The Witch must Atone and Burn

[Rupert_137]

10. An unexpected Reunion​

As the cart rumbled further along the cobblestones, the humiliated and tormented young woman found some leisure to look around at the gawking spectators, even as the pain of her terrible burns was still throbbing wildly in her wounds.

There were many onlookers, of course, it was curiosity but there were also fears and worries that drove people. Now, after the end of the terrible war that had dragged on for an entire generation, there was finally hope again for a secure life, for law and order, and for some individual happiness. Suddenly witches were a threat once again, they possibly could destroy everything that people had gained after so much hardship.

This made little sense to Dorothy, after all she posed no real danger, quite the opposite. But people considered her a real danger. In any case they all came to see her: the shoemaker who so delicately lifted her little foot in his hands as he fitted her with a new shoe when she was a child; the seamstress who so carefully took the measurements for her clothes - always a sweet story on her tongue.

Her doctor was among the spectators too; again she felt his warm, stroking hand on her skin when he sat at her bed and encouraged her to have new courage to live despite her fever. Even Dorothy's teacher watched her final walk. How proud she had always been of her student because she understood everything so quickly and spoke such clever words. Only rarely did she have to punish the growing girl with a cane in order to tame her wild character. And the mature woman was even a support for Dorothy in the fight against her evil stepmother, who couldn't stand her.

For a long time, the girl didn't understand why her new mother didn't like her. She tried to do everything well and yet she was reprimanded... Where was her stepmother actually? This crow, the real witch, who would soon have achieved what she had been striving for years and for which she would probably get away with impunity. After her mother's early, tragic death during the long war, her father only married his second wife because she brought the money into the marriage that he urgently needed to rebuild his half-derelict watermill in peacetime. Instead of grain, he wanted to grind wood to make paper.

The water mill on the Beke today, formerly the realm of the paper miller, where the wood from the dense forests was ground and processed into paper​

Hatred bubbled up inside Dorothy. “Where is this witch hiding? She's definitely watching me burn, she won't miss this triumph." Dorothy defiantly stuck out her abused tits once again, which refused to calm down from the throbbing pain caused by the deep burns.

"Look, I'm not ashamed of my breasts as a woman, even if red-hot pliers have ravaged them!" Screaming out the injustice and cheekily displaying her tortured tits brought Dorothy some emotional relief, at least for a moment. And in fact, most of the people around her were frightened for a minute and stopped their cruel curses against the young woman plagued by pain on the cart.

She searched carefully, suddenly she saw a familiar face she hadn't expected here. Yes, she couldn't imagine it was possible. Even her father attended this spectacle. She was convinced he had hidden at home full of grief and sadness.

She had always been his sweet little pigeon... Now his contemptuous look punished her as if she were chained to a wooden board in the circus and he threw one knife after another at his miserable daughter.

He obviously couldn't see the lies of this accusation either, or he didn't want to. It was easier for his soul and his business to condemn her with the pack, to show her his horror and contempt. His daughter had not only become dishonorable in the eyes of the Altenbeken community, she had become a monster, a witch. In doing so, she had brought great shame on her family; she had deeply shaken her father's reputation and his pride, and she had touched him to the core.

Now he was in danger of becoming a despised person in this town; friends and customers were already turning away from him. Even his wife reproached him severely, „Why didn’t you take better care of Dorothy? Why didn't you raise her much more strictly? In your eyes she was a dove, a flower - you didn't want to see that a demon was sleeping inside her..."

From the beginning, the rumor that Dorothy was a witch weighed heavily on her father and the family. But now his own daughter had confessed to all these outrageous things. He was no longer allowed to take her side; on the contrary, he had to condemn her if he at least wanted to save his honor. And best of all, he condemned her publicly.

His anger at his daughter was by no means faked, it came from his soul, it was honest. He would have done anything for Dorothy, but she had betrayed and dishonored him and the family. He couldn't believe that these were all just lies. Her father didn't even want to consider it, because if his innocent daughter was burned, it would have driven him crazy; he had to protect himself.

Now everyone in the city should see that the paper miller Brand had broken with his daughter, who had been seduced by the devil, and he was ready to witness her just punishment. In this way he perhaps regained the trust he had lost among his customers, his friends and the residents of this city.

