© Copyright 2006 - Andreabound - Used by permission
Storycodes: MF/f; slave; toys; Sbf; cons/reluct; XX
#11 Andreabound at the Blacksmith’s – Part One
I often imagine myself as a particular character maybe in a stuck in a predicament or other dangerous or non-consensual situation as part of my self-bondage set up; inventing a fantasy when tying myself up greatly enhances the whole experience for me. The actual details of the scenario usually only come to life though as I begin to experience the bondage first hand and immerse myself in the feelings of being helpless in the situation.
This time, however, as I began to imagine what might have happened to our Heroine after she escaped into the woods from the lynch mob, the fantasy took on a life of its own. And so this complete story is one I dreamed up before putting myself in bondage. I then acted out the story, tying myself up as described in the story as best I could over a period of a weekend or so and finally revised the text to reflect my actual experiences and feelings being tied up as described in the story.
This story was inspired by details of a release mechanism for some self-bondage stocks Zack kindly sent me. Thanks Zack - it works! I was also spurred in my imagination after finding the most gorgeous leather skirt on e-bay. It’s made of the softest black leather and flares out at my hips, swirling down to my ankles. The skirt is a joy to wear; it feels cool to the touch, so soft, and swishes as I walk. When I turn, the skirt billows out, following me round; and I almost feel like I’m floating.
The descriptions of the self-bondages are added to the end of the story so that the flow of the narrative isn’t disrupted. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed acting it out!
Continued from #2 Andreabound in the Woods…
I had narrowly escaped a lynching at the hands of the ranchers and had fled into the woods. Hiding behind some bushes, I thought about my next move. I realized I had never really been out on my own before. Since mother died I had mostly been stuck at home caring for Pa and my brothers. In fact, I had been out in the yard feeding the chickens when the ranchers rode up and grabbed me. Of course I wasn’t rustling their cattle but they demanded to know where the rest of my family was and as I wouldn’t tell them, I was considered to be involved and taken away to be lynched by the angry men. Maybe they hadn’t been intending to go through with the lynching, but were just trying to scare me into betraying my family. In any case it seemed real enough and I was glad to have gotten free.
I thought back to how all this had started. It began with the death of my mother. She had been thrown from her horse while out on the ranch, checking the fences. We had never got on well with our neighbors, the Clancys. When Pa, worried that his wife hadn’t returned from her rounds, found her body on their side of the fence, he stormed round there accusing Clancy Sr of foul play. They had sent him away at gunpoint and, from that time on, there had been a smoldering feud between our two families.
That had been ten years ago and having to take mother’s place as the cook and homemaker for a family of Pa and four boys, all older than me, I had heard endless stories over dinner of misdeeds and planned revenge. All small stuff - until recently, when the Clancys had taken to stealing some of our cattle. Their brand was bigger than ours and they were simply covering our brands with their own; disguising the marks so that at a casual glance they looked like genuine Clancy cattle. Pa had called the sheriff in from Tucspow but either he was blind or in the pay of the Clancys because he failed to see the problem.
Pa was mad as hell and for once the talk over dinner got really serious. Eventually a plot was hatched to steal back the cattle and drive them far away before selling them. So two days ago that’s exactly what Pa and the boys did; leaving me alone in the house when the Clancys came a’calling…
I was brought out of my thoughts by the sounds of the Clancy ranchers returning to find me gone. There was much shouting and disagreement about who was supposed to have stayed behind to guard me, but this was cut short by the unmistakable booming voice of Clancy Senior who quickly organized a search party. “She’s just a girl, how far can she get on her own?” he bellowed. I got angry at that before I realized he was right; how could I escape now they were looking for me? I cursed myself for staying so close to the clearing for so long and slipped out of my hiding place before someone came my way.
It was hard going, this wasn’t familiar territory, and I certainly wasn’t dressed for being outdoors. Nevertheless, I was determined not to be recaptured and so plunged at the best speed I could into the thickest part of the woods. Luckily the stupid Clancys were making such a racket shouting my name and crashing about looking for me that I could flee without being heard.
My escape was not without cost though; before long my skirt was in tatters and I shed the jacket to help me make better speed. At one point I found myself rolling down a muddy embankment into a stream. I pulled myself up and ran on, now wet and cold and very, very dirty.
Luckily, I knew exactly where I was when I came out of the woods. I could see the edge of our property from here and knew, if I followed the edge of the woods, I would be able to approach our house unseen.
Creeping up on the house I peered in a window. Drat, John Clancy was in there, sitting on Pa’s rocking chair with his feet up on our table, the table I had scrubbed just that morning, seemingly so long ago now. My heart skipped a beat, partly out of fear but partly because I’d had a secret crush on John for the last few years. The couple of times I’d caught his eye in the past, John Clancy had seemed look at me with an undisguised lust and I had often daydreamed of him coming over to our house to ask my Pa for my hand in marriage and then carry me off to our own cottage in the hills. Of course the ridiculous feud between our two families meant that would never happen. And now here was the object of my fantasies sitting in our house. I toyed with the idea of just going up to John and using my feminine wiles to sweet talk my way past him. No, that was a stupid idea; so I crouched there by the window for a while wondering what to do. Eventually I worked up the nerve to try and sneak past him and make my way upstairs for a change of clothes and, hopefully, grab some food. Then he moved slightly, revealing the shotgun lying across his lap. I realized I would not be able to stay here; but where to go? I needed to warn my Pa and brothers but I didn’t know where they had gone. All I knew is that they had gone east somewhere. Tucspow was out too; I knew I couldn’t trust the sheriff there and besides it lay to the west. No, I had to set out east and try and find my family.
The only place I had ever been to traveling east was Glanville. It was a day’s ride away and a long way by foot. I would have to start there.
It was dusk, three days later, when I finally reached the outskirts of Glanville. I had to keep off the main road as I was afraid of being spotted by one of the Clancy clan and since I was wearing just a ripped blouse, revealing more than it hid and a badly torn skirt which was by no means demure. I desperately needed a change of clothes and some food. The nearest house to me was the blacksmith’s. I shuddered at the thought of breaking in there, recalling the leers he had given me on the one occasion we had stopped there, needing his services. I vaguely remembered he had a wife who was about my size if a little taller and might therefore be a source of new clothes. After while I decided hanging around wasn’t going to get me anywhere and my need finally overcame my reluctance to approach the blacksmith’s house. I thought about just knocking on the door and asking for help, but I had no way of knowing if the Clancys had already been here spreading their lies about me. I couldn’t risk it.
