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Barb goes BATS
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
Loinclothslave
slave to the whip
It’s been done?
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Not much longer Barb and it will be your turn.
7.
With @phlebas the Magnificent’s orders that I be taken to the dungeon to join the other confessed witches still ringing in my ears, I found myself rescued in the nick from my precarious suspension over the terrible teeth of the wooden horse. I was flummoxed by his questioning, and hadn’t realized that confessed, but I guess I did and there was nothing I could do about it.
I could sense the aura of triumph around Phlebas’ head, and see the peeved look of resentment on @windar ’s face.
@twonines and @montycrusto waxed philosophical.
“Let’s call it a day, but quite an interesting one, I dare say,” observed Twonines.
“It’s never a chore, to ogle a naked Miss Moore,” agreed Montycrusto.
“Let us pray for her sweet luscious … ahem … I mean for her tormented soul.” added the Vicar @Praefectus Praetorio.
Once I was set down upon the chamber floor, Loxoru and Harsh Martinet helped me get into my petticoat, but nothing else, and then saw to it that I was hooded and dragged away, first up the staircase snd then out into the street.
There I was tethered behind a cart and led, naked above the waist, through the streets of Cruxton … whiplashed mercilessly from behind … in addition to being mocked and scorned at every faltering step by the crowds of curious bystanders congregating on the streets.
To take my mind off my humiliation I tried to imagine, having never seen one, what a dungeon cell might be like. My mind conjured up a bleak scene … a dark and dingy space, rough stone walls with rusting chains and shackles affixed, filthy and smelly straw strewn across a cold stone floor on which vermin scampered and scavenged, flaming torches mounted to the walls to provide a modicum of flickering illumination to an otherwise gloomily forbidding atmosphere.
And what of the cell’s occupants? Phlebas had said I was to join the other confessed witches. Who would they be? Anyone I knew? Most likely the dregs of society. Certainly not my betters. This could never happen to the likes of them!
I thought I knew where I was being taken. Everyone in Cruxton was aware of the location of the gaol on the edge of town, as it was generally a place to be avoided, but after awhile I began to realize that I had gone too far to be headed there. The jeering crowds had thinned and the scent of fields and meadows could be detected even through my stifling dark hood. Beneath my bare feet, stone paving had given way to a dirt track. And they’d ceased applying lashes to my bare back.
On and on I trudged behind the creaking, groaning cart until at last it came to a halt. I was quick freed from the cart and, still hooded, escorted … one might even say bundled into a building … a building that smelled of polished wood, expensive draperies and trappings … and without stopping up a stairway, rather than down … and along a long corridor and into a room with fragrance in the air … hardly anything but my imagined gaolhouse dungeon!
And then as I was bound securely In place, spread eagled upright between a pair of all too familiar polished wooden posts … I suddenly knew exactly where I was … a Cruxton Abbey boudoir with its four poster bed.
“Remove the wench’s hood!” said a refined but scornful voice.
The hood was removed, and there I was face-to-face with her ladyship, the Countess @Wragg, lounging full-length on the bed in her nightwear finery, and sporting a most foul and vengeful-looking expression on her face.
“Y … your Ladyship,” I stammered, thinking I ought to curtesy, but that was out of the question, tied between the bedposts at the foot of her bed, as I was.
“Slut!” she sneered. “Returned to the scene of your adulterous crimes, have you?”
“Not exactly … I was delivered here, without my knowledge, and against my will as well … if someone had actually told me where I was being taken.”
“Well, of course, you weren’t told. And it was I who arranged it.”
“What on earth for?”
“To give you a piece of my mind before they put your tight little ass to the flames tomorrow!”
“Well thanks, but I think I’d best be going now.”
“Don’t get sassy with me, hussy! I know full well what you and my husband, his Lordship, used to do on this and every other four poster in the house.”
“It was one of my duties as the maid to change the bed linens daily,” I sniffed defensively.
“No … you and his Lordship sullied them daily, you little tramp! Did you think I was blind to what you and he were up to?”
“So it was you then who had me sacked?”
“Of course. That was my doing. Can you blame me?”
“Did it ever occur to you that it might have been his Lordship’s randiness that was to blame?”
“Not for a moment. He’s a sweet old, if somewhat misguided, dear fool. It was the Devil in you, Barbara Moore, that most assuredly led his Lordship astray.”
“And so, it must have been you, then, who conspired to have me brought before the town magistrates accused of witchery!”
“Yes, and One of my purposes in bringing you here this evening was to make sure you knew that.”
“Bitch!”
“Witch!”
We glared at each other in silence for several minutes, and then the woman reached for and tugged at the long braided cord that hung near the bed, which promptly brought her maid servant into the bed chamber.
“Messaline, my dear. Would you remove Miss Moore’s petticoat, s'il te plaît. And then help me out of my night gown. You and I … and you’ll need to get naked as well … are going to explore exactly what it is about Miss Moore’s sweet charms that so bewitched my husband, not to mention half the men in Cruxton town.”
“Oui, Madame.”
TBC
With @phlebas the Magnificent’s orders that I be taken to the dungeon to join the other confessed witches still ringing in my ears, I found myself rescued in the nick from my precarious suspension over the terrible teeth of the wooden horse. I was flummoxed by his questioning, and hadn’t realized that confessed, but I guess I did and there was nothing I could do about it.
I could sense the aura of triumph around Phlebas’ head, and see the peeved look of resentment on @windar ’s face.
@twonines and @montycrusto waxed philosophical.
“Let’s call it a day, but quite an interesting one, I dare say,” observed Twonines.
“It’s never a chore, to ogle a naked Miss Moore,” agreed Montycrusto.
