Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I always love romantic stories about a young woman's first time!
You made us wait a long time, built anticipation, setup the inevitable...
And now you have delivered!
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The Georgia Peach - A Story of the American Civil War
- Thread starter Fossy
- Start date
You made us wait a long time, built anticipation, setup the inevitable...
And now you have delivered!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thanks for the interaction Messy. Re the 'virgin' question, read on and all will be revealedHum, is she virgin ? If yes, it could be a wonderful thing to lose her virginity ...
For me, she's guilty, otherwise she already was answering to the questions ... But, somewhere, perhaps that she is enjoyed by the future torments ...
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 30 – At the Whipping Post, 8:34am May 12th 1864
Mary, the House-Slave, could watch no longer. Her face buried in her hands as each cry extracted from her beloved Mistress brought about another wrench to her own body.
“Oh Lordy, deliver her from this evil I beg of you,” she beseeched. But a peeked glance from between her fingers told her that wasn’t going to be the case.
General Sherman, Catherine’s Uncle Billy, saw every curve of her body as his Goddaughter writhed and squirmed, her flesh welted and opened before his very eyes.
The first round was over. Had she had enough? Would she tell them what they wanted to know? Most of him hoped so … most, but not all.
With her consciousness barely returned, Catherine hung from the post gasping for breath, the weight from her stricken body shared between her wrists and the point of impalement between her legs. It was sheer agony.
Desperate not to move any more lest she increase the pain, Catherine felt her consciousness slipping away.
Then, through the miasma of twenty-five torment-gilded, scream-laden lashes, Lieutenant Sampson stood from his seat, moved to the post and grabbed her by the hair. Then, twisting her face towards him, he spoke.
“You endured well, Catherine,” he remarked softly, with amusement. “I knew you would, I saw strength in your eyes, the day we arrived.”
Lost in the shame of mortification and pain, she looked away. The Lieutenant continued.
“Tell me ... is the traitorous bushwhacker that you are hiding with your lack of disclosure worth all of this?”
Catherine said nothing … she couldn’t form a single word, even had she had something to say.
“This whipping that you take for his sake will become decidedly more unpleasant,” he continued, letting her head fall so that he could circle around in front of her.
“I cannot even begin to imagine the anguish you felt, being left here all alone while William Quantrill rode away, Catherine ... abandoning you, only to save himself ... leaving you behind, with no more than a bitter, broken promise ...”
She gasped, protesting timidly, “That’s nothing Lieutenant, but a lie! I have no one. There is nothing else …”
“Is it?” he countered. “It might not even matter now. With our Cavalry prowling about in these regions, he might already be dead.”
In sudden grief, she lost all control, weeping madly. “You bastard...”
“If so, you suffer needlessly, Catherine ... you lose nothing by telling me what you know ...”
Through the loose strands of hair hanging over face, she glared at him, scarcely containing the fierceness of her passion ...
“Go fetch your whip and finish me,” and as soon as she said it, Catherine felt her heart gallop wildly, she was convulsing again.
Sampson looked backwards to where the blood specked bullwhip lay on the table, considering it ... as if he might do just that ...
“Tempting,” came his polished reply.
“Are you likewise a coward, Lieutenant?” she seethed with a sneer, goading him. “Do it! Whip me for the disgrace I’ve brought upon your great and noble Union!”
“The measure of your punishment is fixed, Catherine … I will not accelerate it and bring about your oblivion before we are good and ready.”
Hearing Sampson’s smile deepen to a vile, scornful laughter, she writhed angrily, then tensed, gasping, hit by a surge of pain so severe that perspiration once again sprang from her pores ...
The next assault would most surely break her, perhaps even kill her. She hoped for the latter, for then at least she could die without having to tell these animals anything.
Her whipped, open thighs trembled, pressing hard against the timber to which she was secured, and also to that upon which she was speared.
He leaned closer once more and she felt his breath upon her ear as he whispered “I know you are guilty, Catherine McCown.”
Her mind tipped into a void where a welcome haze permeated around her head. The poor girl’s body was already beaten, welted and bleeding beyond what her mind could bear. Her shoulders slumped, her head fell forward, and then ... only blackness.
Chapter 31 – Break Point, The Whipping Post, 8:45am May 12th 1864
Silence reigned. With the whipping stopped and her interrogation becoming unbearable, Catherine let her conscious self simply fade away and with it the immediate memories of the brutal flogging.
Her back was welted, cut and bleeding ... Other parts of her body too. This thug of a soldier had lashed her buttocks and her thighs with as much measure, and pleasure, as he had Catherine’s back.
“Major, if you please …” The General, who despite abhorring the ferocity with which his Goddaughter’s body had been whipped, remained resolute in the need to do so, instructed the surgeon to attend to her.
“Begging your pardon Sir, but might we wake her first?” It was Lieutenant Sampson’s voice, and he clearly did not want to miss out on this treat.
Sherman sighed and nodded, “Yes, yes of course.”
A smile and a nod brought Private Hill forward with a full bucket, water slopping over the top.
“Is it salted soldier?” Sergeant Oak asked. The question raised an audible gasp from the watching crowd, and when the private answered, “Yes Sir,” the gasp turned to an excited babble.
“Then proceed to rouse her.”
Taking up position within a few feet of the unconscious girl, Private Hill threw the entire contents over Catherine’s limp, shackled and impaled body.
She woke with a start, arched away from the post and screamed at the shock. But the cry turned to a writhing groan when she felt the salt begin to bite.
“Was that really necessary Lieutenant?” The General questioned.
“It will help her heal General Sir,” Sampson added with smug intonation, once again putting his diabolical action into a rational context.
Catherine’s extreme reactions had stilled somewhat to a constant mewling as she writhed and squirmed her way through the hellish agony.
Moving to the post, Major Watson placed his fingers under the girl’s chin and lifted her head. He looked into her eyes and nodded. As soon as he took his fingers away, Catherine’s head fell once more onto her chest.
Remaining professional in his duty, he took out his stethoscope and listened to her breathing.
It took but a minute from him to stand clear of Catherine and announce. “She verges on the edge of exhaustion but the girl is fit and healthy enough for the whipping to continue.”
