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Review This Story || Author: Smackmagnet

Chastening Day

Part 7

This story is a work of fiction. Do not copy anything in the story.


CHASTENING DAY    Act II:     A POOR GIRL, A RICH BOY


© smack magnet


Ch 7: Spun hemp


The screeching of the other girl terrified her. What had the bastards been doing to her? What could make Anja’s voice grate raw like that?

And the boy, these men? If they could make proud, rich Anja scream, what more might they do to a no-one like her? Misha had nothing. No father would get angry for her. She’d last seen him leaving with a sack on his back and a trudging gait, which lengthened and sprung as he grew more distant.

Her mother was poor. She scraped a living washing clothes for other folk near as poor as she. But Misha had work now, of that she was grateful. It was decent enough, indoors for the most part, in a great stone dairy churning butter and cheese. But her skills were not so great that she’d be long missed even there.

She feared the men who stood around as she forced herself, squealing inside, to bear the gorse tips. She feared the hidden words with which the rangy gardener counselled the boy.

Joseph. His name was Joseph Brozemann. Josie Brozie, Josie Brozie. Would he do to her what they’d done to Anja? What exactly were they doing to her?

The gardener, Jaxmund, ruffled Joseph’s hair like the boy was his son. A common man, a rich boy. How?

They were staring at her. She fought to keep herself from moving.

“You know what, boy? She ain’t tried to run, not like that Smolt girl.”

But should she have run? Should she even run now? No. Her mother’s words…

“She’s docile enough.”

Docile. Like the cows Misha milked. She flushed at the insult.

“She look at you wrong once, did she then?”

She saw the boy nod. Those times he’d walked past, blushing crimson. He must hate her. Despise her.

“You want to do her proper, do you boy?” The gravel in these words, the threat of do her proper made Misha’s entrails tense in fear. And again, the boy nodded.

As the gardener growled in the rich boy’s ear, another squeal echoed raw from afar. Misha was lost in her own head again, in the fear she felt, in the need to keep calm.

“Don’t you run, girl!” her mother had warned her. “In the olden days, some girls, they ran. And of them what ran, most all got ’emselves caught. All them girls what got caught… they was in for it bad. Bad, girl. Rotten!”

But Anja hadn’t run, and Anja was screaming.

“You take this chit somewhere private and you tell her not to scream.”

Misha shuddered at the whisper. Then the gardener even winked at her. Jaxmund Urmsvend. Her father had known him. Chastening frinds, they’d been chastening friends.

“She's docile enough, I see it straight.”

Misha wanted to scream.

“’Cause my guess is, once you start, you won't want to stop.”

She flinched as the touched her arm to make her rise. There were after-stabs of pain as she straightened her hips. Then a movement from the older man made her jerk tense. She thought he’d push her into the thorns, but he’d patted the boy on the back instead.

Jaxmund turned as Sturmer Breul came back to Arnath with a callow young man. The boy, whose name was Prit, leered at Misha’s nakedness.

“In front. Walk in front.” The rich boy’s eyes wouldn’t meet her own. A faint breeze blew between her naked legs as she stumbled forwards, unsure of where he meant her to go.

A peal of cruel laughter sounded from behind. The gardeners had shared some unpleasant thought. But as her head shuddered back, she saw Jaxmund Urmsvend take Bob Dummet by his shoulders and turn him away. It was only the boy who was following her.

“This way. To your right.”

“Which…?”

“That way. There.”

She could run! She could run like Marta, but her legs felt too weak.

Something scraped her leg. She flinched and looked. Heather. Low, safe heather.

“Left, now.” The boy’s hand prompted, pressing.

Darker. The dusk was not yet on them, but the stand of trees they’d entered blocked much of the light from the sky above. She heard a whimper leave her throat. He pushed her forward. She stumbled on a root and thumped to her knees on the loamy path.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean that.”

The boy had started to help her up. But he hesitated, seemed unsure of where to put his hands. Then he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, put his other hand under her still-tied elbows. He kept that hand on the rope which cinched her arms as he guided her forward through the gloomy wood.

They walked. The sounds changed. She could no longer hear the other girl’s shrieks. They took another path, turned another way.

Then they were in a glade. Out into light, surrounded by young trees. Open to the sky once more. Hidden from everyone. Misha strained to hear cruel laughter, but all she heard was a blackbird singing high above.

“I need to do something.”

The boy pushed Misha towards a tree which leaned back at an angle. Then he was behind her, unlacing her blouse. Then pulling it down at the front, till her breasts spilled out and over. Her tied arms prevented the garment’s removal. She wondered what would happen to her bow-tie skirt.

His face, concentrating. His brows, pinched and furrowed. He pushed her gently till she was leaning back on the angled tree, with the small of her back resting down on her hands. He was looking with a frown at her breasts. Her nipples tensed in the open air.

She was not the biggest girl in the village, but she was still big enough to take a rope. Joseph muttered Jaxo's words.

“Tie 'em tight, boy.”

