Author Topic: A Colonial Trial  (Read 8133 times)

Offline SoftGameHunter

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A Colonial Trial
« on: August 16, 2017, 03:54:12 PM »
WARNING!    You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex. This story is all fiction and no characters in it are meant to resemble any real person. That’s the legal part. Here’s the important part to me. This is fantasy, by the author, to be shared with readers who share in such fantasies. That is the story’s sole purpose for being here. In the real world, this sort of behavior is simply not acceptable, period, by any of the laws or morals of any humane people. That means you too. If you actually hurt someone without their informed consent, just stop. Take a deep breath and stop right now. That’s not your right. A surprising number of subs exist out there, so take the time to meet one and make your corner of the world a better place. Don’t trash two lives letting your frustrations get the better of you.

A Colonial Trial

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The plea?”

“Innocent, your honor,” Goodeman said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The noose will invoke sympathy!” Climewater retorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Accused, not convicted!” Goodeman shouted back.

“The community must be certain!”

“Now you are changing up your arguments!”

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

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


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

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

“Please!” Sarah begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you propose?” Sinclair asked.

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

“Oh Lord!” Sarah cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All verified and uncontested,” Climewater replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They could have already finished,” Climewater stated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I, I, no!” she wept.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You really were surprised today, weren’t you?” he asked, and she nodded. “Well, I know how you’ve talked. Try to pretend it was arranged. It kind of was. I’ll make sure the dirtier vagrants are kept off the square. But as I can’t afford to be seen here, I bid you good night, and good sex.” He leaned down to kiss her through the scold’s bridle and then was gone. Sarah sighed. It was going to be a long five days, but probably a worthwhile one.
« Last Edit: August 18, 2017, 12:47:49 AM by SoftGameHunter »
The rumors about me are scurrilous, depraved rantings of a sick mind, and I categorically deny any sense of falsehood attributed to them.

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #1 on: August 16, 2017, 04:15:36 PM »
Fantastically done SoftGame Hunter never suspected the good reverend at all! Does she 'sees' more people during her next five days!

Offline SoftGameHunter

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #2 on: August 16, 2017, 04:25:06 PM »
Fantastically done SoftGame Hunter never suspected the good reverend at all! Does she 'sees' more people during her next five days!

Neither did I until about three fourths of the way through. I admit, I kept changing this one up. At first it would be just some long-gone guy. Then it was going to be Joshua. Then I decided to go for the gold.

As for Sarah, well, she just might have five days worth telling. I hadn't really thought about it. Yet.  ;D
The rumors about me are scurrilous, depraved rantings of a sick mind, and I categorically deny any sense of falsehood attributed to them.

Offline vile8r

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #3 on: August 16, 2017, 05:23:29 PM »
Nice to see SGH back at it again! Wonderful story! I really like the historical detail you put into this.
I could rape your pussy, but I'd be in and out in a few minutes. So I choose to rape your mind, and I'll be inside you forever!

Offline SoftGameHunter

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #4 on: August 17, 2017, 01:28:12 PM »
I agree, this needs a second part, or maybe more. Warning: it gets harsher here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell us.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” he ordered coldly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah stood in agony as they mounted and rode off. Only the faded fire gave any light, and it was just a dull glow out of her vision. They must have doused it while she was passed out. Now she stood in horrid pain, straining her muscles to stay upright lest she strangle or break her bones. And she cried in continuing pain and shame and misery as no human could or should know.
The rumors about me are scurrilous, depraved rantings of a sick mind, and I categorically deny any sense of falsehood attributed to them.

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #5 on: August 17, 2017, 03:05:57 PM »
Great chapter love the metal through the breast!

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #6 on: August 17, 2017, 03:21:27 PM »
Well done.

Offline JDWOLF
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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #7 on: August 17, 2017, 06:26:19 PM »
A nice piece of imaginative history and writing. Well done SGH.

Offline andypandy

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #8 on: August 18, 2017, 09:04:36 AM »
One of the best stories I've read, over the past 40 years. So full of cruel injustice and outrageous acts towards a great female lead character. Also - very well written in a superb semi-period language that makes it all so much more fun to read. This is a winner in every way. Please keep it coming, and please keep Sarah around for more for a long, long time!

Offline SoftGameHunter

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #9 on: August 18, 2017, 05:00:19 PM »
I don't know where this is going, but there's no point in being late. Here's the next part.

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

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

“As counsel for the accused,” Goodeman began.

“For the convicted!” Climewater thundered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye, that is so, sir.”

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

“Aye, as you wish, preacherman.”

“Show me the accomodations.” Climewater demanded.

“Come with me then.”

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

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

“Indeed, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah gulped hard. “Yes, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Osborne. Thank you!”

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

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

“Yes, I am he.”

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

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

“May we enter?”

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

“How, um, did you…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Of course,” Benally said, vowing to feed them as quickly as possible, and praying his sole surviving daughter Catherine stayed in her bedroom until morning when the trio had gone.
The rumors about me are scurrilous, depraved rantings of a sick mind, and I categorically deny any sense of falsehood attributed to them.

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #10 on: August 18, 2017, 05:29:21 PM »
Another great chapter, too bad Sarah going to get screwed in the end by the reverend!

Offline SoftGameHunter

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #11 on: August 18, 2017, 11:11:26 PM »
Bonus chapter today!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Osborne, what is it?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would never!” she cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How? No. Oh lord, please, Osborne!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouted about gems.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Offline andypandy

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #12 on: August 19, 2017, 04:44:39 AM »
Epic stuff! This is right up there with DeSade's Justine, Von Götha's Janice and Pichard's Marie-Gabriele. Not only hot as hell, but downright exciting storytelling too! Keep it coming, and keep your heroine alive and suffering!

Offline SoftGameHunter

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #13 on: August 20, 2017, 12:09:34 PM »
“Hello, you are Mr. Cadwallader Goodeman, chief of the constabulary, yes?”

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

“Yes, I am he.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please take us to this place, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve granted permission,” Martindale said.

“As have I,” Goodeman added.

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

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

“Please keep me informed,” Goodeman said.

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

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

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

“I understand,” Prudence said.

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

“I see,” Prudence replied more cautiously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ran,” Goodeman said.

“From a, a rape!”

“Conduct your search,” Goodeman said.

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

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

“My apologies,” de Voore said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rumors about me are scurrilous, depraved rantings of a sick mind, and I categorically deny any sense of falsehood attributed to them.

Offline andypandy

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Re: A Colonial Trial
« Reply #14 on: August 21, 2017, 04:40:51 PM »
Another poor innocent girl put in the stocks? What was the world coming to?   >:D
Hope Sarah and Osborne are nearing shore soon. Those Atlantic waves are not easy to swim in. Especially after you've been tortured and gang raped of course.