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Rupert_137

Executioner
Introduction

I would like to close my 'Witches Trilogy' here with a third story.

My first story here, The last Witch of Bamberg, is based on a historical victim and the documented execution of a young woman as a 'witch' in Bamberg in 1630 AD. It was deliberately written from different perspectives in order to illustrate as many aspects as possible.

My second story, The Witch and the Executioner, is a pure witch fantasy. It is written entirely from the executioner’s point of view, as a thoughtful and attentive observer, not just as a dumb torturer.

The new third story, entitled 'A Witch's Thoughts and Suffering', is intended to be written entirely from the perspective of the victim, the accused witch, and thus complement the other two stories. This is also a pure fantasy, but against the historical background of the witch hunts at the beginning of the Modern Age.

Everything else about the third part of the witch trilogy follows.

Have fun reading, Rupert
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
A Witch's Thoughts and Suffering

Based on an idea by Catherine Wild, rewrite of the story by Rupert

An originally short, but intensely and very hauntingly told story about the terrible suffering of a young witch, told from this woman's perspective and thoughts: from dungeon and torture, through her way to the stake, to death in the flames. The originally nameless victim was given a name here. In addition, there is her family in the background and many additional scenes, which now round off this story. Instead of two short sections, the text now comprises 10 chapters and about five times the size.

It was precisely this story by Catherine Wild that not only inspired me to add additional aspects and a framework to the theme, but also inspired me to write more of my own witch stories. Therefore, I would like to preface the original commentary by the author Catherine Wild on her story 'Thoughts of a Witch':

“Close your eyes and go to a journey to a time long past. This story brings you back to the Dark Age, witness the cruel things that happened to an innocent woman accused for witchcraft.”

http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=9586


A Witch's Thoughts and Suffering

(I) Prologue – Locked in a cell with gloomy thoughts


I sit huddled and chained in the corner of my dungeon cell. It's dark, cold; the air is humid and smelly. Pale light from the moon pours through a small barred window. Even during the day it hardly gets really light. I'm alone. The straw on the floor can't warm me.

My feet are bare, my hand and ankles are sore from the chain irons they wear. My beautiful, long hair is disheveled and streaked. The dirty penitent shirt around my body scratches my battered skin. The wounds are inflamed, everything hurts and throbbing with numb pain. I've been unwashed for a long time; my sweat smells strong, my pussy stinks, my breasts itch. I feel so miserable and so dirty.

I have to relieve myself in a small bucket that is often not emptied for days. I've asked for water to wash up on several times, but the guards just grin. "You're a filthy witch, why should you wash yourself? Witches stink like an animal, that’s normal." They keep telling me, “Witches are always dirty and they stink, especially between their legs. You mustn't cover up the fact that you are a witch. You are not allowed to wash yourself."

I try to find some sleep and rest, but I don't succeed. I know that soon I will die in a particularly cruel way. I start crying.

I’m Hildegard, daughter of the carpenter Henrik from the ‘Valley of Sorrows’. I have been charged with witchcraft and I have confessed to everything under torture. I knew it would seal my fate, but I could no longer endure the pain, fear and agony of the torture. Sooner or later I had to confess what I did not do. I was desperate and I was at the end of my tether. Now the pyre awaits me to burn me alive as a witch.

I do not know, who has shown me, but he knew of a small mole on my right breast. I had experienced a terrible misfortune, I was only married for a short time and when my husband died in an accident. A little later, I lost the child I by him in the body bore. In my grief I drank and let myself be seduced with too much wine, then reluctantly gave myself up to a strange man. We must have been seen. A little later I was arrested, fornication and suspicion of witchcraft, that was the charge.

I shiver and shudder as memories return of the unspeakable things they did to me. I have not denied fornication. It was a moment of weakness, I knew also that I sure would come in the stocks and also the whip had earned. But they wanted to make a witch out of me. Why? It's absurd, but who would insinuate that I am a witch? Who would want me to be cruelly punished for witchcraft?

WTS-01-1.jpg WTS-01-2.jpg
Pictures: The accused witch with gloomy thoughts in her cell (2 variants)
 
Oh how amazing, your last two witch stories were fantastic! I can’t wait for this to continue. You write so eloquently, and the attached images are beautiful (are they yours?)

My slave-heart is overjoyed. Miss Loinclothslave will join Hildegard to share a similar fate..

Now for the beautiful journey to the stake.
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Oh how amazing, your last two witch stories were fantastic! I can’t wait for this to continue. You write so eloquently, and the attached images are beautiful (are they yours?)

My slave-heart is overjoyed. Miss Loinclothslave will join Hildegard to share a similar fate..

Now for the beautiful journey to the stake.
Thank you for the positive feedback!
I look for the pictures as fittingly as possible, a lot of them come from one of the many posts here. Sometimes I also adapt my description to a good picture that I have found. Unfortunately, I am not very good at drawing and I do not have a program to create my own pictures. Sometimes I work a little on some of the images I found, I add a brand mark, a chain or a short text...
Even if it might make a different impression ... I feel very sorry for all the women who have to make their way to the stake ... The story of 'The Last Witch of Bamberg' was particularly sad for me because everything really happened in that way. Writing a sad fantasy story isn't that depressing. But of course it's a challenge to describe something like this as realistically as possible...
 

KageKamen

Tribune
A Witch's Thoughts and Suffering

Based on an idea by Catherine Wild, rewrite of the story by Rupert

An originally short, but intensely and very hauntingly told story about the terrible suffering of a young witch, told from this woman's perspective and thoughts: from dungeon and torture, through her way to the stake, to death in the flames. The originally nameless victim was given a name here. In addition, there is her family in the background and many additional scenes, which now round off this story. Instead of two short sections, the text now comprises 10 chapters and about five times the size.

It was precisely this story by Catherine Wild that not only inspired me to add additional aspects and a framework to the theme, but also inspired me to write more of my own witch stories. Therefore, I would like to preface the original commentary by the author Catherine Wild on her story 'Thoughts of a Witch':

“Close your eyes and go to a journey to a time long past. This story brings you back to the Dark Age, witness the cruel things that happened to an innocent woman accused for witchcraft.”

http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=9586


A Witch's Thoughts and Suffering

(I) Prologue – Locked in a cell with gloomy thoughts


I sit huddled and chained in the corner of my dungeon cell. It's dark, cold; the air is humid and smelly. Pale light from the moon pours through a small barred window. Even during the day it hardly gets really light. I'm alone. The straw on the floor can't warm me.

My feet are bare, my hand and ankles are sore from the chain irons they wear. My beautiful, long hair is disheveled and streaked. The dirty penitent shirt around my body scratches my battered skin. The wounds are inflamed, everything hurts and throbbing with numb pain. I've been unwashed for a long time; my sweat smells strong, my pussy stinks, my breasts itch. I feel so miserable and so dirty.

I have to relieve myself in a small bucket that is often not emptied for days. I've asked for water to wash up on several times, but the guards just grin. "You're a filthy witch, why should you wash yourself? Witches stink like an animal, that’s normal." They keep telling me, “Witches are always dirty and they stink, especially between their legs. You mustn't cover up the fact that you are a witch. You are not allowed to wash yourself."

I try to find some sleep and rest, but I don't succeed. I know that soon I will die in a particularly cruel way. I start crying.

I’m Hildegard, daughter of the carpenter Henrik from the ‘Valley of Sorrows’. I have been charged with witchcraft and I have confessed to everything under torture. I knew it would seal my fate, but I could no longer endure the pain, fear and agony of the torture. Sooner or later I had to confess what I did not do. I was desperate and I was at the end of my tether. Now the pyre awaits me to burn me alive as a witch.

I do not know, who has shown me, but he knew of a small mole on my right breast. I had experienced a terrible misfortune, I was only married for a short time and when my husband died in an accident. A little later, I lost the child I by him in the body bore. In my grief I drank and let myself be seduced with too much wine, then reluctantly gave myself up to a strange man. We must have been seen. A little later I was arrested, fornication and suspicion of witchcraft, that was the charge.

I shiver and shudder as memories return of the unspeakable things they did to me. I have not denied fornication. It was a moment of weakness, I knew also that I sure would come in the stocks and also the whip had earned. But they wanted to make a witch out of me. Why? It's absurd, but who would insinuate that I am a witch? Who would want me to be cruelly punished for witchcraft?

View attachment 1030323 View attachment 1030324
Pictures: The accused witch with gloomy thoughts in her cell (2 variants)
Powerfully written. Indeed this girl is a sinner deserving of punishment, but her accusers go too far...
 

Fossy

Senator
A Witch's Thoughts and Suffering

Based on an idea by Catherine Wild, rewrite of the story by Rupert

An originally short, but intensely and very hauntingly told story about the terrible suffering of a young witch, told from this woman's perspective and thoughts: from dungeon and torture, through her way to the stake, to death in the flames. The originally nameless victim was given a name here. In addition, there is her family in the background and many additional scenes, which now round off this story. Instead of two short sections, the text now comprises 10 chapters and about five times the size.

It was precisely this story by Catherine Wild that not only inspired me to add additional aspects and a framework to the theme, but also inspired me to write more of my own witch stories. Therefore, I would like to preface the original commentary by the author Catherine Wild on her story 'Thoughts of a Witch':

“Close your eyes and go to a journey to a time long past. This story brings you back to the Dark Age, witness the cruel things that happened to an innocent woman accused for witchcraft.”

http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=9586


A Witch's Thoughts and Suffering

(I) Prologue – Locked in a cell with gloomy thoughts


I sit huddled and chained in the corner of my dungeon cell. It's dark, cold; the air is humid and smelly. Pale light from the moon pours through a small barred window. Even during the day it hardly gets really light. I'm alone. The straw on the floor can't warm me.

My feet are bare, my hand and ankles are sore from the chain irons they wear. My beautiful, long hair is disheveled and streaked. The dirty penitent shirt around my body scratches my battered skin. The wounds are inflamed, everything hurts and throbbing with numb pain. I've been unwashed for a long time; my sweat smells strong, my pussy stinks, my breasts itch. I feel so miserable and so dirty.

I have to relieve myself in a small bucket that is often not emptied for days. I've asked for water to wash up on several times, but the guards just grin. "You're a filthy witch, why should you wash yourself? Witches stink like an animal, that’s normal." They keep telling me, “Witches are always dirty and they stink, especially between their legs. You mustn't cover up the fact that you are a witch. You are not allowed to wash yourself."

I try to find some sleep and rest, but I don't succeed. I know that soon I will die in a particularly cruel way. I start crying.

I’m Hildegard, daughter of the carpenter Henrik from the ‘Valley of Sorrows’. I have been charged with witchcraft and I have confessed to everything under torture. I knew it would seal my fate, but I could no longer endure the pain, fear and agony of the torture. Sooner or later I had to confess what I did not do. I was desperate and I was at the end of my tether. Now the pyre awaits me to burn me alive as a witch.

I do not know, who has shown me, but he knew of a small mole on my right breast. I had experienced a terrible misfortune, I was only married for a short time and when my husband died in an accident. A little later, I lost the child I by him in the body bore. In my grief I drank and let myself be seduced with too much wine, then reluctantly gave myself up to a strange man. We must have been seen. A little later I was arrested, fornication and suspicion of witchcraft, that was the charge.

I shiver and shudder as memories return of the unspeakable things they did to me. I have not denied fornication. It was a moment of weakness, I knew also that I sure would come in the stocks and also the whip had earned. But they wanted to make a witch out of me. Why? It's absurd, but who would insinuate that I am a witch? Who would want me to be cruelly punished for witchcraft?