“So help me, Dad,” she begged him anyway.

"I'm supposed to help you... a witch?" She swallowed, his reaction hurt deep in her soul.

“It seems to me you like standing here naked in front of all these people and feeling the glowing tongs on your flesh,” her father said evilly and meanly. He was angry and that masked his hidden, deep sadness.

“You’re still sticking your tits out cheekily,” he called to her from the side. “Did you think you were going to get away with it? You've been seen, Dorothy!” He looked angry.

“You were seen hanging around my mill naked to have fun with demons. I had to ask the priest to clean the whole mill with incense... You ran through the moor in the moonlight with your bared bouncing breasts and three ravens accompanied you... That has betrayed you, Dorothy... Shame on you!"

The young woman was really ashamed, but for completely different reasons. At the same time, she wondered who had seen her and denounced her with evil accusations. Yes, she had walked through the nearby moor on a warm moonlit night, but without ravens to accompany her and with her breasts covered, simply because of the many mosquitoes in summer... She had also bathed naked in the stream behind the mill. But there were no demons there and she felt unobserved back then. Someone must have followed her...

The moor witch and the witch with a raven, both then and to this day, are popular ideas​

An older woman supported her father. "It's time for the executioner to tear out her naughty boobs with the red-hot pliers so that the witch can finally shed her pride." "No, that's what a breast ripper is for," he thought out loudly. “A powerful claw to punish particularly serious crimes against women.”

Did his daughter deserve this cruel punishment? Every witch deserved it! He became furious.

"I've never seen a woman's tits ripped off... It must be disgusting," a viewer said, visibly shaken. “At high noon she will be burned here in front of our eyes. Isn’t that enough punishment?”

“No, that’s not enough! There are no crimes more serious than fornication with the devil and evil sorcery. I will personally ask the executioner to tear the breasts of this witch who was once my daughter,” her father shouted excitedly, loud enough for Dorothy to hear. The paper miller obviously wanted to garner sympathy and recognition from the audience, no matter what that meant for Dorothy.

Her father was so evil, at that moment he wanted to believe everything that was said about his daughter. Grief and despair had eaten away his heart. "It's outrageous what you've done... It's time for you to really suffer," he called after her. But he suddenly had trouble holding back his tears.

A vicious torture claw designed to tear skin and flesh (above). Used as a breast ripper (cold or red-hot), this tool usually had several pointed iron tines (below)​

Dorothy shuddered and was despaired. Her father had rejected her too, he even demanded that her breasts not only be tortured - that had already happened anyway - no, her lovely boobs should be destroyed. "A witch must be stripped of her femininity so that even the devil will reject her," she thought bitterly.

She wasn't a witch, but she had admitted to being a witch, and that was all that mattered. The condemned woman realized that no one among those who were sensationally and maliciously staring at her from all sides still had a kind eye or a little pity for her. Everyone wanted the executioner to free the town of Altenbeken and the surrounding area from the evil that Dorothy represented as a witch. And everyone wanted to see her suffer or forced to 'repent', as it was euphemistically said.

Then the tower clock struck eleven times. The last hour of her life had begun and she would have preferred to end it immediately.

 

[Rupert_137]

11. In the Pillory​

The final chime of the bell initiated the second act of their public penance. The witch was freed from the post and led from her cart to the pillory at the place of execution. This is how she was presented to the people; with all the traces of the tortures she had suffered in the name of justice. With her head bowed and tears in her eyes, she looked scared and consumed by pain, but she was forced to stand upright. She herself fought to maintain some vestige of honor despite her nakedness, shame and pain, and marked by deep burns.

'Look, I was a beautiful woman, it was you who made me a witch,' she wants to shout, but she has no strength left and remains silent. The audience was expectant but calm.

Dorothy faces the pillory with traces of the torture she suffered​

Her hands were tied behind her back quickly so she couldn't cover herself. Finally, the guards pushed Dorothy further to the pillory. the upper bar opened, she had to bend low and the bar quickly closed behind her neck. Her hands were released, but only to be passed through the hand slots and secured with a rope on the other side again, so that she could no longer pull her hands back.

