The Witchfinder

[PhoenixPrime]

Thomas Larch:

"No ye fools. Not on the table. 'Twill deny Master Metcalf access to her back and arse.
"Let me do it so it's done properly."

Gripping her arms I lifted her bodlily from the table and carried her to the manacles dangling from the ceiling.

One arm at a time was placed into the manacle and it was closed with a loud metallic *click*.

As her foot lashed out toward my ballocks, I turned my hip so my thigh took the kick.

My body between her and the noble woman blocked the noble's view but she clearly heard the *SMACK!* as my very large hand slapped the witch's teat driving it to the side so it struck the other.

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

Metcalfe stood and walked over to where the struggling woman was fastened to the ceiling. He paced slowly around her body, examining her with an eye more critical of her beauty than of any witch marks. She was still struggling, but Larch gave her very few chances to make those struggles violent again. A nice ass. It would be pleasant when he had to 'search inside' for witch marks. Beautiful breasts too. Larch had a penchent for breasts, and Metcalfe had seen few more eager prickers than him. Eventually Metcalfe came to the front of his victim again and allowed his hungry eyes to travel the length of her body. Her thighs, long and shaped with the perfect weight of a farmer's wife. Her softly undulating stomach topping a soft, sweet thatch. Breasts not yet showing the bruises they would before she died. And a face filled with terror and perhaps just a hit of actual rebellion.

"Aye, witch. You fight your seeking, but our work is the work of the Lord. E'en your master cannot protect you here."

He took her face roughly in his hand. "I will ask again... if you will save yourself the torment of the trial, what other works have you made with the devil? Who are the others in your coven? What are the names of your familiars?"

His voice was soft, but no less filled with menace for all of that.

 

[PhoenixPrime]

Thomas Larch:

Now that the witch was in place for a proper examination, I stood and watch Master Metcalf as he circled the wench taking in the areas soon to be subjected to 'testing'.

As she continued to struggle I found it hard to draw my eyes away from her bouncing and jiggling large and heavy teats but the sight of the patch of hair and barely covered her pussy lips was nearly as enticing. Especially when her kicking legs parted those lips now and then giving glimpses of the pink inner areas that would also be subject to 'testing'.

I licked my suddenly dry lips in anticipation.

 

[ARaynes]

Sarah Durham

Sarah was hung like she was. Her body stripped of her pride, yet she could not confess to what it was they wanted. She was not a witch. She was a wife, only wishing to be a mother.

The big one pawed at her as he pinned her up, touching her where only her husband had. A brute of a man he was. "Please." She tried pleading to the brute, and when she looked in his eyes she saw what truely scared her. HE was enjoying her being tortured eternally. His hands hurting her breasts was what was turning him on.

The smaller one, the Witchfinder she finally declared, circled her, seemingly to look her over.

"Aye, witch. You fight your seeking, but our work is the work of the Lord. E'en your master cannot protect you here." He said to her. She cried, wanting to speak, but suddenly her face was grabbed by this man.

"I will ask again... if you will save yourself the torment of the trial, what other works have you made with the devil? Who are the others in your coven? What are the names of your familiars?"

She waited for him to remove his hand so she could speak, but he didn't. In any other situation it would have been commical, but this was truly a nightmare. "Pwease Sire." She finally squeezed from her hurting jaws. He was squeezing so tight she thought her lips would fly from her very mouth.

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

Metcalfe suppressed the smile as he saw it was already sinking in. She had no chance, and no real choice. She knew already that Larch was enjoying her suffering. Larch was unskilled in hiding it, and truth be told, had never seen any reason to. Metcalfe, however, kept his pleasure secret at the start... indeed until that point where there was no reason to hide it any more.

"Pwease sire," she mouthed through his squeezing hand.

Yes, woman, he thought, understand you will talk even when talking seems impossible. That to refuse to do so will seem to be the thing which draws your punishment ever onwards. Look into my silent eyes and see your destiny.

He pulled back suddenly and landed a slap, not hard but nor soft, across her cheek.

