingly serving no other purpose than to provide titillation to service his own whimsical perversions. He turned Catherine’s head sideways, stiff, long fingers combing through her hair. He bent over to inspect her, his face so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. "There appears to be tiny traces of dried semen in your hair. Did they also ejaculate on your face or body?"
Catherine felt a new level of humiliation as these questions were posed to her. Was it not bad enough that she was to be flogged before her household and a group of gawking, lecherous soldiers?
"I … I … do … not th … think so,” she whispered.
Not once did the Major ask her for any names or descriptions of ‘these men’ … much to Lieutenant Sampson’s relief, and the examination moved on.
Probing hands moved down the sides of the captive girl’s neck and over her collarbone. He peered closely at her as though searching for something. His fingers moved over her breasts, examining, fondling. Her nipples hardened even more, an involuntary response that both horrified and embarrassed her.
"There are small bruises on your breasts, consistent with the marks made by fingers. Did the men squeeze or fondle your breasts forcefully?"
Catherine opened her mouth, but no words would come. She nodded, then said, “Please sir, unless you are so-minded to bring these evil perpetrators to justice, would you kindly stop asking such questions, they have nothing to do with …"
But Major Watson ignored her pleas, and continued, in his own sweet way, with the task at hand. He examined each of her arms closely, from her shoulders all the way down to the tips of her fingers. Catherine felt dehumanised under his gaze, like an object being poked and prodded to reveal its secrets. The inspection felt clinical, detached, objectifying; but at the same time, being looked at in such a meticulously degrading manner seemed appallingly intimate. She struggled, trying to move away from his scrutiny, but the hands gripping her limbs held her immobile.
"I can see minor abrasions on her wrists, that is consistent with what might be left by shackles or manacles.”
“She was secured, Sir,” The Lieutenant offered.
The surgeon nodded, and then continued with his narrative.
"I see." He said, "I am now ready to begin Miss McCown’s internal examination.”
She closed her eyes and whimpered softly as he opened her wide … causing poor Catherine to groan when she felt the touch of him penetrating her.
… It was a short while later that Major Watson sidled up alongside General Sherman, leaving the girl to guzzle down the water now being offered to her.
“How is she?” The General asked without shifting his gaze one inch from the direction in which he was previously looking.
“She is, General, a fine specimen. Young fit and healthy.”
Sherman nodded his face expressionless. He turned around just in time to see Sampson and the guards pulling Catherine up from her humiliating squat position, the night’s urine still dripping down her thighs.
He watched as her wrists, neck and ankles were shackled once more in heavy irons and a collar, ready for her approach to the post. She was to be hobbled, which would, in turn, ensure that the degrading and terrifying walk was made at a slow pace.
“Major Watson, is she a virgin?”
The surgeon paused briefly, before responding, “Yes General, she is.”
The General recalled the sedile that had been added to the whipping post. Emotionally he was appalled at what Sampson had planned, but he agreed with the Lieutenant’s words, rationalising that the harder the punishment, the more certain the desired outcome would become.
“I suspected as much, she was brought up to respect her womanhood …” Sherman responded, “… but that makes no difference to her fitness for what we have planned.”
And with those words the fate of Catherine McCown was sealed.
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Major John Watson was an actual Surgeon on Sherman's staff, so if there is a Col S Holmes also then quite possibly, yesA good episode, once more, Fossy.
But what intrigues me! We saw introduced an army surgeon, Major John Watson. Will there also be a Colonel S. Holmes, prosecutor for the court-martial, to investigate the case? Elementary question? No?
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thanks 99 - don't forget to like it
- assuming you did of course ...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I admire a doctor who takes a dispassionate, yet full history of the patient. details are so important!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Only when the whipping begins Barb ...
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
And maybe not even then??
twonines
LIMERICUS
Unnecessary from a medical point of view,they are going to whip her anyway, but all part of the mental stress designed to break down her resistance to the pain of her whipping. On the other hand,it could serve to add steel to her resolution not to give in.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 26 – Paraded from the Slave Pens to the Discipline Block, Around 7:15am May 12th 1864
Catherine stood, head bowed, just waiting. The corridor of soldiers and slaves with eager, prying eyes was gathered before her. Troopers with lust-fuelled grins and bulges at their groin, field slaves filled with anticipatory excitement at what they were about to witness … But those same negroes also looked wary, seemingly not quite sure why this was happening and wondering if, by simply being a witness to it, they too would suffer a similar fate.
Her neck was encased in iron, as were her wrists and ankles. Hobbled and fully fettered her progress would be slow and ponderous, designed to be such by the monstrous Lieutenant, making sure to extract every last ounce of humiliation from her degrading walk.
Looking up she saw Mary. Poor Mary. Her House-slave was distraught, mouth agape, hand covering it, tears rolling down her cheek.
“Begin, boy …” Sampson issued the order to the young drummer, and so the drumbeat began its dramatic and spiteful cadence.
Catherine, with eyes closed, reflected momentarily upon her appalling situation. How had this been allowed to happen? These brutes surely could not simply come into her home, steal whatever they wanted and then enslave her! Especially not if Uncle Billy Sherman was at their head … could they?