The forced posture was not only very uncomfortable and stressful; Dorothy immediately felt panic as her neck was trapped between the bars of the pillory and she could barely move. Added to this was the feeling of helplessness and shame as well as the effects of the winter cold.

Her hands and head looked out of the front of the pillory, her body was bent low at waist level, and she had to stick out her bare bottom. Now every spectator was allowed to look at the young witch with the six burns from the executioner's tongs. But it wasn't just her humiliation and physical restrictions. The organizers had come up with something special. Birch branches, hazel and willow branches had been laid out in a high basket. Anyone who felt like it could choose a stick and hit Dorothy across the buttocks with it. This could help to reduce the audience's anger towards the witch a little.

Dorothy locked in the pillory, freezing helplessly, exposed to ridicule and torment, beaten​

What fun it would be if the rod in your hand howled through the air and seconds later hit the witch's ass with a thud. And how exciting the effects would be if you could observe them up close.

The crowd was huge, which the mayor had foreseen. That's why he came up with the idea of improving the city's coffers a little. Anyone who wanted to beat the witch was required to pay an appropriate “caning fee”. This deterred at least teenager and most women from participating in the punishment. Nevertheless, there was a crowd and soon the young woman's beautiful, firm bottom was covered first with red and purple welts, then with black spots.

Many men took the opportunity not only to punish the beautiful witch's butt, but also to look between her legs at the sinful sex. Dorothy wailed and moaned under the weight of the many biting blows, but her bottom moved very erotically and attracted enthusiastic looks. There was special applause and much jeering when someone managed to break the chosen stick on her bottom, or force her to moan particularly intensely.

A selection of sticks for beating Dorothy's ass, cut straight from the forest and fields​

Although some spectators wanted to see how the executioner continued to torture the witch with the red-hot tongs, many of those who did not line up for the beating also took advantage of the opportunity to stare at the woman in the pillory from all sides. Guards made sure people moved along, making room for onlookers who followed. While everyone waited patiently for the next climax, traders and sutlers were able to do a good deal.

Pharmacists offered herbs and healing water for all kinds of ailments, including those that were supposed to protect against the evil sorcery of witches. Vials of extracts, bottles of herbal liqueurs and small bags of dried herbs eagerly changed hands in exchange for coins.

The pliers had spared Dorothy's ass. Bowed low in the pillory, she presented quite attractive looks;
but her bottom wouldn't look so smooth and beautiful for much longer...​

Meanwhile, the people continued to crowd around the witch, who was locked in the pillory. The young woman had something to offer from all sides. From behind you could see how her ass was becoming increasingly covered in welts, and you could also catch a glimpse of her sinful pussy. From the side, her dangling tits were clearly visible, always jiggling as another blow forced the victim to writhe, squirm, and convulse. And from the front you could see Dorothy contorting her face so wonderfully as another wave of pain flooded her body.

The young woman knew what it felt like to be caned because it was a common part of upbringing back then. “Whoever God loves, he chastises,” was the saying and most parents, teachers and educators adhered to this...

But these blows were much more vicious, the rods were longer and tougher, and they were struck with all their might. It was humiliating to be publicly beaten on the bare bottom by neighbors and acquaintances, but these blows were also incredibly intense and painful. Dorothy jumped at the first, unexpectedly hard blow, feeling the touch of the angry hazel rod right up to her unprotected pussy. She arched her back, twitched her thighs, groaned audibly and moved her butt provocatively until the biting pain subsided. Between the blows she also experienced the misery of being naked, freezing in the cold, locked in the pillory, being bowed deeply.

Soon tears were streaming down her face and snot was dripping from her nose when she heard a familiar voice. Even her father looked at his evil daughter humiliated and suffering for her sins and the shame she brought upon the family.

"You deserve to be punished," he said harshly to her face, "accept your pain and shame as penance... But a few strokes of the cane for you as a witch, that's ridiculous"

Despite it he picked up the cane himself and, as a 'special person', he was allowed to make three strokes. He beat his daughter's bottom so hard that the stick broke and had to replace.

The miller finally retreated grimly, but Dorothy smelled that he was drunk. A little later she recognized her father addressing the executioner. That depressed her, that worried her even more.