View attachment 1030323 View attachment 1030324
Pictures: The accused witch with gloomy thoughts in her cell (2 variants)
I always think writing a first person PoV narrative adds so much additional feeling to the story line, and you have done it so well Rupert. Also adding pics, especially when the victim is depicted as the same girl, is another of my pleasures. Very well done my friend.
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter II – My shameful Examination

After my arrest, it began with a shameful examination. I am led into a barred room where two men are waiting for me. One should ask a lot of questions, he introduces himself as a witch finder and inquisitor. He is a thin, tall man with gray hair. The other, a sturdy young fellow, is a torturer who does not introduce himself.

"Get naked!" The inquisitor demands and looks at me with his cold eyes. "Naked...?" I’m startled, frightened and ashamed. “Yes, completely naked! Here you are not allowed to hide anything from us or from God.” I hesitate and say, “I am ashamed.” “Yes, you should be ashamed of yourself too, with everything that is accused of you… We have to examine you naked and even torture you naked if necessary. We have to examine your body very carefully for traces of the devil ... and naked it will be easier for you to find the truth."

"But I don't want to," I respond desperately. "It doesn't go according to your will here!" The gray-haired man suddenly yells at me. “Take off your clothes at last! If you don’t do it voluntarily, it’s an indication of your guilt."

With trembling hands I slowly undress and feel that I’m being watched closely. I quickly cover my breasts and pubic area with arms and hands. “Put your hands behind your neck! We have to see your tits and your pussy too. This is especially important!"

I don't want to believe it, but I have to completely bare myself in front of them. The two men stare at me now, completely unabashed. The young fellow gazes at me from the side and the gray-haired man from the front. This one says derogatory, "You have thick wool between your legs, which we will have to thin out considerably in order to take a closer look at your pussy… And your tits have grown too lush… You are probably a dangerous seductress, aren't you? And sure you are a witch!"

I feel even more ashamed and stammered: "No I'm not a witch... My breasts are not big, just well grown... I don't seduce anyone." "Don't tell us fairy tales ... Better to admit that you have plump boobs with which you like to seduce men and boys!"

WTS-02-1.jpg
Picture: Shameful examination – an accused witch is not allowed to hide anything...

Then the inquisitor comes up to me and examines me closely, with greedy eyes that burn my body and with importunate, cold hands that touch me everywhere. Unabashedly he grabs and pinches painfully in my boobs. I turn away and cover my breasts with my hands. He just says, “Don't be shy! You weren't embarrassed in front of the devil either.”

The torturer pulls my hands behind my back and ties them with a coarse rope. I am completely defenseless and the inquisitor continues to feel and squeeze my breasts, to pinch and twist my nipples.

"You have really decent boobs and your naughty teats are very excitable ... did you serve the devil with them?" I get scared and stutter a "No." "We will burn a nice sign with the red-hot iron on your bulging udders once we have convicted you as a witch," he threatens me.

A little later he grabs my pubic hair and tears it until it hurts. "We’ll have to burn away or to tear out your wild, overgrown muff!

Finally he touches my crotch and pushes his fingers into my pussy, he checks if I am wet there. He smells his fingers; he holds them under my nose and says: "Smell yourself! You’re a depraved, lustful woman. You are a witch!"

I’m deeply scared, my heart is pounding wildly and I feel ashamed.

"We have to put you to the witch test!" His words frighten me even more. “We'll test you with the needle ... all over your body! It'll hurt a little, but it won't be that bad.” I'm even more scared and want to piss on.

They tie me naked under the covers with my arms stretched out on a rope. My feet are barely touching the ground, the rope cuts into my wrists. I can barely move, cannot defend myself from the attack of the long test needle.

WTS-02-2.jpg
Picture: Filled with fear, Hildegard has to face the witch pricking

And so they begin with the needle test, they also call the ‘witch pricking’. Again cold hands and fingers touch my body everywhere in search of the target where they want to prick me with their long sharp needle. Again and again they prick my moles and every little spot on my breasts. It hurts a lot, but I'm bleeding. I’m bleeding everywhere they prick me. Again and again they squeeze and pinch my tender breasts so that they become hard and firm for the needle. Then they stuck in and slowly press the needle deeper and deeper...

It hurts so bad, it is so mean, my poor boobs! I moan, I scream, I cry. I ask them to stop, but they keep going. The stitches go deep and they are really painful. My boobs have never hurt so much, but this is just the beginning. They are also prick into my bum, in my back, stomach, my thighs...

I feel tears in my eyes. The inquisitor just cruelly says: "Your tits should be grateful that I test them with the sacred needle." Then he asks me strange and very intimate things, while the torturer continues to prick me with the deep under my skin.

WTS-02-3.jpg
Picture: Hildegard is pricked with a needle, especially in the most sensitive areas. She's bleeding everywhere, but that was to be expected. Inquisitor and torturer, however, are a well-rehearsed team, and they have their tricks to convict witches...

I'm still hanging with my arms under the covers, I can't defend myself. In my distress I tell him how I play with my pussy and nipples in bed in the evenings. I’m so embarrassed and don't want to talk about it; but the inquisitor threatens me that the torturer would have to prick me even more intensely and deeply if I don't want to tell honestly my sins.

"The pain helps you and us to find the truth," he says, while the guy pricks my body over and over again. Suddenly I feel the needle on my pussy, the torturer pricks and I screech. “No! Not there! Please not between my legs,” I plead.

"Would you rather prefer to play with your fingers between your legs?" I don't understand what he wants, but I nod, the needle pricking must finally stop. The inquisitor demands me to play with my fingers at my pussy... "Play with your sinful crevice and at the little bud between your legs as you do it in the evening or secretly in the bushes!"

My hands are released from the rope on the ceiling and tied again in front of my body. I am allowed to squat on the floor.

I don't want to, I'm ashamed, I can't ... He threatens to prick my pussy with the needle if I don't show him how I sin. Then, with my hands tied, I begin to play with myself as best I can.

I try to concentrate ... at least I’m no longer tortured with the needle. I don't know why to play with myself, but I close my eyes and do it. It lasts quite a while ... I feel watched, I’m tense. But eventually the little bud begins to reward me for playing.

Suddenly the man yanks my hands away from my pussy. "Stop it," he shouts, "I've seen enough!"

I feel fear, I whine and cry. Suddenly the inquisitor looks straight into my eyes and says, "No decent girl would do that… Not alone and certainly not in the presence of other men. A chaste and godly woman would rather like to be pricked with a needle than to sin between her legs! And when she feels lust, she would whip herself until she feels relieved… But you are a deeply depraved and voluptuous sinner … you deserve the pain. You are a witch!"

I’m frightened, what have I done? But suddenly he becomes friendly. "Of course we have to punish you for your fornication and for your carnal lust ... But if you are innocent of much worse crimes, then you will surely be willing to endure pain on your tits to prove your innocence, right?" I don't want, but I have to agree; so the pricking goes on and I have to put up with it.

I am half mad. "Play with your pussy again, it'll be easier," he says with an evil smile. I try, but cannot concentrate. Suddenly the guy with the needle calls out: “Here is it, the devil's mark, it’s the sign! No blood, no twitching and no pain!"

I’m terrified, I’m sure that he has not pricked at all. It would have hurt, it always hurts! The puncture on my little birthmark on the right breast is from earlier, it is bleeding, but now there is nothing to be seen of it, just a small puncture site. "The inquisitor examined it carefully:" Yes, that's the mark of the devil, right there, where it is described for us on her plump tits. No doubt, she's a witch!"

I plead my innocence. I say that the puncture is from the past. “Are you going to accuse us of lying, witch? That's a sure sign! If you don't want to confess, we'll have to torture you."

I shake my head in despair. “The pain of torture will purify your soul and detach you from the devil. In the end, your confession will be like a release for you.” The Inquisitor tells me with cold eyes. "Confess or prepare yourself for the pain of torture!"

I am desperate, I am crying and I am pleading. I keep shouting, “It's not true! I'm innocent, I'm not a witch,” in vain! The inquisitor turns my head; I see hatred in his eyes. "You lie! But you will also confess, they will all confess at some point..."

Suddenly he spits right into my face. It’s disgusting, I want to wipe it off with my hands, but he says sternly: "Leave it!" He spits at me again, this time on my both breast and on the birthmark.

Finally he says to me: "You should know how I think about witches ... And it should remind you that we have convicted you as a witch!" And he spits one more time directly into my face. "That's for giving yourself to the sins of your thighs before our eyes – a decent girl would never have done that, even if I asked!"

They led me naked back to my cell. I’m totally desperate and I cry. The pain in my breasts throb; I feel miserable and dirty with his snot, I’m deeply terrified.

WTS-02-4.jpg
Picture: Hildegard, humiliated, scared and spat upon...
 
Last edited:

montycrusto

Slave Trader
Chapter II – My shameful Examination

After my arrest, it began with a shameful examination. I am led into a barred room where two men are waiting for me. One should ask a lot of questions, he introduces himself as a witch finder and inquisitor. He is a thin, tall man with gray hair. The other, a sturdy young fellow, is a torturer who does not introduce himself.

"Get naked!" The inquisitor demands and looks at me with his cold eyes. "Naked...?" I’m startled, frightened and ashamed. “Yes, completely naked! Here you are not allowed to hide anything from us or from God.” I hesitate and say, “I am ashamed.” “Yes, you should be ashamed of yourself too, with everything that is accused of you… We have to examine you naked and even torture you naked if necessary. We have to examine your body very carefully for traces of the devil ... and naked it will be easier for you to find the truth."

"But I don't want to," I respond desperately. "It doesn't go according to your will here!" The gray-haired man suddenly yells at me. “Take off your clothes at last! If you don’t do it voluntarily, it’s an indication of your guilt."

With trembling hands I slowly undress and feel that I’m being watched closely. I quickly cover my breasts and pubic area with arms and hands. “Put your hands behind your neck! We have to see your tits and your pussy too. This is especially important!"

I don't want to believe it, but I have to completely bare myself in front of them. The two men stare at me now, completely unabashed. The young fellow gazes at me from the side and the gray-haired man from the front. This one says derogatory, "You have thick wool between your legs, which we will have to thin out considerably in order to take a closer look at your pussy… And your tits have grown too lush… You are probably a dangerous seductress, aren't you? And sure you are a witch!"

I feel even more ashamed and stammered: "No I'm not a witch... My breasts are not big, just well grown... I don't seduce anyone." "Don't tell us fairy tales ... Better to admit that you have plump boobs with which you like to seduce men and boys!"

View attachment 1030805
Picture: Shameful examination – an accused witch is not allowed to hide anything...

Then the inquisitor comes up to me and examines me closely, with greedy eyes that burn my body and with importunate, cold hands that touch me everywhere. Unabashedly he grabs and pinches painfully in my boobs. I turn away and cover my breasts with my hands. He just says, “Don't be shy! You weren't embarrassed in front of the devil either.”

The torturer pulls my hands behind my back and ties them with a coarse rope. I am completely defenseless and the inquisitor continues to feel and squeeze my breasts, to pinch and twist my nipples.

"You have really decent boobs and your naughty teats are very excitable ... did you serve the devil with them?" I get scared and stutter a "No." "We will burn a nice sign with the red-hot iron on your bulging udders once we have convicted you as a witch," he threatens me.

A little later he grabs my pubic hair and tears it until it hurts. "We’ll have to burn away or to tear out your wild, overgrown muff!