“Move!”
The chained girl covered the distance from the slave pens to the discipline block in slow procession towards her planned merciless punishment. She did not yet know just how ruthless it was going to be.
It was hard for Catherine not to not sway with the horror of it all. The silent malice from certain quarters of the crowd hit her to the core. All that could be heard was the sigh of the early morning breeze, that clank of chains and the harrowing beat of the drum. The gathering throng now stood deathly hushed, an ominous herd of lecherous, gratuitous gawkers.
She choked on her own breath when she saw the loathsome Tom Shepherd grinning lasciviously at her. She stumbled, briefly losing her footing on the hardened mud ruts. He stared unabashed at her sensational exposure, noting every muscle, every little piece of her body moving and trembling as she shuffled along. Catherine knew her movements were provocative, that by facing whip torture she displayed a stimulating show of tarnished grace and femininity … and she knew how much that would turn the odious man on.
But, despite the appalling nature of the overall scene, it was the raw sheen of her reddened, shaved mons that shocked the most.
“Is that how she conducts her personal hygiene?” Said one abusive male opinion, for it was unknown to most that the deed had being forced upon her during her stay in the slave pen.
“A fucking Reb slut, I knew she was …” said another, the slurs so obviously coming from the vitriolic voices of the barbarous soldiers.
Then Catherine looked up to see the huge, protruding length of timber getting closer. A sight she had seen so many times before, but never through the eyes that she wore today. It had suddenly become a place of terror, the altar where all hope, all resistance to their will was extinguished. The Whipping Post!
Chapter 27 – The Whipping Post, 7:30am May 12th 1864
Catherine looked up and stared ahead. “Oh God, my God, have mercy on me Lord.” She whispered these words to herself when she saw not just the foreboding length of gnarled wood with the iron rings set into each side, but also the jutting attachment that had been added overnight. She knew from its positioning and shape exactly what it was for, and now realised why she hadn’t already been raped. They were saving her for this!
At her right stood the man who was to be her nemesis, the largest of the soldiers, already stripped to the waist, his torso gleaming with perspiration from the early morning sun … Catherine drew back in terror when the whip caught her eye. A long black handled bull whip with hardened leather that would rip through her skin like a knife in butter.
She struggled and recoiled as horror turned to panic, only to collapse into the clutches of her guards. The air around her had suddenly become thick with an overwhelming sensation of pain and suffering, compounded by anticipation and lust driven excitement. The crowd had followed her procession, closing in behind as she slowly moved along, and was now gathered attentively around the site of her impending punishment. Catherine’s whole world spun wildly around, and without realising it she was back on her unsteady feet, pulled upright by the soldiers, who now stood patiently by her side, giving her plenty of time to view the threatening post, and its hovering nightmare … a huge, dark symbol of barbarity and pain where, in times past, blood had dripped from countless victims’ bodies.
The nameless guards gave her a shove of encouragement. Shoulders bunched up, poised on tottering legs, Catherine took a deep breath, trembling, reluctant ... but still she retained a modicum of poise. For in these last moments she was determined to maintain a measure of dignity. She flung her arms upward, refusing the assistance of her escorts, and wrenched herself free of their hold. It was on wobbling legs and wounded feet that she staggered, unaided, the last few steps determinedly toward the whipping post, appalled at the sight of it … but with her head held high.
Looming before her, she had arrived at the appointed place. Now Catherine saw up close the smooth surface of the carved wooden piece, shaped to be like a man’s erect penis ... Once more she felt sick, realising that she was to be raped and whipped simultaneously … however would she be able to endure?
Body stilled, long hair blowing loose in the breeze, her escorts released the collar and separated her arm and ankle cuffs, temporarily freeing her from restraint.
The drumming stopped and with it the fearful cadence that had marked her demeaning parade to the post. You could almost hear a pin drop as every last man and woman in the gathered throng seemed struck by more than a little awe as they realised that this young, fragile girl really was about to be flogged … and in full public view!
“Secure her,” came the order. Catherine gasped, momentarily closing her eyes, before opening them to glare at the General, her Godfather. Sherman, clearly troubled by this whole occasion, looked away refusing to acknowledge the stares from his Goddaughter.
Catherine’s svelte body was hoisted upon the platform, and she was further manhandled onto the crate, unable to do anything to stop her arms being hauled high and her wrists tightened into the manacles. The sedile pushed and prodded at her thighs as she stepped astride it to avoid its penetrative presence from slipping unwittingly between her thighs.
The surrounding anticipation had risen to palpable levels.
Lieutenant Sampson approached her. Despite wanting to ignore his presence, Catherine felt compelled to look him in the eye.
“So, here we are at last Miss McCown,” he spoke in patronising tones, which Catherine proceeded to ignore, turning her head away from him.
As he spoke his right hand moved to her mound. There she felt his fingers and thumb massaging her, the not yet deflowered pleasure point of her body, her face twisting as her expression crumpled under his intrusive touch. She just had to remain firm … but, as his fingers opened her labia and positioned her body as he required, enveloping the wooden phallus with her soft folds, her situation was proving unbearable.