So I walked around the house a couple of times and poked my head into the workshop. What luck; no one seemed to be at home. After getting a much needed drink, courtesy of the pump in the backyard, I tried a couple of windows before finding one that was open. Climbing through, I found myself in the kitchen and I was tempted to eat the bread I found right there but decided I needed to move quickly. So, grabbing the bread, I crept upstairs and found the master bedroom. I looked through the dresser but the top few drawers were full of the Blacksmith’s clothes. The bottom draw just turned up a leather skirt. I pulled it from the drawer and held it against me. No good; I needed a pair of breeches or at least a dress. I went to put it back in the drawer when I realized it was made of the softest black leather I had ever felt. I held the skirt to my cheek, feeling the soft leather against my face; it was gorgeous. I had to try it on. But first I needed a wash. Checking the house was still without sound or occupants, I used a jug of water on the dresser to wash myself as best I could. Then taking off my boots and losing the remains of my old skirt and my muddy underwear, I slipped on the leather skirt. It did feel lovely, and I could see why the Blacksmith would have bought it for his wife, even if she could never wear it out in public. He must have bought it for wearing in the bedroom and I shuddered at the sudden mental image of the oversized, grimy blacksmith having intimate relations with his wife. Or anyone else for that matter. Strangely, it didn’t seem as if the skirt had ever been worn before and I wondered if the Blacksmith’s wife had been less impressed with his present.
I posed in the skirt in front of the small and dusty mirror, trying to see what how it looked on me. It certainly felt lovely; sensuous, even. The blacksmith’s wife was taller than me after all; on me the hem of the skirt was just brushing the floor. Twirling around again, to make the full skirt bloom out from my legs, I spotted the bread I had brought up from the kitchen and that reminded me of how hungry I was. I was reaching over for the bread when suddenly the door flew open and, framed in the doorway, was the bulk of the blacksmith. Frozen with fear and rooted to the spot I missed the only opportunity I might have had to flee and by the time I came to my senses, he had put his huge hands around my upper arms and I was his prisoner.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Two
Pulling a length of rawhide from his pocket he proceeded to bind my hands behind my back. Ouch, that was tight! Using another length of rawhide he quickly bound my ankles together. Once I was secured, he stood back and took a long look at his prize. “What have we here then, little thief!?” he demanded. I was taken aback; I certainly didn’t think of myself as a common thief and started to protest my innocence. “Quiet, girl!” he shouted to silence me. I find you here eating my food and wearing my wife’s clothes and you say you’re not stealing?” He gave a deep guffaw and I realized he was right. I felt sick to my stomach. I had never really intended to steal anything from anyone yet here I was - caught red-handed. What if he turned me over to the sheriff, would the Clancys get their hands on me again? I started to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t call the sheriff” I stammered. “We’ll see about that” he stated “meanwhile enough of your whimpering, girl”. He picked up my muddy under-garments from the floor where I had dropped then and, tearing my bloomers into strips, forced a wad into my mouth and used more strips to tie the wad in place. I tried to plead for understanding but all that came out was a muffled noise. I was now totally at his mercy.
“I’ve got just the place for you” he said, throwing me over his shoulder with ease. We journeyed down through the house and out the backdoor to his workshop. I shivered with fright. Here I was bound and gagged, wearing nothing but a borrowed skirt and in the hands of a man who was clearly enjoying having possession of a helpless girl.
Standing me up in the middle of the workshop and telling me not to go anywhere, he rummaged around his workbench and until he found what he was looking for. He came back over to me and held up his find so I could see the two items he held in his hand. Looking at them, I was still none the wiser as to what he had there; I just couldn’t imagine what the items were for. My confusion was short lived and the purpose of the devices became all too obvious as he opened one and moved his hand towards my exposed breasts. I shrank back in pain and confusion and shame as the clip bit into my left nipple and I swung away as far as I could to prevent him attaching its friend to my right breast. The blacksmith just leered more evilly and took hold of the clip already abusing my left nipple and twisted it. The pain was unbearable and my legs buckled as I moaned into my gag. I clearly had no choice but allow him to add the other clip to my remaining nipple. The devious Blacksmith was not done torturing me though; he tied a length of string to the two clips and slung the other end over the rafter he had strategically placed me under. Retrieving the loose end he tied it to a hook on the wall but not before giving a vicious tug that pulled me up onto my toes.
I was now in a predicament; if I stayed up on my toes the pain was just bearable but if I tried to lower my heels the pain increased tenfold and I knew I would probably pass out from the agony. I didn’t know how long I could stay like this without fainting because I hadn’t slept or eaten for over a day. The Blacksmith didn’t care, though. He turned on his heels and left the workshop saying something about preparing the bedroom for my visit.
The moments in that workshop passed ever so slowly. I tried to keep my balance as the rawhide strips bit deeply into my wrists and ankles slowly making them numb. The pain from the clamps pulling on my virgin breasts was so terrible I could only imagine the terrors the blacksmith was preparing for me upstairs. If this torture was his idea of warm-up fun, I was in for a night of unspeakable torment.
When the blacksmith did reappear though an hour or so later I was surprised to see he had a rather different expression on his face. The leer had been replaced by a somewhat shameful face. The reason for this change was apparent as soon as he moved into the workshop. Behind him and previously hidden by his enormous bulk was the wife. She divided her anger between me and him. Berating me as a common thief; anyone would think I had stolen her most treasured possession instead of a skirt she had clearly never worn before. The blacksmith didn’t fare much better, receiving an ear blasting that belied the difference in their sizes. It was clear who wore the trousers in this family. When she calmed down a little, they fell into a discussion as to what should be done with me. The blacksmith was all for dealing with me himself, but his wife was having none of that. She wanted him to fetch the sheriff but he pointed out the sheriff would be drunk this late in the day, and in any case as the sheriff didn’t have a jailhouse he would have nowhere to keep me.
In the end she told him to sort it out; but that I wasn’t to be let go, or molested by him and that I had to be out of her house before bedtime. The blacksmith said he had an idea where everybody could be made happy (expect me of course) and so, after giving him a withering look, she strode out of the workshop muttering obscenities about his poor performance in the bedroom.
If I had thought I was going to be let down from my position, I was disappointed. The blacksmith, grumbling about his wife’s endless nagging and generally spiteful demeanor, moved through the workshop collecting tools and various pieces of wood. Upset at being ignored, and desperate for a drink, I tried to attract his attention. Of course all that came out was a muffled yell. All I got for my efforts was a whack on my behind and a demand to be quiet from the blacksmith as he passed me on his travels. The command to be silent was hard for me to maintain as the slap had unbalanced me and for a moment I hung from the ceiling by the clips attached to my nipples. I thought my breasts were about to be torn off but I quickly managed to regain my precarious balance and slightly relieve the agony of my tortured breasts. There seemed no logical reason for leaving me dangling there; I wasn’t going anywhere with my wrists and ankles bound. I realized there was no love lost between the blacksmith and his wife and perhaps he was just taking it out on me.