Upon hearing his sanction for the continuance of this horrific spectacle, the level of excited chatter rose again.
The Lieutenant approached the post. His eyes gleamed as he beheld her. In Catherine’s mind they were the eyes of a demon.
“I’m enthused by your tolerance, Miss McCown. You’ve shown an impressive degree of resilience. You withstood a punishment that would have driven the hardiest man to his knees,” he remarked, his features lost in the shadows as he approached her.
“Go. To. Hell.” The lashed girl was able to enunciate weakly, but clearly.
Sampson laughed, “You need to start addressing me with the proper respect girl.”
“You’re already having me whipped,” she snarled, trembling, glancing up at him. “Why should I bother with hollow tokens of respect?”
“Bold wench for a virgin … oops!” came Sergeant Oak’s words loud and clear, to which the soldiers all laughed their mocking mirth at his sarcasm. All except the General that is, for he took this opportunity to take his leave and embark on a walk to clear his head.
Sampson spoke again. “Catherine, you could make this so much easier for yourself.”
“By submitting to your games Lieutenant? By giving you this so-called valuable information.” Her muted laughter was filled with disdain. She paused before releasing yet more vitriol.
“How dare you and your kind inflict such horror on us! How dare you snatch us from our civilized world and submit us to your barbarous way of life!”
The Lieutenant’s face reddened, ablaze with renewed anger. “I grow weary of your insolence, girl, not to mention your plots, your deceptions, your sedition against the Union.” he said, circling to her left. “It is time for us to work on those pretty legs of yours.”
Terror surged in Catherine’s breast as the burly, stern-faced whipmaster reassumed position to her right. She was to be whipped again. In his hand was the next chosen instrument of her torment … a cat’s claw, and of nine tails. Unbeknown to the girl who had previously led such a sheltered life, ‘the cat’ was the worst whip of them all, and it was upon her nubile form that this evil appliance would wreak its havoc.
From its long-studded handle hung nine narrow straps of thick leather. Small knots graced the ends of each, they would quicken the whip’s flight and sharpen its sting.
“Where is he, Catherine?” Sampson’s question came as swiftly and sharply as a knife. She slowly twisted her head to face him, trembling, her head dizzy with the uprush of pounding blood. Pressing her knees tight together, she flexed the muscles of her exposed hips and legs, straining against wood with which she had been so violently raped.
Through heavy breath and parched fatigue, Catherine replied, “I. Do. Not. Know.”
Shaking of his head, The Lieutenant turned to the whipmaster and said, “Show this girl our cure for an ailing memory.”
As the General retook his seat, Sampson issued his next instruction. “Begin.”
To Be Continued ...
Mary, the House-Slave, could watch no longer. Her face buried in her hands as each cry extracted from her beloved Mistress brought about another wrench to her own body.
“Oh Lordy, deliver her from this evil I beg of you,” she beseeched. But a peeked glance from between her fingers told her that wasn’t going to be the case.
General Sherman, Catherine’s Uncle Billy, saw every curve of her body as his Goddaughter writhed and squirmed, her flesh welted and opened before his very eyes.
The first round was over. Had she had enough? Would she tell them what they wanted to know? Most of him hoped so … most, but not all.
With her consciousness barely returned, Catherine hung from the post gasping for breath, the weight from her stricken body shared between her wrists and the point of impalement between her legs. It was sheer agony.
Desperate not to move any more lest she increase the pain, Catherine felt her consciousness slipping away.
Then, through the miasma of twenty-five torment-gilded, scream-laden lashes, Lieutenant Sampson stood from his seat, moved to the post and grabbed her by the hair. Then, twisting her face towards him, he spoke.
“You endured well, Catherine,” he remarked softly, with amusement. “I knew you would, I saw strength in your eyes, the day we arrived.”
Lost in the shame of mortification and pain, she looked away. The Lieutenant continued.
“Tell me ... is the traitorous bushwhacker that you are hiding with your lack of disclosure worth all of this?”
Catherine said nothing … she couldn’t form a single word, even had she had something to say.
“This whipping that you take for his sake will become decidedly more unpleasant,” he continued, letting her head fall so that he could circle around in front of her.
“I cannot even begin to imagine the anguish you felt, being left here all alone while William Quantrill rode away, Catherine ... abandoning you, only to save himself ... leaving you behind, with no more than a bitter, broken promise ...”
She gasped, protesting timidly, “That’s nothing Lieutenant, but a lie! I have no one. There is nothing else …”
“Is it?” he countered. “It might not even matter now. With our Cavalry prowling about in these regions, he might already be dead.”
In sudden grief, she lost all control, weeping madly. “You bastard...”
“If so, you suffer needlessly, Catherine ... you lose nothing by telling me what you know ...”
Through the loose strands of hair hanging over face, she glared at him, scarcely containing the fierceness of her passion ...
“Go fetch your whip and finish me,” and as soon as she said it, Catherine felt her heart gallop wildly, she was convulsing again.
Sampson looked backwards to where the blood specked bullwhip lay on the table, considering it ... as if he might do just that ...
“Tempting,” came his polished reply.
“Are you likewise a coward, Lieutenant?” she seethed with a sneer, goading him. “Do it! Whip me for the disgrace I’ve brought upon your great and noble Union!”
“The measure of your punishment is fixed, Catherine … I will not accelerate it and bring about your oblivion before we are good and ready.”
Hearing Sampson’s smile deepen to a vile, scornful laughter, she writhed angrily, then tensed, gasping, hit by a surge of pain so severe that perspiration once again sprang from her pores ...
The next assault would most surely break her, perhaps even kill her. She hoped for the latter, for then at least she could die without having to tell these animals anything.
Her whipped, open thighs trembled, pressing hard against the timber to which she was secured, and also to that upon which she was speared.
He leaned closer once more and she felt his breath upon her ear as he whispered “I know you are guilty, Catherine McCown.”
Her mind tipped into a void where a welcome haze permeated around her head. The poor girl’s body was already beaten, welted and bleeding beyond what her mind could bear. Her shoulders slumped, her head fell forward, and then ... only blackness.