“Ohhhhhhhh, please, stop …” As his touch became more insistent Catherine unwittingly groaned, much to the delight of the onlookers, or at least most of them. It was no doubt just Mary who offered up a prayer to the Lord as she witnessed the unfolding of this appalling scene.
Her body began to twist and writhe. It was already an agonising experience, and the primary torment had not yet begun. Catherine knew that she could speak now, and save herself so much pain, or remain silent under the whips until she could bear no more...
The Lieutenant had invaded her home. Her Godfather had sanctioned it. If ever she needed a reminder that this entire army were the battalions of the devil himself, then these people were it! Catherine fought against the feelings rising inside her, and let fury consume her. The cords on her neck stood out as she garnered her remaining strength and spirit … and she spit in Sampson’s face.
Instantly the Lieutenant’s eyes glowed with indignant rage. Pulling his fingers from her now moist sex, he drew back his shoulder and slapped her full across the face with such vicious force that it threw her whole body sideways, scraping her thighs against the sedile. Catherine flinched at the blow, her cheek throbbing with pain, and she glared back at him, quivering in stunned silence as he addressed the crowd.
“Let the will of the Federal Union be carried out upon this girl’s sinful flesh.” Sampson’s voice almost glowed with righteous indignation, and at this final declaration of her fate, Catherine’s heart began pounding so hard it felt like it was going to explode.
Dragged inexorably onward to this very moment, she bucked and thrashed in tear-filled hysteria, arms held tight. “I have nothing to tell you! Nothing!” she shrieked ... if only to convince herself ...
To Be Continued ...
Catherine stood, head bowed, just waiting. The corridor of soldiers and slaves with eager, prying eyes was gathered before her. Troopers with lust-fuelled grins and bulges at their groin, field slaves filled with anticipatory excitement at what they were about to witness … But those same negroes also looked wary, seemingly not quite sure why this was happening and wondering if, by simply being a witness to it, they too would suffer a similar fate.
Her neck was encased in iron, as were her wrists and ankles. Hobbled and fully fettered her progress would be slow and ponderous, designed to be such by the monstrous Lieutenant, making sure to extract every last ounce of humiliation from her degrading walk.
Looking up she saw Mary. Poor Mary. Her House-slave was distraught, mouth agape, hand covering it, tears rolling down her cheek.
“Begin, boy …” Sampson issued the order to the young drummer, and so the drumbeat began its dramatic and spiteful cadence.
Catherine, with eyes closed, reflected momentarily upon her appalling situation. How had this been allowed to happen? These brutes surely could not simply come into her home, steal whatever they wanted and then enslave her! Especially not if Uncle Billy Sherman was at their head … could they?
“Move!”
The chained girl covered the distance from the slave pens to the discipline block in slow procession towards her planned merciless punishment. She did not yet know just how ruthless it was going to be.
It was hard for Catherine not to not sway with the horror of it all. The silent malice from certain quarters of the crowd hit her to the core. All that could be heard was the sigh of the early morning breeze, that clank of chains and the harrowing beat of the drum. The gathering throng now stood deathly hushed, an ominous herd of lecherous, gratuitous gawkers.
She choked on her own breath when she saw the loathsome Tom Shepherd grinning lasciviously at her. She stumbled, briefly losing her footing on the hardened mud ruts. He stared unabashed at her sensational exposure, noting every muscle, every little piece of her body moving and trembling as she shuffled along. Catherine knew her movements were provocative, that by facing whip torture she displayed a stimulating show of tarnished grace and femininity … and she knew how much that would turn the odious man on.
But, despite the appalling nature of the overall scene, it was the raw sheen of her reddened, shaved mons that shocked the most.
“Is that how she conducts her personal hygiene?” Said one abusive male opinion, for it was unknown to most that the deed had being forced upon her during her stay in the slave pen.
“A fucking Reb slut, I knew she was …” said another, the slurs so obviously coming from the vitriolic voices of the barbarous soldiers.
Then Catherine looked up to see the huge, protruding length of timber getting closer. A sight she had seen so many times before, but never through the eyes that she wore today. It had suddenly become a place of terror, the altar where all hope, all resistance to their will was extinguished. The Whipping Post!
Chapter 27 – The Whipping Post, 7:30am May 12th 1864
Catherine looked up and stared ahead. “Oh God, my God, have mercy on me Lord.” She whispered these words to herself when she saw not just the foreboding length of gnarled wood with the iron rings set into each side, but also the jutting attachment that had been added overnight. She knew from its positioning and shape exactly what it was for, and now realised why she hadn’t already been raped. They were saving her for this!
At her right stood the man who was to be her nemesis, the largest of the soldiers, already stripped to the waist, his torso gleaming with perspiration from the early morning sun … Catherine drew back in terror when the whip caught her eye. A long black handled bull whip with hardened leather that would rip through her skin like a knife in butter.
