Cauldron of Fear (11 page)

'I see,'
Crawley said impassively. 'And no doubt she also uses her powers to
take advantage of his fortune and use it in her foul work?' For a
few seconds Brody looked nonplussed, but eventually he seemed to
understand what Crawley was hinting at.

'Well, I don't
know anything about that, Master Crawley,' he said slowly. 'I do
know that the major has fallen upon hard times, for 'tis common
knowledge hereabouts that the pair of them near starved last winter
and the girl was selling off stock to make ends meet.'

Hardly,
Matilda thought grimly, the last resort of someone supposedly in
league with Lucifer and supposedly endowed with supernatural
powers, but this blatant anomaly seemed lost on Brody. Not so, she
saw, on Crawley, for he dismissed his would-be informant after just
a few more words and then turned his attention back to her.

However, as he
led her across the grass to where preparations had been made for
her public humiliation, she understood that it was not the evidence
of Harriet Merridew's innocence that concerned Crawley, merely the
fact that if there was no money in the family, there would be
little point in persecuting her. The man was a fraud, a blackmailer
and a vicious sadist, yet no one else in the village seemed capable
of seeing through him.

James, she
thought again, where in God's name are you?

Naked and
harnessed with her arms useless at her sides, Sarah Merridew stared
about her, wild-eyed, still quite unable to grasp the scenes she
was witnessing.

There seemed
to be at least forty females here, all dressed - or undressed - in
the same fashion, all bound, some with their mouths cruelly gagged
and all being treated no better than the animals one would expect
to see in a meat market. The handful of young males whose task it
was, apparently, to exercise and control them, strutted around with
an air of arrogance and total unconcern, hardly, it seemed, even
aware of so much blatantly displayed femininity.

The other
girls, in their turn, seemed also to have accepted their situation,
moving with docile obedience to the crack of whip, or bellowed
command, trotting in lines with breasts bouncing or jiggling,
depending upon their proportions, thrusting back shoulders to
display their charms even more crudely, eyes looking straight
ahead.

The young man
who had brought Sarah out from inside the barn kept a firm hold on
her upper arm, but seemed in no hurry to push her to join in with
the activities in the meadow. Rather, it seemed, he was content
just to let her watch, knowing she knew that soon enough she would
become just one more part of this herd of humanity.

'We like to
keep our stock healthy,' he said. His name was Ross, Sarah knew,
for she had heard one of the other handlers calling out to him
earlier. He was tall, willowy in build and had wispy, sandy hair.
His features were too narrow for him to be called truly handsome,
but there was something about him that, in different circumstances,
Sarah thought she might have regarded as pleasing.

Now, however,
she could but regard him as a brute, for he had lost no time in
applying his springy crop whip across her unprotected buttocks, and
just to demonstrate to her that he could and would, for she had
been still too dazed to make any show of resistance or
rebellion.

He leaned
across her and placed one hand flat on her stomach. Sarah started
back, letting out a small gasp of alarm, but the fingers of his
other hand gripped the soft flesh of her upper arm even more
fiercely. He laughed, a scornful harsh sound without humour.

'We'd better
get you over that, I reckon,' he sneered. 'And your belly is too
soft, as well. Need to sharpen up the muscles there, slave.' He
paused and Sarah, regarding him with a covert glance, saw that he
was now watching the display of naked women with an air of
detachment, as if his mind was suddenly somewhere else.

Suddenly he
seemed to come to a decision.

'Down there,'
he ordered, jabbing a finger along the line of the nearest boundary
hedgerow. Sarah followed the direction in which he was pointing and
saw that the grass and earth there had been beaten much flatter
than in the rest of the meadow, forming a rough pathway.

'Walk ahead,'
Ross instructed, 'and don't get any queer ideas about running.
You'll only end up tripping and falling and, without your hands,
you'll just smack straight on your face or titties and this ground
is harder than you'd think.'