Finally he touches my crotch and pushes his fingers into my pussy, he checks if I am wet there. He smells his fingers; he holds them under my nose and says: "Smell yourself! You’re a depraved, lustful woman. You are a witch!"

I’m deeply scared, my heart is pounding wildly and I feel ashamed.

"We have to put you to the witch test!" His words frighten me even more. “We'll test you with the needle ... all over your body! It'll hurt a little, but it won't be that bad.” I'm even more scared and want to piss on.

They tie me naked under the covers with my arms stretched out on a rope. My feet are barely touching the ground, the rope cuts into my wrists. I can barely move, cannot defend myself from the attack of the long test needle.

View attachment 1030806
Picture: Filled with fear, Hildegard has to face the witch pricking

And so they begin with the needle test, they also call the ‘witch pricking’. Again cold hands and fingers touch my body everywhere in search of the target where they want to prick me with their long sharp needle. Again and again they prick my moles and every little spot on my breasts. It hurts a lot, but I'm bleeding. I’m bleeding everywhere they prick me. Again and again they squeeze and pinch my tender breasts so that they become hard and firm for the needle. Then they stuck in and slowly press the needle deeper and deeper...

It hurts so bad, it is so mean, my poor boobs! I moan, I scream, I cry. I ask them to stop, but they keep going. The stitches go deep and they are really painful. My boobs have never hurt so much, but this is just the beginning. They are also prick into my bum, in my back, stomach, my thighs...

I feel tears in my eyes. The inquisitor just cruelly says: "Your tits should be grateful that I test them with the sacred needle." Then he asks me strange and very intimate things, while the torturer continues to prick me with the deep under my skin.

View attachment 1030807
Picture: Hildegard is pricked with a needle, especially in the most sensitive areas. She's bleeding everywhere, but that was to be expected. Inquisitor and torturer, however, are a well-rehearsed team, and they have their tricks to convict witches...

I'm still hanging with my arms under the covers, I can't defend myself. In my distress I tell him how I play with my pussy and nipples in bed in the evenings. I’m so embarrassed and don't want to talk about it; but the inquisitor threatens me that the torturer would have to prick me even more intensely and deeply if I don't want to tell honestly my sins.

"The pain helps you and us to find the truth," he says, while the guy pricks my body over and over again. Suddenly I feel the needle on my pussy, the torturer pricks and I screech. “No! Not there! Please not between my legs,” I plead.

"Would you rather prefer to play with your fingers between your legs?" I don't understand what he wants, but I nod, the needle pricking must finally stop. The inquisitor demands me to play with my fingers at my pussy... "Play with your sinful crevice and at the little bud between your legs as you do it in the evening or secretly in the bushes!"

My hands are released from the rope on the ceiling and tied again in front of my body. I am allowed to squat on the floor.

I don't want to, I'm ashamed, I can't ... He threatens to prick my pussy with the needle if I don't show him how I sin. Then, with my hands tied, I begin to play with myself as best I can.

I try to concentrate ... at least I’m no longer tortured with the needle. I don't know why to play with myself, but I close my eyes and do it. It lasts quite a while ... I feel watched, I’m tense. But eventually the little bud begins to reward me for playing.

Suddenly the man yanks my hands away from my pussy. "Stop it," he shouts, "I've seen enough!"

I feel fear, I whine and cry. Suddenly the inquisitor looks straight into my eyes and says, "No decent girl would do that… Not alone and certainly not in the presence of other men. A chaste and godly woman would rather like to be pricked with a needle than to sin between her legs! And when she feels lust, she would whip herself until she feels relieved… But you are a deeply depraved and voluptuous sinner … you deserve the pain. You are a witch!"

I’m frightened, what have I done? But suddenly he becomes friendly. "Of course we have to punish you for your fornication and for your carnal lust ... But if you are innocent of much worse crimes, then you will surely be willing to endure pain on your tits to prove your innocence, right?" I don't want, but I have to agree; so the pricking goes on and I have to put up with it.

I am half mad. "Play with your pussy again, it'll be easier," he says with an evil smile. I try, but cannot concentrate. Suddenly the guy with the needle calls out: “Here is it, the devil's mark, it’s the sign! No blood, no twitching and no pain!"

I’m terrified, I’m sure that he has not pricked at all. It would have hurt, it always hurts! The puncture on my little birthmark on the right breast is from earlier, it is bleeding, but now there is nothing to be seen of it, just a small puncture site. "The inquisitor examined it carefully:" Yes, that's the mark of the devil, right there, where it is described for us on her plump tits. No doubt, she's a witch!"

I plead my innocence. I say that the puncture is from the past. “Are you going to accuse us of lying, witch? That's a sure sign! If you don't want to confess, we'll have to torture you."

I shake my head in despair. “The pain of torture will purify your soul and detach you from the devil. In the end, your confession will be like a release for you.” The Inquisitor tells me with cold eyes. "Confess or prepare yourself for the pain of torture!"

I am desperate, I am crying and I am pleading. I keep shouting, “It's not true! I'm innocent, I'm not a witch,” in vain! The inquisitor turns my head; I see hatred in his eyes. "You lie! But you will also confess, they will all confess at some point..."

Suddenly he spits right into my face. It’s disgusting, I want to wipe it off with my hands, but he says sternly: "Leave it!" He spits at me again, this time on my both breast and on the birthmark.

Finally he says to me: "You should know how I think about witches ... And it should remind you that we have convicted you as a witch!" And he spits one more time directly into my face. "That's for giving yourself to the sins of your thighs before our eyes – a decent girl would never have done that, even if I asked!"

They led me naked back to my cell. I’m totally desperate and I cry. The pain in my breasts throb; I feel miserable and dirty with his snot, I’m deeply terrified.
Awesome story! :clap:
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter III – Torture and Distress

I don't stay alone in my cell for long, but this time they lead me to the torture chamber. I shudder at the sight of the many gruesome devices. The inquisitor asks me if I want to confess amicably. I'll admit my sins again, but I'm not a witch.

"We'll give you one more time to think, but after that we have to really torture you," the gray-haired man tells me. But time to think for him means that the two torturers waiting for me there alternately beat my feet and slap my breasts, which are still hurting from the needles ... to scare me from the torture.

I have to sit on a long bench with my back to a post where I am tied, my arms behind the post, my legs outstretched to the bench. Then one of the torturers begins to hit my breasts repeatedly with a flat leather thong, while the other brutally beats the soles of my feet with a stick. It hurts so much that I have to scream. Hell rages in my feet; my poor boobs are burning red and filling with pain. I beg and plead, they may stop, but they just keep beating.

"Confess your grave sins; this is the only way to end the pain." "Oh please, believe me, I'm not a witch... I swear by the Virgin Mary" "Don't conjure up the saints, witch!" The inquisitor shouts to the torturers, “Twelve more blows on her boobs and on her feet!” I'm horrified, I can't believe it, I'm crying. My boobs and feet are places of torment, but the two men keep beating in turns.

When they are finally done I can only groan. But the gray-haired man says: "Think about it carefully, that was just a warning, just a little warm-up... You now have time to think, if we come back and you don't confess, I'll have to start a serious torture."

They leave me alone for a long time, still on the bench and tied to the post, with throbbing pain in my burning hot breasts and feet. I am desperate because I realize; if I confess, this is the pyre awaiting me; if I do not confess, terrible torture awaits me.

They come again to hear or coerce my confession. They hold a burning torch under my beaten feet. It's like hell, I scream like crazy. Again the gray-haired man asks for my confession. I am desperate, but I shake my head. I affirm my innocence, I beg him to believe me ... He just says: "The pain will eventually bring you reason and confess."

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Picture: Feet torture on the bench with hot fire

This is followed by the torment on the wooden horse or the witch trestle, as they call it. I have to sit on a pointed wooden roof with my legs apart. They tie my arms behind my back and fasten a bar between my legs, which they also hang with stones. "Now you will ride the buck," says one of the torturers with a laugh. "I think you as a witch and whore will surely like that!"

It's horrible, the sharp wood pushes between my legs and deep into my pussy, the pain gets worse and worse. I'm looking for an attitude that brings some relief, but I can't find any. It's so excruciating, but they even whip me again. “So that you can ride the witch trestle properly,” says one of the torturers with a grin.

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Picture: Riding the witch trestle - agony on the wooden horse

Pain and impotence drive me almost mad. I scream; I beg, I plead; they may let me down. But the inquisitor keeps asking the same absurd questions. He wants to know when and how often I got involved with the devil. In between he asks things that I can answer, although I certainly don't want to talk to him about them: whether I was married as a virgin; how many men I have fornicated with; what time I started playing between my legs to sin as a girl; whether I have already watched my sisters masturbating...

In my distress I begin to tell so that they don't keep whipping me. Yes, I gave myself to my husband even before marriage ... As a widow I only committed fornication once, when I was drunk, I gave myself to a guy in the barn, but we got caught ... With my fingers between my legs I've been playing since my breasts grew... Yes, and my sisters must have done that too…

Now he wants to know everything exactly. I'm embarrassed, I don't want to burden myself and my sisters, but it hurts so much between my legs. This is how I tell everything I know. "Yes, I saw and heard my younger sister Irmgard playing with herself ... but I'm not sure with my youngest sister Inge." I’m lying with Inge, but he believes me.

Then he asks again about the devil, when and how I met him, whether I already felt his presence as a girl ... He doesn't want to be satisfied with a 'no'. “Of course you already felt the devil as a girl ... many girls feel his presence. Tell us about it! "

I don't want to speak of the devil, but they force me. “Whip her tits!” The inquisitor shouts to the two torturers. "I want us to finally get ahead."

"Oh, no, not my boobs again ... I'll tell you everything I know." "Tell us about the devil, when did you first feel him?"

I sighed, I don't want to talk about it, but I have to, my need is far too great ... And so I start to tell.

“I'm the oldest sister; I was often punished if something broke or if we girls were naughty. I was always responsible for my younger sisters, sometimes even for my brother who was two years younger ... I was often beaten."

I tell you what I can remember. Once I managed to pass the blame on to my youngest sister Inge for a mug I broke. Of course, she denied everything and for this she was punished even more severely. In the presence of her two older sisters and her brother, she had to lift her skirt and was punished with a cane on her bare bottom. She had to take twelve strokes and count them out loud.

I knew this misery; I knew how she felt about it... And yet I did not admit my own guilt... Worse still, I enjoyed watching it... Yes, I was happy to see her cute bottom covered with red welts and how she cried.

Of course, I had often been punished in her place before... And yet I knew that was mean. Later I was ashamed and thought that the devil had secretly persuaded me to behave like this. But I was mean to Inge only this once. In fact, I enjoyed it more when the second sister Irmgard was punished. But I rarely had a guilty conscience.

"It's always like that, first the devil secretly approaches you ... and at some point he shows himself."

No, it wasn't like that, but I have no strength to argue. I have to tell him exactly how the three of us sisters were punished and the joy I felt when it happened to one of the two younger girls. "Yes, there was a little satisfaction in it," I honestly admit.

Finally they give me a break to 'think'. This is followed by long sitting on the interrogation chair; this is a chair with sharp wooden pins that I have to sit on and then I am tied down. At first it is just uncomfortable, but soon it becomes unbearable. It's hardly better than the witch trestle, but at least this chair doesn't torment my pussy.

The inquisitor keeps accusing me of being a whore and a sinner. Yes, I gave myself up to the sin of my thighs, but not with the devil. But my assurances are useless; I should finally confess the whole truth and admit my fornication with the devil.