She struggled and recoiled as horror turned to panic, only to collapse into the clutches of her guards. The air around her had suddenly become thick with an overwhelming sensation of pain and suffering, compounded by anticipation and lust driven excitement. The crowd had followed her procession, closing in behind as she slowly moved along, and was now gathered attentively around the site of her impending punishment. Catherine’s whole world spun wildly around, and without realising it she was back on her unsteady feet, pulled upright by the soldiers, who now stood patiently by her side, giving her plenty of time to view the threatening post, and its hovering nightmare … a huge, dark symbol of barbarity and pain where, in times past, blood had dripped from countless victims’ bodies.
The nameless guards gave her a shove of encouragement. Shoulders bunched up, poised on tottering legs, Catherine took a deep breath, trembling, reluctant ... but still she retained a modicum of poise. For in these last moments she was determined to maintain a measure of dignity. She flung her arms upward, refusing the assistance of her escorts, and wrenched herself free of their hold. It was on wobbling legs and wounded feet that she staggered, unaided, the last few steps determinedly toward the whipping post, appalled at the sight of it … but with her head held high.
Looming before her, she had arrived at the appointed place. Now Catherine saw up close the smooth surface of the carved wooden piece, shaped to be like a man’s erect penis ... Once more she felt sick, realising that she was to be raped and whipped simultaneously … however would she be able to endure?
Body stilled, long hair blowing loose in the breeze, her escorts released the collar and separated her arm and ankle cuffs, temporarily freeing her from restraint.
The drumming stopped and with it the fearful cadence that had marked her demeaning parade to the post. You could almost hear a pin drop as every last man and woman in the gathered throng seemed struck by more than a little awe as they realised that this young, fragile girl really was about to be flogged … and in full public view!
“Secure her,” came the order. Catherine gasped, momentarily closing her eyes, before opening them to glare at the General, her Godfather. Sherman, clearly troubled by this whole occasion, looked away refusing to acknowledge the stares from his Goddaughter.
Catherine’s svelte body was hoisted upon the platform, and she was further manhandled onto the crate, unable to do anything to stop her arms being hauled high and her wrists tightened into the manacles. The sedile pushed and prodded at her thighs as she stepped astride it to avoid its penetrative presence from slipping unwittingly between her thighs.
The surrounding anticipation had risen to palpable levels.
Lieutenant Sampson approached her. Despite wanting to ignore his presence, Catherine felt compelled to look him in the eye.
“So, here we are at last Miss McCown,” he spoke in patronising tones, which Catherine proceeded to ignore, turning her head away from him.
As he spoke his right hand moved to her mound. There she felt his fingers and thumb massaging her, the not yet deflowered pleasure point of her body, her face twisting as her expression crumpled under his intrusive touch. She just had to remain firm … but, as his fingers opened her labia and positioned her body as he required, enveloping the wooden phallus with her soft folds, her situation was proving unbearable.
“Ohhhhhhhh, please, stop …” As his touch became more insistent Catherine unwittingly groaned, much to the delight of the onlookers, or at least most of them. It was no doubt just Mary who offered up a prayer to the Lord as she witnessed the unfolding of this appalling scene.
Her body began to twist and writhe. It was already an agonising experience, and the primary torment had not yet begun. Catherine knew that she could speak now, and save herself so much pain, or remain silent under the whips until she could bear no more...
The Lieutenant had invaded her home. Her Godfather had sanctioned it. If ever she needed a reminder that this entire army were the battalions of the devil himself, then these people were it! Catherine fought against the feelings rising inside her, and let fury consume her. The cords on her neck stood out as she garnered her remaining strength and spirit … and she spit in Sampson’s face.
Instantly the Lieutenant’s eyes glowed with indignant rage. Pulling his fingers from her now moist sex, he drew back his shoulder and slapped her full across the face with such vicious force that it threw her whole body sideways, scraping her thighs against the sedile. Catherine flinched at the blow, her cheek throbbing with pain, and she glared back at him, quivering in stunned silence as he addressed the crowd.
“Let the will of the Federal Union be carried out upon this girl’s sinful flesh.” Sampson’s voice almost glowed with righteous indignation, and at this final declaration of her fate, Catherine’s heart began pounding so hard it felt like it was going to explode.
Dragged inexorably onward to this very moment, she bucked and thrashed in tear-filled hysteria, arms held tight. “I have nothing to tell you! Nothing!” she shrieked ... if only to convince herself ...
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Apart from his personal feelings towards his goddaughter, does Sherman made clear for himself the ambiguous situation conducted under his command? Catherine is either punished for just being found guilty by suspicion, or she is publically tortured and humiliated, in order to make her confess. Sounds in both options like inquisition methods.
Good build up of emotions!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Sherman is conflicted for sure. On the one hand he has the family ties with Catherine being his Goddaughter, yet he is also very aware of his responsibilities to the Army and to Lincoln. He cannot afford to show favouritism and lose discipline amongst his men. It is, however, very much the influence of Lieutenant Sampson that causes the interrogation to become punishment and then torture ...
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Yes, but meanwhile, Sherman is loosing himself into a dangerous state of target fixation, which could put his whole campaign at risk. First, because of staying too long at White Orchard, while mobility is essential for his brigade. Secondly because, if White Orchard is really a hot spot of rebel activity, the events could already have drawn the attention of local militia's (luckliy for Sherman, Shepherd is an idiot, only concerned about the pleasures of his dick, instead of alarming the rebs). With everybody focused on Catherine's flogging, the conditions are ideal for a rebel surprise attack, with a big prize ready to capture : Sherman himself.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Great stuff again Fossy.