Chapter 31 – Break Point, The Whipping Post, 8:45am May 12th 1864
Silence reigned. With the whipping stopped and her interrogation becoming unbearable, Catherine let her conscious self simply fade away and with it the immediate memories of the brutal flogging.
Her back was welted, cut and bleeding ... Other parts of her body too. This thug of a soldier had lashed her buttocks and her thighs with as much measure, and pleasure, as he had Catherine’s back.
“Major, if you please …” The General, who despite abhorring the ferocity with which his Goddaughter’s body had been whipped, remained resolute in the need to do so, instructed the surgeon to attend to her.
“Begging your pardon Sir, but might we wake her first?” It was Lieutenant Sampson’s voice, and he clearly did not want to miss out on this treat.
Sherman sighed and nodded, “Yes, yes of course.”
A smile and a nod brought Private Hill forward with a full bucket, water slopping over the top.
“Is it salted soldier?” Sergeant Oak asked. The question raised an audible gasp from the watching crowd, and when the private answered, “Yes Sir,” the gasp turned to an excited babble.
“Then proceed to rouse her.”
Taking up position within a few feet of the unconscious girl, Private Hill threw the entire contents over Catherine’s limp, shackled and impaled body.
She woke with a start, arched away from the post and screamed at the shock. But the cry turned to a writhing groan when she felt the salt begin to bite.
“Was that really necessary Lieutenant?” The General questioned.
“It will help her heal General Sir,” Sampson added with smug intonation, once again putting his diabolical action into a rational context.
Catherine’s extreme reactions had stilled somewhat to a constant mewling as she writhed and squirmed her way through the hellish agony.
Moving to the post, Major Watson placed his fingers under the girl’s chin and lifted her head. He looked into her eyes and nodded. As soon as he took his fingers away, Catherine’s head fell once more onto her chest.
Remaining professional in his duty, he took out his stethoscope and listened to her breathing.
It took but a minute from him to stand clear of Catherine and announce. “She verges on the edge of exhaustion but the girl is fit and healthy enough for the whipping to continue.”
Upon hearing his sanction for the continuance of this horrific spectacle, the level of excited chatter rose again.
The Lieutenant approached the post. His eyes gleamed as he beheld her. In Catherine’s mind they were the eyes of a demon.
“I’m enthused by your tolerance, Miss McCown. You’ve shown an impressive degree of resilience. You withstood a punishment that would have driven the hardiest man to his knees,” he remarked, his features lost in the shadows as he approached her.
“Go. To. Hell.” The lashed girl was able to enunciate weakly, but clearly.
Sampson laughed, “You need to start addressing me with the proper respect girl.”
“You’re already having me whipped,” she snarled, trembling, glancing up at him. “Why should I bother with hollow tokens of respect?”
“Bold wench for a virgin … oops!” came Sergeant Oak’s words loud and clear, to which the soldiers all laughed their mocking mirth at his sarcasm. All except the General that is, for he took this opportunity to take his leave and embark on a walk to clear his head.
Sampson spoke again. “Catherine, you could make this so much easier for yourself.”
“By submitting to your games Lieutenant? By giving you this so-called valuable information.” Her muted laughter was filled with disdain. She paused before releasing yet more vitriol.
“How dare you and your kind inflict such horror on us! How dare you snatch us from our civilized world and submit us to your barbarous way of life!”
The Lieutenant’s face reddened, ablaze with renewed anger. “I grow weary of your insolence, girl, not to mention your plots, your deceptions, your sedition against the Union.” he said, circling to her left. “It is time for us to work on those pretty legs of yours.”
Terror surged in Catherine’s breast as the burly, stern-faced whipmaster reassumed position to her right. She was to be whipped again. In his hand was the next chosen instrument of her torment … a cat’s claw, and of nine tails. Unbeknown to the girl who had previously led such a sheltered life, ‘the cat’ was the worst whip of them all, and it was upon her nubile form that this evil appliance would wreak its havoc.
From its long-studded handle hung nine narrow straps of thick leather. Small knots graced the ends of each, they would quicken the whip’s flight and sharpen its sting.
“Where is he, Catherine?” Sampson’s question came as swiftly and sharply as a knife. She slowly twisted her head to face him, trembling, her head dizzy with the uprush of pounding blood. Pressing her knees tight together, she flexed the muscles of her exposed hips and legs, straining against wood with which she had been so violently raped.
Through heavy breath and parched fatigue, Catherine replied, “I. Do. Not. Know.”
Shaking of his head, The Lieutenant turned to the whipmaster and said, “Show this girl our cure for an ailing memory.”
As the General retook his seat, Sampson issued his next instruction. “Begin.”
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Sorry I'm late to the party. The story is really gathering pace now and, as a godfather myself, Sherman is not covering us with glory, rather shirking his responsibility I think!
“I suspected as much, she was brought up to respect her womanhood …” Sherman responded, “… but that makes no difference to her fitness for what we have planned.”
But, is she really as innocent as she appears?
Brutal, so brutal, the girl suffers unimaginable abuse and they take delight in it. To be violated so by this unyielding, cold phallus, in front of so many people, even her godfather, unimaginable.
And yet she shows spirit. Now they have stripped away her polish, and themselves thrown away all vestige of civilisation, she is able to confront them with their inhumanity.
It won't save her.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Great to have you on board my friend
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Another intense chapter. How much more can one poor girl take?
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
I think we're about to find out PrPr
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
I can't wait to find out what happens next.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 32 – The Cat, 9:05 am May 12th 1864
Shutting her eyes, the movement of her hips only succeeding in swapping one position of discomfort for another, she reached deep within herself for any hidden reserves of tolerance. The sedile was fully buried inside her body, not one inch was in view, but the physical pain point of her impalement had grown numb, and its mental anguish had been cast to the recesses of her mind by greater, more sentient, tortures from the lash itself.
Sleek and sinewy whistles cut the air as without any delay the soldier drew back the whip and let the instrument with many tails loose. Catherine’s head flung itself backwards, her neck twisting, long hair flailing, as the tips of the cat swung hard across her bare, sculpted thighs with a salacious crack,
“AAAARGGGHHHHH!” Her pitiful cry was loud and resounding.
The audience gasped as her body exploded with fresh pain, her skin screaming with agony.