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Picture: Tense on the rack with spread legs and tortured further…

They take screws that crush my fingers and toes. They stick hot needles under my fingernails... Oh how it hurts! Finally, they tie me to a long bench with my legs open. They stretch me with ropes and chains; then they beat me brutally with sticks and leather straps. In the end they torture me angrily with the pliers between my legs. They bite my labia with vicious forceps that have teeth until my pussy is bleeding...

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Picture: Malicious torture forceps with teeth

It's so cruel! How can they torment a beautiful young woman so much? I get hoarse from screaming. But everything in me resists a false confession.

“She's obdurate,” says the gray-haired man. "We'll have to be prepared for repeated interrogations, but I'm sure at some point she will confess." They bring me back to my cell, where the next disaster awaits me.
 
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Ghod I am so there with her… it’s horrifyingly beautiful only if it is all happening to me… You’ve plugged into my suck kinky psyche as if a mind reader. The wordcraft is succinct and wonderfully descriptive

Watching her little sister be punished for a misdemeanor she committed- the inquisitor tots it up as another mark of the devil and not a childish moment of immorality - inventive!
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter IV – Uninvited Guests

Soon three men from the guard are crowding into my cell. I'm in chains; they are too many; I can't defend myself... They rape and they taunt me. It's disgusting and brutal, humiliating and painful. They ram their cocks hard and deep into my lap, they flood my pussy, they knead my breasts. They take neither care of my breasts, which were lashed several times during the torture, nor of my labia that were bitten by the forceps with teeth. It hurts in the body and in the soul. They even make me to serve them with my mouth ... it's so disgusting and gross. Abused and dirty, they leave me crying in my cell.

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Picture: At the beginning it takes some persuasion until Hildegard realizes the necessities and accepts her duties...

It doesn't stop at this visit. Guys keep coming back. I stopped counting the number of times they violated me. I only know how terribly my pussy burns, how hard my previously tortured boobs hurt from the grip of their rough hands ... I don't like to describe how much I disgust with their dirty cocks and with myself after all the abuse ... how terrible I suffer from their brutal rapes. As an accused witch, I'm just fucking meat for them... In their eyes, I should be happy that they 'cleanse' me of the devil, but I feel terribly dirty by them.

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Picture: “Open your mouth, witch. Today you will be fed liquid. We have to cleanse you of the devil everywhere…”

Several times they force me to thank them for my own abuse. One of them pulls my hair so that I must look at him; two others pinch my breasts from both sides with their strong hands. Then I have to say to every rapist "Thank you for fucking me." If I refuse, they pinch brutally in my tits. I feel completely worthless, it's so degrading.

The most disgusting thing is when I have to swallow their semen. I refuse as best I can, but they always want to see me swallow...

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Picture: Hildegard refuses the liquid diet

The men almost always come in small groups, three or four people, and I have to serve all of them, often even several times. They come in the morning, in the evening, in the middle of the night... I have to lie on my back on the hard floor and spread my legs, or have to squat on all fours. But they don't just fuck my pussy from the front or behind, no, I also have to kneel on the floor and must serve them with my mouth. It's so disgusting, I keep gagging. They even rape my ass and they brutally fuck my breasts too. It hurts so much, it's so humiliating; it’s so abnormal...

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Picture: They lace my breasts and fuck me wherever possible… I'm glad if I don't have to look at them.

When I protest: “This is a sin, it's not wanted by God”, they just laugh at me. "But the devil allows it and you are a witch!"

Often they greet me with the words, “time to fuck, girl.” I keep feeling the fear when I hear steps and voices in the hallway. Usually it is guards who come to me; but when the guards all fucked me up, dirty tramps came into my cell too. "Visit for you," the guards say grinning.

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Picture: "There's a visit for you, witch. Four gentlemen... You will like them, they are just as dirty as you ... and they want to spend the evening with you."

It's almost worse than torture. There are four really dirty guys that 'visit' me and they spend a lot of time with me. I have to please them, have to kiss each of them; I have to suck their smelly cocks until I gag… And each of them wants to fuck me at least twice... I have to be nice to them, but they are very rude to me.

My degrading abuse goes on for hours. I also have to serve these dirty guys with my pussy, mouth, breasts and ass. I stop protesting, but it hurts so much when they sodomize me, when they lace my boobs and then fuck.

I'm desperate. I wish I would die ... then I could escape abuse, torture, and the threat of being burned at the stake. And sometimes I wonder what is worse to endure, some another uninvited visitors, or another excruciating visit to the torture chamber. Unfortunately, the many rapes are increasingly turning into torture. Even when men are not particularly rough - but mostly they are - my pussy and ass are on fire, my breasts are oversensitive and even the mucous membranes of my mouth are inflamed.

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Picture: Hildegard's breasts are repeatedly treated roughly to increase her willingness to cooperate...


All of a sudden, I'm scared that these guys will make me pregnant. Then I wipe the thought away... I have completely different worries; it's the pyre that awaits me as a witch if I can't escape this nightmare in some way.

At some point during the night the tramps left. I stay in my cell crying, completely exhausted and dirty all over my body. The next morning I still have the taste of semen in my mouth. I am glad when I get some stale bread to chew and a small jug of water to drink.

My whole body stinks, sticks and itches. I have a tremendous need to wash ... but that little bit of water to drink is too valuable for me.
 
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Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter V – Forced Confession

The rapes rob me of the will and the strength. They haunt me in my dreams; again and again I see the guys in front of me, hear their words, smell their cocks, taste their semen and wake up frightened.

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Picture: Hildegard is haunted by depressing memories of her abuse

But suddenly my torture continues and they are dragging me out of my chamber. I am thrust into another cruel reality, which I unfortunately cannot avoid, any more than I cannot avoid the many unwanted visits.

When the inquisitor realizes that semen is dripping out of my pussy, he looks at me in disgust. "Admit, you seduced the guards! It is a crime…" I protest, "I was raped." Then he yells at me: "Of course you seduced them... No man would voluntarily fuck a stinking witch!"

Actually, I would like to say "The rush was quite large even without seduction ..." But intimidated, I remain silent. The gray-haired man smiles wickedly.

They tie me spread out wide with my arms to the ceiling and my feet to heavy iron rings on the floor. Then they drag a frightened, naked woman past me into another chamber. "A thief who refuses to admit what she has done," the inquisitor says casually. "We have to take care of them first ..."

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Picture: Waiting for torture also brings anguish and horror...

They leave me naked and spread out in the torture chamber, but I can hear the screams and wailing of the accused thief up close. I'm totally scared, but they keep me waiting. Suddenly I can't hear any more and continue to wait, freezing. When they finally come back, my heart is pounding wildly.

“Well, have you been waiting impatiently for us, witch? Now it's your turn ... but we won't treat you as gently as we did with the thief!” The two torturers laugh out loud, the inquisitor smiles underhandedly and looks at me.

Finally he says: “You are standing so beautifully with your legs apart ... it's time to burn your muff down. Your thick pubic hair is not fitting for a witch!"

I am deeply scared. I can already see one of the two torturers approaching me with a small torch, while the other guy grabs my hips from behind and holds on to them.

"Oh please don't ..." Before I make my request, the torturer holds the flame between my legs. I can't move, but I twitch and moan. Immediately I feel the burning heat on my sensitive pussy. Moments later it crackles and hisses; my pubic hair catches fire and ignites with a blue flame. The flame turns yellow and slowly continues to eat its way through the hair above my pussy.

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Pictures: Spread out helplessly, Hildegard's pubic hair is burned with a torch

Biting pain seizes me, I feel panic. I scream and rage, I'm pulling the ropes, I could go crazy... Unimpressed, the torturer carefully burns off all the hair between my legs with his torch. I only gasp, can no longer scream, but my whole body is shaking.

The inquisitor says with a smile, “Calm down, girl! Some grilled pussy is a taste for the fire at the stake... Now you can no longer hide the place of your sin from us... This is a good reason to make a confession!"

"I'm not a witch," I say in a weak voice. "If you continue to be unreasonable, then you have to feel the seriousness of the torture now and drink the pain!" He replies in a hard voice.

They tie my hands behind my back and tie them with a rope that hangs from the ceiling; then they slowly pull your arms higher and higher. I stand on tiptoe, but they keep pulling the rope. My shoulders first tense, then they hurt, and soon I'll have to scream.

I beg, “Stop, please stop” But they pull my arms up until I run out of breath. The inquisitor tells me mercilessly and coldly, "Today I want to hear your confession, before that you will not find a rest."

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Pictures: The prelude to the strappado (from the side and from the back)

They let go a bit of the rope, but the pain in my shoulders makes me howl. With my arms drawn up behind my back, I have to bend forward. My beautiful breasts droop. That provokes the inquisitor and the torturers, my boobs are exposed to them without protection. They just speak contemptuously of my ‘witch tits’.

“Do you want to seduce us with your naughty tits too, witch? The way you let your big boobs hang in front of our eyes is indecent. As a punishment we will now torture your witch tits.” “No, please don't! I can't help it!” My pleading is in vain.

Alternately, one of the torturers hits my stuck out bottom with a cane from behind, the other hits my sagging boobs with a biting leather strap. I am still hanging in agony with my arms on the rope and every slight movement brings roaring pain to my shoulders. It's indescribable...

“It's fun to see how your witch tits dance and turn beautiful red,” one guy says meanly.

I can feel fire in my breasts, but that is still not enough. A little later they are squeezing my boobs between two wooden hangers that they tighten with screws. My breasts bulge hard; they first turn red, then blue.

The inquisitor stares at my bruised tits and says viciously: "It seems to me that your nipples are still filled with sinful lust ... Look how they stick out naughty and excitedly... But now your teats will atone for their unbridled desire!"

I'm desperate. They open the hangers again a little until the blood flows back into my boobs. But with the blood comes pain; I moan. Viciously they hit my nipples with a thin stick; they pierce the hard buds crosswise with hot needles, and finally pinch them terribly with pliers. The pain is cruel; it robs me of my senses. I moan more than I scream.

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Picture: Hildegard's breasts are brutally squeezed while being tortured

"Still no confession?" I just shake my head. It's crazy that I'm still not giving up. Hope dies last... And I still hope I could endure this torture after I already suffered so much pain.

My tits are freed from the breast press, but the pain is throbbing in them. I am very dazed.

My arms are pulled up further until I'm hanging freely. It's brutal, I pant and groan. Then they let me swing slowly up and down with my arms drawn backwards. The pain almost makes me go insane.

Suddenly my shoulders crunch, suddenly my arms are dislocated. The pain is indescribable. Right now I know this is hell; the devil wants to test me but I am too weak for this cruel exam.

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Picture: Strappado – slowly swinging up and down, Hildegard is feeling hell in her shoulders

I gasp, in pain I can only moan, not even scream. When they release the tension a little, I screech in pain. I would have done anything to end it ... But they continue to torture me, the torturers licking my body with the flames of their torches. I squirm, but the agony in my shoulders makes me yowl.

After all, I confess to unimaginable crimes that I have never committed, that I couldn't commit.

"Yes, I am a witch ..." these are the words of liberation from torture, but also the words of my downfall. I actually said the unspeakable!

My shoulders are roughly adjusted again. I have to scream in pain. But the interrogation continues. I feel willless and broken.

In my distress I tell what occurs to me, because if I keep silent, they threaten to continue the torture. "I gave myself to the devil on a full moon night; yes, I always rode out when the moon was full..." I tell a lot more ... I tell so that I would not be tortured. But they want to know all about my evil magic against my fellow men.

