Bring Out the GIMP (Girls in Merciless Peril)
Stories


A WITCH TRIAL

By Lionrobe


the www.cruxforums.com edition

2015

French Original Writen by Lionrobe

Translated: Eulalia - Poet Laureate

E-Book: Madiosi

2015

Chapter 01: The Mark of the Devil

An icy dampness oozed from walls covered with a greenish slime. It dripped on the ample, naked breasts of Isabeau, whom Alberta, the female Executioner, was driving before her with a goad, much as the Good Shepherd guides his sheep.

It was time to perform the search for the "stigma diaboli", the Mark of the Devil, and the Executioner's wife wore a jealous face behind the voluptuous fleshiness of Isabeau's back and rump, as they advanced into the narrow corridor leading down to the dungeon's Torture Chamber.

The rough-nailed hands of two of the guards assigned to her supervision had snatched off her belt, her boots, her breeches and her red tunic. They had, needless to say, taken advantage of this little opportunity to treat their calloused palms to the feel of the delicate lips of her intimate parts, and to the curves of her titties with their provocative red.

Isabeau hastened her step to escape the cold and the tip of the goad, the iron point aroused tremors in her flesh as it pricked her buttocks. Her heart was pounding ... she realized that the worst was yet to come. She tried to blow a little air between her clenched jaws to release the enormous pressure in her lungs, and let out small, sharp wheezes.

Meanwhile, two other guards, less experienced ones, had gone to fetch Otto the Executioner, who lived on a smallholding outside the village, in accordance with the tradition which excluded the Executioner from the life of the community.

Otto had got up early that morning, to write his memorandum of costs and various dues. It was a beautiful early spring day; as the sun dispelled the northern mists it completely lit up his workshop, when he opened wide the doors of the large barn attached to the main body of the farm. He sat down at a small bench near the entrance to enjoy the halo of light that revealed waves of spectral dust rising and falling, and began to write with close attention:

January 11 1534

For giving four days of torture to 5 robbers - 10 sols

February 17 1534 For boiling a counterfeiter - 6 sols

February 26 1534 For locking a culprit in the pillory and shackles, and branding him with red-hot iron - 5 sols

March 12, 1534 For flogging a woman (including the costs of travel) - 3 sols

March 16, 1534 For breaking a condemned man, and then hanging him on the gallows (including replacement costs of the bar used for breaking) - 12 sols

"And we're in March already! What misery. Last year I'd already quartered Jean, and beaten the life out of a couple of Roma in the marketplace. There's no justice any more in this county!" Otto reflected with bitterness, "and, what's more, I even flayed old Louison alive," he suddenly remembered, but with much less enthusiasm , as he'd spent almost a whole day re-grinding the edges of the blades he'd worn down on the tanned hide of the old witch.

"Out here, guards, you don't march into the Executioner's house like it's a mill!" he addressed them harshly, they came and pushed their heads into the doorway of the shed. Seized with respectful fear before the stature and imposing visage of the paunchy giant, the guards stammered their apologies. "No offense meant, Sir, but ... a case of witchcraft has been reported in the village ..."

The two guards had stopped talking since Otto had taken a step closer to listen to them, and revealed most of his tools. They were staring in fascination at the instruments reserved for the Ordinary Questioning, for the Extraordinary Questioning, and for the Ultimate Tortures. There were clips, clamps and knives, also torture-boots and garrots, and several pears of agony, both rectal and vaginal. All these instruments were set out on a wooden horse that stood beside a chair equipped with a griddle to roast conveniently the posterior of anyone placed on it. A wheel served as a makeshift table on which were enthroned the remains of the Executioner's last snack, and there were also black crusts that seemed much older ...

"So what? "Otto growled.

Swallowing his saliva with difficulty, the second guard completed his message. "Your wife is waiting for you to look for the marks, that's what she said."

Hardly hiding his satisfaction and conscious of the embarrassment of the young guards, Otto rummaged briefly in his coat and pulled out a tobacco pouch.

"Here, have a little plug to chew on your walk back... Why are you looking at it like that ... oh yeah, it's the skin from Claudette's left breast, I sliced it off her when she'd aborted her brat."

The two greenhorns fled as fast as their legs could carry them, leaving the Executioner's laughter echoing around the walls of the courtyard. Otto walked to the drawer of his workbench, fumbled for a moment and pulled out several silver needles from a boxwood case, what it held were more like awls than pins.

Father Bernardo Guidieu held the holy office of Grand Inquisitor of the County of Thann. He'd been summoned when Isabeau was first arrested, and had arrived flanked by a young novice friar with an ugly face covered with unsightly pimples. The Inquisitor bore the awkward features of a dwarf on a pear-shaped belly, he was stuffed up with catarrh and in a foul mood, not having had time to do justice to the gargantuan meal to which the Bishop had invited him. The steward of the castle had taken the trouble to reserve the apartments of the Count and Countess, who'd departed a few days back for the County of Champagne Fair in Provins, to seek out spices of the Orient and linen from Flanders, but to no effect. The Grand Inquisitor didn't cease fuming, he'd already slapped Arthur, the young stripling of a novice, twice.