As suspected, Sampson has allowed his baser instincts to take over.To obtain the results required,the broad leather strap favoured by the more astute slave owners would have been the implement to use. Extremely painful, but allowing an infinite number of lashes to be applied with little or no danger of the victim succumbing, either from trauma or loss of blood.
As suspected, Sampson has allowed his baser instincts to take over.To obtain the results required,the broad leather strap favoured by the more astute slave owners would have been the implement to use. Extremely painful, but allowing an infinite number of lashes to be applied with little or no danger of the victim succumbing, either from trauma or loss of blood.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Very, very hot!
Last edited:
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 28 – The Punishment Commences, 7:40am May 12th 1864
Without warning Lieutenant Sampson kicked the crate out from under his captive.
Hanging full stretch, by the wrists, her footing lost, Catherine fell and the appropriately positioned sedile impaled her virgin orifice in a single thrust.
“Noooooooooooooo!” She wailed as the impact of the brutal penetration pierced her core.
There was no cheer from the crowd just a simple, dramatic awestruck silence.
Her scream was like that of a dying animal, the pain cut deep into her most private parts, all her childhood dreams of virgin marriage torn asunder.
Now she was used, sullied … spoiled. Catherine’s anguish was all consuming. Her mind was spinning, her body opened and entered with such violent intent.
For a moment or two she felt nothing, but then the tortured girl cried out in agony as she writhed and thrashed, tugging and twisting at the manacles trying to free herself ... but she soon gave up, leaving the skin of her back and shoulders stretched irrevocably tight … and her thighs opened … ready for the whip.
The bound girl’s finger nails dug deep into her palms, as tears of defeat shimmered in her eyes. Choking back a distraught sob, her breasts heaved in slow, quivering breaths,. From out of the corner of heavy-lidded eyes she saw the guards depart and the bare-chested brute who was to flog her, encroach.
Catherine could feel the sedile deep inside her body. It had hammered through her hymen without a pause and filled her so full of pain and torment. It felt huge, swollen … she was immovably hooked.
General Sherman turned his gaze away. He should put a stop to this … the Lieutenant seemed to be pushing things too far. But yet … He knew how important it was that they get to the bottom of Catherine’s nefarious activities, but that wasn’t what was focusing his attention, as the unwanted swelling in his army combat pants signified. He was finding the manhandling of his beautiful Goddaughter an extremely stimulating experience, and he was not minded to bring things to a halt … at least not yet.
“The Lord is with you chil’” A lone voice of support came from the onlookers, no doubt the words of loyal Mary.
Sherman looked up at the peachy rear of the chained girl, and let his gaze roam higher over her slender waist and then back down to her smooth thighs. He regretted the manner in which Catherine had lost her virginity, but collateral damage in times of war could not be avoided. His focus was on the bigger picture, it always was.
Catherine’s forehead fell against the post as she gripped at the chains with her flailing fingers … a useless attempt to haul herself upwards and away from the insidious wood carving. She was awash with unwanted sensations rocking instinctively against the invasive appendage, silently begging for blackness to descend, but that was not going to happen … not yet. For now, she was to perform for her audience, a pornographic doll chained to a wooden stage … this was what they had reduced her to.
"You fucking Reb whore," came a more dissenting shout from the crowd.
Catherine let out a long howl. Restrained as she was, all she could do was wriggle like a fish on a hook, a sexual marionette from one of those lewd French novels she had read about.
Then she felt her hair being heaped over her shoulder, freeing the entirety of her back ready to be properly beaten. Lieutenant Sampson shouted out the words almost everyone wanted to hear, words that she had been dreading.
“Begin!”
Chapter 29 – Whipped, 7:57am May 12th 1864
The small amount of sedile that was exposed and not embedded inside her body was stained red with her virgin blood. Catherine could not sense the flow squeezing out from the tight sheath her labia had created around the wooden phallus, but she could feel the pain between her thighs … the agonising cut of the sedile where the wood entered her body, spreading her, opening her for all to witness.
Her mind was numb, her body aching like never before … as she waited.
Just waited …
The silence was deafening. The chained girl could only hear the sounds of ordinary life, noises that came from nature; The swooping yellow and black bobolinks pecking at the crops, the rustling of the trees and the fields of corn. Only the occasional nervous cough from the viewing crowd broke the sounds of silence, every watching body now high beyond measure on anticipation.
Shepherd, the overseer, maintained the whips at White Orchard, and stiffening wax rendered this bullwhip taut as a rod. Moaning with distress at her appalling impalement, Catherine jumped as the lash was cracked against the dusty ground, soliciting an audible gasp from the onlooking gathering.
The warming sun poured down piercing the sparse cloud, burning into her pale, unprotected skin. Anticipatory tremors shook her, small beads of sweat forming on her forehead and upraised forearms. The more conscious she grew of the punishment she was about to take, the more difficult it would be to remain silent.
