A Colonial Trial

[SoftGameHunter]

Teaser: What starts as a simple witchcraft, theft, and adultery trial in colonial New England soon spirals downward. The men in charge show no limits in their depraved quest to uncover the truth and hide their own lies, with a growing cast of women taking the brunt of the injustice.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
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Index:

• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3

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Title: A Colonial Trial, a depraved tale in nine chapters
Author: SoftGameHunter

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A Colonial Trial

Chapter 1

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 accused 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.”

“Defense?”

“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.

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 2

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. Youth that were 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. “A 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 young heckler. 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 family women 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 unlock 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.

[Shocker]

Excellent story, but I almost wish it had ended with the first chapter, leaving a big if mystery about the whole affair.

[SoftGameHunter]

Chapter 3

“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 of them, brimming with virility and impetuousness, 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 lads 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 rye 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!”

[SoftGameHunter]

Excellent story, but I almost wish it had ended with the first chapter, leaving a big if mystery about the whole affair.

Sorry, but this one has lots of detail. Probably more than is warranted, but I'm leaving it as is from when I first wrote it.