The Bishop had assigned to him the building, and the official who was going to serve as clerk. Since the arrest of Isabeau had already been proclaimed, Bernardo and Arthur were taken directly, with great pomp and ceremony, into the Hall of Interrogation. They were waiting now, seated at a large table to the right of the well-studded door, in a large bay window with diamond-shaped panes whose tinted glass filtered a warm glow.

The room was never ventilated, it was as if all the pleas, moans and sighs exhaled by the poor wretches tormented in this places remained trapped in the heavy atmosphere that smelt of sweat, fear and excrement, mixed with the acrid odor of rusted iron, polished wood and hempen rope.

Arthur, for whom this was his first official duty, was particularly oppressed by the shadowy light of the room, the solemn silence of Bernardo, and of the men-at-arms whose weapons scraped the floor from time to time, and most of all by the spectacle of the strapping-frame all ready and waiting at the far end of the room. He opened and closed his notepad, making meaningless doodles with a squeaky pen. Beside the strapping-frame, a lighted brazier cast flickering gleams onto chains attached to the ceiling and the floor, and revealed momentary glimpses of cart-whips hanging on the wall, and of small vices specially adapted for fixing on the head, fingers, or secret parts of the accused.

Alberta pushed Isabeau as she crossed the threshold, quite unnecessarily, just to make her fall. Isabeau stumbled, but managed to recover and to bring her hands immediately onto her breasts and her mons pubis, as she glimpsed the men of God who had turned to look at her.

Alberta sniggered and rebuked the guards who were standing numb, "Well, gentlemen, am I going to have to do your job?" She turned to Isabeau, "Don't you worry, they know how a woman is made, even a little spinster... and anyway, you're going to show them the whole lot in a few moments!"

This was the cue taken by Otto to enter the room, bowing obsequiously before Father Bernardo.

The two guards seized Isabeau and, at the end of a brief, unequal struggle, they brought her with her arms outstretched in the air, right across to the strapping-frame, which was a big ladder tilted at 45° against the wall, and held her there for Otto to bind her wrists deftly onto the highest rungs. Isabeau was thus suspended in the air, her torso stretched, her full, firm breasts thrust forward.

Moments later, her ankles were tied by Otto to the outer edges of the uprights, for he knew very well that in this way the young girl's modesty would not be protected, that her red bush would be opened wide to reveal what that no man should see in such a situation.

He turned to the brazier and laid some twigs, then placed two logs on top, to illuminate the scene of interrogation, so the witnesses would have no doubt about what was to come...

Father Bernardo spoke in the bombastic style he liked to use in these proceedings.

"Before us, as required by the Count of Thann and under the commission of the Lord Bishop of the Diocese of Strasbourg, there appears before us today Isabeau, daughter of Thibert."

"Isabeau, you are accused of the crime of witchcraft. With other witches of the village, you have gone at night to the Sabbath. There you have met with the Evil One.” As he spoke of the Devil, everyone present crossed himself.

"And you and your sisters were penetrated, one after the other."

Otto intervened timidly, "It's true, Father, she's no virgin."

He turned to Alberta, who nodded vigorously. With the crimson of shame burning her face at this publication of her secret, Isabeau took a few moments before bursting out, "Reverend Father, this is all lies and tittle-tattle. It's Alberta who's lying about me!"

"And why should a good Christian woman who is so precious to us seek to hurt you?"

Isabeau lowered her eyes, she didn't want to mention the name of her lover, Gauthier, who was lusted after by Alberta, she didn't want him to suffer the same fate as her.

"You have no answer ... AND YOU DARE TO SAY THAT YOU ARE NOT A WITCH!"

"Well, we will follow the procedure. Wherever the Devil has put his claws on your body, there will still be marks insensitive to pain - the Executioner will now search."

"Executioner, do your office, but without inflicting injury...for now."

Isabeau had inherited from her father a proud face, a slightly aquiline nose, a mouth made for laughter, and an adorable dimple on her chin softened a slightly heavy jaw. She had also, from a long line of exceptionally well-endowed female ancestors, a well-developed bosom for her eighteen years. Her heavy breasts were full and swinging slightly as they were perched so high. Although she had not yet given birth, a network of blue veins, some very apparent, patterned their surface.

Otto took a needle and coolly sank it slowly into the left breast of the girl immobilized on the strapping-frame. She screamed, trying to hurl herself back, but she could only throw back her head, and a moment later the pricking came again, piercing the glistening skin of her breast. She moaned, "You cursed crook of an Eeeeeehhhhhxecutioner!”

Paying no attention to the insult, Otto continued the torture. Alberta insinuated her hand into the deep cleavage, so she could keep her rival's mammaries well-presented, while her husband stuck the tapered needle into the juvenile flesh, starting at the base and gradually approaching quivering tips that were already experiencing the pain - for even if the pricks were not deep, they did not cause any less acute suffering, and it increased steadily as her thin skin grew inflamed.

After a few moments, the twin globes, already swelling, that adorned her breasts were covered with red spots caused by the bites of the needles, except for the long nipples that her tormentor was sparing on purpose, the better to give time for the pain to irritate these most sensitive organs. A solitary sting is certainly not unbearable, but when fine points penetrate the flesh dozens of times, and especially when they exert their action on such a sensitive area as the breasts of a girl, her suffering quickly becomes excruciating.