Distracted by a sudden breeze blowing specks of dust around the base of the platform, she glimpsed back, and saw that the man whose half-naked body already glistened with sweat, had taken up position behind her.
Panic induced terror infused her spine and stiffened her body. Why was he waiting? Was he was sizing up her tolerance for pain, how long she would last under the rigors of his lash?
As she twisted her head just a little more, his eyes met hers, bewildered, vulnerable and filled with tears. Time seemed to close in around them. As he put a leather glove onto his right hand, his gaze never wavered from her hanging body, that was still … just waiting.
“Pl… pl … please ...”
“You wish to tell me something?” the Lieutenant moved closer to the chained girl, a quiet inquisitiveness lingering in his tone.
“Y … you don’t ...h … have to do this ...” she begged, gazing back at him with doleful eyes, her face tight with a sudden, desperate, weak smile.
He waited for her to say more … she did not. It was time.
The blackest despair Catherine had ever known came upon her. To her rear a ready fist gathered round the gleaming handle of the shining lash, just waiting to be deployed ...
“Commence the first round.” It was Sampson’s clear instruction that issued the dreaded command.
“... Oh God, help me please ...” she wailed in horror, each breath more shallow than the previous one, as her bare back tensed in a futile attempt to limited the impending damage.
Too numb with fright, too shocked to even plead or beg, Catherine heaved her chest, breasts pushing against the post ...
The approach of footsteps made her heart race. The brute of a man unfurled the whip as he moved. The taut, wiry lash came alive in his hand, slithering as it sprang forth, bouncing lightly, lithely tapping the dusty floor.
The stiffened lash, whisked up with a quick, fluid whistle, and came down with a sharp, snapping slash, sending a cloud of dust into the air … an horrendous test of her nerve.
Catherine was frantic. Releasing a cry of terror in anticipation of the pain that never came, she sobbed, the deceptive stroke stirring a wild panic inside her mind. She pressed her smooth, bare thighs together, squeezing the sedile, her body twisting and squirming.
Once again, he lifted his fist, and the sound of the whip whistled with cutting clarity. This time she thrust her gaze forward, wincing, lips parting in disbelief, trembling, breathing fast. He let the whip fly through the air and she clenched her fists. With eyes closed tight, she prepared for the worst … and felt the whip curl around her body with a loud crack.
As if from a distance, Catherine heard herself draw a shuddering draught of air. Panting with loud, hysterical hoarseness, unable to draw breath, she lifted her cuffed wrists with desperate strength, raising herself a little from the rigours of the phallus inside her body.
Legs bent at the knees, feet lifted, unable to see the thin, scarlet stripe now adorning her flesh ...
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tip of the lash vanish and braced herself once more … then heard it whistle and repeat its crack. The jolt came just below her hips, above the relentless stiffening in her loins, leaving a deep, thin burn on her flesh.
Stoically Catherine confined her reaction to a gasp, her face twisting with the intensity of pain ...
The third stroke lashed the delicious curves of her buttocks, forcing a loud grunt. It sliced the skin clean through, leaving the red welted streak, raw.
With effort, and overwhelmed by the need to cry out, Catherine choked back the whimpering sobs now welling higher in her throat. She had heard the slaves say that once a victim of the lash started to scream the fight was lost.
Another whistle through the air, a resounding crack … the slashing sound of breaking skin and Catherine was slammed against the post.
She lost control then, consumed in a fit of convulsive shuddering, and she realised that by not screaming she was only encouraging him to whip her harder ... and he duly obliged!
Gazing briefly backwards, twisting hips around her impalement, she saw his muscular body rotate from side to side, twirling the long, stout coil over his head in a circular motion. Like a lasso rope, each swing emitted a portentous whooshing noise, gaining momentum ...
Then he plied the whip lengthwise across the middle of her back with an even louder and harsher slash, as it dug deeper into the skin below her shoulders, driving a shriek of agony from her lips.
She knew with dreaded certainty that she could not withstand this severe flogging for long. Two more strokes fell, fizzing and searing into her flesh …
Despite the unbearable pain, the invasive penetration and the degrading humiliation, she had to hold on for as long as she could.
The bullwhip pounded her slender body, cracked on more tender skin, this time deep inside the clenched curves of her buttocks ... soft flesh that burned in its fervour ...
Then she could fight no more, and at last Catherine threw her head back, her long hair flying wildly loose, and released a shrill, tortured scream.
Perverse cheers rose from the crowd, a smattering of depraved applause and an all-round stiffening of groins.
Once again, the whip sought to slake its desires, thirsting for her agony. Curling the leather around both thighs in a serpentine manner, the whipmaster released another wild, excruciating crash to slice at her bare skin...
Yet again Catherine thrashed and gritted her teeth, unwittingly driving the phallus deeper into her own body … her wooden assailant fucking her hard …
The man was clearly an artist with the whip, chosen for the task because of that very reason, and right now Catherine McCown was his nubile, human canvass. He hurled his arm backwards and then applied a burgeoning drag movement that drove the lash inexorably forward, this time landing diagonally upon her back ...