Sampson wanted the information from her, of course he did, but in equal, if not greater measure, he needed to see her grovel, beg, plead and sob ... From his seated position the Lieutenant shouted out his words.
“You have harboured bushwhackers, passed on ciphers and been party to sedition Catherine McCown. Where can William Quantrill can be found … may his soul roast in the pits of Hell for his subversion.”
Hearing the whip come again, Catherine steeled herself against its angry deliverance and cried out once more as the cat struck at her thighs. Her spine arched and her body stiffened, shredding whatever remnants of composure she had left.
“You will now address me as Sir, Miss McCown. Otherwise the lash will not count towards the dozen. Do you understand?” Sampson instructed, standing to move once more to her front.
Silence.
“Catherine. Do. You, Understand?”
“Y … Yes …”
The cat lashed out again … harder, the stroke bringing her already reddened flesh to burning point, her jaws to clench, her lips to tremble.
“Yes ... ‘Sir’,” he smirked.
She lifted her eyes to him with fierce wretchedness.
“Yes, ‘Sir’...” she responded quietly.
The skin of her thighs was already raw and swollen, covered with vicious abrasions. “On your estate we found evidence of your collusion with these outlaws, do you acknowledge that?”
With a quiver in her voice, she answered, high and soft, “Yes … Sir...”
The Lieutenant nodded over her shoulder and the hissing leather was released to once more tug tenaciously at her skin as it laid more lines of fire across the backs of her legs.
“PLEASE NOOOOOOOOOO … ARGHHHH!”
Sampson waited for her to calm a little before speaking again.
“It was your spying that resulted in several of General Sherman’s Army being murdered. Is that true?”
“No, no, no … Sir,” There was even more power behind the next stroke, a flicking of the wrist that caused the lashes to splay and the slap of knotted leather to bite ever deeper. Bloody specks flew into the air.
“Like a common whore you sheltered Quantrill in your house, and gave him food and supplies that would have otherwise benefited our troops.”
“No, no I did not … Sir,”
Once more the long strands of the cat were launched in a sideways stroke so hard that they howled through the air, the vigorous sound immediately followed by an ear-splitting crash. Catherine clenched her teeth against its searing pain, she arched as salty sweat seeped from her pores to mingle with raw skin. But there was no sound left inside her to make.
In panic, she began tugging pointlessly at the shackles, sagging deeper in her bonds as her naked breasts thrust hard against the rough-hewn timber of the post.
“You took the silver regimental buttons from those murdered men as ghoulish souvenirs, didn’t you?”
“Please Sir, I have no … idea wh … where … th … they came from …”
Sherman stood up, his face blazing with a mix of concern, fear, and righteousness, “For the love of God Catherine, tell him what you know and end this shocking torment!”
Catherine turned and, through heavy-lidded eyes, she simply stared into her Godfather’s imploring face.
Another lash wrenched a piercing scream from her lips as the knotted strands stripped her skin. Catherine’s toned thighs began to bleed anew through the violent crisscross patchwork, some a dark pink, most a deep, livid red. A slick layer of sweat swathed her firm, round buttocks and the backs of her legs, her entire body shimmering as though smeared with oil.
“You kept records of coded messages. In short you have built a Rebel intelligence station here at White Orchard, admit to that Miss McCown, and I will end this now.”
In a barely audible whisper she responded, “No … Sir, I have ... not”
The penultimate lashes caused her to scream uncontrollably, the horror witnessed by the watchful crowd amplified as the platform beneath her was peppered with flecks of blood dripping from her feet.
There was little movement from her now. The compounding pain from the multiple floggings had taken their toll on Catherine’s beaten body.
The whipmaster grunted with fatigue each time he swung the menacing lash. So engrossed was he in this wretched task, watching her near-naked body writhe and squirm under his exertions, that his pants sported a huge bulge … what he wouldn’t give to satiate it in place of that wooden thing between her legs.
Smiling, Sampson reached out to brush his fingers against the point where the sedile disappeared into Catherine’s body. Unwittingly she writhed against his ministrations, his tactile fingers caressing her, moving around her hips to touch at the blood streaked whip marks and finally at the tender, lash-streaked skin of her thighs. The poor girl closed her eyes, her trembling body wincing at his touch.
As the Lieutenant nodded, a pleading whimper escaped the girl’s lips. The hard crack on her legs pushed another pathetic cry from her parched throat …
“Where ... is ... he ...?” Sampson asked again, his voice calm, his tone assertive.
Shaking with exhaustion, Catherine collapsed into a fit of deep, convulsive sobs. “I don’t know!” she cried through gritted teeth, before once again, she slipped away into the welcome darkness.
Chapter 33 – Waking Catherine, The Whipping Post, 9:25 am May 12th 1864
Catherine’s body dripped with blood. Her skin was welted and raked, whipped for a second time to the point of losing consciousness. But she had told them nothing, apart from admitting that they had found something that could be construed to resemble ‘evidence’, albeit very circumstantial.
“Lieutenant, should I wake her again?” It was Private Hill ready with another salted water filled bucket.
“Please Massa, please do not do that again, let me …”
The crowd turned to see who was speaking, as the seated officers looked up. Mary, the house-slave, was leaving the side lines and making her audacious way forward towards the whipping post.
“She need water Massa, let me give it to her.”
Sherman nodded “Very well give her the water and rouse her gently.” Did the General think that his concessionary approach did something to make up for the agonising torture he was sanctioning for his Goddaughter?
Mary stood by her Mistress’s head. “Oh, my poor chil’ what’ve they done to you.” She reached out and stroked Catherine’s hair. Slowly but surely the hung girl’s eyes flickered open, and she smiled a weak, heart-breaking smile.
Mary raised the small jug to parched lips and Catherine gasped as she stretched her neck to take water.
“Pl … please … M … Mary …” her words were quiet, weak as Mary leaned in closer.
“What is it chil’?” she asked.
“Get … a … a … a mess … age. To. Him. Pl … please M … Mary.”
The house slave nodded in a barely discernible manner, not wanting anyone to realise they were actually speaking.
“T … tell him to … go … Kentucky … like … w … we said … M … Mary.”
“I will Mistress,” Mary spoke in whisper tears filling her eyes.