“I've already suffered indescribably and it will get even worse... Why, daddy, do you want to see me suffer even more?” she thought sadly.

Many people laughed at the spectacle. There was real joy in seeing the beautiful, once respected daughter of a miller being humiliated as a witch, having to suffer unspeakably, being caned with their own and her father’s hand, and soon will be dying in the flames.

The people who were willing to wait and pay unleashed all their anger by beating Dorothy, even though each person was only allowed one blow. Everyone wanted to leave their mark on the witch's ass. Soon her skin split open, blood trickling down to her thighs, which were eventually beaten in search of fresh, undamaged skin. This caused special twitches and prevented Dorothy from becoming apathetic. After suffering her caning, her butt ended up being nothing but raw meat.

A woman's butt after a spanking, Dorothy's ass probably looked much worse​

Finally, the tower clock struck half past twelve; it was time for a change.

 

[Rupert_137]

12. An unusual Agreement​

The judge announced the next round of painful atonement. But first he read out with a solemn gesture the justification for why witches must be burned alive. “You shouldn't let witches live, that's what it says in the Bible... And they truly deserve the most terrible death for their horrible doings. While their sinful flesh slowly burns to ashes, we give them the opportunity to perform intensive penance to pay off the guilt of their serious sins; and with the cleansing fire we may still be able to save their souls.”

Suddenly the man of justice's face broke into an evil smile, then he continued, "And this wicked witch, naughtily sticking out her buttocks, has more to offer that calls for a harsh punishment than her ass cheeks. Let's give her a little taste of what awaits her in the cleansing fire!“

Dorothy didn't voluntarily expose her butt in the pillory and cheekily stick it out, she had to do it! But the people roared when the executioner approached the witch with a burning torch and held the flame up for all to see.

“You will understand that your sinful lap will not go unpunished,” he whispered to the young woman in the pillory. "But first I have to remove hair from your pussy... It's better if you open your legs so that the flame only licks your delicate skin where your curly wool should ignite."

“Oh no, not my pussy, many of the vicious blows have ravaged it.” The executioner shrugged his shoulders, that was just a side effect, a trivial matter, not a serious penance.

As the man pushed the torch between her legs and she felt the burning heat, she instinctively opened her thighs. In doing so, she exposed her wool and her most delicate flesh to the attack of the flames. Her pubic hair immediately ignited like brushwood.

Dorothy's shrieks echoed across the marketplace, she twitched as if possessed, her searing pain and despair indescribable. But the people who stood conveniently and could see what was happening were thrilled. And yet this was just a small foretaste of the pyre.

The executioner carefully singed the curly hair between her legs. Only when her lap was completely hairless, the skin very red and covered in blisters in places, did he withdraw the torch. It was just the start of round three of her penance. There were still three pliers lying ready in the embers ready to bite the young witch in a particularly delicate spot.

Dorothy stared at the pincer mouths and saw them glowing. She quickly realized that these pliers were chosen for her nipples, boobs and pussy.

One of the vicious tools had coarse teeth on the long biting surface, which was called a wolf's mouth. Surely it was destined to tear tender flesh from her body... and the horrible mouth would glow while doing it. “My boobs?” Dorothy shuddered.

Another pair of pliers had a small, narrow mouth for gripping and squeezing; it was easy to guess that her sensitive nipples would suffer from this tool. The third pincer had a wide, flat mouth, suitable for squeezing and biting. It wasn't difficult to guess that her pussy lips were to be tortured with this kind of 'lock mouth'. The torch had already licked her pussy with a greeting from hell, now she would be pushed even deeper into hell.

Pliers that serve well in crafts, but are also suitable for torture​

The executioner went to the front of the pillory to negotiate a deal with Dorothy. Quietly and calmly he said to her, „I have my duty to fulfill and you won't be able to prevent it... If I step between your legs from behind, you will stay calm and leave your thighs open instead of fidgeting. With one clean, powerful pincer bite I'll squeeze and grill your pussy, but after that you're done with it... Agreed?"

"You're squeezing and grilling my pussy... With a clean, powerful bite of red-hot pliers... And my horrible pain?" she replied, shocked.