Obediently,
Sarah began to walk, all the time looking down at where she was
putting her feet, for she new the lad was quite right. The ground
underfoot was far from even and, every here and there a twisted
root appeared above the grass, coiling around in an ensnaring loop
before disappearing beneath the earth again.

They followed
the line of the hedge for several minutes until the sounds of the
slaves exercising had faded, first to a low background buzz and
then altogether, so that only the sounds of the insects and the few
birds circling overhead disturbed the peace of the still morning
air.

Eventually
they came to a narrow gap in the hedge and Ross, with a sharp tap
of his whip, indicated for Sarah to turn left through it. They were
in another field, but here the grass was wild and much higher,
reaching up in places almost to shoulder level, with many wild
flowers growing to similar proportions. However, it appeared that
they were on a fairly well trodden path, for a narrow track
meandered through the overgrown wilderness.

At last the
narrow pathway opened into a wider space, at the far end of which
stood a small stone hut with a thatched roof. In front of the small
building the earth had been compacted to bare mud, with only the
odd weed breaking through the otherwise barren surface. In the
middle of this area Sarah saw the pillory, a heavy timber structure
shaped like a letter T, the cross beam hinging in two sections and
with apertures for neck and both wrists.

In addition,
she noticed as they drew closer, there was a second structure set
just above ground level, like a second pillory, but turned over so
that the board surface faced vertically, rather than horizontally.
As soon as she saw the row of round holes the two sections again
formed, she understood its use: the unfortunate victim of this
contraption could have his or her ankles secured and, dependant
upon which of the three pairs of holes were used, be forced to
stand with their legs drawn apart to differing degrees.

Ross guided
her forward and stooped to push her ankles into the middle hole on
either side. Even so she found that, as he closed the backboard to
imprison her lower limbs, the position was stretched to no little
discomfort. A few moments later Sarah's discomfort was complete, as
her captor deftly unbuckled her wrists from the harness and bent
her forward, placing her neck in the central stock and her wrists
in the nearer, smaller apertures to either side. She winced as the
top section of the pillory banged down and shivered as she heard
the securing pin being thrust home.

Bent almost to
the point where her back was parallel with the ground, Sarah could
only look downwards and sideways, and ahead slightly only by
forcing her head painfully back. However, she did not have to see
to know what Ross was doing and, when he walked back around in
front of her, presenting her with a close up view of his rapidly
thickening penis, she was not at all surprised.

'I thought,
sir,' she said, her voice dry and unsteady, 'that you would prefer
to keep me virgin for the moment. Surely I would command a better
price at whatever foul market you conduct your vile business?' It
was a desperate ploy, but it was all Sarah could think of.
Unfortunately, her only reward was a harsh laugh from the young
handler.

'That's none
of my problem, wench,' he sneered. 'No one has listed you as
virgin, so I have only your word for that. Besides, my wages are
the same whatever price you eventually fetch, so why should I
care?'

He reached
forward beneath the cross board, and cupped one of Sarah's breasts
in each of his hands, feeling their weight as they hung down and
gently kneading the soft flesh. To her horror, Sarah realised her
nipples were beginning to tingle at the contact and would, she knew
from her private pleasure moments, be already engorging and
stiffening.

The effect of
his manipulation was not lost on Ross, either. She heard him
chuckle, as he transferred his grip to one finger and thumb of each
hand, rolling the elongated teats with relish so they grew even
more.

'For a
virgin,' he sniggered, 'you have the most responsive bubbies and
teats I've ever handled. Mayhap your cunny will be a little
hungrier, too, eh?' Sarah groaned and gritted her teeth, but she
could already feel herself becoming warm and moist, even though the
thought of what was to come was so abhorrent to her.

'A lovely
rump, too,' Ross commented, as he released her nipples and moved
slowly around and behind her. She felt his hands on her buttocks,
stroking the full globes and running down either flank, as if
testing her flesh for firmness. 'Yes, another pair of prize
peaches,' she heard him mutter and then she gasped, as one hand
slid between her widespread thighs and cupped her mound, lifting
slightly so that she was forced to raise herself on tiptoe as far
as the timber ankle shackles would allow.