So it was even more terrible when Otto, still calm and impassive, began to push the needle into the fleshy, swollen nipples on her sore aureoles. Isabeau let out a torrent of howling, "Papa, where are you? I'm suffering so… GO AND GET MY FATHER!!!!!!!!!!" Her face, streaming with tears and contracted by despair, achieved no purpose but to bring a laugh from the audience, as she struggled with the penetration of the pin that was searching the tender flesh of the lactation channel.

But for now, Isabeau had undergone her ordeal successfully, since all parts of her body had amply responded to the investigations of her tormentor. It was no surprise ... Otto and Alberta had what was required for this kind of situation, everything was planned. One of the needles had a rounded tip, and it could slide a few centimeters inside the handle.

During a pause when Otto straightened up a little as if to stretch, Alberta took her hand from the girl's cleavage and deftly exchanged the needles. Her husband moved to one side, so as to improve the audience's view. He ran his hand down Isabeau's flanks, his fingers moved to her vulva, he seemed to hesitate for a moment, then slowly he introduced them into another opening...

Otto understood better than any other man there the anatomy of a woman, and he knew very well what he was setting out to provoke in a girl so young and sensual as Isabeau. Alberta knew too, and she held her breath, enjoying the show like a connoisseur.

Their victim's lower abdomen thrust forward, without completely obscuring the undulations of her hips. When Otto applied the new needle, which appeared to sink half its length into her labia, she felt nothing other than his rough finger that had crept under the hood of her clitoris and was gently massaging it.

He pricked again, a little higher, and a little lower, without arousing any reaction other than soft purrs of pleasure. Sexual excitement, of which they had no clear consciousness, had seized all the spectators, including Alberta – but she was the only one who understood what was really going on.

Arthur, whose senses were still troubled by the memory of surprising his sister in her bath, just before their parents put her in the convent, could not take his eyes off Isabeau's body despite the severe glances of Father Bernardo.

Otto straightened up with a triumphant smile, revealing irregular yellow teeth, wiping his fingers imbued with Isabeau's copious vaginal secretions. "I think I've found the marks ... just those of coitus with her Master."

Father Bernardo rose, cleared his throat a little, and uttered his litany in a sententious, broken voice:

"Executioner, I congratulate you. I, Father Bernardo Guidieu, declare that, on Monday the nineteenth day of March, on the impure parts of the above-named Isabella, daughter of Thibert, were found marks that prove conclusively that she had had intercourse with the Devil."

"Let our inquiry proceed without any adjournment. We require the accused to denounce all her accomplices ..." His voice lowered as he stared at Isabeau.

"Father, NO! NO, I'm not a witch, that's not true, it's a conspiracy." Her voice broke into prolonged sobbing, as her head sank on his breast.

She knew she was dirty, she felt dirty, and she was crying constantly, her face hidden in her long hair, her only protection.

"We note that the accused, by persisting in her silence, is refusing to assist the Holy Inquisition assembled here to seek the truth."

"We declare that the said Isabeau, daughter of Thibert, will be submitted to the Ordinary Questioning, commencing after Nones."

"We suspend this session at the fifth hour of the day."

The company withdrew. Alberta waited until everyone was out, then she leant over to gloat at Isabeau.

"Doesn't she stink now, the redhead! You've had plenty of fun, just when it suited you... shut up, bitch, I saw you ... but now you're going to learn, all in good time, we'll make bloody sure you howl - you'll soon be wishing it was only the needles..."


Chapter 02: Gauthier's sacrifice

The warm, pulsing rain washed the curls of Gauthier's mop of hair, adorning his forehead with a sort of golden helmet. Dense drizzle crept into his eyebrows over his half closed eyes, adding to the confusion of his thoughts. He could recognize very well the clearing where he'd played his childhood games, but the cries and faces of his playmates were confused in a phantasmagoria of colors, smells and children's songs.

He was remembering better now. He was closer to the edge of the clearing, approaching the tormented shadows ... It was Bertrand and Ursin's chant he thought he heard first, "Gau-THIER the brave knight, the brave knight, the braaaaaaaave knight!" Its percussion hammered more and more, this endless falsetto for which he could have killed them.

It's true, it's how he'd imagined himself, somewhere, riding a proud steed to rescue a damsel in distress... a maiden who wasn't really one any more, since Gauthier, like a true soldier, had rolled her over in the hay here eight days ago in the barn of Thibert, her father.

The grass between the edge of the forest and the castle moat had not been mown since the beginning of the winter. Gauthier could crawl to the edge of the ditch without being noticed by the lookout men.

He'd still been a virgin himself before he'd biblically 'known' Isabeau, and lived since that time in a state of permanent tension which prevented him from sleeping. His senses were still on fire, at an age when it is taken to be an everlasting passion.

He found a temporary relief for his fever in the icy, stagnant water. He compelled himself to swim without any splashing, which would have revealed his presence in the heavy silence that surrounded the massive old masonry walls built of huge blocks of stone from Souppes.

He safely reached the foot of the tower and set foot on the slope. He was covered with putrid black blotches that served for a perfect camouflage.

He'd lost the stick that had taken the place of a sword in the water, and the cap he was wearing by way of a helmet was hanging miserably to one side. Conscious of his decrepit appearance, the sad-looking bachelor nearly gave up his desperate rescue attempt. But that damned rhyme came back, stabbing him, and Gauthier straightened himself to summon up new strength at the thought. He wasn't going back with his tail down.