“And. Tell. Him I … I am sorry.” Each word was tough going for poor Catherine, whose beaten body was as good as ruined.
Mary poured more water onto her Mistress’s thirsting lips and nodded. No one looked as the inconspicuous slave walked through the crowd without stopping and onward towards the house. As she made her way surreptitiously to the mansion so that she could carry out the instructions she had been given, the slave heard the voracious crowd cheer and she stopped to turn.
“Oh, my poor baby,” Mary whispered, seeing Catherine arch away from the post as another bucket of insidious brine was thrown over her carved flesh once again and her ‘poor baby’ let out an ear-splitting scream!
To Be Continued ...
Shutting her eyes, the movement of her hips only succeeding in swapping one position of discomfort for another, she reached deep within herself for any hidden reserves of tolerance. The sedile was fully buried inside her body, not one inch was in view, but the physical pain point of her impalement had grown numb, and its mental anguish had been cast to the recesses of her mind by greater, more sentient, tortures from the lash itself.
Sleek and sinewy whistles cut the air as without any delay the soldier drew back the whip and let the instrument with many tails loose. Catherine’s head flung itself backwards, her neck twisting, long hair flailing, as the tips of the cat swung hard across her bare, sculpted thighs with a salacious crack,
“AAAARGGGHHHHH!” Her pitiful cry was loud and resounding.
The audience gasped as her body exploded with fresh pain, her skin screaming with agony.
Sampson wanted the information from her, of course he did, but in equal, if not greater measure, he needed to see her grovel, beg, plead and sob ... From his seated position the Lieutenant shouted out his words.
“You have harboured bushwhackers, passed on ciphers and been party to sedition Catherine McCown. Where can William Quantrill can be found … may his soul roast in the pits of Hell for his subversion.”
Hearing the whip come again, Catherine steeled herself against its angry deliverance and cried out once more as the cat struck at her thighs. Her spine arched and her body stiffened, shredding whatever remnants of composure she had left.
“You will now address me as Sir, Miss McCown. Otherwise the lash will not count towards the dozen. Do you understand?” Sampson instructed, standing to move once more to her front.
Silence.
“Catherine. Do. You, Understand?”
“Y … Yes …”
The cat lashed out again … harder, the stroke bringing her already reddened flesh to burning point, her jaws to clench, her lips to tremble.
“Yes ... ‘Sir’,” he smirked.
She lifted her eyes to him with fierce wretchedness.
“Yes, ‘Sir’...” she responded quietly.
The skin of her thighs was already raw and swollen, covered with vicious abrasions. “On your estate we found evidence of your collusion with these outlaws, do you acknowledge that?”
With a quiver in her voice, she answered, high and soft, “Yes … Sir...”
The Lieutenant nodded over her shoulder and the hissing leather was released to once more tug tenaciously at her skin as it laid more lines of fire across the backs of her legs.
“PLEASE NOOOOOOOOOO … ARGHHHH!”
Sampson waited for her to calm a little before speaking again.
“It was your spying that resulted in several of General Sherman’s Army being murdered. Is that true?”
“No, no, no … Sir,” There was even more power behind the next stroke, a flicking of the wrist that caused the lashes to splay and the slap of knotted leather to bite ever deeper. Bloody specks flew into the air.
“Like a common whore you sheltered Quantrill in your house, and gave him food and supplies that would have otherwise benefited our troops.”
“No, no I did not … Sir,”
Once more the long strands of the cat were launched in a sideways stroke so hard that they howled through the air, the vigorous sound immediately followed by an ear-splitting crash. Catherine clenched her teeth against its searing pain, she arched as salty sweat seeped from her pores to mingle with raw skin. But there was no sound left inside her to make.
In panic, she began tugging pointlessly at the shackles, sagging deeper in her bonds as her naked breasts thrust hard against the rough-hewn timber of the post.
“You took the silver regimental buttons from those murdered men as ghoulish souvenirs, didn’t you?”
“Please Sir, I have no … idea wh … where … th … they came from …”
Sherman stood up, his face blazing with a mix of concern, fear, and righteousness, “For the love of God Catherine, tell him what you know and end this shocking torment!”
Catherine turned and, through heavy-lidded eyes, she simply stared into her Godfather’s imploring face.
Another lash wrenched a piercing scream from her lips as the knotted strands stripped her skin. Catherine’s toned thighs began to bleed anew through the violent crisscross patchwork, some a dark pink, most a deep, livid red. A slick layer of sweat swathed her firm, round buttocks and the backs of her legs, her entire body shimmering as though smeared with oil.
“You kept records of coded messages. In short you have built a Rebel intelligence station here at White Orchard, admit to that Miss McCown, and I will end this now.”
In a barely audible whisper she responded, “No … Sir, I have ... not”
The penultimate lashes caused her to scream uncontrollably, the horror witnessed by the watchful crowd amplified as the platform beneath her was peppered with flecks of blood dripping from her feet.
There was little movement from her now. The compounding pain from the multiple floggings had taken their toll on Catherine’s beaten body.
The whipmaster grunted with fatigue each time he swung the menacing lash. So engrossed was he in this wretched task, watching her near-naked body writhe and squirm under his exertions, that his pants sported a huge bulge … what he wouldn’t give to satiate it in place of that wooden thing between her legs.
Smiling, Sampson reached out to brush his fingers against the point where the sedile disappeared into Catherine’s body. Unwittingly she writhed against his ministrations, his tactile fingers caressing her, moving around her hips to touch at the blood streaked whip marks and finally at the tender, lash-streaked skin of her thighs. The poor girl closed her eyes, her trembling body wincing at his touch.
As the Lieutenant nodded, a pleading whimper escaped the girl’s lips. The hard crack on her legs pushed another pathetic cry from her parched throat …
“Where ... is ... he ...?” Sampson asked again, his voice calm, his tone assertive.
Shaking with exhaustion, Catherine collapsed into a fit of deep, convulsive sobs. “I don’t know!” she cried through gritted teeth, before once again, she slipped away into the welcome darkness.