"Speak! Give me names! Give me details! What is it you have done with the devil, and who has aided you in this debauchery?"

 

[ARaynes]

Sarah Durham

Where the next move came from was quite beyond Sarah. She felt her cheeks as he let go of them. She even felt how she let the spiddle stay in her mouth instead of swallowing. As he spoke his words. But when she spit, she saw it going to him. Closing in on his face as in slow motion. But she didn't know she had caused it.

"I- Sire!" She said, innocence dripping from her tongue. After all she was innocent. "SIre, please, stop. I am no witch. I am innocent."

She tried cringing knowing that what was to come next was going to hurt.

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

Metcalfe flinched slightly as she spat at him, but it had happened before, on those very rare occassions when an accused had too much pride to give in. He carefully wiped her salive off onto his fingers and glanced at it.

"Witch spit," he said with his lip curling. "Hardly holy water, but..."

He took the saliva and wiped it across her brow, top to bottom, left to right, making the sign of the holy cross in her own spit.

"If you think you can resist, witch, or deny what you are, you are very mistaken."

He held her gaze for a few seconds, just watching to see what she was feeling and thinking. Then, certain her confession was not yet ready, turned to face his assistant.

"Larch, the cat. Give this which three lashes to begin with. Hard, across the back. Let her know what happens to those who assault the Lord's soldiery."

 

[PhoenixPrime]

Thomas Larch:

Moving to the bag of 'tools' I selected the harshest of the cat's, the one with the thinnest and hardest leather tails saying, "Aye sar. As ye wish."

Moving behind the naked wench I gripped her hair to lift it from her back and pulled forward to bow her head. Then my arm drew back, a very long way back.

*HISSSSSS* the myriad of tails cut the air with an evil hiss *SPLAT!!* they struck across her upper back leaving fast rising red welts

As her mouth opened to scream, *HISSSSSSSSS* *SPLAT!!!* across the middle of her back, a few of the welts crossing the ones on her upper back adding to the pain.

*HISSSSSSSSSS* *SPLAT!!!!* across her lower back a few striking her upper swell of her ass cheeks.

Now her pale, alabaster was now lined with red welts some crossing others to swell higher and a deeper red.

I used her hair to jerk her head up again to face Master Metcalf.

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

Metcalfe watched her twist in agony with increasing pleasure, adjusting his position slightly so his growing erection wouldn't show readily through his pants. Then, as the white lines of pain still raced through her body, he spoke again.

"Are you ready to talk now, witch? Has the cat loosened that vile tongue of yours?"

 

[PhoenixPrime]

Thomas Larch:

I held your head erect letting your tossing head pull your hair. I watched the welts grow and the red color on your pale skin darken and waited for Master Metcalf's next instruction.... with ill concealed anticipation.

 

[ARaynes]

Sarah Durham

The wounds on her back stung, bringing tears to her eyes. She looked up at Metcalfe, his words ringing on her ears. She refused to say a word. He had stripped her of her clothes, whipped her back and this all after she lost her husband. The man that she had once loved.

She looked on, not seeing him, more looking through him. Nothing was spoken from her lips for the longest time. Then, as if she couldn't hold on any longer, "I will not confess to a man that has sinned more than the populations of Hades itself."

A snear came to her face. She knew there would be retaliation, but from this point on she refused to care. After all, you couldn't hurt if you didn't care.

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

Metcalfe smiled. This one was going to be fun. She had a stubborn and stupid pride about her that matched her strength and she thought, just then, that she could deny him. She would learn. In time she would beg for death and invent names of accomplices aplenty to ensure she was released from torture into its dark clutches.

He chuckled as he thought about what the future held for Sarah and lent in close to her, kissing her, quickly and unexpectedly before she could respond. "No, you will not confess to a sinner. You will confess to me... or to my assistant. It is the same in the end."

He stepped back, wondering if she were going to spit at him again, and in so doing show she had not managed to pull away at all.

"Larch..." He said, turning away. "If I heard correctly when you striped the witch, you tore her skin. We cannot have her bleeding to death and escaping our questioning..."

