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The True Pain of False Accusations

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“Kill the witch!”

The trial had gone on for months. Citizen after citizen had come forward, accusing the young woman of bewitching them into committing lewd, lascivious acts. There were acts involving women with men, women with women, men with men, and one odd accusation involving three men, a goat, and a broomstick. That one even startled the numb, scared young woman who was chained to the heavy defendant’s chair.

At first the accusations, while indecent and malicious, were known to go on in the shadows anyway. Most of those involved inciting lustful looks and light petting between adolescents or otherwise married adults. When the blacksmith was caught ogling the preacher’s wife, he called witchcraft. He did the same, as did she, when he was caught with his head under her skirts.

As the trial progressed, the accusations became more numerous and more lecherous. Of course, “for absolute clarity and judgment”, the judge would have the “victims” recall everything in explicit detail, often having the women show the jury where on their persons something had taken place. Sometimes he would even have them show the jury any lingering marks from the encounter. The courtroom having been cleared of all women, being considered too delicate to be subjected to recollections of such vile behavior, crowds of “respectable” men would stare in astonishment at bruises, bitemarks, and broken blood vessels.

A half dozen women had stood before the crowd, bared to the waist, displaying their ill-handled breasts.

Two busty, bubbling blondes, known to be friends since birth, had shown how they had been witched into removing the hair from their nether regions before taking the clean flesh in each others mouths. To the amazement of the room, when the exhibition showed the girls’ obvious arousal, they both began crying ‘witchcraft’ as they began furiously masturbating. On the premise that disturbing either the witch or her current victims would convince her to cause permanent damage, the men gazed on as the girls pulled the rest of their clothing away and proceeded to orally pleasure each other to the point of exhaustion.

The judge then called a recess to calm the spirits of the audience, and a few men volunteered to carry the naked girls to a side room so they could have some privacy as they dressed and recuperated from the “attack”. Another round of “witchery” then followed as all that had entered the room had immediately stripped and fallen into a shameful orgy. The judge having been present, as well as sufficient witnesses, that only a brief mention was put on record, none of which was brought up in open court. The fact that one girl had knelt with one man taking her from behind as another fornicated with her mouth, while the other had impaled her anus on the judge as his assistant had fisted her, was left out. Also left out was the fact that all the men had ejaculated on the girls’ breasts and watched as they licked it from each others’ body.

The next morning it was reported that over twenty acts of witchcraft had occurred over the night.

Incidents such as this continued until only the most depraved were openly presented to the court, the minor ones simply included as numbers.

Helen had begun to seriously wonder why they bothered to keep up the pretense of witchcraft. She had been blindfolded, bound, gagged, and sedated from the moment the constable broke into her home to arrest her. Even if she had been a witch, her craft would have been severely hindered by her being unconscious. The original accusation was baseless, and those subsequent were just excuses for the village to descend into debauchery. The only reason she had become the scapegoat was because she had accidentally walked in on the preacher’s wife and two of the alter boys, who were in the midst of something Helen had not even known was physically possible. Having no family left after a sickness took her household, there was nobody to raise a defense for her.

She pondered this as she was led up the stairs to the gallows. The actual hanging was supposed to be the main even, but the torture beforehand was expected to be a spectacle that brought every able man to the town square. It appeared that a large group had even made the long trek from a neighboring town. Once again, the women were declared too delicate to bare witness, especially since this case had never been considered by the courts who wrote the town charter. This meant that the current ruling bodies could design their own punishment, and they were known to be creative. And perverted. The end result ended in two hundred men leering at her, shouting encouragement and ideas as Helen was secured in place, stretched, partially suspended in a vertical spread-eagle position.

“Witch Helen. You have been justly tried and convicted of heinous acts of witchcraft against this village. Do you have any last words before your sentence is carried out?”

The magistrate sneered his question as a collective snicker rose from the crowd. Helen turned her head towards his direction and snorted though the gag that still covered her mouth. In all this time, none had questioned how she could defend herself, or plead guilty to get it over with, while she was forcibly silenced. Her own civil defense had not even bothered.

“The witch does neither deny nor repent! You have been sentenced to a public spiritual cleansing according to your crimes, to be followed by one lash per innocent victim whose life you tainted. Only then will you be hung from the neck until you are dead.”

With that, the magistrate stepped to one side and gestured for the executioner to begin. A low cheer came from the crowd as the masked man stepped close behind her, pressing himself tightly to her back. His clear erection held against her small derriere, his rough hands moved up her front. Making no effort to conceal his open groping, he gave her breasts a hard squeeze before taking the fabric of her bodice and ripping it open.