Chapter 33 – Waking Catherine, The Whipping Post, 9:25 am May 12th 1864
Catherine’s body dripped with blood. Her skin was welted and raked, whipped for a second time to the point of losing consciousness. But she had told them nothing, apart from admitting that they had found something that could be construed to resemble ‘evidence’, albeit very circumstantial.
“Lieutenant, should I wake her again?” It was Private Hill ready with another salted water filled bucket.
“Please Massa, please do not do that again, let me …”
The crowd turned to see who was speaking, as the seated officers looked up. Mary, the house-slave, was leaving the side lines and making her audacious way forward towards the whipping post.
“She need water Massa, let me give it to her.”
Sherman nodded “Very well give her the water and rouse her gently.” Did the General think that his concessionary approach did something to make up for the agonising torture he was sanctioning for his Goddaughter?
Mary stood by her Mistress’s head. “Oh, my poor chil’ what’ve they done to you.” She reached out and stroked Catherine’s hair. Slowly but surely the hung girl’s eyes flickered open, and she smiled a weak, heart-breaking smile.
Mary raised the small jug to parched lips and Catherine gasped as she stretched her neck to take water.
“Pl … please … M … Mary …” her words were quiet, weak as Mary leaned in closer.
“What is it chil’?” she asked.
“Get … a … a … a mess … age. To. Him. Pl … please M … Mary.”
The house slave nodded in a barely discernible manner, not wanting anyone to realise they were actually speaking.
“T … tell him to … go … Kentucky … like … w … we said … M … Mary.”
“I will Mistress,” Mary spoke in whisper tears filling her eyes.
“And. Tell. Him I … I am sorry.” Each word was tough going for poor Catherine, whose beaten body was as good as ruined.
Mary poured more water onto her Mistress’s thirsting lips and nodded. No one looked as the inconspicuous slave walked through the crowd without stopping and onward towards the house. As she made her way surreptitiously to the mansion so that she could carry out the instructions she had been given, the slave heard the voracious crowd cheer and she stopped to turn.
“Oh, my poor baby,” Mary whispered, seeing Catherine arch away from the post as another bucket of insidious brine was thrown over her carved flesh once again and her ‘poor baby’ let out an ear-splitting scream!
To Be Continued ...
Attachments
Jackie1111
Tribune
Ah yes, that moment when you finally give in and give them what they want. A scream that shoots across the sky....a cry out to the gods.
Fossy, this whipping scene is so beautifully done. There are so many delightful little details to relish, and the pacing is exquisite. In my head, I am very much enjoying myself in the role of Catherine.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Thank you my friend for those very kind words. I hope you enjoy tomorrow's 'experience' just as much ...Ah yes, that moment when you finally give in and give them what they want. A scream that shoots across the sky....a cry out to the gods.
Fossy, this whipping scene is so beautifully done. There are so many delightful little details to relish, and the pacing is exquisite. In my head, I am very much enjoying myself in the role of Catherine.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Chapter 34 – A Turn for the Worse, The Whipping Post, 9:37 am May 12th 1864
“I cannot sanction further punishment. The girl is exhausted and her flesh is so badly marked that her internal organs will begin to close down if she receives more of this onto the same parts of her body.”
Catherine hung lifelessly in the surrounding silence as the Major declared his findings.
General Sherman, in his everyday life, was a family man, neighbourly, pastoral and well liked. But Sherman the military leader was ruthless, single-minded and focused on outcomes. It was the latter that now came to the fore.
“Then we will turn the girl round Major. She can now face the whip, maybe then we will hear the truth.”
Even Lieutenant Sampson could not believe what he had just heard. Had the General really ordered them to turn the bitch’s position so that the front of her body would face the lash? Her breasts, nipples, cunt …
“Could you pass her fit for that, Major?”
Even the Surgeon was flummoxed. He hadn’t expected that from his commanding officer. “Well, yes, I suppose …”
“Then that is how we will proceed. Lieutenant see to it please. I will be at the house. You will come and find me when there is something more to report. Is that clear?”
“Yes General, Sir!” Sampson’s ardour had been refuelled. This was beyond anything he had dreamed. He, along with the attentive throng, watched as Sherman, puffing on a newly lit cigar, made his way back to the main house …
Catherine had heard the exchange, and, summoning her last vestiges of strength, she raised her head, twisted her neck, and yelled as loud as was possible from her gasping throat.
“That’s right Uncle Billy, you walk away. I dare you to stay and watch them whip me again! If my mama could see you now, she would slap your face General ...” Saying all of that took the strength from her, but her words and their vitriolic tone pierced Sherman’s heart. In his mind he saw Catherine as a younger girl, running wild and free, laughing and yelling with glee … He continued walking. He didn’t look back.
If the shackled girl had thought that her situation couldn’t become anymore grim, then she had been wrong. But the pervading thoughts that infiltrated her mind were about Mary. She was at the house preparing to leave and get a message to William. If she was found she would be summarily executed. ‘Oh God, oh no please do not let that happen’ … Catherine uttered these words under what little breath she had left.
“You heard the Gen’l, get her turned around … and you Private Hill, fetch animal fat from the food store, we’re gonna need it.”
The shackled girl could not see as two burly soldiers came up behind her and each took hold of a shapely, albeit cut and bleeding, thigh.
Catherine cried out as they manhandled her without care or thought, lifting her … dragging her poor body from the sedile, revealing its once clean and smooth surface to be covered with the blood of her maidenhead.
The crowd gasped and several of the female slaves stumbled as their knees weakened at the savage sight.
“Oh Lordy,” Mercy’s Mother declared quietly, having just arrived on the scene, leaving her beaten daughter laying on the lowly cot in their hut.
Catherine had no strength left and as the soldiers released their hold on her she simply hung lifeless from the shackles, powerless and unresponsive, an exhausted specimen of tarnished beauty.
But she was not left alone for long, for just a minute or two later, through glazed eyes, she watched the soldiers smearing the sedile with animal fat, and even in her miasmic state, she knew exactly why they were doing that.
These bastards had taken her mouth, and her sex and they now intended to impale her by the bottom. If she had any substance left inside her body, she would have been sick.
“Careful now, make sure she feels it deeply.” The Lieutenant was enjoying himself. When the girl had been turned, the front of her glorious body appeared virtually blemish free, save for the occasional extended welt where the whips had fastened themselves to her limbs and torso in a serpentine like manner. She looked stunning, naked in shackles, long hair wild and sweat soaked, head bowed low on her chest.