The blacksmith set to work with the wood he had collected and as he worked his mood gradually improved. He even started to whistle tunelessly as he set about building whatever contraption he had in mind. Every now and again he would smile to himself before giving me a lecherous, sidelong glance. A couple of times he came over and took a mental measurement of my proportions, using the opportunity to stare at my assets and clearly debating with himself whether it was worth the risk of touching me and maybe incurring the wrath of his bullying wife. As the wood was nailed and screwed together I had no idea what he was building, although I had to admire the workmanship of whatever it was he was constructing.
At last it was finished and he came over and twisted me round to get a better look at his masterpiece. “Your new home for the night” he declared, pointing at the bizarre looking device. I still hadn’t got a clue as to what he had built but, given my harsh treatment at his hands so far, I knew whatever he planned for me was unlikely to be a pleasant experience. On the other hand I was close to swooning from my current trials, my feet were demanding to be placed flat on the floor, my left leg was visibly shaking from the strain of keeping the pressure off my breasts and my nipples were on fire where the teeth of the vicious clips had them in their hold. I was ready to be let down; at any cost.
For the first time in ages the blacksmith, happy with his handiwork, looked at me properly. He realized I was beyond my limits of endurance and, wrapping one arm around my slender waist, reached up with his free hand and opened the clip on my left nipple. If the pain of the clips was bad before, this was ten times worse and as the blood returned to my abused nipple I cried out in pain; loud enough that they could have heard me in the next state, even through the gag. Before the pain subsided he removed the other clip and I fainted.
When I came to, I was seated on the ground, my back against one of the wooden support posts, still bound at hand and foot but the blacksmith had removed my gag and was trying to get me to take some water from a dirty wooden beaker.
I drank the water in one long draft and, finding my voice, meekly asked for more. The blacksmith went to fetch some more water and on his return, looked furtively around before demanding a kiss in payment for a further drink. I was no longer in a fighting mood and knew I had to play his game if I wanted to avoid the worst outcome; besides in my present situation I had little choice but to go along with anything he demanded. So I agreed and he leant across me and put his mouth against mine. Of course he didn’t miss the opportunity to fondle my breasts as he kissed me. After a minute or so he pulled away and looked around guiltily before offering the water.
“Look, can’t we work something out here?” I asked but the blacksmith cut me short asking if I’d like to wear the gag again. I certainly did not, so I wisely shut my mouth; for now.
The blacksmith started to explain the contraption he had built for me, but realized by the puzzled expression on my face that I just wasn’t following him. “I guess it’s just easier to show you” he said and with that, pulled me to my feet again and bent down to release my feet. “Don’t you go getting’ any crazy idea about running off, girl” he warned. I didn’t; I believed I wouldn’t get far, especially as my feet were still numb from the tightness of the rawhide he had used to bind my ankles. In any case I didn’t want to make my situation any worse than it already was.
The blacksmith marched me towards his device and stood me in front of it. He bent down and opened the top which swung up on one side. Now it became obvious; he had built a pillory. I looked closer at the contraption and could see there were holes for my neck and wrists as well as separate spaces to trap my ankles. The whole thing was built on a sturdy frame so that it was all of one piece and from the back end of the frame between the ankle holes, rose a thick beam of wood that ended about crotch height and was finished off with a sort of thin wooden saddle arrangement. This saddle was covered in tiny spikes; I guessed they were the ends of short nails knocked in from underneath. The purpose of this was unmistakable.
At that point my compliant mood ran out and I tried to back away. “No way out now, thief!” the blacksmith yelled and grabbing one ankle held it against the waiting hole. With a deft movement of his other hand he closed the stock around it trapping my ankle. A solid and ancient-looking padlock made sure only he could release me from this contraption. Of course this wasn’t enough for him and before I could draw breath he lifted my skirt up and had my other ankle similarly looked into the stocks. My ankles were held about two feet apart and the saddle was now positioned against my pussy under my skirt which he had pulled back down to hide this part of the device. If I stood up straight though, I could just lift myself clear of the spikes.
Sure that I wasn’t about to run anywhere, the blacksmith unbound my wrists and allowed me a few minutes to rub life back into my numb hands as he tinkered with the front of his device. Then grabbing both my wrists he pulled me forward and pushed them into the openings made when he had lifted the top part away.
My neck was forced into a similar but slightly larger opening and of course being pulled forward like that pushed my pussy slightly onto the spikes. I tried to lift up again but the blacksmith held my head down while he lowered the top part of the pillory over my neck and wrists. Another large padlock later and I was a total prisoner. As the skirt nearly came down to my ankles on my short frame, the whole saddle part was hidden from public view. I guessed anyone looking at me now would just see me standing bent over at the waist with my behind pushed out as if ready to invite some punishment.
“A couple of points I like to er, point out” the blacksmith said. “There’s a spike under your chin that will stop you talking. Best that you don’t tell no one no more lies. It was that or another gag; I’m sure this is better for you.” I tested his claim by opening my mouth to complain but a sharp point immediately dug into my throat just under my chin. I found I couldn’t open my mouth at all. Worse than that I realized I would have to keep my head up. If I lowered my head at all, or fainted again, I would seriously regret it. This was scary. How long did he intend to keep me in here? His wife had said I was to be out by midnight. It must be nearly that time now. Was this torture to be short-lived then? The blacksmith didn’t seem like the sort of guy that would stand up to his wife; especially go against her direct instructions. But why would he go to all this trouble to build something to keep me in, if just for a short time?
What was going to happen next? I wondered as he stalked out of the workshop leaving me to contemplate the mess I had gotten myself into.
The reason for his disappearance became clear when he returned a few minutes later with a friend accompanying him. The new man stopped in the doorway and stared at me, disbelief in his eyes. In front of him was a young woman, breasts exposed and wearing only a skirt. The man looked like he’d never seen a woman’s breasts before – perhaps he hadn’t. “Are you sure about this?” he asked of the blacksmith. “ Don’t have no choice Dan” was the reply “ Mary-Ann sez she has to go, and this is the only way I can do it”. And “Wanna see something cute?” With that he brought his friend around the back of me where I couldn’t see and lifted up my skirt. “Hey! She ain’t wearing no bloomers” Dan exclaimed. “I never seen nothing like that before. Are you sure she ain’t no whore?”. “Naw, just a thief” said the blacksmith. “Come on give me a hand. Let’s get her out of here before Mary-Ann gets back”.
Dan had made his way around the front again and was staring me in the face; his expression full of uncertainty”. “I’m not so sure about this Joe” he said. “Anyway if we lift her like this won’t that spike you got there stick in her?”, “You got a point there” said the Blacksmith also coming round to the front to have a look, “I never thought about that. Hang on I’ll fix it.”
He disappeared, to get a tool to remove the spike I assumed, but instead started making a racket at the back of the workshop and when he returned he put a hook into my nostrils and pulled the attached cord up and fixed it to a nail he hammered into the top of the pillory, above my head. That hurt. But at least I was in less danger of impaling myself on the spike. I couldn’t lower my head at all now but the spike was still pressing slightly against my throat under my chin, preventing me from opening my mouth.