I don't know what to confess when I can't do magic. "We'll make it easy for you; tell us how you snatched away the will of the man with whom you were caught in fornication in the barn... Don't forget to describe your seduction skills and the magic potion you used."

Of course it was the other way around, he made me mindless with a lot of wine, but that wasn't really a magic potion. I take a rest from the torture and start talking. I think about how I could actually have seduced the man. But actually you don't need any great seduction skills; it is enough to lift your skirt... But I decorate the thing: I tell of a dance in the barn; of kisses; of my breasts falling out of my untied shirt; about the wine, the effect of which I had enhanced with berries that I gathered under the moonlight. I tell about my skirt, which I let slide higher and higher; about my pussy, which eagerly absorbed the man's cock and later his semen while I was sitting on him riding him... I confess that I felt great lust... In reality, I was far too drunk for any kind of pleasure.

The inquisitor is very pleased, but he wants to hear more sorcery and evil deeds for me to confess. When I’m stubborn, they pull me up by the arms again and they hit me hard on my bum with a cane. My ass hurts so much; I twitch and dance but the pain in my shoulders is roaring.

Then they put things in my mouth and I confess everything they want to hear… I prepared poison for the well, made the miller's wife sick with dark magic, poisoned the farmer Siegfried's cattle, and let the child of the tailor Maria die after giving birth...

The torture must finally stop; I'm too weak to fight. I'm still bent over, my breasts hanging and my arms behind my back on the rope. They threaten me to pull myself up to the ceiling again... And so I have confessed to all the many lies and untruths, although I know that these confessions will mean my downfall...

When they bring me back to my cell, I am at the end of my tether, I am completely exhausted. I just want to die, but I am very afraid of the pyre.

The skin in the area of my pussy is cancerous red; it burns like after severe sunburn, it stinks of burnt hair. My shoulders also remain a place of agony, with every movement I twitch in pain. My breasts are not doing much better...


I'm only slowly regaining my strength in the next few days. I ponder the madness that I have stood in my distress. Instead of confirming my confession, I withdraw. But my irrationality only leads to a particularly excruciating new torture.

"You will regret your stubbornness," the inquisitor tells me.

They fill my body with water. They painfully fill my stomach through a funnel that reaches into my throat. I have to swallow, swallow, and swallow, again and again. I can't even say, "Stop it, I confess!" It's so terrible; they keep pouring water into the funnel. I think that I should die. I swallow and choke and swallow again. I can only breathe when I swallow everything.

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Pictures: Hildegard has to endure a terrible water torture

When they finally stop, my stomach hurts terribly, my belly feels about to burst. I feel so miserable and so weak... I confess again that I am a witch, that I fornicate with the devil. I acknowledge all of the atrocities as a witch that they read to me from my last confession.

I also repeat my false confessions to the priest and the judge. My trembling hand can barely hold the pen with which I am supposed to sign. They put a piece of paper in front of me with a text I cannot read. I just want the torture to stop forever. It's my death sentence, I know that.

When the trial is over, I will be taken back to the dungeon and left alone. My stomach is still painful; I have to pee again and again... Often I can't even make it to the little bucket in my chains and just piss in the straw. I lie in the damp straw, I sob and cry.
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter VI – Horrible Thoughts and Memories

The traces of my torture are slow to heal, but it is no longer important. I know what will happen to me, I know what my judgment will be, even if it has been kept from me so far. There is only one punishment for witches – death by fire. I remember a witch burning I witnessed. I was no longer a child, and as a good citizen and devout Christian, I was always there to experience justice.

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Picture: Justice for a witch...

Even as a girl I had to watch together with my sisters as a maid was flogged for fornication. It excited me to see how she had to undress, how welt after welt ran down her back, while she was whipped, how she pressed her beautifully filled breasts against the rough wooden pole to which she was tied. But at the time I thought she deserved it. It was only when their screams got shriller and the whipping was a long way from going to end that I was depressed and I didn't want to watch anymore, but I couldn't close my ears.

I wanted to run away, but I was not allowed. I should experience what happens to young women who have given themselves up to serious sin so that I myself may remain chaste. Yes, as a girl I had to remain chaste, the pastor demanded that, my parents said that. And as the oldest sister, I should be a role model for the two younger girls...

Two years ago I watched them burn the widow Bertha as a witch. But by then I was a lot older. I yelled at the woman as she was dragged to the stake, I cheered along with the other people when they tore off her ragged penitent shirt and as the hangman burned a witch sign in her voluptuous but sagging breast so that it could be seen by all.

She screamed terribly, but it was to get a lot worse. When the fire was lit at the stake I was excited and hardly frightened. It wasn't until later that I felt horror when she screamed herself hoarse as the flames burned her. But I figured she should have no mercy or pity. She deserved to be burned alive; she deserved to suffer dreadfully; she deserved to die. She should burn in hell forever, for everything sick and the injustice that she had done to us humans and even to animals. She was a witch!

A few weeks later they also burned Johanna, the widow Berta's daughter, as a young witch. The girl was frozen with terror and later she screeched when she felt the red-hot branding iron on her tender breast. I saw her twitch, saw her piss on herself. But I hardly felt sorry for her either, although she was about my age at the time. She had gotten involved with the devil too, so she had confessed. It wasn't until I heard their terrible screams at the stake and later smelled their burnt flesh that I felt sick.

Of course there were many people at these executions. They all felt satisfaction and hatred, just like me. Now I wonder whether the widow Bertha and her daughter Johanna had the same torture behind them as I and whether they too had confessed out of sheer need. A young woman like me back then, still almost a girl, had never gotten involved with the devil... How could I have believed such a thing?

At that time I never thought that this fate could one day meet me myself too. Of course I was sure I would never get involved with the devil...

Now I am the witch. It is me who is burned to death alive and who deserve to suffer excruciatingly. I'm deeply afraid. It's a slow and terrible death to die by fire; I've seen it myself...

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Picture: Memories of Berta and Johanna, as they were burned as witches at the stake

I remember the pain when the torch touched me during the torture. I was tied to the bench, my feet helpless in the flame. Again and again it licked my feet, which I couldn't remove. My legs twitched from the pain streaming through my body. My screams echoed through the chamber... Only a small part of my body burned some skin just on my feet. And yet it was unbearable painful.

And then the terrible thought of the brief moment when my pubic hair burned and my pussy felt the flames ... That affected a very sensitive, but only a tiny part of my body.

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Picture: Hildegard continues to pursue the memory of her burning pubic hair.

I'm afraid about my boobs. I'm sure they will burn a red-hot iron in the left breast over my heart, a “W” for witch, for whore of the devil ... deep into my soft and tender breast. My left breast is a little bigger than the right one, and it's even more sensitive. They will definitely not spare me that. It must cause indescribable pain ... Tenderly and worriedly, I caress my boobs, which are so soft, so beautiful and also so sensitive ... And which are still sore from the torture.

The pyre will be a lot worse, I think to myself. It must be horrible to burn alive. I think of the audience ... I will scream in excruciating pain, but people will be happy about my suffering. Burning a woman's bosom is particularly painful and incredibly cruel, but that's exactly what people want to see. I too wanted to see a red-hot iron pressed into the delicate breast of a witch girl who was in my age, just a very young woman...

We all wanted to see how they burned Johanna's breasts with the glowing hot witch mark ... I really wished that the shirt for the branding iron was torn open in front of her breasts and not on the shoulder ... I grinned at her small tits. I watched in fascination as Johanna turned desperately to save her perky tits from the embers. But there was no escape, the witch mark burned deep into her breast. Why was I so cruel? Why did I enjoy watching her twitch and scream as the glowing hot iron touched her delicate breast? Now I am ashamed of my thoughts from then.

We all protested loudly when the judge announced that the witch's sign should be burned into her shoulder. “She should feel the embers on her boobs!” The people shouted furiously “Burn her witch tits!” “She should atone on her breasts!”

Our protests were successful. The executioner looked at the judge, who only nodded, and then he tore the girl's shirt wide open until her small but perky breasts were free. There was cheering and applause. I can still see before my eyes how the executioner took the red-hot iron out of the fire, suddenly it was dead silent ... and how he cruelly pressed the glowing "W" for witch into Johanna's left breast...

I saw her horror; I felt her fear and later her pain... I heard it hiss; I saw the smoke and heard her screams. I was really intrigued to see the big black "W" branded on her small boob, rising and falling with her frantic breathing. The lower opening of the "W" enclosed the top of her areola, while the little bud was still stretching excitedly.

Like many others, I also shouted that the girl's other breast should also be burned ... although I was touching my own breasts in sorrow. But then I really thought it was justice and serious atonement... Now I don't like to think about it anymore.

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Picture: Hildegard has depressing visions of how she has to receive a branding iron

They won't spare me. At the age of twenty I am a well-built, young witch, the spectacle of my execution will attract a particularly large number of people, curious men as well as spiteful women. I know that I still have beautiful, full breasts, even after the long torture - not just small, pointed tits like Johanna, or large sagging breasts like her mother. And they'll all stare at my tits, especially the young guys.

I used to be proud of my breasts; other girls envied me, boys and young men whistled after me. I was happy to let my breasts peek out of the bodice. Now I shudder at the thought that a red-hot iron will burn deeply and cruelly into my breast. And people will be happy about it... But how much worse it will be when I imagine the same feeling all over my body when I'm burning alive at the stake?

I don't want to feel the branding iron, I don't want to burn at the stake; I don't want to die! I haven't done any harm. I am innocent. I drop my head on my knees. Tears run down my face, I cry and sob. Nobody comes to comfort me. I have doubts, is this punishment because I was not feeling sorry for Johanna ... a girl who must have been just as innocent as me? But why me, why not all the others?

The external signs of my torture are slowly starting to fade, but I still feel excruciating pain in my shoulder when I raise my arms. My bruised fingers are still swollen too.

At least after my confession there are no more rapes. Are the guards afraid of me, afraid of a wretched, weak witch? Am I too dirty for them now? Or was the desecration just part of my torture? Were the many rapes meant to rob me of my will, to make me feel worthless and to weaken me. It really seems to me.

I cannot and must not wash myself, I can still feel dried sperm on my body; it itches. I rub the dirt off my skin as best I can. My hairless pussy still feels peculiar and strange. But the many burn blisters there are starting to heal.

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Picture: Hildegard worried and sad, locked in her cell

I often caress my breasts to comfort them and me. Sometimes I play with my clitoris, even if I stink between my legs. That distracts me a little, but I can never completely suppress my gloomy thoughts. Fortunately, I was not tortured on my little berry between my legs. Only my labia were brutally pinched with the pliers. The torturers probably don't even know that I have a clitoris as a woman...

Time goes by and I drift into a restless sleep.


I wake up one morning to hear the latch release from the heavy wooden door and the hinges creak as the door opens. I crouch in the corner, but I can't escape the guards when they step into my cell. "Have a drink here and eat your bread, you have a difficult day ahead of you, your last day."

I'm trembling with fear, I don't like to eat, but they say, "Be a good girl, eat and drink." I have to drink a whole jug of water, they won't rest until I've emptied it ... They wait patiently and I still don't know why I should drink so much. I drink slowly, chew the hard bread. Suddenly I take my time and drink all the water nicely; I don't want to go away. But soon my bladder will fill up…

Finally they free me from my chains and ask me to come with them. I know where they are taking me and what will happen today. No, I can't go with them. My hands are clinging to the chains that I've cursed until just now. Suddenly I feel defenseless without chains. I know I'm going to be led to the stake today. I scream that I don't want to burn. I don't want to leave the cell, but they are dragging me away.
 