In front of him, a few steps to the side, a neglected, narrow basement window revealed a grid, with rusty iron bars that would allow easy access...

Alberta had left Isabeau to meditate on her threats and, after lunch, returned to arrange the furniture in the room and set things in order for the proceedings that were to follow. She was busy for a good part of the afternoon, until the door was suddenly pushed open by two guards, followed by Otto, laughing uproariously, holding Gauthier with a tight arm-lock behind his back.

Isabeau moaned, "Let him go, he's done nothing, don't hurt him…”

Gauthier managed to utter a heartbreaking, "Isabella, I love you - they won't do anything to you, I shall save you."

But in truth, he was totally unable to prevent Otto from binding his wrists and ankles deftly with leather straps, which were attached to the ceiling and floor by sinister, rust-covered cables. Otto promptly hauled the chains that hung from the ceiling until Gauthier's feet were slightly off the floor.

The familiar clink of guardsmen's spurs resounded through the room, heralding Father Bernardo, preceded by his usual entourage of Arthur and two soldiers.

Isabeau and Gauthier exchanged intense, dazed stares in which each of them read love and fear of losing the other. Their chests heaved convulsively in their mutual distress. Father Bernardo stared a long time at Gauthier, then asked in a sanctimonious tone:

"My son, what have you come to seek here?"

Gauthier begged him, "Father, I pray you, free Isabeau, she's not guilty of anything. I know, she's a good Christian, she's never offended against the Lord."

"Ha, cheeky boy, that's up to me to decide. First of all, you should know that this witch has copulated with the Devil. We have the evidence."

Gauthier was suddenly, brutally, aware of the harm he had caused Isabeau, and seized with terror at being confused with the Evil One that had ravished her virginity - he exploded.

"You filthy little turd of a dwarf, you release my Isabeau or I'll kill you!"

Then he shut his mouth, ashamed at the idiocy of his outburst, wishing he could disappear down a mouse hole.

The Grand Inquisitor turned, purple with rage, to Otto. "Gag that insolent wretch who dares to challenge my authority! Get him ready to be questioned in his turn. We shall resume the interrogation after we have sung Vespers in the Count's chapel."

Otto grabbed a thick, wooden baton entwined with a rope, which was lying on a low bench next to a noose specially calibrated for plump breasts, and forced Gauthier to open his mouth by pinching his nostrils. Gauthier could not utter any more sound but a low, continuous mumbling.

Satisfied, Father Bernardo father left the room with his escort, leaving the conspirators, Otto and Alberta, with their victims. Otto approached Gauthier, but Alberta turned to him with a mischievous look.

"This handsome squire's mine now. I think I can ruffle his feathers by myself," she said, with a hearty laugh. "And I don't think she's in a position to do much to stop me!"

Otto gave her a complicit wink. He knew the depths of his wife's moral depravity, he'd learnt to match them himself, and he could easily imagine what awaited Gauthier. He gave a low, mocking bow and departed.

The matron stared a moment the handsome teenager with a wry grimace and said, "You know, you've refused me before, and now you can't even help me undress you…"

She began to strip him with a lascivious ritual. She slowly unlaced his muddy doublet, then laid bare the broad chest that was the object of her unspoken desires. Her slender fingers roamed the golden fleece, her nails became claws on his tanned skin...

"Get off my Gauthier, you disgusting crone, don't you dare infect him with your foul touch! When the Count comes back, I'll tell him, and he'll believe me - because he knows me weeeeeeell!"

Isabeau screamed these last words in desperation, forcing herself up on her little feet. Alberta just snapped at her.

"Listen to me, little nymphet, Gauthier's my property now, and if you oppose me in any way, I'll report that Thibert your father is a wizard, and they'll both die at the stake along with you!"

Isabeau seemed to close up in herself, she understood that the fate of the two men she loved most in the world depended on her silence, her own self-sacrifice.

Alberta returned more quickly to the remaining laces, she almost snatched at them, her breathing growing faster. She leant her head close and began to whisper to Gauthier, licking the delicately fringed lobes of his ears.

"I can get you out of here tonight, if you're willing to come with me… "

Gauthier shook his head vigorously to signify his refusal. Alberta challenged him with her stare.

"What can you see in this little minx? I bet she doesn't know how to use her tongue as well as I can!"

Gauthier, his body cringing in repulsion, began to be troubled by her warm, clove-scented breath, as she caressed his chest-hair so sensually, tickling the tips of his breasts, which – to his astonishment - hardened like those of his beloved. He had never experienced such sensations, except of course one with which he was very familiar, the swelling of his male tool.

With a smile of triumph, Alberta pulled the doublet off his shoulders, with little wet kisses and love-nips embracing his velvet neck, and began exploring his skin, sinking very slowly down onto her knees.

Before she was completely kneeling, she gently probed Gauthier's crotch and discovered a member stiff enough to snap, ready for her to release with no delay from its prison. His muddy rough leather breeches had shrunk as they dried, they prevented Gauthier from expressing the fullness of his arousal, and he was grateful to Alberta for releasing him. His phallus, pumped up with hot blood, appeared in all its glory, beautiful and moving in its youthful, primitive nobility.

Isabeau, eyes blazing, remained silent, jealously watching as Gauthier responded to such caresses as she had failed to provide while they were rolling on the hay in the barn.