He reached over and took a small bowl of salt from the tray that was left after their last meal. This he handed past Sarah's vision to his assistant.

"Salt is an astringent you should use for the wounds. Rub it in well, my friend, we would not wish her to escape to her master."

He took a seat by the desk and took out a journal to record the progress of the trial so far. "And then bind her upon the table and begin a search for her witch's teats. You know how to do that, my friend, to seek for the mark that is without pain where her imp does suckle?"

One glance confirmed what Larch had thought. He was to use a real bodkin for now, not one of the retractable ones. She was not to escape so easily.

 

[PhoenixPrime]

Thomas Larch:

Taking the salt and nodding then I say, "Sar, if'n ya doesn't mind I'd rather keep ta witch hangin' and jist secure 'er feet. That way I kin git to 'er back and such Sar."

I moved behind the witch again and pushed her hair off her back and begin to rub in the salt, grind it into each stripe on her back starting at the top and verrrry slowly working my way down. Each flinch, each sound as the abrasive salt rubbed the stripes raw and was ground into the wounds made my cock lurch.

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

"As you wish, my good ally," I said without even looking up from the page. "I had merely felt that a binding to the quarters of the bench may have made parts of her easier to reach. However, if you can work with her there, that is just as good. I leave that in your good and capable hands."

My hand began to scrawl a record of the proceedings so far, at least in the way I would have them seen, beginning with her confession then denial of murdering her husband by dark powers.

 

[PhoenixPrime]

Thomas Larch:

"Aye Sar. Thank ye."

One at a time each ankle was gripped and hemp tied around each ankle, tightly.

Once finished I pulled her legs wide apart and tied them off to rings in the floor. Now she was widely spread and fully available. I noted that I'd stretched her legs so wide the tendons inside her legs were standing out and her nether lips were apart. Again a jump in my pants.

Turning to the bench I unrolled the package of bodkins. I ignored the central one as it was the 'special one' and took one from each end.

Turning to the witch I said, "Witch before I begin to seek the Devil's teat will ye confess and tell us who's a witch too?"

I held the long, thin needle sharp bodkins with the wooden handles where she could see them both as I spoke.

 

[ARaynes]

Sarah Durham

I watched as they made their ways around the events. Threateningly the big one was trying to coax me into given names that I did not have and could not give up.

"Please, you have the wrong person. I am no witch Sire." I cried hoping beyond hope that he would understand and let me out of here.

"I have no witch's teat, only me own dry ones." I claimed. "Suckle and ye shall see! I am barrons all. Nothing more."

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Thomas Larch:

"Very well I shall try witch. If'n ye gives me any milk though I'll be spittin' it out. Don't want any witch's milk I don't."

My huge hand cups one o' yer tits and lifts it pulling and stretching it. Fingers dig in hard to hold it and my lips fasten around the areola and nipple. I suck, oh how I suck. The blood rushes into the nipple engorging it.

When I'm sure it's as engorged as I can make it, having done this before, I bite. Just hard enough to break the skin and suck out some blood.

"Whaugh!!! Pathooie!" I jerk back and spit a noticible amount of blood onto the stone floor and exclaim, "Master Metcalf! 'er teat gave me blood not milk sar!"

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

"Blood eh?" I grinned, knowing exactly how that had been achieved. "Witch, your body betrays you already. Were you not a witch then there is no reason your breasts would give up blood. That is devil's drink!"

My pen skritched and scratched over the paper, dipping intermittently into the inkwell to refill the nib.

The witch demanded of my accomplice that he suck where she does give suckle to her imp and used her guile to force the matter. Upon doing so, his mouth became awash with blood.

It was amazing what the nobles would accept as proof.

"Keep working, good master Larch. Find those marks immunte unto pain and I shall check them also."

 

[ARaynes]

Sarah Durham

"NOOO" I screamed as his teeth latched at my nipple. The pain was excruciating. "Stop!"

Metcalfe seemed happy that this Larch man had gotten blood from my breasts. I had not thought he would cheat to get his way.