Fossy

Senator
Chapter VI – Horrible Thoughts and Memories

The traces of my torture are slow to heal, but it is no longer important. I know what will happen to me, I know what my judgment will be, even if it has been kept from me so far. There is only one punishment for witches – death by fire. I remember a witch burning I witnessed. I was no longer a child, and as a good citizen and devout Christian, I was always there to experience justice.

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Picture: Justice for a witch...

Even as a girl I had to watch together with my sisters as a maid was flogged for fornication. It excited me to see how she had to undress, how welt after welt ran down her back, while she was whipped, how she pressed her beautifully filled breasts against the rough wooden pole to which she was tied. But at the time I thought she deserved it. It was only when their screams got shriller and the whipping was a long way from going to end that I was depressed and I didn't want to watch anymore, but I couldn't close my ears.

I wanted to run away, but I was not allowed. I should experience what happens to young women who have given themselves up to serious sin so that I myself may remain chaste. Yes, as a girl I had to remain chaste, the pastor demanded that, my parents said that. And as the oldest sister, I should be a role model for the two younger girls...

Two years ago I watched them burn the widow Bertha as a witch. But by then I was a lot older. I yelled at the woman as she was dragged to the stake, I cheered along with the other people when they tore off her ragged penitent shirt and as the hangman burned a witch sign in her voluptuous but sagging breast so that it could be seen by all.

She screamed terribly, but it was to get a lot worse. When the fire was lit at the stake I was excited and hardly frightened. It wasn't until later that I felt horror when she screamed herself hoarse as the flames burned her. But I figured she should have no mercy or pity. She deserved to be burned alive; she deserved to suffer dreadfully; she deserved to die. She should burn in hell forever, for everything sick and the injustice that she had done to us humans and even to animals. She was a witch!

A few weeks later they also burned Johanna, the widow Berta's daughter, as a young witch. The girl was frozen with terror and later she screeched when she felt the red-hot branding iron on her tender breast. I saw her twitch, saw her piss on herself. But I hardly felt sorry for her either, although she was about my age at the time. She had gotten involved with the devil too, so she had confessed. It wasn't until I heard their terrible screams at the stake and later smelled their burnt flesh that I felt sick.

Of course there were many people at these executions. They all felt satisfaction and hatred, just like me. Now I wonder whether the widow Bertha and her daughter Johanna had the same torture behind them as I and whether they too had confessed out of sheer need. A young woman like me back then, still almost a girl, had never gotten involved with the devil... How could I have believed such a thing?

At that time I never thought that this fate could one day meet me myself too. Of course I was sure I would never get involved with the devil...

Now I am the witch. It is me who is burned to death alive and who deserve to suffer excruciatingly. I'm deeply afraid. It's a slow and terrible death to die by fire; I've seen it myself...

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Picture: Memories of Berta and Johanna, as they were burned as witches at the stake

I remember the pain when the torch touched me during the torture. I was tied to the bench, my feet helpless in the flame. Again and again it licked my feet, which I couldn't remove. My legs twitched from the pain streaming through my body. My screams echoed through the chamber... Only a small part of my body burned some skin just on my feet. And yet it was unbearable painful.

And then the terrible thought of the brief moment when my pubic hair burned and my pussy felt the flames ... That affected a very sensitive, but only a tiny part of my body.

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Picture: Hildegard continues to pursue the memory of her burning pubic hair.

I'm afraid about my boobs. I'm sure they will burn a red-hot iron in the left breast over my heart, a “W” for witch, for whore of the devil ... deep into my soft and tender breast. My left breast is a little bigger than the right one, and it's even more sensitive. They will definitely not spare me that. It must cause indescribable pain ... Tenderly and worriedly, I caress my boobs, which are so soft, so beautiful and also so sensitive ... And which are still sore from the torture.

The pyre will be a lot worse, I think to myself. It must be horrible to burn alive. I think of the audience ... I will scream in excruciating pain, but people will be happy about my suffering. Burning a woman's bosom is particularly painful and incredibly cruel, but that's exactly what people want to see. I too wanted to see a red-hot iron pressed into the delicate breast of a witch girl who was in my age, just a very young woman...

We all wanted to see how they burned Johanna's breasts with the glowing hot witch mark ... I really wished that the shirt for the branding iron was torn open in front of her breasts and not on the shoulder ... I grinned at her small tits. I watched in fascination as Johanna turned desperately to save her perky tits from the embers. But there was no escape, the witch mark burned deep into her breast. Why was I so cruel? Why did I enjoy watching her twitch and scream as the glowing hot iron touched her delicate breast? Now I am ashamed of my thoughts from then.

We all protested loudly when the judge announced that the witch's sign should be burned into her shoulder. “She should feel the embers on her boobs!” The people shouted furiously “Burn her witch tits!” “She should atone on her breasts!”

Our protests were successful. The executioner looked at the judge, who only nodded, and then he tore the girl's shirt wide open until her small but perky breasts were free. There was cheering and applause. I can still see before my eyes how the executioner took the red-hot iron out of the fire, suddenly it was dead silent ... and how he cruelly pressed the glowing "W" for witch into Johanna's left breast...

I saw her horror; I felt her fear and later her pain... I heard it hiss; I saw the smoke and heard her screams. I was really intrigued to see the big black "W" branded on her small boob, rising and falling with her frantic breathing. The lower opening of the "W" enclosed the top of her areola, while the little bud was still stretching excitedly.

Like many others, I also shouted that the girl's other breast should also be burned ... although I was touching my own breasts in sorrow. But then I really thought it was justice and serious atonement... Now I don't like to think about it anymore.

View attachment 1032180
Picture: Hildegard has depressing visions of how she has to receive a branding iron

They won't spare me. At the age of twenty I am a well-built, young witch, the spectacle of my execution will attract a particularly large number of people, curious men as well as spiteful women. I know that I still have beautiful, full breasts, even after the long torture - not just small, pointed tits like Johanna, or large sagging breasts like her mother. And they'll all stare at my tits, especially the young guys.

I used to be proud of my breasts; other girls envied me, boys and young men whistled after me. I was happy to let my breasts peek out of the bodice. Now I shudder at the thought that a red-hot iron will burn deeply and cruelly into my breast. And people will be happy about it... But how much worse it will be when I imagine the same feeling all over my body when I'm burning alive at the stake?

I don't want to feel the branding iron, I don't want to burn at the stake; I don't want to die! I haven't done any harm. I am innocent. I drop my head on my knees. Tears run down my face, I cry and sob. Nobody comes to comfort me. I have doubts, is this punishment because I was not feeling sorry for Johanna ... a girl who must have been just as innocent as me? But why me, why not all the others?

The external signs of my torture are slowly starting to fade, but I still feel excruciating pain in my shoulder when I raise my arms. My bruised fingers are still swollen too.

At least after my confession there are no more rapes. Are the guards afraid of me, afraid of a wretched, weak witch? Am I too dirty for them now? Or was the desecration just part of my torture? Were the many rapes meant to rob me of my will, to make me feel worthless and to weaken me. It really seems to me.

I cannot and must not wash myself, I can still feel dried sperm on my body; it itches. I rub the dirt off my skin as best I can. My hairless pussy still feels peculiar and strange. But the many burn blisters there are starting to heal.

View attachment 1032181
Picture: Hildegard worried and sad, locked in her cell

I often caress my breasts to comfort them and me. Sometimes I play with my clitoris, even if I stink between my legs. That distracts me a little, but I can never completely suppress my gloomy thoughts. Fortunately, I was not tortured on my little berry between my legs. Only my labia were brutally pinched with the pliers. The torturers probably don't even know that I have a clitoris as a woman...

Time goes by and I drift into a restless sleep.


I wake up one morning to hear the latch release from the heavy wooden door and the hinges creak as the door opens. I crouch in the corner, but I can't escape the guards when they step into my cell. "Have a drink here and eat your bread, you have a difficult day ahead of you, your last day."

I'm trembling with fear, I don't like to eat, but they say, "Be a good girl, eat and drink." I have to drink a whole jug of water, they won't rest until I've emptied it ... They wait patiently and I still don't know why I should drink so much. I drink slowly, chew the hard bread. Suddenly I take my time and drink all the water nicely; I don't want to go away. But soon my bladder will fill up…

Finally they free me from my chains and ask me to come with them. I know where they are taking me and what will happen today. No, I can't go with them. My hands are clinging to the chains that I've cursed until just now. Suddenly I feel defenseless without chains. I know I'm going to be led to the stake today. I scream that I don't want to burn. I don't want to leave the cell, but they are dragging me away.
The musings in this episode were very well described. The mental anguish that they must have caused in Hildegard's head is almost unimaginable. In many ways the mind-fuck is the worst part ...
 

Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter VII – Judgment Day

They grab my hair and pull me up on it with force. I scream, suddenly in pain. I ask them to leave me alone, but they have no pity for me. They pull my wrists behind my back to cuff them. I fight but they are too strong and they are pulling me out of jail. I am so fragile and feel so weak that I can barely stand. I blink like this is the first time I've seen the sun.

“Come on with us, witch, it's time for you to atone!” Haven' I atoned enough for my sins after being tortured? It doesn't help; they tie a thick rope around my waist and pull me away like an animal.

Even when the sun is shining, it's bitterly cold outside. Every time I exhale, a small cloud forms from my breath. I'm shivering from the cold and from fear. The crowd is already waiting for me; a roar goes through them when they see me.

"Look there … the witch!" "The witch is coming!"

During the scramble in the cell, one of the guards tore my shirt open under my shoulder; my left breast is half hanging out and swings when I go. People stare at me and shame adds to my fear.

In front of me I see the young thief woman from the torture surrounded by three guards. They seem to be waiting for me; then we are tied behind a donkey and pulled away together to the place of our punishment. The donkey pulls so hard that it makes no sense to resist. Still, a guard keeps pushing me from behind.

The audience awaits us with a roar: "Today is judgment day … for the witch and for the thief!"

We are half pushed and half dragged to the market place. I resist, but it's hopeless. I feel so weak, so bad ... I know that unimaginable suffering awaits me. Their calls are just a dull noise for me at first, but after a while I start to pick up single words.

"Burn the witch!" "Into the fire with the witch!" "You shouldn't let a witch alive!" "Give her to the flames!" "Burn the witch!" "Let her feel hell!" "Make the witch atone for her evil deeds!" "She must be on fire!"

They have all come to do justice and see me suffer and die. Anyway, I get most of their attention. But there are also a few shouts: "Get whipped, thief, to the whipping post with you!" People look forward to the cruel fate that awaits us two young women today in a very painful but substantially different way.

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Pictures: Hildegard is led through the streets in a humiliating way, accompanied by a thief woman

I know some of them, I see a couple of people I recently called my friends. Even my family is there. I scream for my parents, my brother, my sisters. But it seems they don't know me anymore. They only see the monster in me that the priest says I got involved with demons and the devil as a witch. Their eyes only show hatred and contempt for me. I am not their daughter and sister, but just a witch whose death they want to see, or have to watch, in order not to be suspected too...

Is it just hate and contempt? No, I see tears in my brother's eyes, my mother's face is full of sorrow, and fear is in the eyes of my two younger sisters. Do they suspect that the same fate threatens them as me, even if they are completely innocent? The widow Bertha was the age of my mother, my sister Irmgard is now about as old as Johanna back then ... But even girls like my youngest sister Inge have already been burned to death at the stake...