“Pain is your destiny, witch... Your pussy will be squeezed and grilled either way; “A single, strong bite without tearing at your tender lips is an act of kindness.”

Dorothy realized that she was not perfectly secured in the pillory for being bitten with pliers between her legs ... and she could fight. A second time she wouldn't reflexively open her thighs and expose her pussy to torture. But the executioner had two helpers and somehow they could fix her legs in order to torture her pussy with the glowing jaws of pliers as they pleased. They could even tear her labia, as most of the audience probably wanted to see. She had no real choice, and it was quite clear to her that half an hour later she would burn at the stake anyway.

“Agreed,” she breathed in agreement to an unusual deal between witch and executioner.

The executioner pulled the tongs with the lock jaw out of the embers and approached the young woman trapped in the pillory from behind. He carefully pushed the pliers between her legs and brought the jaws of the pliers close to her pussy. Dorothy could already feel the heat, but she did her part of the agreement; she gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and held still.

He let the witch feel the heat and the fear rising within her for a moment, then he pinched decisively. He grabbed the entire bundle of her pussy lips in his pincer grip and squeezed the scorching mouth tightly together. Carefully, he pulled with the red-hot tool, but without tearing her delicate lips. The executioner also kept his promise.

A vicious attack with red-hot pliers... And she politely opens her thighs...
(of course Dorothy isn't smiling and her bottom already looks badly beaten)​

Dorothy twitched uncontrollably like a wild woman, but now the young witch was allowed to twitch; he had her labia firmly in the grip of his smoking pliers. Just one strong bite, it hissed and steamed - as the executioner had promised, her delicate meat was squeezed and grilled. Moments later he released her tortured pussy from the cruel grip of the pliers.

The pain of the burns was delayed, as always, but it came powerfully and overpowered the young witch. The screams of the tortured were horrific, unbearable to many ears. The executioner let Dorothy scream out her pain and suffering until she calmed down a bit. Two more tongs were still waiting for their delicate tasks in the embers.

“What would come next? How long could she endure this pain?” Dorothy asked herself desperately.

In the meantime, the judge had spoken to the victim's father and man of justice had changed his plans.

“It's supposed to be good here... Take the witch to the pyre!” There was a brief grumbling in the audience. "What about the other pliers?" someone shouted. But the anticipation of what was happening in the raging flames quickly drove away any frustration.

Dorothy felt little relief. The executioner had bitten seven times with his terrible pincers, no part of her tender flesh was spared; only her pert nipples had survived unscathed, although they were still vying for the attention of their tormentors. But that no longer mattered, because now the funeral pyre awaited her.

Dizziness suddenly filled her and her knees went weak. She briefly fell into a relieving faint. But when the young woman slowly came to again, she was immediately enveloped in raging pain, which condensed into a furious storm between her legs and from there spread across her entire body. Her spanked ass, on the other hand, was a small matter, not a serious penance, just some fun for the audience, who were allowed to take part in punishing a young witch.

“Time for the pyre!” the executioner called her back to the cruel reality.

 

[Rupert_137]

III. The Witch must burn

13. Dorothy and the Executioner​

When the tower clock struck a quarter to twelve, Dorothy was freed from the pillory, only to be led to the nearby pyre, where she saw a small, wrought-iron cross enthroned above the pile of wood, not an upright, single post. “This cross will not burn, but it will glow... And chained to this cross the devil won't be able to help you in your need and pain; the Lord's cross will drive out Satan and all demons from your sinful flesh,” one of the torturers said grinning.

joana didn't care; she had not expected the help of the devil and demons. But maybe God would help her in the end. With bitterness she pushed aside the thought - if God wanted to help her, a completely innocent woman, he would have done so long ago.

She was dragged up a narrow ladder onto the small wooden platform, where she was forced to her knees. Joana had to open her thighs wide and was fixed to the cross with her arms raised. Her hands were carefully tied to the iron with chains and cuffs above the crossbeam, and her feet were fixed behind the upright post of the cross with leg irons and chains. Small, short posts ensured that she couldn't close her legs - at least not until the wood she was squatting on had burned. Her naked body remained unbound. She was supposed to writhe in agony in the flames in front of everyone and perform the witch's dance as they called it. This special dance of the convicted witch at the stake was said to be the final proof that she was in league with the devil.