Somewhat mollified by the changes Dan finally agreed to help the blacksmith with his task and between them they hoisted the frame of my pillory onto their shoulders and maneuvered it out of the workshop. Outside, the cold hit me at once; my legs and breasts being totally exposed to the cool night air. The blacksmith and his friend marched me to the main part of the town and dumped me, still held captive in the pillory of course, on the wooden boardwalk in front of the saloon that also served as Glanville’s only hotel.
And so I stayed there all night. Cold and shivering, trying to hold myself up so my pussy wasn’t resting on the spiky saddle, unable to call for help even if I wanted to. My only visitor was a late, wandering drunk who took one look at me and, not believing his eyes, shambled off into the dark, and presumably, home and a warm bed.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Three
As the next day dawned the town slowly came to life and it wasn’t long before a small crowd had gathered to witness the strange apparition that had mysteriously appeared in their town overnight.
Mostly people kept their distance not quite sure what was going on. The men leered and would have approached if not for the stern and disapproving looks of the women who looked on from across the street and exchanged disparaging comments on the impropriety of my attire (or lack of it) in whispers just loud enough for me to make out. I felt so humiliated and I couldn’t even look away; the spike and nose hook ensured I had to face my audience. Although it was clear the men would have liked to take advantage of my situation if it weren’t for the women; the women themselves weren’t nearly as inhibited. They glared at their men folk until the men had been embarrassed enough to move away and then the women approached me. At first they demanded to know why I was flirting my body so, inciting the men to ogle. As I couldn’t give a satisfactory answer to their complaints, they began calling me the sort of names that made me blush to the base of my neck. Then they started to throw mud and any small items they could find at me. If the men, still watching the women exact their punishment on me from a short distance away, disapproved of the women’s behavior, they didn’t show it and allowed the women to torment me for over ten minutes. One younger woman who turned out to be the school mistress had a catapult she had obviously confiscated from one of her students and, having moved round to the side, was taking aim at my exposed and dangling breasts using small stones as ammunition. A few times she scored a direct hit and I cried out with pain through clenched teeth; not able to open my mouth in order to vent a proper scream.
Emboldened by this, another woman, who couldn’t have been more than a couple of years older than me, started throwing pebbles at my head where it stuck out of the hole in the pillory. Eventually she hit me right on the forehead with a large stone, nearly knocking me senseless and causing blood to trickle down my face and into my mouth where it tasted of metal. I never knew women could be so cruel to another of their kind. I felt so miserable and started to cry; tears mixing with the blood now running freely down my face. At least that incident caused some of the men to remonstrate with the women throwing stones and as a result a kindly older woman came over to me and used a handkerchief to wipe away my blood and tears and some of the mud that had stuck to my face. She railed against the others, shouting “Wait we don’t know what she’s even supposed to have done.” Some of the crowd laughed at that, pointing out a sign I hadn’t seen as it was pinned to the front of the pillory; “CAUWT THEEVING” it apparently said. “Where’s her accuser then?” asked the old woman. “Have we become so uncivilized in this town we don’t need a proper trial before condemning someone?” At that, someone in the crowd decided to fetch the sheriff even though it was pointed out to him the likely consequence of waking the sheriff from his drunken sleep before midday.
At the prospect of encountering the ill-tempered sheriff some of the townsfolk decided it was time to move on. A few wanted to stay on and see what transpired. I had no choice of course, locked almost naked in a pillory in full view of the public, I wasn’t going anywhere. I was fated to wait here and see what happened first hand.
It was another long hour before the sheriff, looking somewhat disheveled and not at all pleased to have been so rudely awoken, stood in front of me. He was clearly as bemused as the rest of the townsfolk as to my purpose in being there. He approached me and asked my name and home town. He couldn’t get an answer of course and after raising his voice finally came to see the reason why. He looked at the spike and decided he’d better leave that alone. Then inspected the heavy locks and decided they were beyond his ability to remove. He made do with removing the cord holding my nose hook in place. My chin immediately fell towards the spike and I had to make a real effort to hold my head up. Of course I still couldn’t speak to answer his interrogations and so eventually he gave up; telling one of the remaining onlookers to cover me up until he could find who had done this. Apparently, covering me up just meant throwing a smelly and disgusting old horse blanket over my back.
I stood there unable to move; my legs long having given up the futile struggle to keep my pussy clear of the barbed saddle. At least having my rear end supported like that prevented me from strangling; something that almost certainly would have happened if my neck and wrists alone had been locked into the stocks for so long. The twelve hours or so I had spent so far trapped in the blacksmith’s contraption had depleted my already low reserves; I was beyond hungry and exhausted. My mouth was dry and my lips were cracked from lack of water. And as the day pressed on and the hot sun moved higher in the heavens, beating down on my back, I began to suffer in earnest beneath the heavy blanket. It seemed to trap the noonday sun and I was beginning to roast. Coupled with my raging thirst, I was almost passed out when the sheriff returned looking even less happy than before.
It turned out he had given up asking the townsfolk where I had come from – no one knew. So he had tramped out to the Blacksmith’s house hoping to obtain some tools to release me. Instead he had encountered the blacksmith’s wife who had sent him away empty handed after accusing me of breaking into her house, stealing her precious clothes and of raiding her pantry of the best food.
The sheriff obviously wasn’t used to being spoken to in the manner the blacksmith’s wife had used on him. He was a wise man though, and had not attempted to argue with her. So now he stood in front of me and after a long think, pulled his gun from its holster and approached. I shrank back as far as the stocks would allow (which was about half and inch) in fear of my life. The sheriff just held my long hair in his hand and lifted my chin off the nail pointing at my throat. Using the handle of his gun as a hammer he swung at the nail. Luckily, even hung-over, the sheriff was a good shot with both ends of his gun and the nail was bent to the side. He let go of my hair and my head fell forwards.
“Now young lady, you’ve been accused of stealing. What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked. I looked up and tried my hardest to answer him but my lips were too cracked and heat exhaustion had taken hold of me. The best I could manage was a strangled croak before lowering my head again in defeat. “So no answer for your accusers, huh?” he taunted. I’ll just have to check the claims fer meself”. With that he moved around to my rear and threw the blanket off to get a better look at the disputed skirt. Pulling the skirt up and over my hips drew a gasp from the onlookers as it became clear I possessed no undergarments. “Looks like Smithy’s wife was right” he said and “I’ll have to add a charge of public lewdness to yer charge too, lass”.