My bare feet are slowly shuffling across the paved floor. I'm too scared to worry about my sisters or mother. As I approach the marketplace, the crowd turns angry. “Devil's whore... Satan's bride... Demon's slut… Hell brood,” they call me ... and again and again they shout, “cursed witch!”

It doesn't take long and they throw rubbish, small stones, sticks and horse droppings at me. Some miss me, others hit or dirty me. I stumble to the ground when a sharp stone hits my head. I feel blood flow down my face. The guards interfere; they shout at the crowd, they protect me from the stones and sticks.

It's not out of pity. I am to die as a witch in the flames at the stake, not on the way there by stoning. They pull me back up on my feet and I stumble on to the place of my exhibition and first punishment. I go to the market square, where an angry crowd awaits and insults me.

They lead me to a small platform where glowing coals and a low post are waiting for me. They push me to the bowl with the embers; I see the branding iron and feel deep fear. One of the guards says with a grin on his face: “Take a good look at the embers and the red-hot iron, girl, because this is where your witch tits will atone for you. All the many people have come to experience that with you."

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Picture: The branding iron is already waiting in the embers to be used on Hildegard's soft skin

Suddenly I feel my breasts hurt. Is it a premonition? My knees are shaking, I don't want to, but they drag me on and push me up onto the small platform from where everyone can see me. I am pushed to the post and brought to my knees; they tie me with my hands and feet behind the low post.

The crowd cheers as they rip my shirt off. My breasts pop out: Now my boobs are delivered completely defenseless to the eyes of the people and to the red-hot iron that is supposed to burn me and mark me as a witch. Two fellows blow into the coals until they light up brightly and sparkle. But they keep blowing ... they want to see the branding iron glow brightly.

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Picture: “Feel free to bare your tits for the audience and for the red-hot iron!”

I shiver with fear when two strong guys grab my arms and press my back against the wooden stake. They pull me across the hard wood of the low post so that I must stretch my breasts out as far as possible. There is no doubt what I have to expect here.

I hear whistles and hoots, but I only feel fear and shame. Someone shouts “Burn her witch tits!” Others shout along, everyone demands that my “plump boobs”, my “big udders”, my “naughty witch tits”, my “satanic breasts” have to be burned. "Burn your iron deep into her tits, she should feel hell now", shouts one. I cry because I know this is really going to happen and all the people want to see it.

Suddenly the executioner comes up to me and blocks my view. He stands tall and strong in front of me while I kneel fearfully on the floor. I shudder when I see the whites of his eyes while a leather cap covers his entire face. He grabs my head by the chin, looks down at me and says in a deep voice: “You are afraid, I can see that… Everyone standing here is afraid… and you have a valid reason to be afraid… It is my job to accompany you on your last painful journey. "

With the words "I want to see what you have to offer us", he tears my shirt more open and stares at my breasts. He grabs my boobs with his rough hands to feel and measure them. Then he rolls my nipples between his strong fingers until the buds hurt and stand up hard. My whole body is trembling.

“I haven't burned such beautiful tits in a long time… It will be an honor for me to burn a beautiful mark on your boobs! And the audience will be delighted..."

"Oh, please spare my boobs," I beg, "My breasts are so tender and sensitive..."

I can feel the guy grinning under his hood. Then he says: “You have sensitive and tender boobs? I hope so! People want to hear your screams... And you will definitely scream, I promise you!"

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Picture: Hildegard is waiting for the branding iron, kneeling helplessly on the floor and with her breasts stretched out. She feels terrified while people cheer.

Then the judge takes the floor and explains to the excited crowd that I, the witch Hildegard, have to be marked with a red-hot Iron on my left breast as a penance and as a sign of my fornication with the devil. “The branding iron should burn through her skin for at least three seconds... The sentence will be carried out immediately,” he proclaims.

I feel terrified, but the crowd is cheering. I know for these people this is the first major climax of my punishment. They know that I am young; they see that I have beautiful, full breasts; they think that I deserve the pain.

If I were among them, I would cheer with them. But now I'm on the other side, I am the young woman, the witch and they want to burn a red-hot iron into my beloved, tender breast. It's so cruel, but there is no escape for me.

I feel the cold air on my bare, protruding breasts, I feel my areolas shrink and the buds protrude even harder. I feel my boobs hurt again, really painful. Then I see the executioner down by the coal fire, I recognize the red-hot branding iron in the embers with the "W" for witch. He lifts the branding iron and points it at the audience, the people are enthusiastic.

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Picture: The executioner with the red-hot iron… There is no doubt about his intentions…

Suddenly the gloomy man with the glowing hot iron comes up to me. My hands are tied behind the low post, my arms are held by two strong guys. I kneel, can barely move, and my feet are also tied to the post. I want to turn away, but I can't move. I shake my head in despair. I'm deeply scared, I want to piss on and I can already feel my bladder.

“It is time to repent, witch. I'll heat you up against the cold now ... Put your tits out ... and then don't move! "

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Picture: Anticipation - terrible expectations...

"Oh please, don't burn my nipples," I beg anxiously. The guy under the hood says thoughtfully: "Well, I'll spare your teats, but only if you really keep still... And now take a look at your tits again; they will never look like that again!"

He hesitates briefly and gives me a short moment to look worriedly at my undamaged breasts one last time; then he says in a calm but strict tone: "Get ready ... now it's getting really hot!"
 
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Rupert_137

Executioner
Chapter VIII – Red-hot Irons

The executioner slowly turns the branding iron on me. I hear their chants "Burn her plump boobs!" "Burn her thick udders!" "Scorch her naughty witch tits!"

The hangman lowers the red-hot iron with the witch sign and points it against my left breast. Suddenly I feel the heat over my breast. My heart is racing. The shouts from the crowd fall silent, I close my eyes in fear. Now I feel the embers scorching hot very close to my left boob, but he waits, endless seconds slip by. I keep calm, but fear pervades my body.

The next moment I flinch, he presses the embers into my breast. For a moment I just feel my skin burn. I hear it hiss; I feel my tender meat being fried. I smell my grilled skin; the steam from overheated fat pokes my nose. I open my eyes and stare at the iron that is burning into my boob. Suddenly small flames ignite at the edges, my left boob is burning! I feel indescribable horror.

The hangman finally pulls away the branding iron. I see its terrible traces. A black, deeply branded "W" is emblazoned on my beautiful breast. Moments later the pain comes. It swells and it becomes more and more powerful. Cruel pain floods my boob, which soon roars and rages. The pain floods me; it gets more and more violent; it forces me to scream loudly.

The smell of my burned breast makes me feel nauseous. But people applaud, they ask for an "encore" on my right breast. I'm being pulled up at the small post so that everyone can see the black "W" on my left boob. I too stare at my left breast; it looks so shameful; it is burned, disfigured. But the mob claps and cheers.

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Picture: Hildegard has received the first branding. The pain inside her left breast comes slowly, but it swells, begins to rage and it becomes indescribably violent…

I fall back on my knees. My horror is overwhelmed by pain. I scream and I moan, but the pain roars and rages on and on, it won't let up. I lose control of my bladder and people laugh.

"Our little witch pisses herself off with pain and fear," someone mocks me. "She's not even standing at the stake." I hardly feel the shame, the pain in my breast almost makes me crazy and it won't give me any rest.

"Burn the witch's other tit too," shouts one and the people applaud. I'm shocked, they have no idea how cruel is what they demand. And they keep shouting “Her both witch tits must feel the glow of the iron!” I can't believe what they're asking.

The executioner mocks me, “Well, how do you like the beautiful first mark on your boob? Shall I burn your other tit so nicely too?” Pain and fear are already eating me up.

The judge addresses the audience. "We all see that the witch Hildegard has big tits that offer plenty of space for two brands ... And because she used both breasts for seduction, both breasts should also be punished."

The crowd cheers, the judge struggles to finish his speech. "She is to receive the cross of the Lord with the glowing iron in her right breast, so that the devil may be warded off forever." Then he shows five fingers, which probably means that the embers should rage for five seconds in my boob. I suspect with horror that this is enough time to burn the red-hot iron deep into my breast.

I'm shaken, but people are excited. I can already see how an iron cross on a pole is placed in the embers and how two boys blow eagerly. The pain in my left breast is brutal ... It's already unbearable, how am I supposed to get through a second branding iron on the other breast?

The judge speaks to me personally and calls out to me: "Accept the glowing pain as a just punishment and as atonement for your horrific crimes, witch Hildegard!"

The hangman looks at me a little pityingly, “Cheer up, girl! We both give all these people a great show ... It hurts a lot, I know, but you can't turn it off anyway ... Be proud, you are the first witch I burn the Holy Cross into the boobs."

I shake my head; I don't feel pride, just pain and fear. I see the iron glow. The hangman descends, picks up the branding iron, and I tremble. But as a spectacle for the crowd, he presses it against a wooden beam. There is smoke, the first flames lick; then they shoot out of the wood. He quickly pulls back the embers and a black branded cross remains on the wood.

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Picture: To ward off the devil, the executioner has to burn a glowing hot cross in Hildegard's right breast

Now I feel my legs tremble, how my bladder squeezes again. But he throws the iron back into the embers, leaves it there and lets the boys blow into the embers. I see the cross glowing red. Then the hangman pulls it out and this time he comes straight up to me. I beg him not to do it, but very slowly he leads the glowing cross against my right breast until I can clearly feel the heat. Again he makes me wait. I desperately try to turn away, but the grips of the men who hold me are getting tighter.

"Come on, girl, keep still!" The executioner calls. "Show us all that you’re a strong and brave witch!" Then he says quietly that only I can hear "Come on, push your boobs out, stretch your tits towards the embers and hold still ... In the end it doesn't matter to you, but the audience wants to see it that way... For this I'll spare your nipple again and I leave the burning at three seconds. You Agree?"

I feel eaten away by fear and pain, but I nod. Suddenly the guards let go of my arms. I can move a little and push my breasts out nicely. There is no escape now, I do not move, I close my eyes and am rigid with fear. Slowly he presses the searing iron deep into my breast.

It hisses again, I open my eyes and get weak, but I remain like frozen. I see, feel and smell my tender flesh burning. My boob is cruelly roasted in the embers. When small flames shoot out, he pulls back the iron. I stare in horror at the branded cross on my right breast. The pain comes slowly; first dull, then burning fiery and finally roaring. I have to scream out loud, with all my might, until I run out of breath.

I'm in shock, both of my breasts are burned, the pain is monstrous, it forces me to scream and screech again and again, in between gasps and moans ... People applaud happily while my bladder gives way again and at the same time rivers of tears down my cheeks to run. I am left alone with my pain

WTS-08-3tw.jpg
Picture: Hildegard has received two brands. Her beautiful breasts are disfigured and a place of throbbing agony.

I had completely lost sight of the young thief, but now I see her bare-chested and tied under an archway on the other side of the square, where she will soon be flogged.

"Two dozen lashes for the thief" announced the judge. Immediately the executioner lifts his arm with the whip and a little later I hear the thong howl and crack...

As if from the fog of my own pain, I hear her screams. But my own suffering is too great to feel sorry for. I'm just relieved that they leave me alone for a while because people's attention is now turning to the thief who is being brutally whipped. Indeed, I wish the punishment of the young woman would never stop...

WTS-08-4.jpg
Picture: A thief woman is whipped in front of Hildegard's eyes, but she is too busy with herself...