Continuing down, the large man rent the dress from her shaking body, using a blood-spattered knife to cut the remains from her hands and feet. As more of her was exposed, the volume of the cheers increased, almost to a deafening level when the executioner paused to fondle her thighs, buttocks, vulva, and breasts. When he took several laps at her inner folds, and when he jiggled her breasts by her nipples, even his own ears hurt.

Once she was completely nude, feeling unimaginably violated and strangely excited, he drew a beam to the back of her thighs. Reaching to one side of the recently modified structure, he slowly turned a crank that spread her legs even further, and another that shifted her upper portions down and back. By the time he was finished, she was arched backward with her vaginal area on display.

The crowd had gone quiet in anticipation of Helen’s gratuitous humiliation, but buzzed as the barber strutted up the steps to his commissioned task. Straddling her flat stomach, he took a hot, wet sponge and moistened her, teasingly moving from her mound to her anus in long strokes. Taking the proffered implements from his apprentice, he covered the area in a thick lather, often spreading her wide to get in the cracks. Using a straight razor, his professionally steady hands stripped away the hair, lightly scraping over the sensitive points along the inside of the labia and around her anus. To the delight of the audience, upon declaring her fully shorn, he picked up the remaining bucket of lukewarm water and poured it over her to rinse away the remaining lather, leaving her dripping wet and shivering in the breeze.

Her condition was not aided when he picked up two spare buckets of ice water and doused her entire body, causing her skin to contract and her nipples to visibly harden.

“The witch will now be cleansed for her crimes of fornication!”

Looking almost giddy, the blacksmith carried a table and a small box onto the gallows. Setting the box on the table, he popped it open and picked up a large metal object, a long, thick phallus with a slightly rounded end. There were howls as he crouched next to the girl, running the head up and down her exposed slit, the irregular surface chafing the soft tissue. With a vicious grin, he plunged the phallus into her, forcing it in until it bottomed out.

Even though the gag, her screams reverberated through the plaza as her virginal blood was spilt, her dry channel torn raw.

The blacksmith waited patiently for the girl to cease her shrieking, randomly tapping the metal that protruded from her, making sure her tight muscles would hold it in place. Picking up another, slightly smaller piece, he returned to his place beside her. With another evil grin, he grabbed her cheeks and lifted her, moving his head underneath and coarsely forcing his tongue into her rectum. A heavy twitch passing through her body, she arched even more, unintentionally allowing a better view to the crowd as the man removed his tongue and replaced it with the second phallus.

Almost mercifully, when he thrust past her sphincter, he used slow, periodic motions, pushing it in an inch at a time. As he did this, he explained to the men that it would do no good to tear a hole in her organs, as she could easily die from blood loss long before the “cleansing” was completed.

Not that Helen would not prefer a quick death. Before being led out of the jail, she had been given a thorough enema and force-fed a strange compilation of herbs, which she soon realized had made her skin hypersensitive while keeping her incredibly alert. As such, she was now experiencing more pain than she had ever imagined, and was very aware of every little detail of the physical nature of her punishment. She was incapable of giving in to unconsciousness.

There was a look of awe on the faces of the men who were close enough to see the details of what was being shown them. A complicated looking bit, some of the handier recognized it as a miniature clamp, which was now being attached to the girl’s distended clitoris, having been pulled harshly by the executioner so that the blacksmith could fasten it with ease. Tightened as far as could be managed, the tip of the clit had already begun to turn purple from the constricted blood flow.

Once completed with that, there was mild applause as Helen was set back to a vertical position, her lower area crudely warped by the metal, ruined for any man who might have had plans for her before her death had become eminent. Even with her face mostly concealed, the look of excruciating pain on her face was plainly obvious as she tried to gasp through the gag.

The look of pain was quickly combined with terror as the blacksmith stepped behind her and bounced her breasts in his hands, tugging and twisting the nipples to a further peak. Two more clamps were then attached as her hoarse screeches resumed. Before collecting his supplies, he bounced them a few more times for the crowd, the clamps causing pain to jolt through her with every motion.

The look on the magistrate’s face resembled that of a cat that had been presented with a bowl of cream. His favorite part was up.

“The witch will now receive one lash for every innocent life she tainted. Having accounted for every person who was presented as a victim before the court, not adding in those who suffered multiple times under your twisted mind, you will now receive fifty- six lashes. May God have mercy upon your blackened soul.”

Smirking at the open salivation of the magistrate as well as some of the others in the crowd, the executioner held up his weapon of choice: a three-tailed whip. Cheers sounded as he moved into place. Raising his arm high, he waited for his call.



All three tails made contact with brutal accuracy, and the incurred force caused the metals embedded and attached to jump. The fresh pain ripped through her from each piece. Screaming had become a thing of the past.