“Let us pray for her sweet luscious … ahem … I mean for her tormented soul.” added the Vicar @Praefectus Praetorio.
Once I was set down upon the chamber floor, Loxoru and Harsh Martinet helped me get into my petticoat, but nothing else, and then saw to it that I was hooded and dragged away, first up the staircase snd then out into the street.
There I was tethered behind a cart and led, naked above the waist, through the streets of Cruxton … whiplashed mercilessly from behind … in addition to being mocked and scorned at every faltering step by the crowds of curious bystanders congregating on the streets.
To take my mind off my humiliation I tried to imagine, having never seen one, what a dungeon cell might be like. My mind conjured up a bleak scene … a dark and dingy space, rough stone walls with rusting chains and shackles affixed, filthy and smelly straw strewn across a cold stone floor on which vermin scampered and scavenged, flaming torches mounted to the walls to provide a modicum of flickering illumination to an otherwise gloomily forbidding atmosphere.
And what of the cell’s occupants? Phlebas had said I was to join the other confessed witches. Who would they be? Anyone I knew? Most likely the dregs of society. Certainly not my betters. This could never happen to the likes of them!
I thought I knew where I was being taken. Everyone in Cruxton was aware of the location of the gaol on the edge of town, as it was generally a place to be avoided, but after awhile I began to realize that I had gone too far to be headed there. The jeering crowds had thinned and the scent of fields and meadows could be detected even through my stifling dark hood. Beneath my bare feet, stone paving had given way to a dirt track. And they’d ceased applying lashes to my bare back.
On and on I trudged behind the creaking, groaning cart until at last it came to a halt. I was quick freed from the cart and, still hooded, escorted … one might even say bundled into a building … a building that smelled of polished wood, expensive draperies and trappings … and without stopping up a stairway, rather than down … and along a long corridor and into a room with fragrance in the air … hardly anything but my imagined gaolhouse dungeon!
And then as I was bound securely In place, spread eagled upright between a pair of all too familiar polished wooden posts … I suddenly knew exactly where I was … a Cruxton Abbey boudoir with its four poster bed.
“Remove the wench’s hood!” said a refined but scornful voice.
The hood was removed, and there I was face-to-face with her ladyship, the Countess @Wragg, lounging full-length on the bed in her nightwear finery, and sporting a most foul and vengeful-looking expression on her face.
“Y … your Ladyship,” I stammered, thinking I ought to curtesy, but that was out of the question, tied between the bedposts at the foot of her bed, as I was.
“Slut!” she sneered. “Returned to the scene of your adulterous crimes, have you?”
“Not exactly … I was delivered here, without my knowledge, and against my will as well … if someone had actually told me where I was being taken.”
“Well, of course, you weren’t told. And it was I who arranged it.”
“What on earth for?”
“To give you a piece of my mind before they put your tight little ass to the flames tomorrow!”
“Well thanks, but I think I’d best be going now.”
“Don’t get sassy with me, hussy! I know full well what you and my husband, his Lordship, used to do on this and every other four poster in the house.”
“It was one of my duties as the maid to change the bed linens daily,” I sniffed defensively.
“No … you and his Lordship sullied them daily, you little tramp! Did you think I was blind to what you and he were up to?”
“So it was you then who had me sacked?”
“Of course. That was my doing. Can you blame me?”
“Did it ever occur to you that it might have been his Lordship’s randiness that was to blame?”
“Not for a moment. He’s a sweet old, if somewhat misguided, dear fool. It was the Devil in you, Barbara Moore, that most assuredly led his Lordship astray.”
“And so, it must have been you, then, who conspired to have me brought before the town magistrates accused of witchery!”
“Yes, and One of my purposes in bringing you here this evening was to make sure you knew that.”
“Bitch!”
“Witch!”
We glared at each other in silence for several minutes, and then the woman reached for and tugged at the long braided cord that hung near the bed, which promptly brought her maid servant into the bed chamber.
“Messaline, my dear. Would you remove Miss Moore’s petticoat, s'il te plaît. And then help me out of my night gown. You and I … and you’ll need to get naked as well … are going to explore exactly what it is about Miss Moore’s sweet charms that so bewitched my husband, not to mention half the men in Cruxton town.”
“Oui, Madame.”
TBC
M
montycrusto
Guest
Wow, the repartee is really sparkling..
.. nice to see @messaline getting a rôle.. and even the line you gave me didn’t suck!
messaline
Crucified Amazon
I'm starting a petition to have @phlebas banned from Crux Forums for this rescue. Was so looking forward to the ride. Who's with me?
We wanted a confession, and we got one. It's almost as if the torture was more important to you than the result, Ledoux.
I am sure there will be still be ample opportunities to
ledoux
Governor
And your point is? There's no almost about it.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Time for a "Sassy hussy messy pussy!" ...
M
montycrusto
Guest
Maybe not… but perhaps you’ll get moore in the next episodeYou call that a "rôle" ?
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Oh, I dont ask for anything ; I know well that I've to stay in my place at CF and that if I want to be into a story, generally, I've to write it ...Maybe not… but perhaps you’ll get moore in the next episode
Perhaps that it's well, after all, rather than to trust some people here who were promising a great story and suddenly, without explanation, let me falling into the gutter !
Anyway, I continue "mon petit bonhomme de chemin" alone, but free to do what it pleases to me ...
PS : "mon petit bonhomme de chemin" .... "my own way"
M
montycrusto
Guest
Might call it “un Chemin de faire soi-même”
Dorothy Brown
Brown Sugar
Harsh Martinet
Consul
Hmmm, this has the possibility to make up for my disappointment that Barb didn't ride the horse