The penultimate strokes of this first round of whipping were hurled upon her with a hellish, unforgiving fury, the fiercest by far. She greeted each with a primal scream of hoarse, uninhibited abandon, her mind blurred by the burning hell of this endless beating ...
Then, when the final lash fell, shearing the backs of her thighs with a ripping crack, her scream reached a flaring, piercing crescendo ... then suddenly faded!
To Be Continued ...
Without warning Lieutenant Sampson kicked the crate out from under his captive.
Hanging full stretch, by the wrists, her footing lost, Catherine fell and the appropriately positioned sedile impaled her virgin orifice in a single thrust.
“Noooooooooooooo!” She wailed as the impact of the brutal penetration pierced her core.
There was no cheer from the crowd just a simple, dramatic awestruck silence.
Her scream was like that of a dying animal, the pain cut deep into her most private parts, all her childhood dreams of virgin marriage torn asunder.
Now she was used, sullied … spoiled. Catherine’s anguish was all consuming. Her mind was spinning, her body opened and entered with such violent intent.
For a moment or two she felt nothing, but then the tortured girl cried out in agony as she writhed and thrashed, tugging and twisting at the manacles trying to free herself ... but she soon gave up, leaving the skin of her back and shoulders stretched irrevocably tight … and her thighs opened … ready for the whip.
The bound girl’s finger nails dug deep into her palms, as tears of defeat shimmered in her eyes. Choking back a distraught sob, her breasts heaved in slow, quivering breaths,. From out of the corner of heavy-lidded eyes she saw the guards depart and the bare-chested brute who was to flog her, encroach.
Catherine could feel the sedile deep inside her body. It had hammered through her hymen without a pause and filled her so full of pain and torment. It felt huge, swollen … she was immovably hooked.
General Sherman turned his gaze away. He should put a stop to this … the Lieutenant seemed to be pushing things too far. But yet … He knew how important it was that they get to the bottom of Catherine’s nefarious activities, but that wasn’t what was focusing his attention, as the unwanted swelling in his army combat pants signified. He was finding the manhandling of his beautiful Goddaughter an extremely stimulating experience, and he was not minded to bring things to a halt … at least not yet.
“The Lord is with you chil’” A lone voice of support came from the onlookers, no doubt the words of loyal Mary.
Sherman looked up at the peachy rear of the chained girl, and let his gaze roam higher over her slender waist and then back down to her smooth thighs. He regretted the manner in which Catherine had lost her virginity, but collateral damage in times of war could not be avoided. His focus was on the bigger picture, it always was.
Catherine’s forehead fell against the post as she gripped at the chains with her flailing fingers … a useless attempt to haul herself upwards and away from the insidious wood carving. She was awash with unwanted sensations rocking instinctively against the invasive appendage, silently begging for blackness to descend, but that was not going to happen … not yet. For now, she was to perform for her audience, a pornographic doll chained to a wooden stage … this was what they had reduced her to.
"You fucking Reb whore," came a more dissenting shout from the crowd.
Catherine let out a long howl. Restrained as she was, all she could do was wriggle like a fish on a hook, a sexual marionette from one of those lewd French novels she had read about.
Then she felt her hair being heaped over her shoulder, freeing the entirety of her back ready to be properly beaten. Lieutenant Sampson shouted out the words almost everyone wanted to hear, words that she had been dreading.
“Begin!”
Chapter 29 – Whipped, 7:57am May 12th 1864
The small amount of sedile that was exposed and not embedded inside her body was stained red with her virgin blood. Catherine could not sense the flow squeezing out from the tight sheath her labia had created around the wooden phallus, but she could feel the pain between her thighs … the agonising cut of the sedile where the wood entered her body, spreading her, opening her for all to witness.
Her mind was numb, her body aching like never before … as she waited.
Just waited …
The silence was deafening. The chained girl could only hear the sounds of ordinary life, noises that came from nature; The swooping yellow and black bobolinks pecking at the crops, the rustling of the trees and the fields of corn. Only the occasional nervous cough from the viewing crowd broke the sounds of silence, every watching body now high beyond measure on anticipation.
Shepherd, the overseer, maintained the whips at White Orchard, and stiffening wax rendered this bullwhip taut as a rod. Moaning with distress at her appalling impalement, Catherine jumped as the lash was cracked against the dusty ground, soliciting an audible gasp from the onlooking gathering.
The warming sun poured down piercing the sparse cloud, burning into her pale, unprotected skin. Anticipatory tremors shook her, small beads of sweat forming on her forehead and upraised forearms. The more conscious she grew of the punishment she was about to take, the more difficult it would be to remain silent.
Distracted by a sudden breeze blowing specks of dust around the base of the platform, she glimpsed back, and saw that the man whose half-naked body already glistened with sweat, had taken up position behind her.
Panic induced terror infused her spine and stiffened her body. Why was he waiting? Was he was sizing up her tolerance for pain, how long she would last under the rigors of his lash?
As she twisted her head just a little more, his eyes met hers, bewildered, vulnerable and filled with tears. Time seemed to close in around them. As he put a leather glove onto his right hand, his gaze never wavered from her hanging body, that was still … just waiting.
