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Barb goes BATS

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“Can’t. Besides, hangings done properly require French Premium ropes and nooses, and they’d have to be ordered and shipped here, which takes time. Nope … simply can’t be done!”

“We’ll, for one, it’s not in my contract, which calls for a witch burning involving pyres of Arkansas pine and posts of French Premium Wood.”
Here I completely agree, girls deserve only the best
 
Before us the flames roared and crackled ravenously as they devoured the stately old tinderbox of a building.
I seem to have fallen behind in this story again. Weren't we all supposed to be burning witches?

Meanwhile the crowd continued to grow. Lord @Wragg and the other Magistrates had appeared as well, and could be seen wading in a phalanx like formation through the gathering throng, headed in our general direction.
A phalanx! Always good to go in formation. Very impressive.

“Are there any victims?” wondered Jollyrei, the flames reflecting a certain ghoulish glimmer in his eyes.
Just asking. No reason really.

“T’was Barbara Moore with the candles in the altar girl’s quarters!” proclaimed Martinet, pointing directly at me.
Can I be Colonel Mustard?

“There’ll be a need for caskets after all,” observed Jollyrei, rubbing both hands together.
I always seem to focus right in on the important points of the story.

“If even old stuffy Lord Wragg can rhyme, we’ll have everyone doing it in time,” chuckled Montycrusto.
Don't count on it.
 
18.

And so dear readers, that brings us full circle to where my narrative began with the lines: “To the town square I resignedly trudge, flanked at both sides by my brawny bare-chested executioners. Up ahead a sizable crowd has gathered. And high over the square a cloth banner flutters in the breeze. Emblazoned on it are the words: ‘Witch Burning Today’.”

But I am not alone. As everyone knows by now, there are not one but six witches condemned to publicly suffer and die on this festive semi-annual occasion.

The previous night’s impasse between Lord @Wragg and the town Magistrates, on the one hand, and an impassioned and unruly crowd infuriated by what they believed to be a satanically inspired burning of the town Vicarage, on the other, had been resolved. We girls were not to be summarily hanged before the still burning vicarage as the crowd had demanded. This was so because the inflamed passions of the crowd had been appeased by the promise that we would be publicly flogged in addition to and prior to the customary burning at the stake.

Not only that, but Lord Wragg had managed to convince the crowd that the flogging and burning should take place on the morrow as originally planned rather than in the dead of night … a decision reinforced by the fact that the town’s hired executioner, @thehangingtree, said he needed time to prepare six pyres and posts on the town square, as well as by the fact that @Harsh Martinet said he had a brilliantly entertaining plan for the floggings, but like Mr. Tree, needed time to set things up properly.

And so, the crowd was encouraged to return to their homes and get some rest before reassembling in the town center in the morning. With everything thus settled peaceably, we six witches were left sitting on the lawn before the still burning vicarage until morning.

There we had the privilege of witnessing the entire structure give way and cave in on itself under an astoundingly impressive spiraling cloud of sparks, dust and soot.

And it was at precisely that moment, the good Vicar, @Praefectus Praetorio, broke free of the spiritual stupor into which he had descended, declaring with eyes raised reverently to the heavens, “Praise Him from whom all blessings flow!” … before openly draining the last from the flask of spirits he kept hidden in his clerical robes. The Vicar we all knew was back!

@Kathy had meanwhile begun to muse about exactly what special kind of flogging Martinet might be planning … which prompted an excited back and forth about the possibilities between her, @messaline, @fat slave girl and @Jackie1111 … a conversation that neither I nor @Eulalia joined, as well as a conversation that convinced me once and for all that the four of them really were either witches or crazy, and definitely deserved to be burned at the stake.

I too was preoccupied, but my preoccupation was with trying to come up with a way to extricate myself from this mess so that I could live to tell the story. I had no intention of dying in a auto-da-fé style flame out.

And as for Eulalia, she seemed fixated on something very different and rather odd … reciting by memory excerpts from Robert Kirk’s occult writings on faeries and witchcraft. In this she seemed amazingly learned and I began to believe that she was quite capable of bringing a terrible curse down on the entire town.