The crowd had gathered again and now started to suggest suitable punishments for a girl foolish enough to get caught stealing in their town. In the end, a hasty court was convened on the steps of the hotel and I was at last given a drink so I could defend myself. Not that it made much difference; public opinion had turned against me, the initial novelty having worn off and the any remaining pity becoming resentment. The trial, if it could be called that, was a forgone conclusion. I gave a spirited account of myself but I really hadn’t got much to say in my defense anyway. Not wanting to let the jury (the sheriff) know about my dispute with the Clancy clan didn’t really allow me to claim any sort of sympathy vote. I was a thief caught red-handed; simple as that stated the Blacksmith and verified by his wife who had finally decided to turn up and accuse me in person. All that remained in doubt was the sentence that the judge (also the sheriff) would hand out once the inevitable verdict was declared.
It turned out I was to receive a public flogging of ten lashes for my inappropriate dress. My claim that was none of my doing fell on deaf ears. For the stealing I would have to pay back the Blacksmith and his wife double the value of what I had stolen from them. As I didn’t have a dime on me, that would have to be in the form of hard labor. The sentences would be carried out consecutively. First a flogging tonight at six, allowing time for the word to get out making for the greatest audience, then I would be handed over into the care of the Blacksmith’s wife and put to work as she saw fit. It was agreed after much haggling that I would work for the Blacksmith and his wife for one month, with the Sheriff checking up on me once a week to ensure I was complying with the wishes of the court and that the Blacksmith and his wife weren’t abusing me too much; although quite what the limits were could not be agreed upon. Sentence passed, the sheriff went back to the bar and the crowd slowly dispersed.
And so I was left to spend the long afternoon, my back and shoulders aching from the slowly growing cramps my body was occasionally subjected to. The drink had revived me and at least the hot and dirty blanket wasn’t placed back over me; it being decided by the court that the townsfolk should see first-hand the crime I was guilty of. There had been some debate that the skirt should be returned to its rightful owner but the Blacksmith’s wife flatly declared she never wanted to touch a garment so tainted by a common whore. I wanted to point out I was not a whore but decided I was in enough trouble and kept my mouth shut. So the skirt was left on me, still pulled up over my hips where the Sheriff had left it; my bottom and pussy exposed for all to see passing behind me as they walked in and out of the hotel entrance.
I had no choice but to put up with the situation; trying to alleviate the cramps and stiffness by moving my limbs as best I could. The worst moment was when the schoolwomen passed by on their way home from the day’s lessons; marching in an untidy line led by the schoolmistress. She stopped by me and looked me up and down. After a moment she sent the women on their way and wandered off to round up some of her friends. And so I found myself once more at the mercy of the town’s women folk. With no men around to moderate their behavior this time, they took to tormenting me as only women can. First calling me names; taking it in turns to lambaste me with dirtier and dirtier obscenities as they grew slowly bolder. Then unbelievably, several of the younger women held a spitting competition and before long my face was covered in their spittle; I couldn’t have imagined young ladies behaving in such a manner. Their behavior was more like naughty women than grown women. I raged at them but they knew my threats were empty and jeered at my pathetic attempts to shoo them away. Eventually they discussed my impending flogging at the hands of the men and decided between them that they shouldn’t be made to miss out on the best entertainment the town had seem for several seasons. So they agreed to whip me themselves. While some of the women argued about the rules, others went in search of a means of delivering the whipping and returned with several twigs. These were quickly turned into switches and the women set to whipping me with various switches trying to determine who had the strongest whip hand and which type of tree made the best switches. The rules eventually agreed were that each woman would be allowed two stokes with switch of their choice and the one that elicited the loudest scream would get to lay a further six strokes on me.
And so they set to; youngest first. As the youngest woman was quite slight and very nervous, I only felt a slight twinge as her chosen twig landed twice across the backs of my calves. The next made a slightly better go of it, producing a small whimper from between my lips for her troubles. Spurred on by the growing sense of competition and the encouragement of the others, the next few women were able to produce short screams from their efforts. Of course by the time the most fearsome looking women got their turn, they had worked out which switches were having the most effect and, to the delight of the younger women laid into me with real feeling. I screamed and yelled at the top of my voice as the switches burned into my thighs. Although most of the blows landing on me weren’t too painful, there was around twenty women playing this game and by the time they had all had their to strokes I was covered in painful stripes up and down the backs of both my legs. Eventually it stopped and a hasty debate produced a winner by a narrow vote. The woman chosen to mete out my punishment was inevitably the schoolmistress. The same woman who had used the catapult on me earlier; I knew I could expect no mercy from her.
I wondered why, despite the disturbance the women were making, none of the men hadn’t put an end to their games by now; but if anyone was listening, they had obviously decided anyone found guilty of stealing in their town was fair game for anything the women saw fit.
The women debated how to keep me from making so much noise though, probably worried that their fun would be interrupted by someone from the poker game in progress just inside the hotel lobby just a few yards away, fed up of the commotion. They decided to gag me and one young woman lent her handkerchief, which was pushed into my mouth and another found a stick and some twine to hold it in place. Suitably prevented from making too much further noise, my torment began.
The winner proudly took her weapon of choice and moved in front of me. She looked about twenty-two and she fixed her eyes on me. “I’m gonna whip you good girl” she boasted, “real good! You brought our town into disrepute and set a bad example for our women” I felt ashamed and fearful and couldn’t meet her gaze. This was going to hurt a lot and it was certainly only a foretaste of the punishment planned for me by the men in an hour or so.
She moved behind me and the rest of the women gathered around her to cheer her on. After a slight delay I heard the swish of the long switch and a moment later a stripe of fire burned across my bottom. The force of the blow pushed my already sore pussy onto the spikes of the saddle once more. I yelped with anguish but the gag was so effective a little sound escaped my lips. No one but me and the Blacksmith knew about the spikes in the saddle and I desperately wanted to tell them about it. Not that it would have made much difference at this point, I supposed. I would have to make do with telling the sheriff about it later before my real whipping began. I was sure they wouldn’t be so cruel as to whip me against such a painful device. Meanwhile the woman’s whipping continued and the next blow landed on the very top of my thighs, right on the line between the tops of my thighs and my bottom. This was the worst yet and I jerked in my restraints as a wave of pain passed up my back and down my legs to my extremities. All to no avail; I was held firm, and mute, and would just have to bear whatever punishment they felt like meting out to me.
The next blow was less painful but still elicited a muffled cry of pain from me and the next was harder again, the schoolmistress having regained her stride. The next two were equally painful but by this time I was reduced to a quivering mass of tears and almost beyond caring. It was over. That was six; the agreed prize for the winner. But my tormentor was not content; she argued that lash number three had not been a real blow as he had been distracted. Eventually she won his way and was allowed one further lash. I could hear the sharp intake of breath as the women followed the progress of the schoolmistress’ final stroke. I could almost see in my mind as she lifted the switch far above her head and brought it straight down along the crack of my bottom. She had obviously had much practice with the switch keeping her class in order and so her aim was true and the end of the switch even curled round and struck the outside of my pussy. I had never, ever, felt such raw pain and agony. I twisted and buckled in the stocks and if it weren’t for the blacksmith’s workmanship probably would have torn the stocks apart right there. As the initial unbearable fire subsided it was replaced with a burning sensation that had me shaking and sobbing. I hardly heard the young women as they ran off laughing and before I knew it I was alone again, languishing in my pain and torment and shame.