In the end, the thief received 24 lashes. She is released from her ropes, which she spreads, and she sags limp to her knees. Her back is bleeding. Two men support her and lead the sobbing young woman away. Then all attention turns back to me.

They loosen my bonds too; they straighten me up; I can barely stand. “Show the people what your witch tits look like now!” They turn me around; long and humiliating, I have to show me to the crowd on all sides. People exclaim when they see my scorched breasts. Then the guards pull me off the dais. I stumble, I fall on my knees. My tits dance in front of my eyes. The brand marks, too, jumping in front of my face.

The pain is still brutal and overwhelming; I can't take it anymore, but I have to. I try to grit my teeth, but keep moaning and gasping for breath. This punishment is indescribably cruel. Can there still be an increase at the stake?

I feel too weak to walk, but they pull me to my feet; they pull and push me on. My breasts are throbbing, yes they are screaming in pain. I too want to scream again and again, but I don't have the strength to do so. It's a lot worse than the torture. They pull me on without pity. "Come on, witch, the pyre is waiting for you."

My shirt is still wide open, my scorched breasts wobble; the rough skirt is wet from my pee. I pissed on myself just like the girl Johanna! I slowly stumble through the alleys.

My boobs continue to rock, my nipples are still erect in the cold air. Everyone sees it and the crowd mocks me. “How do you like your big branded tits now, witch?” A woman calls out to me. “Your nipples need red-hot pliers,” calls out a man. They take pleasure in my suffering. They wish me to suffer even more because they think I'm a wicked witch.

I feel deeply ashamed, but I feel even more eaten by pain. It hurts so badly, the roaring pain in my boobs rages with every heartbeat and he doesn't want to calm down. I want to touch my scorched breasts to comfort them, but my hands are tied behind my back.

The northern city gate leads to my place of execution. Horrified, I see a tall wooden post before my eyes with chains hanging on it for tying me ... while I'm burning in the flames. Dry straw, sticks and lots of firewood have been piled up around it. The pyre isn't high, not even quite as high as I am, maybe a meter and a half. To make climbing easier, they have attached a small wooden ladder to one side.

WTS-08-5.jpg
Picture: The pyre doesn't look threatening at first sight, but it will ignite hellfire

This is the place where I will burn and perish, I think with horror. But the pain in my breasts is still so intense that I can hardly think clearly.

I saw it with my own eyes and heard it with my ears twice, with Bertha and Johanna. The widow was silent, the girl begged, cried and screamed. Nevertheless, she had to climb the stake completely frightened, where they chained Johanna to the stake. The fire was lit mercilessly and people clapped while the young witch pissed on herself again in fear. Only now do I suspect what that means for me...
 
Last edited:

Fossy

Senator
Chapter VIII – Red-hot Irons

The executioner slowly turns the branding iron on me. I hear their chants "Burn her plump boobs!" "Burn her thick udders!" "Scorch her naughty witch tits!"

The hangman lowers the red-hot iron with the witch sign and points it against my left breast. Suddenly I feel the heat over my breast. My heart is racing. The shouts from the crowd fall silent, I close my eyes in fear. Now I feel the embers scorching hot very close to my left boob, but he waits, endless seconds slip by. I keep calm, but fear pervades my body.

The next moment I flinch, he presses the embers into my breast. For a moment I just feel my skin burn. I hear it hiss; I feel my tender meat being fried. I smell my grilled skin; the steam from overheated fat pokes my nose. I open my eyes and stare at the iron that is burning into my boob. Suddenly small flames ignite at the edges, my left boob is burning! I feel indescribable horror.

The hangman finally pulls away the branding iron. I see its terrible traces. A black, deeply branded "W" is emblazoned on my beautiful breast. Moments later the pain comes. It swells and it becomes more and more powerful. Cruel pain floods my boob, which soon roars and rages. The pain floods me; it gets more and more violent; it forces me to scream loudly.

The smell of my burned breast makes me feel nauseous. But people applaud, they ask for an "encore" on my right breast. I'm being pulled up at the small post so that everyone can see the black "W" on my left boob. I too stare at my left breast; it looks so shameful; it is burned, disfigured. But the mob claps and cheers.

View attachment 1032876
Picture: Hildegard has received the first branding. The pain inside her left breast comes slowly, but it swells, begins to rage and it becomes indescribably violent…

I fall back on my knees. My horror is overwhelmed by pain. I scream and I moan, but the pain roars and rages on and on, it won't let up. I lose control of my bladder and people laugh.

"Our little witch pisses herself off with pain and fear," someone mocks me. "She's not even standing at the stake." I hardly feel the shame, the pain in my breast almost makes me crazy and it won't give me any rest.

"Burn the witch's other tit too," shouts one and the people applaud. I'm shocked, they have no idea how cruel is what they demand. And they keep shouting “Her both witch tits must feel the glow of the iron!” I can't believe what they're asking.

The executioner mocks me, “Well, how do you like the beautiful first mark on your boob? Shall I burn your other tit so nicely too?” Pain and fear are already eating me up.

The judge addresses the audience. "We all see that the witch Hildegard has big tits that offer plenty of space for two brands ... And because she used both breasts for seduction, both breasts should also be punished."

The crowd cheers, the judge struggles to finish his speech. "She is to receive the cross of the Lord with the glowing iron in her right breast, so that the devil may be warded off forever." Then he shows five fingers, which probably means that the embers should rage for five seconds in my boob. I suspect with horror that this is enough time to burn the red-hot iron deep into my breast.

I'm shaken, but people are excited. I can already see how an iron cross on a pole is placed in the embers and how two boys blow eagerly. The pain in my left breast is brutal ... It's already unbearable, how am I supposed to get through a second branding iron on the other breast?

The judge speaks to me personally and calls out to me: "Accept the glowing pain as a just punishment and as atonement for your horrific crimes, witch Hildegard!"

The hangman looks at me a little pityingly, “Cheer up, girl! We both give all these people a great show ... It hurts a lot, I know, but you can't turn it off anyway ... Be proud, you are the first witch I burn the Holy Cross into the boobs."

I shake my head; I don't feel pride, just pain and fear. I see the iron glow. The hangman descends, picks up the branding iron, and I tremble. But as a spectacle for the crowd, he presses it against a wooden beam. There is smoke, the first flames lick; then they shoot out of the wood. He quickly pulls back the embers and a black branded cross remains on the wood.

View attachment 1032877
Picture: To ward off the devil, the executioner has to burn a glowing hot cross in Hildegard's right breast

Now I feel my legs tremble, how my bladder squeezes again. But he throws the iron back into the embers, leaves it there and lets the boys blow into the embers. I see the cross glowing red. Then the hangman pulls it out and this time he comes straight up to me. I beg him not to do it, but very slowly he leads the glowing cross against my right breast until I can clearly feel the heat. Again he makes me wait. I desperately try to turn away, but the grips of the men who hold me are getting tighter.

"Come on, girl, keep still!" The executioner calls. "Show us all that you’re a strong and brave witch!" Then he says quietly that only I can hear "Come on, push your boobs out, stretch your tits towards the embers and hold still ... In the end it doesn't matter to you, but the audience wants to see it that way... For this I'll spare your nipple again and I leave the burning at three seconds. You Agree?"

I feel eaten away by fear and pain, but I nod. Suddenly the guards let go of my arms. I can move a little and push my breasts out nicely. There is no escape now, I do not move, I close my eyes and am rigid with fear. Slowly he presses the searing iron deep into my breast.

It hisses again, I open my eyes and get weak, but I remain like frozen. I see, feel and smell my tender flesh burning. My boob is cruelly roasted in the embers. When small flames shoot out, he pulls back the iron. I stare in horror at the branded cross on my right breast. The pain comes slowly; first dull, then burning fiery and finally roaring. I have to scream out loud, with all my might, until I run out of breath.

I'm in shock, both of my breasts are burned, the pain is monstrous, it forces me to scream and screech again and again, in between gasps and moans ... People applaud happily while my bladder gives way again and at the same time rivers of tears down my cheeks to run. I am left alone with my pain

View attachment 1032878
Picture: Hildegard has received two brands. Her beautiful breasts are disfigured and a place of throbbing agony.

I had completely lost sight of the young thief, but now I see her bare-chested and tied under an archway on the other side of the square, where she will soon be flogged.

"Two dozen lashes for the thief" announced the judge. Immediately the executioner lifts his arm with the whip and a little later I hear the thong howl and crack...

As if from the fog of my own pain, I hear her screams. But my own suffering is too great to feel sorry for. I'm just relieved that they leave me alone for a while because people's attention is now turning to the thief who is being brutally whipped. Indeed, I wish the punishment of the young woman would never stop...

View attachment 1032879
Picture: A thief woman is whipped in front of Hildegard's eyes, but she is too busy with herself...

In the end, the thief received 24 lashes. She is released from her ropes, which she spreads, and she sags limp to her knees. Her back is bleeding. Two men support her and lead the sobbing young woman away. Then all attention turns back to me.

They loosen my bonds too; they straighten me up; I can barely stand. “Show the people what your witch tits look like now!” They turn me around; long and humiliating, I have to show me to the crowd on all sides. People exclaim when they see my scorched breasts. Then the guards pull me off the dais. I stumble, I fall on my knees. My tits dance in front of my eyes. The brand marks, too, jumping in front of my face.

The pain is still brutal and overwhelming; I can't take it anymore, but I have to. I try to grit my teeth, but keep moaning and gasping for breath. This punishment is indescribably cruel. Can there still be an increase at the stake?

I feel too weak to walk, but they pull me to my feet; they pull and push me on. My breasts are throbbing, yes they are screaming in pain. I too want to scream again and again, but I don't have the strength to do so. It's a lot worse than the torture. They pull me on without pity. "Come on, witch, the pyre is waiting for you."

My shirt is still wide open, my scorched breasts wobble; the rough skirt is wet from my pee. I pissed on myself just like the girl Johanna! I slowly stumble through the alleys.

My boobs continue to rock, my nipples are still erect in the cold air. Everyone sees it and the crowd mocks me. “How do you like your big branded tits now, witch?” A woman calls out to me. “Your nipples need red-hot pliers,” calls out a man. They take pleasure in my suffering. They wish me to suffer even more because they think I'm a wicked witch.

I feel deeply ashamed, but I feel even more eaten by pain. It hurts so badly, the roaring pain in my boobs rages with every heartbeat and he doesn't want to calm down. I want to touch my scorched breasts to comfort them, but my hands are tied behind my back.

The northern city gate leads to my place of execution. Horrified, I see a tall wooden pole before my eyes with chains hanging on it for tying me ... while I'm burning in the flames. Dry straw, sticks and lots of firewood have been piled up around it. The pyre isn't high, not even quite as high as I am, maybe a meter and a half. To make climbing easier, they have attached a small wooden ladder to one side.

View attachment 1032880
Picture: The pyre doesn't look threatening at first sight, but it will ignite hellfire

This is the place where I will burn and perish, I think with horror. But the pain in my breasts is still so intense that I can hardly think clearly.

I saw it with my own eyes and heard it with my ears twice, with Bertha and Johanna. The widow was silent, the girl begged, cried and screamed. Nevertheless, she had to climb the stake completely frightened, where they chained Johanna to the stake. The fire was lit mercilessly and people clapped while the young witch pissed on herself again in fear. Only now do I suspect what that means for me...
"... This is the place where I will burn and perish ..." - what a horrific thought for the poor Hildegard.
 
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