Dorothy, weak-willed and broken, surrendered to her fate; she was discouraged and felt completely eaten away by the pain after the torture she suffered. But she hardly felt any fear anymore. “Let me die quickly in the flames,” she thought – the final fire that was waiting for her almost lost its terror. And yet she looked at the executioner with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t tear my breasts now, like my father may asked,” her looks said.

She avoided people's gaze; Dorothy no longer wanted to watch how the audience enjoyed her suffering, how they viewed a witch burning as an exciting spectacle that captivated them because it was so 'real'.

But suddenly she looked into a face that she immediately recognized from among hundreds. Even from a distance she saw the smug, dishonest smile and the cruel, piercing eyes - her stepmother. Oh no, this devious witch should not see how she had to suffer and die as an innocent daughter. Dorothy was sure, the anonymous accusations came from her. she was the one who followed her to the mill and into the moor in order to make a pack of lies of it...

The destruction of her stepdaughter in the flames was her final triumph. She maliciously accepted all the terrible suffering of this young woman for it. Now she and her son from her first marriage would become the sole heirs. But before they could inherit, someone had to die…

“I have to warn my father,” Dorothy thought. But how could she do that, tied up and displayed on the pyre that would burn soon. And would her father even believe her ... as a condemned witch?

Sheer horror grips Dorothy at the stake​

When the last chime of the tower clock had died away at midday, the judge spoke again. Dorothy's own worries pushed forward, the anxious thoughts of her father faded and the stepmother's face was lost in the crowd.

“At the express request of her father, the paper miller Brand, both of the witch's breasts are to be torn up with a glowing claw before the cleansing flames may burn her sinful body to ashes. This is an appropriate additional punishment because the witch has abominably offered her breasts to the devil and even now she is trying to seduce us with her naughty tits.”

The executioner raised his claw with two vicious hooks which glowed deep red. Actually this pose was intended for the audience but it frightened Dorothy to her core. The young woman shook her head in despair; then screamed out her anger at the betrayal, cruelty and stupidity of her father, about whom she had even just been worried.

“No, that’s wrong, let me die as a woman, don't tear up my breasts!”

Some viewers were impressed by Dorothy's words. Nevertheless, her calls for justice were soon lost in the joyous applause of the audience, which not only looked forward to the spectacle of a particularly cruel witch's penance, but also paid tribute to the father who, instead of showing compassion, demanded further torture for his daughter's particularly heinous crimes.

Breast ripper claws​

“That serves the witch right, tear her proud tits, let them bleed, she should feel the glowing claws in her flesh and deep in her soul,” an old woman shouted. She felt that fate had treated her unfairly; and now, as a witch, Dorothy was to blame for her misfortune.

Using the breast ripper claws was another additional task for the executioner, who had almost done his job. But torturing a young witch for two hours was anything but routine for him, who had come all the way from Paderborn. That's why he once again joined the condemned woman on the cross above the pyre, while the vicious claws of the breast ripper waited in the embers.

The tall man looked down at Dorothy, who was kneeling in front of him with her arms raised.

"It's time to say goodbye to your tits... You heard the judge wants me to rip those naughty boobs off your ribs," he said with obvious discomfort. "It will be an ugly task, but the more you bleed now, the shorter you will suffer in the flames..." He looked into her wide-open eyes, which looked at him pleadingly and betrayed so much fear. He didn't tell Dorothy that the red-hot claws would reduce her bleeding but make her pain all the more horrible.

Why was he talking to her, why was he making this job so difficult for himself? Maybe, because he was so close to her that day for far too long and couldn't see anything witchy about her.

He knew well that it was possible to drive even innocent women into the hands of the witch commissioners and their torturers through malicious accusations. And he knew only too well that anyone could be forced to confess through torture. But he also knew the judgment the prince-bishop in Paderborn had signed. The verdict determined three bites of pliers on the witch's way to the funeral pyre; anything more than that was injustice, ordered by a local judge without any authorization...