Alberta began by honoring it first with a tender kiss, while her hands were cupped to receive the warmth of his testicles. A vein throbbed, she gently put her finger on it to reassure him, and her nails raked the furrowed folds of skin very gently. She patted for a few moments with the palm of her hand on the neck of the penis, as if to calm it, and then her tongue, at first hesitantly, then shamelessly bold, licked the fragile capital that topped the erect column. She had no need to use her hand to maintain the straightness of the shaft, the onslaught of her tongue was meeting the hardness of marble. It was easier for her to focus her assault on the long, soft foreskin, lapping greedily, but when the tip of her tongue reached the gaping mouth from which welled the first drops of liquid semen, then she took her time in tasting, careful not to let any be lost.

She knew very well what could be done with a careful forefinger, with determination she introduced it to the opening of his anus. It was a real taboo she was about to break, and she felt intoxicated with life and strength just holding his vibrating rod between her slender fingers. Her finger went precisely into the Gauthier's fundament, and she was not surprised to find the familiar feel of the source of his virility. She amused herself, her licks keeping time with the contractions of his anus and the twinges at the base of his penis. She wanted to prolong this moment for eternity, where it was for him to decide whether to maintain his hardness inexorably, or to deliver it…

The sound of a lifting bolt broke suddenly, the heavy oak door creaked on its hinges. Alberta had barely enough time to hurtle back two quick steps. It was too late for Gauthier, he could not control the power that was in command of his lifeforces. The long jet of sperm that Alberta had patiently fostered reached a rare distance, it seemed almost to cross the entire room, and a few drops fell close to the feet of Isabeau. Father Bernardo seemed to leap like a fury, in a single jump right up to Gauthier, where he contemplated the fall of the last few drops of creamy, fragrant liquid with a disbelieving stare. He turned to Alberta and asked stiffly:

"What is this?"


Chapter 03: The Chastisement of Isabeau

Alberta knelt respectfully.

"My Father," she said, at first in a hurried, anxious voice, but then more and more strident, "I've seen it all, she is a witch, she cast a spell to prevent me from moving, and then her nipples turned into snakes ... SNAKES!" She caught her breath, "and then the snakes began rubbing Gauthier's, er... little pipe ... and then ... you came in... my God, I'm afraid ... protect me, my Father!"

Father Bernardo grasped convulsively at the crucifix from which he was never parted, and waved it in Isabeau's face.

"Vade, Satana, retro… Postremo OMNIS CURA ... cupiunda videntur ... .patriam AUT PARENT ... et delicta corrigas ... CAEDEM ET fugam. "

(‘Get thee behind me Satan' Matt 16.23 etc. The rest is a series of phrases from chapter 1 of Sallust's Jurgurthan War, 'in the end, all [public] duties… [seem to me] least desirable…[the power to rule one's] country, or family, [however one tries to] correct their faults, [proves futile in the face of] murder and skulduggery').

He uttered this last hysterical outburst before approaching to touch Isabeau.

"My daughter, ease your conscience and reveal the names of your accomplices."

Isabeau fell silent, tears were rolling down her impish cheeks, as she resolved to accept her terrible fate for the sake of love and forever seal her lips. In her confusion, fear and disgust, she spat on the face of Father Bernardo.

This drew a terrible look from him, "Look what you've done, filthy whore! Human seed carries life, this is a gift of God which must not be wasted. You have to be severely punished for this crime."

He turned to Otto.

"This trollop should be punished as a matter of priority, right here and now. And the Extraordinary Questioning will be applied to her immediately."

"Arthur, let it be recorded in the minutes that the defendant is convicted of the crimes of silence and of abortion. The ‘crapaudine' will be applied, in series of ten strokes at a time."

Indeed, 'crapaudine' has a baffling range of meanings, not obviously related to each other, never mind little toads - it can be a chicken etc. spatchcocked for grilling (I see 'spatchcocked' isn't recognized either), it can be a multi-pronged support for young trees, it can be a protector to stop leaves blocking your downpipes - that at least hints at the appearance and meaning of 'crapaudine' in the Torture Chamber...

Otto and Alberta exchanged a knowing look. The interrogation of Isabeau was to serve as an excuse for a terrible vengeance. The Grand Inquisitor continued.

"Apply the first ten to those proud breasts. No deep wounds, but make sure that the wench feels it well. And first lift her hair - no protection for those instruments of the Devil, I want to see them dance!"

The swarthy torturer took a moment to pull her long auburn hair, sneering with upturned nose, humiliating Isabeau. He gathered her locks into bunches, and tied them behind her neck on a bar of the strapping-frame, so that they could no longer cover her delicate nipples. Thus attached, Isabeau could not turn her head, and her big, innocent blue eyes, filled with fear, were fixed straight ahead, looking wildly towards Gauthier, seeking help. She was paralyzed with anxiety, the needle stings were still burning her long coral-colored teats, and now she was absolutely unprotected. She implored:

"No, Father, not my breasts, I beg you - I'm just a girl, not a witch!"

Not in the least troubled by this desperate petition, Otto and Alberta chose from among the armory of whips hanging on the wall the instruments designated by Father Bernardo.

The ‘crapaudine' is a whip made of several slender bands of buffalo-hide with sharp edges. Nobody has ever survived beyond 50 strokes of this terrible instrument, and those who have suffered it are scarred indelibly for evermore.