As he leaned in with the gardener’s rope, his arms had to stretch.  He sniffed. He tried again, his knees touching hers. But the frown on his face was not venomous, like she’d seen on the face of Bob Dummet and others. As he leaned in again, she parted her knees to let his find the tree.

“Oh.” He looked down. He reached forward. He was closer to her chest. “Um. Thanks.”

Close enough now to press the rope’s end to the middle of her breasts, to make a loop around one.

She tried to smile at him. But she was still afraid, Anja’s screams had seen to that. Her lower lip trembled. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He’d leaned in closer as he tried to make a second loop. He moved back a fraction.

“Sorry for what?”

“For whatever it was I done to you. What made you hate me. I don’t remember what I said.”

“Said when?” he asked.

“Them times you walked up Bramble Lane. I must have said something proper rotten to you.”

He was blinking at her. “I don't hate you, Misha. Honest, I don’t.”

“Everyone out there hates us,” she said.

He frowned. “Not everyone. I don’t.”

He was staring at her breasts again though, working out how to get the second loop to catch and hold the first beneath it. Jaxo was right. The more loops he used, the better the rope gripped. The boy scratched his head. He was talking to himself.

“I’ve seen them do it. Tie a rope to a fence post. I’ve seen them make the loop.”

Misha shuddered.

He made it tight, then moved the free part to the middle of her chest.

“Sorry. Takes a bit of time,” he said.

He started to pull the length of the remaining rope through the loops he'd made around her first-tied breast. Then he fed it through again. He stopped. He seemed to think. He did it once more for good measure.

Then paused. He was staring, close, trying to work it out. Leaning on her. Misha felt his trousers pressing up between her legs. She peered at his face. His eyes flickered up, unsure. She felt his growing erection pressing her crotch to the tree.

“Hello,” she said.

“Um…” He half lifted away till she barely felt him. “I wanted to say hello. In Bramble Lane.”

She tilted her head.

“I… think I was shy.”

Then he blinked, and frowned, looking down again. The rope thing seemed to be taxing his brain. He started on her second breast once… unlooped his loops… started another way. Unlooped them again. He relaxed against her crotch again, almost like he’d forgotten it was there.

“Oh.” his eyes moved. “Yeah.”

“What?” she asked.

“Um, just a rope thing. Working out a rope thing.”

“Oh. That.” She softly rolled her hips.

He started to tie the far end to her second breast, counter-clockwise to the first loop’s clockwise. How many loops had he done before? He looked, he counted.

“Still working out the ropes?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Oh!” He wouldn't be able to tie the little loops at the end to hold the bigger loops in place. “Bollocks.” He unlooped again.

She giggled, nervously. “Don't mind,” she said.

“You're not supposed not to mind.”

“I know. Joseph?”

He cleared his throat. “Mister Joseph.” He'd decided she should call him that after Jaxo had made Joseph call him Mister Jaxo.

“Oh. Mister? Joseph. It's just… I'm a bit scared to ask… what did you do to that other girl? To that Anja? To make her squeal like that?”

“I didn't do anything to her,” he said. “Well… I did, a bit. I got roped in to help. It was Pavel who made her scream though. And Gunter.”

“Gunter Horst?”

Joseph nodded.

“But he wasn't a Chastener.”

“Oh I know. Only Father Dominic didn't seem to mind. When Pavel got him to help.”

She frowned. She thought for a moment. “Joseph?”

“Mister.”

“Mister Joseph then… I don't want you getting angry… But, what did they do to her? To make her… you know… I mean, really scream and scream like that? It made me near piss myself!”

He stopped moving. Her saying that had made him think of her groin. Of his against hers.

He sighed. He looked down at the rope instead of her.

Her voice caught. “Will you have to do it to me, as well?”

“I don't know… I think I might,” he said.

“Why?” He could hear the edge of panic in her voice.

He got angry. “Because if I don't, the priest will… I don't know... ex-communicate me or something!”

“Jose… Mister. Joseph. What did I do to you, please? When he asked you… that gardener… did I look at you wrong, you know? What did I do to you?”

Joseph fiddled with the rope again. “I don't know. You didn't… I think all boys hate girls. A little bit.”

“Do they? So, you hate me then?”

“Look,” he said, “you know I'm not… my parents are rich. Aren't they? My dad's this merchant.”

“I know he is,” she said.

“Well. Yours aren't, are they?”

She frowned. “I don’t have a da. Not since he buggered off, anyroad. My ma’s poor as a church mouse, that’s no secret.”

When he didn't offer more, she looked away. He did things with the rope. A bit angrily, she felt.

“So… what? All that means you’re not allowed even to like me, if you wanted?”

“I don't know…” He wouldn’t look up. “Yes. Probably.”

She sighed. She dropped her head back against the trunk. “You’ve no plans to tell tell me then? What they did to her?”

His eyes stayed down. He shook his head.

“And that’s ’cause you're planning to do it to me?”