"NO, Master, Lord, Sire, whichever you wish for me to call you. He lies. His words are foul. Yes, he received blood, but it is some sort of trickery on his part." It was wasn't it? There was not supposed to be a way.

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

"He lies?"

I looked up from my book, across to where she hung, swivelled now so she could face me. The look on her face was one of shock and horror, one which said she couldn't believe what had happened to her and that what was still to come now filled her with a greater dread. I smiled.

"Larch? Have you been assaulting an innocent and all the while passing it as the devil's work?"

I stood from my seat and approached them. "May the Lord have mercy on your soul if that is so, Larch, for I shall not. Here, goodwife, let me look for myself and see what has transpired."

I ran my hand softly down over the expanse of her breast, cupping and caressing it under the pretext of wiping away the blood that I could see better. Yes indeed, let me see. I took my time cleaning her, continually stroking the blood around her nipple, using the red fluid to touch her more sensitively than ever her husband had, raising her nipple towards my finger. This only served at first to pump more from her.

At last, I had had enough, and my eyes searched momentarily for the source of a sound I had heard. I found it quickly. In the near corner, crouching by the edge of the rack, a rat was watching us. Its matted fur stank of the blood of so many victims here tortured. My hand closed over the throwing dagger I kept about my person for fun and for emergencies.

"I see it now," I murmured. "Yes, I see it now. I see where thy familiar has even broken the skin. This is not Larch's work! His mouth is much too large to cause such a small cut."

My hand flicked out, hurling the knife with accuracy. The rat gave one strangled squeal as it was killed. Then I strode over to the rack and picked it up, returning with the bleeding corpse to where Sarah hung. I held the dead rat before her, letting its blood run down onto her skin.

"Mayhap this is your familiar, aye? See how much smaller the mouth?"

I lay its teeth against her wounded breast. "Aye, Larch, see how the bite matches its jaw? Even in here she has called her familiar! What say you now, Witch? Will you go on lying or will you name those who you dance the devil-dance with?"

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Thomas Larch:

"Aye Master Metcalf I do see. It is the same size indeed sar."

I watch and listen and when he makes the offer to confess again, "Sar, yer too soft hearted ya are. Giving the witch all o' these chances. What a kind gentleman ya are sar."

Watching her and planning where to prick with the bodkin first as I lick my lips in anticipation, I wait quietly now, eagerly.

 

[ARaynes]

Sarah Durham

"No Sire!" I screamed, hoping beyond hope someone anywone would hear me and rescue me. "The eyes fool you sire, they are not the bite marks of a familiar. I have none."

I tried twisting, keeping my eyes from the tools the bigger man wished to use on my body. "Pray, leave me be. I am no witch sire!"

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Thomas Larch:

I move to the witch eyeing her for any skin discoloration or blemish as that's where the bodkin will prick first. Obvious signs of possible 'Devil's Teats' to give suckle.

My hand reaches out and cups a teat, fingers dig into the tender flesh to hold it as I bring the point of the bodkin to a freckle on it's upper slope. One of many freckles.

"Shall I begin the testing now sar"?

 

[BadForm]

William Metcalfe

I turned, nonchalance apparent in my movement and expression. Let the witch believe that Larch was a terror and that I was simply an impartial observer. Let her hope there might be some kind of salvation in me. Not that there was, but let her hope it until I took my pleasure in her and destroyed all those feelings.

"Aye, Larch," I said, returning to my seat. "Proceed. If she will not confess willingly, it must sadly be drawn from the witch. Keep me informed if you find anything, I shall be documenting our procedures for the Lord of the Castle and for his bailiffs."

I dropped the rat, letting it fall across her feet.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Thomas Larch:

"As ye will sar."

Looking into her face I very slowly begin to press down on the bodkin's handle. The tender skin dimples. The dimple get deeper and deeper until the point breaks the skin. Slowly twisting side to side I push so it sinks into the sentitive teat meat until half of the length is buried in your tit. Then, as I rotate it in a circle, I ask, "Will ye confess noo witch? Will ye name the others in your coven?"