Alberta came to stand to the left of Isabeau, cracking her whip on the floor. For a moment, a cloud of red brick-dust formed a kind of infernal aura around the scene. Otto, too, swished his ‘crapaudine' in the air, to terrorize their victim all the more, as he stood on her right.


Chapter 04: The torture of the witch - the long walk

All night long, Isabeau couldn't sleep in her stinking cold cell. She'd been fighting all night with rats who were doing their best to taste her slender fingers and tiny feet. Heavy chains kept her tightly bound to the strapping-frame, which had become her new torture-bed. During the day, during brief moments when the swarming vermin left her any peace, her thoughts were torn between the ghastly fear that oppressed her heaving breasts, and the last intense, delightful memories of her union with Gauthier. She saw her lover lift his blond head as if longing to lick her cunny for one last time, then she feared he was gone for good.

It was early evening and Isabeau thought she'd been granted a day of respite when the rattling of the door pulled her brutally out of her reverie. She let out a despairing "Oh, no, not yet!"

Otto and Alberta stood for a moment in the doorway to contemplate their victim better in the daylight. She cringed at a remark, "The clips will grip so!" followed by a guffaw from Alberta. Then they approached and stood either side of her, while Otto addressed her almost gently.

"Yes, you're going to burn tonight, it's Father Bernardo who's decided that."

It's to make a better show of it, my little pudding!" Alberta hissed wickedly.

"More edifying, the old man said," added Otto, scratching his head a little, before departing.

Alberta continued.

"But first, we're going to have fun with you, you'll see" Isabeau was sobbing softly, eyes lowered, pitiful in her distress. Alberta lifted her head.

"Come on, don't cry, he's spared your Gauthier, for someone who'll at least take good care of him after this!"

She laughed and followed Otto.

A few minutes later, the two guards arrived, released her, and drove her in a state of perfect nudity out into the yard. A big, high-wheeled cart was awaiting. In the middle, a St. Andrew's cross had been erected, Alberta and Otto were finishing the job of fixing leather restraints on each of its four arms. The horses whinnied impatiently, as if they'd not been fed all day.

Isabeau noticed that at the center of the cross there was an impressive projection, a kind of big straight stick angled towards the sky. She suddenly realized the function that would be assigned to this horrible protrusion, and her legs buckled beneath her. She turned to the guard, who'd caught her under her armpits, with a pleading look.

"No, not that, not like that, it's too awful!" Her tears of shame and fear continued in a long moan.

She was trembling now more with fear than cold. The two guards dragged rather than marched her to the foot of the cart. Then they grabbed her waist and then, almost gracefully, set her on her feet in front of Alberta and Otto. Her legs failed her again, and she knelt down, clasping her slender wrists in silent supplication.

Without any word, no time for joking now, Otto and Alberta hauled her up then suddenly let her drop onto the cornu. With this brutal penetration, her vaginal walls were badly frayed, drawing a long shriek of agony. If her mind was in turmoil, her body remained fixed as if anesthetized. She was experiencing this rape as the first real assault on her fragile body, her cry of pain became the prolonged howl of a beast that does not want to die. Gasping, she began to struggle, but the long experience of the hellish couple had taught him to secure her wrists and ankles nimbly to the extremities of the cross.

Night was beginning to fall when the wagon led by a guard who was holding the reins of the two draught horses, set off across the drawbridge. From her raised torture-cross, Isabeau could see in front her executioners and guards who accompanied them, and the crowd roaring with delight, gathered before the first bend. Father Bernardo and Arthur, their faces hooded, were selling rosaries and indulgences as they awaited the small procession.

When the cart, which was dropping bits of hay, came in front of them, Father Bernardo seized a processional staff and imposed silence the crowd. He raised it towards the sky so that all the faithful could contemplate the magnificent symbol of Christianity, richly ornamented with fine gold, before making a sign to mark the start of the procession towards the place of execution. The scaffold had been erected in the market square of the city of Thann, just in front of the church, about three hundred paces from the seigneurial castle.

Isabeau was struggling continuously to alleviate the terrible pain that was shooting through her innards to the rhythm of the cart bumping over the uneven paving-stones. At times, by straining her legs with all her might, she could control the pressure on her vaginal lips, already abraded oh so painfully, but she watched with fear as the horses' hoofs clattered "'tacaclac, tacaclac, tacaclac", which was invariably a prelude to an uneven, bumpy stretch of the surface and more bouncy vibrations of the cart, which had the effect of thrusting the stake painfully into the neck of her womb.

Silly, vulgar whispers accompanied the luscious swaying of her hips.

"Bitch, we will see if you still dance like that soon!" "Death to the whore!"

The crowd was made up of lepers, children, whores, farmers, merchants, servants and serving-wenches, all the city. Torches were now burning, so they could better enjoy the show. The religious silence at the start had erupted into a brutal effervescence. Having attended once – and, she'd hoped, for the last time – one of these awful travesties of justice, Isabeau knew that the first hundred paces had brought them to the site for the first stage of her execution, the Porte Saint Jean.