He hesitated. “I want to do things to you.”

“Do you?” Her voice rose to a squeak.

“But not that.”

His eyes flashed hers, then flicked aside. Was that shame she’d seen?

“I don't want to tell you. What they did.”

“Why? Please?”

“Because… it wasn't… it was way too much.”

“Oh.” She blinked.

“Just… I don't want to think about it. When I think about you.”

She breathed. Blinked. Tipped her head to one side. “Girls like me don’t get to talk to boys like you. Not proper. Not… slow.”

His loop didn't work. He stamped a foot in frustration. Then hung his head against her chest.

In the pause, she shifted her hips a touch. “Sorry,” she said. “Itchy.”

He lay against her. With his head against her chest, he must surely catch her scent. His head rose and fell when her chest rose and fell.

“I know why I got picked,” she said.

He said, “I bet I got picked because my dad told his friends to make up fake brave stories about me.” But even when he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. It was more like he wished it was true.

She’d giggled, though. He felt it through his groin.

“You're not like that other one. I hope,” she said. “Not like that Pavel Panchun. At least you used to look at me. And I think you tried to smile at me. Sometimes.”

“Well you're pretty.” He said this without lifting his head.

She looked down. Close up, the light caught his hair. “I am?”

He didn't reply. Then he nodded his forehead against her chest.

Misha sighed. “Anja Salidef says I'm… she calls me names. Nasty, some of ’em.”

“I bet my dad hoped I'd get paired with her. Or that Marta.”

“Really?” she said.

“Yes,” said Joseph.

She didn't want to ask. "Did you want it to be them? Would you rather them than me then?”

In a moment, he shook his head.

“They're pretty too, though.”

“I didn't want to get picked at all.”

She stirred her hips, sighing. “You know why I think I got picked? I think that Anja Salidef and her mate Marta and all their friends and their parents got everybody else to write tell-tales about why they all hate me so bloody much.”

She didn't talk like his family. She talked like the villagers. His mother would have made scornful comments after hearing her rattle out her words like that.

“Think that sounds right, do you? Mister Joseph?”

He looked up at her face. He nodded.

“So do I,” she said. She glanced from his one eye to the other. “Please don't get angry. But I think you might be nice.”

It made him laugh. “I don't think you're supposed to.”

She shrugged. She smiled, then nodded to her chest and said, “What's it to be then, Mister Joseph? Are you going to finish tying up my other tit, or what?”

He worked it out. Left a short length of the far end of the rope draping down between her breasts. Tied big loops around her second breast. Used the short length from the end to make holding loops around the bigger loops. All of which left a long central loop hanging down between both newly-bulging breasts.

“So, is that to pull me along with?” she asked.

He nodded, looking down. “Yes. Probably.”

“Oh. Alright.” She shifted her hips once more under his. “So am I like, your slave now or something?”

His head was still down. “That’s the idea.”

“It's alright,” she said.

“Is it?”

“If you really got to do…” She looked down herself. “You know… what they done to her.”

He stepped away from her. “I said I don’t.”

“A bit,” she said.

He scowled.

She drew in a breath. “Was it gorse? Like, when you made me squat? There was smashed gorse…. oh… fuck!”

He looked away. He nodded.

“What happened? How did they do it to her?”

“Well, they… you know… they dropped her. In it.”

“Fucking hell, no!” she said. “No wonder she fucking screamed! Where did they drop her?”

“In… you know… in a gorse bush.”

“Where on her body, stupid?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes!”

He swallowed. “Between her legs.”

“Fuck off!” she said.

He peered at her, confused. “Down on her arse, and between her legs.”

“Fuck… off! Just a bit, or…?”

“No, fucking loads!”

“Fuck! How?”

“They just… I don't know… dropped her in it!”

“No, fuck off! From just a few inches, or..?”

“No, from… standing height!”

“Fuck… off! What, like… right up her crack then?”

“Yes! They fucking dumped her, they dropped her, right in a massive great gorse bush! With her legs spread wide open!”

“With her clothes on, or…?”

“No, stark fucking naked!”

“Fuck off! Fuck... off! Fucking brilliant!”

He was staring in horror.

“So that Anja Salidef’s got, like… hundreds of them nasty little gorse prongs stuck right up her twat now?” She shut her eyes and tipped back her head. She crowed, “And all in her arse cheeks and fucking in her legs! And right up her fucking arsehole!” She laughed at the sky. “Oh, fucking brilliant! Serves the cunting bitch-cow right!”

“She was really badly hurt,” he said.

She looked straight at him and lifted her chin. “Well, I certainly hope so!”

He stared. “That's disgusting.” He gripped the loop of rope hanging down between her breasts. He wrapped it around his wrist. “Get up. Stand up!”

She stared right back. “Go on then. Make me. Joseph.”

When she refused to move, he had to pull her up. Then she wouldn't walk on when he told her to. He had to keep pulling on the rope to make her run.


Review This Story || Author: Smackmagnet
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