My exertions had me gasping for breath and with the gag tightly bound in my mouth I could only breathe through my nose; but this was bunged up with my tears and for a dreadful moment I panicked, thinking I would suffocate right there. I forced myself to be calm, the effort of trying to draw breath, momentarily distracting me from my pain laced bottom and legs.
The pain slowly mellowed to a moderate stinging and became almost bearable. But before long a crowd was starting to gather again, some bringing chairs from nearby houses and shops; arriving early to ensure a good show. The town was to be entertained tonight and I was the main act. Eventually the Sheriff appeared having made a little more effort with his appearance this time. He announced that he had spent the last couple of hours deciding who would have the honor of delivering the town’s sentence to their guilty thief. Someone quipped that he’s run a game of poker with my whipping as the prize. Then the Sheriff announced that the blacksmith had asserted his right as the injured party to be the one to deliver the ten lashes. I knew firsthand the strength of the blacksmith and I quivered with fear at this news.
Of course I wanted desperately to tell the sheriff about the spiked saddle but the women had run off leaving my gag in. I hoped someone would have the sense to remove it and, indeed the sheriff did move forward to free my mouth but the blacksmith placed a hand on the sheriff’s arm and said “She’ll be needing that”. The sheriff reluctantly walked away. I tried to attract his attention but all that came past gag of course was a muffled squeaking that brought laughter from the crowd. The blacksmith must have known the presence of the saddle would greatly intensify my whipping but he didn’t seem to care and wasn’t about to enlighten anyone else to the situation.
And so my second whipping of the day commenced. This one made the other seem insignificant in comparison. No simple switch for the Blacksmith; he had brought a bullwhip that he had been soaking in water all afternoon. He took special delight in pointing this out to the crowd, clearly really addressing his comments to me. I would like to describe it in detail but I passed out after the first two blows. Unfortunately this wasn’t good enough for the crowd and a bucket of cold water was thrown over my head to revive me in time for the next lash. And so the whipping continued with me slipping in and out of consciousness. It all became a blur of pain and more pain, of fainting and rude awakening. I lost count but eventually the last lash came. I was awake for this and like his younger counterpart the blacksmith raised the whip high above him and brought it down across my back. I felt like I was going to pass on to the next life right then and I started to pass out again, but a well timed bucket of water kept me from slipping away and forced me to endure the worst of the pain.
The whipping was over and my gag was removed. I was so spent I couldn’t even cry out. I had no tears left and I just hung in my restraints hoping to die. Some water was pressed to my lips but I was too out of it to swallow. “Give her a few minutes” stated the blacksmith. “I’ll be back in a while”.
Ten minutes later the blacksmith still hadn’t reappeared and the crowd was getting restless; some of them losing interest and wandering off for their dinner or other nightly entertainment. “What are we going to do with her now Sheriff?” asked a man who was obviously the proprietor of the hotel. “I don’t want her stayin’ here, turnin’ good people away from my bar”. This question was answered by the late arrival of the Blacksmith. He strode into view wearing his apron and carrying a fearsome looking hammer. With one hand he was rolling what looked like a very solid and old-fashioned wheel. Still muttering about the injustices of being married to a shrew, he bent down and removed the padlocks holding my limbs in the stocks.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Four
“So she’s mine, for a month, to do what I want with, huh?” The blacksmith asked of the Sheriff as he moved about me slowly releasing my arms and ankles and neck. “Yep, all yours and mind you work her well” replied the sheriff. At this the remaining men in the small crown began making catcalls and lewd suggestions to the blacksmith as to what they would do to me in his situation.
Finally released from the stocks, I simply slumped to the ground, exhausted and spent. The blacksmith evidently didn’t consider there was a risk of me running away as he just turned his back on me to fiddle with the strange looking wheel he had brought with him. So for several minutes, he ignored me and made no attempt to bind me in any way. He was right of course; I had no strength to run even if the crowd and an armed sheriff hadn’t been there to prevent any escape attempt. I lay there in the dirt in front of the now empty stocks trying to will strength back into my abused limbs and wishing my back wasn’t on fire.
By the time the blacksmith turned to face me again, I had managed to struggle into a sitting position covering my exposed breasts with my arms. He approached me with what appeared to be just half of the wheel he had earlier. I wondered what injustice I was about to experience next. The wheel was placed at the back of my neck and my head was pushed down so that the wheel wouldn’t fall off. Thankfully there were no wounds there from the whipping so the worst I had to endure was the weight of having the half wheel resting on the back of my neck and shoulders. I didn’t have the strength to resist so I just sat there in the dirt my head bowed and awaited my fate. Up close I could see the wheel was about two and an half feet in diameter and had a hole in the center that, by a strange coincidence, was exactly the same size as my neck. The wheel was just over three inches thick. As the blacksmith approached me with the other matching half of his wheel I realized it would engage with the back half and that my neck would then be trapped in the center of this heavy device. He pushed the front half against the back to ensure it fit and then took the whole thing off me again.
The blacksmith looked up at the crowd who were had quieted down curious to see what he intended for me. “Mary-Ann told me to ask you if you have any clothes for the thief” he announced to the few women still hanging around. “She says the whore ain’t getting none of hers, and she sure as hell ain’t gonna let me have this vixen round her house looking so indecent”. The women looked way unwilling to donate their scanty wardrobes to a strange girl who clearly had no sense of propriety.
There was an awkward silence which was at last broken by one of the men suggesting that maybe I could have Ellie’s clothes. Ellie, it turned out had been one of the saloon girls and had left town a week ago in a hurry, after being found in a compromising situation with one of the town elders. Apparently the elder’s wife had come to the saloon looking for him and someone too drunk to be discreet had sent her upstairs to Ellie’s room where of course a huge argument had ensured. It had concluded with the luckless girl being driven out of the saloon, hotel and town by the enraged wife, much to the amusement of onlookers. Ellie had left in such a hurry that some of her clothes were still in her room. She had not come back for them.