Chapter 05: The Ordeal of the Witch – Stage by Stage

The cart came to a halt with a squeal of poorly greased axles, just before a brazier in which several torches were blazing. The guard in charge of the burning basket leant over, pulled out two torches and handed them to the executioners. Alberta and Otto took them before greeting the audience like jugglers preparing to perform an act. To the applause of the crowd, they prowled around Isabeau much as a couple of wolves would circle their prey.

Then, with a quick movement, Otto applied the flame just under Isabeau's right armpit. A very sharp "FFFFFZZZZZZZiiiiiiizzzzz" was swamped by a prolonged shriek, the sweat-matted hair matted had burnt almost instantly, revealing instead a deep red scorch which extended almost to the base of her nipple.

She'd barely recovered from her first infliction when Isabeau had to watch Otto approaching again to her right side, while she felt the awful searing of Alberta's torch held just a little longer under her left armpit.

"No, no, no, stooooop!”

The burning had had time to subside, but now wide plates of raw flesh, on which remained the cinders of her thick hair, were revealed under the light of the large torches glowing on the ramparts.

Isabeau was crying continuously now, though she could barely be heard above the clamour of the mob. Through her wet eyelashes, she glimpsed Alberta in a fog, and heard her rounding off her speech to the crowd as she turned towards her saying:

"…put the fire in her ass!"

She suddenly realized that her feminine parts were to endure the test of fire, and tried to raise herself up on her legs in a vain effort to escape.

"Noooooooooo!"

She was only making her flaming red bush all the more visible to the crowd, her exuberant curls, wet from the traces of her intimate secrets that had been released willy-nilly by the penetration, mostly adhering to the cornu. It was a rare sight and appreciated by all who were witnessing it, to see her fleece so exposed, presented on this stick as a furry sheath ready to be impaled... each man of course imagining a different, personal replacement for this male instrument. Unhappy at seeing the special interest their husbands or boyfriends were taking in this sight, some shrews were yelling, "Torch the cunt!" “Shove it in her pussy!"

Alberta had only to lean forward slightly to walk the blazing torch slowly across the greasy mat, first roasting the longer hairs, then those on the vulva itself, soon singeing the large, well-defined lips, while a smell of grilling bacon masked the hints of liquid manure.

Isabeau let out a long howl of agony the whole time that the torture lasted, biting her lip till it was bleeding. Her cunt looked carefully shaved now, as if she were one of those courtesans whose praises are song by crusading. But, fortunately, the state of her vaginal lips, all cracked and blistered, could hardly arouse the jealousy of any woman in the square.

Her head fell on her chest, she was panting in pain and shame. When the cart moved off again, she had to straighten up as the bumps were accentuated and all the more painful, she could not bear the slightest friction on her big lips, she tried to keep the cornu in an intermediate position which spared both her womb and her vulva, but it was of course impossible to hold it for long.

She looked despairingly for a friendly face or just a hint of compassion in the crowd to distract her a moment from her terrible ordeal. Through a mist of tears she picked out near to her a toothless hag who was trotting along holding on to the wheel of the cart. She saw how the hag was sucking sputum into her mouthful of blackened tooth-stumps, and heard her screech her curse as she felt a stream of disgusting snot slide down her cheek.

"So there, slut, that'll make you a bit less proud, eh? With a broom up your cunt and your toasted pussy!"

She almost choked as she spat out these last words, and tumbled from the footboard before melting into the ocean of faces – many were people who knew Isabeau, but unrecognizable to her in this situation.

Even before the horses whinnied as the guard pulled on the reins to slow their trot, Isabeau recognized the sinister shadow of the parapet of the high Porte de Jouy, below which she had so often played as a little girl.

Otto and Alberta had brought their infernal paraphernalia with them, consisting of biting clips trimmed with leather so as not to mangle the flesh of their poor victim fatally. Isabeau tried weakly to jerk herself up in a pathetic attempt to tighten her thighs and press back her shoulders, but there was nothing she could do. Otto and Alberta guffawed, holding their ribs.

"It looks like this witch isn't being protected by her Master!"

All the big-wigs gathered in the square roared with laughter in their turn, as they yelled out.

"Death to the witch!" "Tear off her titties!”

Isabeau cast a desperate look at the hate-filled crowd. For a moment she caught a glimpse of Arthur, looking paralysed by a mixture of fear and the desire, his bulging eyes betraying anxiety and arousal. At his side, Father Bernardo was standing very upright, he was familiar with these performances where he had to embody divine justice - and conceal the swelling of the bulge below his navel.

Alberta fumbled for a few moments with her claws in Isabeau's crotch, not so much with the few hairs that were still there, once the color of honey, but because of the shadow which darkened the lower part of the girl's body. Suddenly, the clamp crunched on her big, fleshy lips. For a moment, she seemed to hold herself, then her crazed cry rose across the high walls.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Alberta maintained the pressure for a few moments before slowly turning the terrible jaws, "ARRRRRRRRRR!"

The delicate little body-part was being made to twist like a worm on a hook, and the tone of agony had temporarily silence the crowd. Without pausing, Otto waved his set of clips before the girl's eyes for a second, then slid them across her opulent udders. Although she was sweating abundantly, the touch of the icy metal made her shiver instantly. In anticipation of more horrible suffering she let out a long howl.

"Nooooo, NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Then she saw the jaws closing relentlessly in on the deep pearly areola of her left breast, crushing the long nip of her delicate nipple. Otto was taking care not to tear the soft strawberry as he pressed, turned and tormented. Nevertheless, a small trickle of blood finally oozed down her chest, just before Isabeau fainted – for the first time.