'Get used to
it, slave girl,' he whispered, leaning over Sarah's back. 'This
little purse will see plenty of service in the future, believe me,
even if it's never tasted a length of man meat till now...'

'Ah!' Sarah
gasped as one long finger parted her labial lips and entered her,
stopping as it felt the constriction of her unbroken hymen.

'So, the wench
spoke true, eh?' Ross chuckled. The finger slipped back a little,
resting and pressing upon the little swollen button. Sarah squealed
and shivered instinctively, as a small wave of detestable pleasure
ran up and down her spine.

'Please, sir,'
she moaned. 'I beg you, don't do this to me.'

'No?' His tone
was mocking and he rubbed her clitoris, eliciting more tremors and
several more strangled gasps from her. She bit into her lip and
screwed her eyes tightly closed, trying to fight back the animal
lusts his practised actions were stirring inside her. 'You might as
well enjoy it, girlie whore,' he whispered, leaning forward and
running his tongue up the length of her backbone. 'Mmmm, such
deliciously tender flesh,' he said, straightening again and using
his free hand to prise her buttocks apart.

She felt a
finger pressing against her other opening and instantly her
sphincter muscles contracted against the threat of another
invasion. At the same time the walls of her vagina spasmed,
gripping his finger reflexively and sending yet another fire wave
surging through her.

'No!' she
wailed, but he had no intention of stopping. Patiently,
deliberately, he played with her, taunting and teasing her nubbin,
her nipples and the entrance to the tight little rosebud hole that
her position left so invitingly displayed. Sarah fell silent, apart
from her laboured breathing and the low groans his wickedly skilful
ministrations continued to force from her.

'You bastard,'
she cried at last, opening her eyes wide. A terrible, anguished
wail tore itself from her throat, soaring into the tranquil, late
summer air and sending a nearby flock of starlings rising skywards
in noisy and angry confusion.

'Yes, I
probably am,' Ross giggled, but he knew he had prepared her as far
as any man possibly could. Now he positioned the head of his
burgeoning shaft against her labia, using his fingers to part them
as he began to push into the entrance to her virgin tunnel. Sarah
tried to twist away, but he had already transferred his grip to her
hips and held her fast with seemingly little effort.

Sarah closed
her eyes again and let out a long sigh. She was undone and she knew
it. Held so helplessly by the pillory and Ross's far superior
strength, the inevitable was about to happen. 'Well,' she gasped as
he stood there, his cock barely in her, 'what are you waiting for,
you beast? Take me if you will, like some damned animal. Do your
worst, for after this there will be nothing with which you can
frighten me... Oh!' she shrieked, as he immediately thrust forward,
the thin membrane within her tearing easily before his onslaught.
'Oh God! Ohhhh!' She felt his full length sliding into her, filling
her until she thought she would be rent asunder, but her cries, as
they began to come in time with his steady pistoning motion, were
not entirely of horror and protestation.

'I sympathise
with your problems entirely, Master Handiwell.' The grey-haired
army colonel leaned forward, steepling his fingers together beneath
his chin. 'However,' he said, 'there is little I can do to help you
under the present circumstances.'

'Can't do - or
won't do?' Thomas Handiwell growled. 'Seems the army is happy
enough just to sit on its backside until there are war spoils to be
had.' He clapped his hand to his knee and shook his head.

Colonel
Brotherwood shrugged, and shook his head in turn. 'Sir,' he said,
weighing his words carefully, 'my hands are tied. I receive my
orders from London and can do little without a direct authority.
Surely you must realise that?'

'Colonel,'
Thomas said, fixing him with a steely gaze, 'men have claimed
orders as an excuse for centuries now and I daresay they shall
still be doing much the same three hundred years hence, but I speak
now of true humanity. Our roads are terrorised by these foul
villains, decent folks are frit to venture out after dark and you
sit here, with not only your garrison, but also some ten thousand
idle troopers waiting to embark to a war that may or may not
happen.