Then she howled like never before. A loud feral cry that signified the violation of the third entrance to her body.
Once more, a reverent silence reigned over the scene as Catherine was lowered and left freely to hang, making sure the final inch or two of the blood covered sedile disappeared into her anal passage.
Chapter 35 – All he ever wanted, The Whipping Post, 9:56 am May 12th 1864
The young Tom Shepherd’s mother had been taken from him, dying in her sick bed two years previous. At fifteen years old, his father was young Tom’s only parent, putting a minimal amount of food on the table, whenever he was sober that was. When he was drunk the only attention the boy received was from his father’s fist.
They existed in a rundown shack, and the neighbours spoke openly about the “White Trash” that lived nearby. He hated his father and missed his mama.
It was just one year later, in the year of our Lord 1852, that young Shepherd ran away and took up a stable boy’s job at White Orchard. He was either going to turn into a man like his father was, or one that was the benevolent antithesis of what that bastard had become. Unfortunately for the slaves it was the former. When Shepherd was appointed Overseer at White Orchard, he made their life a living hell!
Yet despite having the new found outlet for his anger and depravity, he remained envious. Resentful of the family life that the McCown’s had. The handsome father, a military stalwart, his pretty, attentive wife and, despite her fledgling beauty, the little bitch of a daughter.
So, when the whipmaster, the topless soldier that had wielded the lash thus far, declared his shoulder to be stiff following the administration of the second round of lashes, it was without hesitation that Shepherd made known to the Lieutenant his desire to take over the duties.
“You know how to wield this Mister Shepherd?” Sampson had asked.
“Mister Shepherd?” The Lieutenant had to repeat himself due the fact that the overseer was distracted by the stimulating sight of his so-called ‘little bitch’, naked, shackled and impaled. He could hardly believe that he now had the opportunity to add to her suffering. It made his groin stiffen. Would he get the chance to fuck her as well?
“What? Oh yeah, ‘course I do Lieutenant, me an’ the whip, we’re like hand ‘n’ glove if y’know what I mean.”
Nodding, Sampson made his way to the post while Shepherd stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves ready to do his duty.
Chapter 36 – The Flogging Continues, The Whipping Post, 10:10 am May 12th 1864
“Wait!” Wearily Catherine raised her head and looked forward at the point in front where the Lieutenant and the brute of an overseer stood. It was Sampson’s voice she had heard.
“Chain her ankles … behind the post …”
There was a gasp from the crowd. The implications of the new position ordered by the junior officer were only too obvious, and the poor girl who would be the recipient of this additional agony, groaned. With her legs pulled back behind the post her body weight would be thrust forward which would make her breasts and sex a more potent target for the whip, in addition to which she would be pulling away from her impalement on the wood causing more extreme discomfort.
“Our Father, thou who art in heaven …” as the soldiers approached the post they heard the beaten girl whispering the Lord’s Prayer.
“Thy name be hallowed … Nghhhhh!” Her ankles were gripped and pulled.
“… through all time … pl … please … no …”
“Oh God … on earth as in thy realms … ohhhhhh nooo that’s too … realms sublime …”
The words of her Christian imploration were interspersed with the audible manifestation of her agony as Catherine’s slender legs were secured as ordered, feet firmly pulled back behind the post.
“Good. Now Mister Shepherd she is all yours …”
The overseer smashed the bullwhip, his preferred whip of choice, on the rutted, dusty ground …
“… once I have spoken with Miss McCown.” The Lieutenant slowly approached the post where the poor girl hung in the chains and shackles. He couldn’t take his eyes from her body, pristine almost, from this view …
“Again Catherine, I ask you, I implore you. Do you have anything to say to me?”
Catherine paused and slowly looked up at Sampson through the matted covering of her long dark hair, and she nodded.
“Good girl, stand down Mister Shepherd, let the girl whisper her informative words to me.” The Lieutenant bent so that his face was near to hers.
No further words were forthcoming and as Sampson looked directly at her, from somewhere Catherine found the strength and spat once again into his face.
The calmness of Lieutenant Sampson’s reaction was perhaps the most concerning thing, because it was clear that the stupid girl had just signed her own death papers. Taking out his ‘kerchief to wipe the spittle from his cheek, he turned back to face the overseer.
“Begin Mister Shepherd and do not spare the whip one little bit!”
To Be Continued ... (Tomorrow will see the penultimate episode posted)
“I cannot sanction further punishment. The girl is exhausted and her flesh is so badly marked that her internal organs will begin to close down if she receives more of this onto the same parts of her body.”
Catherine hung lifelessly in the surrounding silence as the Major declared his findings.
General Sherman, in his everyday life, was a family man, neighbourly, pastoral and well liked. But Sherman the military leader was ruthless, single-minded and focused on outcomes. It was the latter that now came to the fore.
“Then we will turn the girl round Major. She can now face the whip, maybe then we will hear the truth.”
Even Lieutenant Sampson could not believe what he had just heard. Had the General really ordered them to turn the bitch’s position so that the front of her body would face the lash? Her breasts, nipples, cunt …
“Could you pass her fit for that, Major?”
Even the Surgeon was flummoxed. He hadn’t expected that from his commanding officer. “Well, yes, I suppose …”
“Then that is how we will proceed. Lieutenant see to it please. I will be at the house. You will come and find me when there is something more to report. Is that clear?”
“Yes General, Sir!” Sampson’s ardour had been refuelled. This was beyond anything he had dreamed. He, along with the attentive throng, watched as Sherman, puffing on a newly lit cigar, made his way back to the main house …
Catherine had heard the exchange, and, summoning her last vestiges of strength, she raised her head, twisted her neck, and yelled as loud as was possible from her gasping throat.
“That’s right Uncle Billy, you walk away. I dare you to stay and watch them whip me again! If my mama could see you now, she would slap your face General ...” Saying all of that took the strength from her, but her words and their vitriolic tone pierced Sherman’s heart. In his mind he saw Catherine as a younger girl, running wild and free, laughing and yelling with glee … He continued walking. He didn’t look back.