“Pl… pl … please ...”
“You wish to tell me something?” the Lieutenant moved closer to the chained girl, a quiet inquisitiveness lingering in his tone.
“Y … you don’t ...h … have to do this ...” she begged, gazing back at him with doleful eyes, her face tight with a sudden, desperate, weak smile.
He waited for her to say more … she did not. It was time.
The blackest despair Catherine had ever known came upon her. To her rear a ready fist gathered round the gleaming handle of the shining lash, just waiting to be deployed ...
“Commence the first round.” It was Sampson’s clear instruction that issued the dreaded command.
“... Oh God, help me please ...” she wailed in horror, each breath more shallow than the previous one, as her bare back tensed in a futile attempt to limited the impending damage.
Too numb with fright, too shocked to even plead or beg, Catherine heaved her chest, breasts pushing against the post ...
The approach of footsteps made her heart race. The brute of a man unfurled the whip as he moved. The taut, wiry lash came alive in his hand, slithering as it sprang forth, bouncing lightly, lithely tapping the dusty floor.
The stiffened lash, whisked up with a quick, fluid whistle, and came down with a sharp, snapping slash, sending a cloud of dust into the air … an horrendous test of her nerve.
Catherine was frantic. Releasing a cry of terror in anticipation of the pain that never came, she sobbed, the deceptive stroke stirring a wild panic inside her mind. She pressed her smooth, bare thighs together, squeezing the sedile, her body twisting and squirming.
Once again, he lifted his fist, and the sound of the whip whistled with cutting clarity. This time she thrust her gaze forward, wincing, lips parting in disbelief, trembling, breathing fast. He let the whip fly through the air and she clenched her fists. With eyes closed tight, she prepared for the worst … and felt the whip curl around her body with a loud crack.
As if from a distance, Catherine heard herself draw a shuddering draught of air. Panting with loud, hysterical hoarseness, unable to draw breath, she lifted her cuffed wrists with desperate strength, raising herself a little from the rigours of the phallus inside her body.
Legs bent at the knees, feet lifted, unable to see the thin, scarlet stripe now adorning her flesh ...
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tip of the lash vanish and braced herself once more … then heard it whistle and repeat its crack. The jolt came just below her hips, above the relentless stiffening in her loins, leaving a deep, thin burn on her flesh.
Stoically Catherine confined her reaction to a gasp, her face twisting with the intensity of pain ...
The third stroke lashed the delicious curves of her buttocks, forcing a loud grunt. It sliced the skin clean through, leaving the red welted streak, raw.
With effort, and overwhelmed by the need to cry out, Catherine choked back the whimpering sobs now welling higher in her throat. She had heard the slaves say that once a victim of the lash started to scream the fight was lost.
Another whistle through the air, a resounding crack … the slashing sound of breaking skin and Catherine was slammed against the post.
She lost control then, consumed in a fit of convulsive shuddering, and she realised that by not screaming she was only encouraging him to whip her harder ... and he duly obliged!
Gazing briefly backwards, twisting hips around her impalement, she saw his muscular body rotate from side to side, twirling the long, stout coil over his head in a circular motion. Like a lasso rope, each swing emitted a portentous whooshing noise, gaining momentum ...
Then he plied the whip lengthwise across the middle of her back with an even louder and harsher slash, as it dug deeper into the skin below her shoulders, driving a shriek of agony from her lips.
She knew with dreaded certainty that she could not withstand this severe flogging for long. Two more strokes fell, fizzing and searing into her flesh …
Despite the unbearable pain, the invasive penetration and the degrading humiliation, she had to hold on for as long as she could.
The bullwhip pounded her slender body, cracked on more tender skin, this time deep inside the clenched curves of her buttocks ... soft flesh that burned in its fervour ...
Then she could fight no more, and at last Catherine threw her head back, her long hair flying wildly loose, and released a shrill, tortured scream.
Perverse cheers rose from the crowd, a smattering of depraved applause and an all-round stiffening of groins.
Once again, the whip sought to slake its desires, thirsting for her agony. Curling the leather around both thighs in a serpentine manner, the whipmaster released another wild, excruciating crash to slice at her bare skin...
Yet again Catherine thrashed and gritted her teeth, unwittingly driving the phallus deeper into her own body … her wooden assailant fucking her hard …
The man was clearly an artist with the whip, chosen for the task because of that very reason, and right now Catherine McCown was his nubile, human canvass. He hurled his arm backwards and then applied a burgeoning drag movement that drove the lash inexorably forward, this time landing diagonally upon her back ...
The penultimate strokes of this first round of whipping were hurled upon her with a hellish, unforgiving fury, the fiercest by far. She greeted each with a primal scream of hoarse, uninhibited abandon, her mind blurred by the burning hell of this endless beating ...
Then, when the final lash fell, shearing the backs of her thighs with a ripping crack, her scream reached a flaring, piercing crescendo ... then suddenly faded!
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Hum, is she virgin ? If yes, it could be a wonderful thing to lose her virginity ...
For me, she's guilty, otherwise she already was answering to the questions ... But, somewhere, perhaps that she is enjoyed by the future torments ...