Well, as we neared the town square, the question of what kind of spectacle Martinet had in mind for our flogging became quite apparent. For parked on the side of the lane, just off the square, were three carts, drawn by real live horses. And affixed to each cart was a wooden horse. Each of these wooden horses sported two upright phallic-like posts protruding from their crossbeam bodies, not too far from one another. And overhead was a horizontal bar from which dangled two pairs of chains and cuffs.

There was no mistaking the way this thing was intended to work. They were going to mount us on those horses, two to a horse, facing one another, arms raised overhead and impaled on those awfully big-looking phallic-like posts. And off to one side, a select throng of townsfolk, mostly men but women too, stood ready and eager, clutching whips of every imaginable size and description. And a pathway circling the town square had already been roped off, with throngs crowded all around its perimeter.

Indeed, a festive atmosphere had taken over the entire center of Cruxton town. From the overhead banner proclaiming ‘Witch Burning Today’, to the venders selling refreshments and souvenir trinkets, to the pickpockets, clowns, soothsayers, and the surging mob of thrill seekers and curious, this was a scene to behold.

And, at the very center of the square, ready and waiting were six pyres of Arkansas pine carefully laid around the bases of six tall posts of French Premium Wood. A placard affixed to the top of each recorded the name of the condemned who would suffer a fiery death there. From left to right the placards read Jackie, Kathy, Messaline, FSG, Eulalia and Barb.

Standing off to one side with a studied air of practiced indifference about him, but incongruously noticeable due to the odd-looking yellow hat perched atop his head, was the hired executioner. Preparations completed, he knew it was but a matter of time.

But, first there was the promised flogging and, eager to get started, Martinet and @Loxuru ordered that we be mounted on the wooden horses. To the first went Kathy and Messaline, giggling and pointing like a couple of schoolgirls at the size of the phalluses they were to impale themselves on.

“Perhaps it will vibrate?” said Kathy, eyes wide.

“Perhaps it’s made of French Premium Wood,” replied Messaline.

Neither required any assistance taking their appointed places.

Much to the delight of the crowd, Jackie decided to do a spirited little prance and dance around the cart and horse she was to share with FSG before strong hands swept her up and placed her on it.

Not to be outdone, FSG bent over to moon the crowd before she too was roughly mounted.

Eulalia and I were destined for the third cart. She seemed resigned, perhaps she too was eager. But unlike the others, submissively eager, as in the way that working girls willingly submit to the punishments ordered by their masters. Witch or not, she clearly had a slave mentality.

I, on the other hand, had no intention of being willingly mounted and phallically impaled on one of Martinet’s wooden horses, and intended to take evasive action.


TBC
 
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I, on the other hand, had no intention of being willingly mounted and phallically impaled on one of Martinet’s wooden horses, and intended to take evasive action.

TBC
Oh yes! Resist, dissent, raise your fist and shake those tits. :ole:
 
“Praise Him from whom all blessings flow!” … before openly draining the last from the flask of spirits he kept hidden in his clerical robes. The Vicar we all knew was back!
A pious man of true faith - able to rise above the horror of the end of his beloved vicarage and, with slight fortification from the spirits, able to Praise the Lord for his blessings!
definitely deserved to be burned at the stake.
A split among the united condemned? A bit of a cat fight coming. What happened to sisters standing (or burning) together?
the question of what kind of spectacle Martinet had in mind for our flogging became quite apparent
My respect for his mind just went way up!

Looking forward to the flogging!
 
@Kathy had meanwhile begun to muse about exactly what special kind of flogging Martinet might be planning … which prompted an excited back and forth about the possibilities between her, @messaline, @fat slave girl and @Jackie1111 … a conversation that neither I nor @Eulalia joined, as well as a conversation that convinced me once and for all that the four of them really were either witches or crazy, and definitely deserved to be burned at the stake.
I propose to sprinkle their bodies with oil after they are tied to the poles ...!!!
 
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