So it was that I was escorted to Ellie’s old room and told to wait while the other saloon girls picked out what they considered to be suitable attire for me. In the end one of them stood guard, while the others dressed me in an outfit more suited to a bawdy wench hanging around a bar than a demure farm girl of seventeen. I suspected the vindictive girls had deliberately chosen clothes that would bring me the most humiliation. They knew there was a fine line between a flirtatious saloon wench and looking like a common whore and they had decided which side of that line I was going to be on. There was skimpy underwear, a lace bodice followed by black silk corsets. I have never worn corsets before and the girls had to help lace me into it. The corset was tight, so tight, and once the laces were fully tightened over several sessions, I could only draw short breaths. The mischievous girls made sure to tie the laces out of my reach and then proceeded to knot the ends over and over ensuring I wouldn’t be able to free myself from the embrace of this silken torment. Black, over-the-knee stockings were next and then short boots were buttoned onto my feet. The boots had small heels but for someone who had never worn any type of heel before, walking in them was a perilous exercise. The boots were also too small for me and I knew they would soon become their own particular form of torture. Short black lace fingerless gloves were pulled onto my hands and buttoned up. Several more layers of undergarments, petticoats and the like and then the finishing touch of a heavy black and pink dress covered with scarlet and white bows and ribbons. It was cleverly designed to enhance my figure and push my breasts into a clearly visible cleavage.
I was torn between being glad to be wearing clothes again, any clothes, and the knowledge that I would have died a week ago at the thought of wearing something so unbecoming of a lady. Unfortunately the saloon girls hadn’t finished with me. They sat me down at a mirror and proceeded to cover my face with enough makeup that I could have appeared on stage and not been recognized by my kinsfolk.
My reappearance at the entrance to the saloon resulted in a further round of catcalls and obscene propositions; this time directed at me rather then the blacksmith. He took one look at me and ordered me to kneel on the boardwalk. I noticed the stocks had disappeared and I wondered where. I suspected they hadn’t gone far and that I hadn’t seen the last of them either. I slowly lowered myself to the ground, my movements made more difficult by the unfamiliar heels, the corset and the fact my back was still raw from the whipping and was now being rubbed by the several layers of clothes I had been forced to wear.
The half wheel was reapplied to the back of my neck and this time when the blacksmith placed the front half of the wheel against it he locked the two in place with a couple of enormous black padlocks. I reached up to touch my face and found to my horror that I couldn’t reach it. The bulk of the wheel I was wearing as a collar prevented me from touching my head. I wondered how I was supposed to eat or sleep in this device.
What I hadn’t seen of course but soon realized was written on the front edge of the wheel when someone in the crowd read the words aloud, was a carved inscription stating “PROPERTY OF JOSIAH AND MARY-ANN MCGINNIS”. This elicited a few chuckles from the crowd, as the blacksmith attached a chain to a ring on the front of my new collar and dragged me down the street towards his house and my new life for the next month.
One thing became immediately apparent to me. Eating and sleeping in this collar were going to be my least worries. Just bearing its weight as I walked along was torture enough. I struggled to keep up, hampered by the heels and the fact that I had to hold the weight of the collar using my hands and therefore couldn’t use my arms to help my balance as I walked.
On reaching the blacksmith’s house he took me straight into his workshop where, after attaching the chain to my collar to a ring on the wall, he worked up the furnace and began to work metal. After a while he fetched me over to his anvil where I found he had been crafting a set of iron restraints for me. These he applied first to my wrists and then to my ankles, hammering them into place. I knew no one but the blacksmith would be removing these cuffs and I just stared miserably at my increasing captivity and wept. I wouldn’t even be able to remove the gloves or boots now as they were captured under the iron cuffs.
My ankle cuffs had rings set in to them and the Blacksmith padlocked a short length of heavy chain between these rings, giving me about twenty-four inches of movement. My wrist cuffs were similarly attached to each other and then a chain was run between my wrists and ankles. I had just enough slack in the chains that when standing I could reach my neck but wouldn’t be able to support the collar. “Don’t worry,” said the blacksmith “You’re gonna be too busy to go around holding that collar anyways”. He grabbed the front of the collar and forced me to look him in the eyes. Fixing me in his glare he nodded towards the still hot furnace and warned “I was all for brandin’ you too. But Mary-Ann said I couldn’t. You behave yerself though or I’ll do it anyway. Understand me girl?” Frightened, I nodded mutely; as much as the collar would let me. With that he sat me down on the rough straw-covered floor and fixed my collar chain back to the ring on the wall. This time adding a padlock to ensure I didn’t run off. “Get some rest, Mary-Ann’s got lots lined up for you tomorrow.” He said as he doused the light and turned to leave me alone in his workshop for the night. “Please, I’m so hungry. I haven’t eaten for days” I pleaded in a small voice. He hesitated and then said, “OK I’ll see what I can do, but from now on you’ll have to work for your meals, or go hungry”. The door shut behind him and I was left to contemplate what my month’s sentence at their hands might bring.
I sat there crushed and alone, sobbing quietly until an hour or so later the blacksmith came by and threw a small hunk of bread at my feet. He also brought over a metal dish which he filled with water before leaving me alone for the night. I wasn’t able to reach my mouth with my hands even when they were free. With the added restriction of the chains I found I had no way to get the bread and water to my mouth. I even tried leaving the bread and water on the floor and bending down doggy style to chew on the bread and lap at the water but the collar prevented me from reaching the food with my mouth. Bending down like that on the floor pressed the collar into my neck and I found I couldn’t bear it for long. I had to just content myself with looking at the desperately needed food and drink so close but just out of reach. In the end even my pathetic attempts came to an end when I inadvertently tipped the dish over and the remaining water was spilt. My chance at a meal over, I tried to lie down to sleep but of course the collar prevented that too. Defeated, I sat back uncomfortably against the wall and eventually, the warmth of the slowly dying furnace lulled me to a fitful sleep.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Five
Of course I hardly slept that first night and was almost glad when the blacksmith came to fetch me early the next morning. My neck and shoulders were sore from bearing the weight of the collar all night and the rest of my body was stiff from the all the wriggling around trying to find a comfortable position. The blacksmith pulled me to my feet and after brushing the loose straw from my dress pulled me out of the workshop and into the kitchen. Once there he fastened my chain around the leg of the heavy kitchen table and instructed me on the breakfast he and his wife expected, warned me about helping myself to any food and pointed out the meal had better be ready by the time they came downstairs. After testing my bonds for a minute and determining that escape was out of the question I realized I had no choice but to comply with my appointed task. It wasn’t too bad, as I was used to cooking and doing for the men-folk of my family. The collar was a hindrance, particularly the way it obscured my view of anything below neck height, but once I worked out where everything was kept, I was able to cook up a storm in short order.
If thought I would be praised for my efforts I was sorely mistaken. Mary-Ann was even grumpier in the mornings and gave me a tongue lashing as soon as she appeared; making disparaging comments about my chosen dress, my cooking abilities and my general demeanor. She took great delight in describing the many tasks she had lined up for me over the next few weeks. I was tempted to answer back but accepted the futility of my position and knew it would only add to my discomfort. As I hung my head in mute submission and tried not to look sullen, I realized the next month would be hard for me to endure. I was used to household chores and cleaning up after my men-folk but I was also used to their encouragement and appreciation of all I did for them.