Why didn't he just stand up in all his size in front of the pompous village judge in the red coat and told him his opinion in front of the whole people? Injustice remained injustice... But he didn't want any trouble and, in his job, he didn't want to be seen as a man who showed pity for a witch.

As an executioner he was not allowed to show emotion, just as a farmer was not allowed to show pitty for a pig for slaughter. Nevertheless, he bent down to Dorothy and looked into her eyes. Almost carefully, he cupped her freezing breasts with his large hands to warm them, to feel for a short moment what he had to destroy.

"I know you're attached to those tits that once filled you with pride... I'll give you three minutes to say goodbye." Finally, he tore himself away from her gaze, which showed surprise and even a hint of hope. He jumped from the pyre and bent over the claws in the embers.

 

[Rupert_137]

14. The End is near​

Dorothy stared at her breasts. Yes, she loved her boobs. “Why those horrible claws too? Why do my breasts need to be ripped off my chest? Why does my own father want to destroy my lovely boobs? He once was so happy when he saw my breasts growing, although I wanted to hide my tits because they pushed cheekily through my shirt... Haven't I suffered enough until now? Haven't my tits suffered enough from the scorching pliers? No, witch tits have to be ripped apart..."

The time given to say goodbye to her boobs didn't make it any easier for her, on the contrary. The executioner's obvious compassion caused both hope and doubt to grow in her, as well as terrible fear.

Suddenly, an ominous sound from above pulled her attention away from her breasts and directed her towards the sky. The audience fell silent and an oppressive unrest spread among the spectators. A shrill warning call above their heads had startled them all.

The executioner and his servants as well as the people stared at the sky in surprise. Even Dorothy turned her head as high as she could to look up at the sky. The ravens cawing away and fled, but the eagles, the kings of the skies, also fled their territory.

Above them in the sky she made out three large, dark spots that quickly grew even larger. What was that? What birds are greater and mightier than eagles, so that they fly away in fear? “Dragons!” came to her mind, but they only existed in fairy tales and legends. Real dragons couldn't exist, no one had ever seen them.

Many people instinctively sensed that something threatening was coming. The judge in his wine-red coat also looked up at the sky in shock. “My God,” he cried. “Executioner, hurry up, light the pyre!”

But the man under the hood literally froze, hesitantly he threw the glowing claw he had prepared to tear off the witch's tits back into the embers and reached for a torch. With that he hurried towards the pyre when a mighty howl from the sky stopped him. He failed to initiate the final act of execution. Instead of lighting the brushwood that had been laid out, he let the torch fall from his hand, looked at the sky in complete aghast, and ran away. “This is God's judgment,” he shouted to the crowd.

A little later, a huge creature flying across the sky cast its shadow on the market square and the sky darkened. More shadows followed. “Dragons!” someone shouted. “The witch summoned dragons!”

“Dragons!”, “Save yourself if you can!” the people suddenly shouted in unison. Immediately, most of the onlookers ran away screaming from the gruesome spectacle. Stalls were overturned, people pushed aside. Anything that was in the way or anyone who moved too slowly was simply pushed away.

“Go away, go away, the dragons!” they shouted. In a few minutes the market square was nearly empty.

There really were three dragons circling in the sky above the market square. With the short chime of the church tower clock at a quarter past twelve, God's wrath descended on Altenbeken – or was it the devil who came to his servant's aid? Maybe the dragons were actually demons that the witch had summoned? Nobody knew, but everyone was running for their lives.

Dragons above Altenbeken​

Only Eta Dorothea Brand remained inescapably crouched on the cross above the pyre, her thighs humiliatingly opened wide, her hands chained to the iron bars above her head. But no one paid any attention to that now, she had been the center of events for long enough, now she was left alone. Some cursed her as a dragon witch while running away, others saw the Judgment Day, or at least God's punishment, coming upon them.

The sight of the huge dragons above her fascinated the young woman at the stake because she had nothing left to lose. Still tied to the cross, she was condemned to wait. Nevertheless, she suddenly felt freed from fear, pain and torment. She was saved from the flames of the pyre, and also from the vicious, red-hot claws that were supposed to tear her breasts apart. But would these eerie creatures free her and heal her wounds, or would they eat the helpless girl chained to the cross?