Frustrated, the crowd let out a vicious roar. A fishwife nimbly grabbed an ice-bucket, threw out the fish, and handed it to Alberta. A bucketful of ice in her face ice woke Isabeau instantly. Before she could recover, Otto took pulled aside a large piece of flesh and dug the claws into the delicate mass. A howl of animal suffering assailed the eardrums of the audience, some women found they needed to cover their ears.

"HELP, PAPAAAAAAAA! I'M IN SUCH PAAAAAAAIIIIIIIN!!!"

Alberta moved closer again to her victim's female parts, using her evil instrument rule to part her vaginal lips. She found the hood of her clitoris and imprisoned the shy bud of flesh, mercilessly closing the edges of the clip. The shrill cry froze the women in the crowd, now suffering themselves at the sight of this attack on the most intimate part of their own femininity, a cold feeling of fear -they knew it could have been them instead of Isabeau - rivaled any sadistic joy. But the men could hardly conceal their excitement and shouts rang out.

"The cow wants her udders squeezed!!"

Purple rings were now visible beneath Isabeau's eyes, as dark as the blue which had appeared on her belly and breasts, wherever her tormentors had laid their terrible tools on her creamy white skin. A moment later, Otto and Alberta seized her left breast, one on each side, and pulled it in opposite directions, stretching and deforming the proud parcel of flesh, so that it soon looked more like a rubbish sack. They performed the same with the right breast, striving to pull and distort it until it hung down on her flank.

Isabeau's roars of suffering the roars were meaningless, "OOOOOOONNN, ttttteeeeee!" She suddenly ceased, her head fell on his chest so brutally Otto hastened to look check it, before turning to reassure the crowd.


Chapter 06: The torture of the witch - the stake

Isabeau emerged from hell to the sharp pain of Alberta slapping her. She was now on the gallows that had so often haunted her nightmares, she laughed when she awoke. She was still bound to the St. Andrew's cross, now transported onto the platform, so now she had to make an effort to lift her head to see the angry crowd a little below her under the scaffold. She realized that the cross was not stuck upright on the platform, but inclined. She looked up and saw that the ropes attached to the arms were holding the cross at an angle of about 45° with the floor. Her heavy breasts swayed gently in this extremely vulnerable position. Jeers rang out from the women.

"You're not so proud of your tits now, are you bitch?"

Otto entered her field of vision and silenced the crowd. "Hear ye, good people, and let it be known what punishment is fitting for this witch, who plays the fairy queen and feeds the children of the devil with her insolent breasts!" A clamor rose up from all sides.

"Griddle her breasts!"

Arthur didn't add his voice to the shouts of the crowd, he was rummaging about in his little monk's satchel. Eventually, he pulled out a lead pencil and some scrolls. Father Bernardo always required him to record the last moments of heretics, so that he could compose a manual of inquisition designed to justify his activities to the bishop. Occasionally he'd use it to scare gentlewomen, who dared not refuse the old goat anything thereafter.

Alberta steps up to Isabeau in turn, she pushing hard, with difficulty at a big iron cauldron like a blacksmith would use, broad but shallow, mounted on an iron tripod. To Isabeau's horror, she moved the instrument of her next infliction right under the milky globes that gently swayed to the rhythm of her heavy breathing. She yelled with all her might.

"Nooooooooooo, not my breasts, I beg you, just kill me now… nooooooooo!"

Shouts of approval drowned her screams while Otto and Alberta deposited coals at the bottom of the container, before covering them with charcoal. This would gently raise the temperature of, not too fast, as it toasted her prominent towering nipples. After setting light the first bed of coals, Otto approached with a small pair of blacksmith's hand-bellows and placed them on the edge of the pot before operating it.

Oily sweat oozed from the girl's scorched, hairless armpits, lending a glistening sheen to her beautiful pendent breasts. Isabeau shrieked all the more as the first wave of heat came tingle her nipples, she began to shaking her breasts, vainly, but enough to wiggle them lasciviously. Men observed a stunned silence before this incredibly erotic dance, much to the displeasure of the fairer sex gathered in the square, who soon started hissing again.

"She won't be so proud of her tits now, the little slut!"

Arthur looked around briefly before he found an ornamental post on which he could sit conveniently, slightly raised up. He laid a piece of parchment on a wooden board, sucked briefly at his pencil, and began to draw.

The heat was bringing real suffering to Isabeau. She tried desperately to escape the hot blast being fanned by Otto. She seemed riveted to the cross now, she had surrendered to the whole cornu, that was long forgotten, but plenty of her flesh was still left to shrivel slowly, just above the embers now, scattered at the bottom of the cauldron. Even while she experienced the illusion of moving away from the biting of the fire, her moaning persisted, interspersed with the effort of panting. When at length she had to pause, broken by fatigue, she let out a long cry of agony, in which the onset of madness was readily apparent.

Arthur was eagerly sketching the scene, the sinister shadow of the scaffold, the play of light and shade thrown by the flickering glow of the grill. His hand drew a little faster when Alberta approached Isabeau. The unspeakable expression of the executioner-woman's wickedness fascinated him, he was keen to preserve a record.


THE END



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