Again, there came the twitch. The whip had been chosen for this, to cause as much pain with as little real damage. The tails were thick and soft, the material set to not cut through the skin. With so many lashes to be presented, it was preferred that it not be received on bare muscle and bone after less than half. The real damage was meant to be inflicted by the movement of the other implements.



After the motion was completed, the magistrate reached up and removed the blindfold. Blinking against the light, Helen was momentarily blinded. Ten or so lashes came down before she could finally see everything. Once she did, a deep flush rushed over her. With every crack of the whip, with every gut-wrenching ache, the men in the crowd, the men who had watched her grow up, who had been friends of her father’s, now looked at her with absolute lust in their eyes. Some of them looked downright hungry as each twitch caused her breasts to jiggle, her thighs to try to clench.

One or two who stood close openly stared at the blood that dripped from where her most delicate tissue had been destroyed. Where her entrances were stretched obscenely around the metal, some of the skin had begun to crack. When the magistrate tugged on the clamps on her breasts or shook the one on her clit, many of the men would cheer. When he forced the phalluses deeper into her body, to the point where the one in her rectum was completely consumed, a few even boldly offered to retrieve it for him. He just chuckled and clipped on a small chain that had been built into the design.

Once the executioner had completed the forty-sixth lash, the magistrate stopped him. Her back had begun to bleed freely. Helen’s relief was brief as it was declared that the remaining ten would fall on her front. The absolute terror on her face incited a loud roar from the audience.

When the whip first came down on her breasts and stomach, every man counted aloud with the magistrate. As opposed to concentrating on one area, everything except her face received at least one blow. She could almost sing praises as the executioner prepared for the final lash. However, with a bit of a flourish, he angled the whip from low to high, all three tails landing on the shredded flesh of her labia and anus.

Having lost all muscle control long ago, she barely noticed that she was being drawn back into a reclined position, or that her gag was being removed. The mild confusion as to why was replaced with encouraging whoops as the town counsel surrounded her. The six men, whose ages ranged from somewhat young to borderline ancient, had removed their penises from their pants and were jerking them with varying speeds.

As each climaxed, they aimed it directly at her upturned, lax form. Twitching slightly as the sensation of the warm, sticky semen landing on her skin, her hair, face, neck, and breasts were soon coated. As soon they were all finished and had moved back, the blacksmith called out that he would like his devices back now, they were one of a kind.

Nodding, the magistrate gestured for him to come and get them. Once again crouching next to Helen’s prone form, he grasped the chain that was attached to the phallus buried in her rear passage and jerked. Stuck tight, it required four sharp tugs to fully release it. When it finally came, he stuck a few fingers in and wiggled them around to show how the hole remained wide open.

He next took hold of the piece protruding from her formerly virgin tunnel and gave it one long, slow pull, blood and skin sticking to the rough surface. This time, instead of a few fingers, he pushed his entire fist into the gaping hole that remained.

In response to a few shouts, he stood and removed some of the pressure from the clamp on her clitoris. With a mischievous look towards the crowd, he took the mechanism in one hand and yanked.

The combined feeling of having her clitoris wrenched and the return of circulation to the destroyed area brought Helen back to the situation. Her throat having been ripped raw from the earlier screams, a series of hoarse blats emerged from her mouth. A raised eyebrow to the executioner, and she was shifted back to being vertical. The strange sounds continued as he removed the clamps from her nipples in the same manner.

Having finished, the blacksmith took a deep bow and gave her one final loud smack across the buttocks.

At the final physical humiliation of the “witch”, the audience gazed in lust and amusement. They wanted it to be their hand falling on the girl’s tight behind, their semen covering her face and breasts as if she had just sucked them off, their penises leaving her gaping open like a well-used whore.

There was a disappointed groan as the noose was secured around her neck, the bindings being removed to prevent them from interfering.

“The witch has been cleansed. She will now be hung from the neck until she is dead.”

For the crowd, it was over far too quick. With a passive gesture, the magistrate gave the signal. The executioner pulled the lever that released the trapdoor beneath her feet.

A single jerk from the impact, and Helen’s neck snapped, killing her instantly.


“How did it go, husband?”

The blacksmith suppressed a smile as he slid into bed next to his wife.

“Nothing particularly interesting, just a standard witch killing. Now come here, you little vixen. There’s something I’ve been meaning to try ”

His grin was hidden in the dark of the night as he pressed a large metal object against her bottom.

The End

This entry was posted on Tuesday, February 7th, 2012 at 2:33 am and is filed under BDSM, Bondage, Domination, Punishment, Sex Stories, Spanking, Submission. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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