Dorothy smiled, even though she didn't know the answer. She would be released from her torment, in both cases.

Abandoned by all spectators – the loneliness of the witch alone at the stake on the pyre​

End of the story


A short epilogue will follow...

 

[thecuriousone]

Will this one come available in pdf? Saves me a lot of work of saving all chapters in a text file.

 

[Rupert_137]

Will this one come available in pdf? Saves me a lot of work of saving all chapters in a text file.

Oh, I hope so... I created this story as a PDF file too.

 

[Rupert_137]

Epilogue​

Where do the dragons suddenly come from? Maybe from the nearby Extern Stones, which have always had a mythical meaning...
And I also found a dragon's cave...

Extern Stones (Externsteine) in the Teutoburg Forest and a dragon's cave
​

Some readers will ask themselves what became of the innocent Dorothy on the cross of the funeral pyre, her angry father, her evil stepmother and also the many onlookers of Altenbeken, what became of the smug judge and his thoughtful executioner. We don't know, because this is not a historical reality, but an Easter fairy tale that began very real against a dark historical background and yet ended fantastically.

In any case, the wrongfully convicted Dorothy was not burned at the stake, but on the other hand, Altenbeken was not burned down by the dragons either, because this place in the Teutoburg Forest still exists today.

But will Dorothy be saved or eaten by the dragons? Who summoned these mythical creatures – God and the angels, herself as a real witch, pure coincidence, or even the devil? What will become of the child the young woman is carrying inside her womb? Will her terrible wounds heal completely? So many questions!

Everyone may have their own thoughts. I just want to add a few nice drawings by SuperFurax (French for super sour) that can inspire our imagination.

What if the dragons are hungry birds and not saviors at all? In the following image it is a giant eagle and not a dragon that spreads new terror... And unfortunately for her, Dorothy is still chained... (here to a stone monument instead of a cross). Whether it's a giant eagle or a dragon, what does it matter if the beasts are hungry?

​

But for comparison, let's look at what should actually have happened – according to the will of the judge and the bishop. We can certainly see that even giant, ravenous birds would be a salvation for Dorothy...

​

Perhaps you will also wonder what would have happened if the fearsome dragons in the sky – perhaps they were just a collective vision triggered by the heavenly wrath, or by the cry for justice finally heard – wouldn't have gotten in the way the judge's command of attacking Dorothy's breasts with red-hot claws…

Another image by SuperFurax for our imagination: So many witch breasts ... not just for torture, also for dreaming!
The 'tools of the devil' – not of justice – were added by me (bottom left):

​

The End

Rupert

P.S. If you would rather have experienced a witch burning instead of a fantastic ending, read one of my other witch stories, or in “Whom the Bell Tolls - the last hours in the life of Jeanne d'Arc”, where I have already described the horrific suffering of the victim and the spectacle for the viewers repeatedly.
So here is a completely different ending.

 

[Rupert_137]

For those who want to read an alternative story / ending
stories with links for quick reference:

My Witch and Heretic Stories, overview

Title ... notes ... ends with…

1) The last Witch of Bamberg (2020)
– the historical victim (1630) - burning a.t.s.
Thread PDF-Story

2) The Witch and the Executioner (2021)
– witch fantasy, historical background - burning a.t.s.
Thread PDF-Story

3) A Witch’s Thoughts and Suffering (2021)
– the perspective of the victim - burning a.t.s
Thread PDF-Story

4) Whom the Bell Tolls (2022)
– Joan of Arc (1431), a historic heroine and Saint - burning a.t.s.
Thread PDF-Story

5) The Witch must Atone and Burn (2024)
– fantastic story, historical background - dragons
Just here!

 

[Rupert_137]

At this point I would like to announce a new story...
No, not another witch story!
But it was the witches' fault...
My chapter on witch pricking with long needles prompted Extr200 to send me a sketch and ask if I could write a story about it.
There was an intensive exchange, a few more drawings for the story...
A story that was revised and expanded several times, into which many ideas from both of us were incorporated...



A Test of Courage (2024)

A story set against the backdrop of a dystrophic and post-apocalyptic world

A collaboration between me, Rupert and Extr200

Coming soon!