If the shackled girl had thought that her situation couldn’t become anymore grim, then she had been wrong. But the pervading thoughts that infiltrated her mind were about Mary. She was at the house preparing to leave and get a message to William. If she was found she would be summarily executed. ‘Oh God, oh no please do not let that happen’ … Catherine uttered these words under what little breath she had left.
“You heard the Gen’l, get her turned around … and you Private Hill, fetch animal fat from the food store, we’re gonna need it.”
The shackled girl could not see as two burly soldiers came up behind her and each took hold of a shapely, albeit cut and bleeding, thigh.
Catherine cried out as they manhandled her without care or thought, lifting her … dragging her poor body from the sedile, revealing its once clean and smooth surface to be covered with the blood of her maidenhead.
The crowd gasped and several of the female slaves stumbled as their knees weakened at the savage sight.
“Oh Lordy,” Mercy’s Mother declared quietly, having just arrived on the scene, leaving her beaten daughter laying on the lowly cot in their hut.
Catherine had no strength left and as the soldiers released their hold on her she simply hung lifeless from the shackles, powerless and unresponsive, an exhausted specimen of tarnished beauty.
But she was not left alone for long, for just a minute or two later, through glazed eyes, she watched the soldiers smearing the sedile with animal fat, and even in her miasmic state, she knew exactly why they were doing that.
These bastards had taken her mouth, and her sex and they now intended to impale her by the bottom. If she had any substance left inside her body, she would have been sick.
“Careful now, make sure she feels it deeply.” The Lieutenant was enjoying himself. When the girl had been turned, the front of her glorious body appeared virtually blemish free, save for the occasional extended welt where the whips had fastened themselves to her limbs and torso in a serpentine like manner. She looked stunning, naked in shackles, long hair wild and sweat soaked, head bowed low on her chest.
Then she howled like never before. A loud feral cry that signified the violation of the third entrance to her body.
Once more, a reverent silence reigned over the scene as Catherine was lowered and left freely to hang, making sure the final inch or two of the blood covered sedile disappeared into her anal passage.
Chapter 35 – All he ever wanted, The Whipping Post, 9:56 am May 12th 1864
The young Tom Shepherd’s mother had been taken from him, dying in her sick bed two years previous. At fifteen years old, his father was young Tom’s only parent, putting a minimal amount of food on the table, whenever he was sober that was. When he was drunk the only attention the boy received was from his father’s fist.
They existed in a rundown shack, and the neighbours spoke openly about the “White Trash” that lived nearby. He hated his father and missed his mama.
It was just one year later, in the year of our Lord 1852, that young Shepherd ran away and took up a stable boy’s job at White Orchard. He was either going to turn into a man like his father was, or one that was the benevolent antithesis of what that bastard had become. Unfortunately for the slaves it was the former. When Shepherd was appointed Overseer at White Orchard, he made their life a living hell!
Yet despite having the new found outlet for his anger and depravity, he remained envious. Resentful of the family life that the McCown’s had. The handsome father, a military stalwart, his pretty, attentive wife and, despite her fledgling beauty, the little bitch of a daughter.
So, when the whipmaster, the topless soldier that had wielded the lash thus far, declared his shoulder to be stiff following the administration of the second round of lashes, it was without hesitation that Shepherd made known to the Lieutenant his desire to take over the duties.
“You know how to wield this Mister Shepherd?” Sampson had asked.
“Mister Shepherd?” The Lieutenant had to repeat himself due the fact that the overseer was distracted by the stimulating sight of his so-called ‘little bitch’, naked, shackled and impaled. He could hardly believe that he now had the opportunity to add to her suffering. It made his groin stiffen. Would he get the chance to fuck her as well?
“What? Oh yeah, ‘course I do Lieutenant, me an’ the whip, we’re like hand ‘n’ glove if y’know what I mean.”
Nodding, Sampson made his way to the post while Shepherd stripped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves ready to do his duty.
Chapter 36 – The Flogging Continues, The Whipping Post, 10:10 am May 12th 1864
“Wait!” Wearily Catherine raised her head and looked forward at the point in front where the Lieutenant and the brute of an overseer stood. It was Sampson’s voice she had heard.
“Chain her ankles … behind the post …”
There was a gasp from the crowd. The implications of the new position ordered by the junior officer were only too obvious, and the poor girl who would be the recipient of this additional agony, groaned. With her legs pulled back behind the post her body weight would be thrust forward which would make her breasts and sex a more potent target for the whip, in addition to which she would be pulling away from her impalement on the wood causing more extreme discomfort.
“Our Father, thou who art in heaven …” as the soldiers approached the post they heard the beaten girl whispering the Lord’s Prayer.
“Thy name be hallowed … Nghhhhh!” Her ankles were gripped and pulled.
“… through all time … pl … please … no …”
“Oh God … on earth as in thy realms … ohhhhhh nooo that’s too … realms sublime …”
The words of her Christian imploration were interspersed with the audible manifestation of her agony as Catherine’s slender legs were secured as ordered, feet firmly pulled back behind the post.
“Good. Now Mister Shepherd she is all yours …”
The overseer smashed the bullwhip, his preferred whip of choice, on the rutted, dusty ground …
“… once I have spoken with Miss McCown.” The Lieutenant slowly approached the post where the poor girl hung in the chains and shackles. He couldn’t take his eyes from her body, pristine almost, from this view …
“Again Catherine, I ask you, I implore you. Do you have anything to say to me?”
Catherine paused and slowly looked up at Sampson through the matted covering of her long dark hair, and she nodded.
“Good girl, stand down Mister Shepherd, let the girl whisper her informative words to me.” The Lieutenant bent so that his face was near to hers.
No further words were forthcoming and as Sampson looked directly at her, from somewhere Catherine found the strength and spat once again into his face.
The calmness of Lieutenant Sampson’s reaction was perhaps the most concerning thing, because it was clear that the stupid girl had just signed her own death papers. Taking out his ‘kerchief to wipe the spittle from his cheek, he turned back to face the overseer.
“Begin Mister Shepherd and do not spare the whip one little bit!”
To Be Continued ... (Tomorrow will see the penultimate episode posted)