Towards the end of the meal, during which I had to stand to attention at the side of the table waiting to pass any item either of them couldn’t be bothered to reach for, Mary-Ann took exception to one of the rashers of bacon I had cooked; claiming that I had burned it into inedibility. This was clearly not the case and I opened my mouth to argue, but a withering look from Mary-Ann silenced me at which point she threw the bacon on the floor at her feet. “Pick it up slave!” she commanded. I stood there frozen, shocked at being addressed in that manner. “Pick it up!” she shouted and to make a point, scraped her plate, half-eaten eggs and all, on to the floor. I jumped at that and quickly bent down to clean up the mess she had made. For my troubles I received a sharp kick in my ribs, “Faster, slave.” she crowed, clearly enjoying herself. I realized that in this loveless marriage I was to be the main source of entertainment and sadistic pleasure for the next month. What had I got myself into? And how was I going to I bear it? I wondered to myself.
Once the mess was cleaned Mary-Ann ordered me to wash up and personally inspected each item as I cleaned it, rejecting many just for the fun of seeing me bite my lip in an attempt to keep my anger in check. And so the morning went on, chore after chore, all the time the blacksmith’s wife following me around the house as I moved from room to room, finding fault with my work, calling me names, and many times deliberately making a further mess just for the pleasure of seeing me do the work two or three times over. The entire time she was clearly waiting for me to snap, to fight back and thereby land myself in real trouble. The blacksmith had long taken refuge in his workshop not wanting to be near his wife while she was in such a mood. But I knew he would come trotting meekly back to do her bidding if I but stepped out of line once and earned a further punishment. So I continued to hold my tongue and only answered her with a timid, “Yes, ma’am” whenever addressed. In this way I made it through the morning and at last I think I even earned the grudging respect of the old shrew herself.
Things took a bizarre turn at lunchtime. After I had cooked and fed them both, the blacksmith’s wife instructed him to secure me into one of the high-backed chairs and after he had lashed me there, and tied my hands to my sides, she took to feeding me herself. Holding my nose until I was forced to open my mouth and then forking food into me. The food was horrible, I had been instructed to save the half-eaten breakfast I had scraped from the kitchen floor and this cold mess mixed with dust and dirt from the floor was now fed to me for lunch. The strange thing was despite having me bound tightly to the chair and feeding me disgusting scraps, she did it almost gently, coaxing me to eat as if I were her baby.
After lunch I was untied and taken out into the yard to pull up weeds and sweep and she was back to her old self. The collar by this time was back really giving me a hard time and after a couple of hours in the baking sun, the combination of the corsets, heavy clothes, hard work, lack of sleep, and the weight of the collar, got too much for me and I swooned; awaking to find myself in the relative cool of the workshop, the blacksmith hovering over me with a worried look on his face. “We can’t kill her” he stated flatly to his wife, standing up to her for the first time during my time with them. “Then take that stupid thing off her neck” she retorted, “I haven’t finished with her yet”. And so the hated collar was removed and I was allowed a couple of minutes to rub my sore neck and take a much needed drink before being marched back into the house to finish up some more chores the wife had invented during my brief respite. “There’s no excuse for you to move so slowly now” she spat at me; not that I had been tardy doing my chores before. She made her point with a stick she had found from somewhere, lashing at me any time she thought I was shirking; which seemed to be most of the time. The heavy dresses absorbed most of the blows she sent my way but she soon learnt that the most effect was to be had by striking me on my unprotected hands and arms.
By the time I was led back into the kitchen to make their dinner, my arms were covered in bruises and welts from the well-placed blows that had been my constant punishment during my afternoon’s tasks. Of course there was no dinner for me and I was to be further tormented by having to cook food I was not allowed to share once again. “When I finally worked up the courage to mention that I was hungry I was told in no uncertain terms that I hadn’t worked hard enough to enjoy such luxuries that day. Once the dishes were cleaned, I was sent to the workshop with strict instructions that I was to be put in a punishing position for the night.
I was again chained me against one wall while the blacksmith went to work bending and shaping more metal items. He showed me the result. It was a flat length of doubled up metal about two inches wide and two and a half feet in length. Near each end there were two round bends in the metal presumably to allow for wrists or ankles to be captured between the two pieces. One end was hinged so the device could be opened and the other had a hasp for a lock so once the wrists or ankles were trapped it could not be opened again. I could see that my ankles or my wrists would be held rigidly about two feet apart by this new contraption. What I didn’t realize until I was seated on the floor and my ankles were placed in the outer bends is that my wrists could also be placed in the inner bends at the same time. The blacksmith closed the device and slipped a padlock through the hasp. I was trapped on the floor in this strange device; my ankles held about two feet apart and my wrist held between them at about eighteen inches apart. I was held immovably and I almost longed for the relative freedom of the heavy wooden collar. I was still wearing my metal cuffs and chains and these had merely been pulled down onto my hands and feet out of the way. As they were tight to start with they were now digging deeply into my flesh and were beginning to be very uncomfortable.
The blacksmith returned with his wife to show off his handiwork but she remained unimpressed. “Is that the best you can do?” she chided him. After rubbing his chin in thought for a moment, he said, “watch this” and unlocking the device, let me free. My freedom was short lived though as he roughly turned me onto my stomach and bent my legs back at the knees. He replaced my ankles in the device and grabbing my wrists pulled them down my back and put them back into the device also. I was trapped in the devious contraption again but this time with my feet facing up towards my head and my hands facing towards my bottom. I recognized the tie; it was a hogtie I had seen it used many times around our farm to immobilize calves for branding but I’d never seen it enacted in metal. Now I was the calf and here I was hogtied in unyielding iron on the floor of the blacksmith’s workshop. “Better” is all the comment his wife made and then leaning down to me “Perhaps a night like this might make you more amenable to some real work in the morning”. “Come on Joe” she commanded marching out of the workshop. He gave me a look that I interpreted as apologetic and followed her out.
I spent the night lying on my stomach, my hands and feet drawn painfully together and held inescapably behind my back. I eventually managed to wriggle over to the water bowl only to find it held only a quarter inch of water. This I greedily lapped up and fell into a deep sleep despite the uncomfortable position I was made to endure.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Six
In the morning I awoke to find my hands and feet had gone to sleep and my back was in agony from being bent up all night still wearing the corsets. I cried out with pain and eventually the blacksmith came out looking disgruntled. He took one look at me however and his mood softened. He quickly released me and even massaged my limbs as the life slowly returned to them. Then he sat on the floor and placing me on his lap, cupped my chin. I thought he was going to demand another kiss; but instead he spoke to me in a surprisingly gentle voice for such a large man.
“My wife can be a pain sometimes” he said. “She’s going to make your life here hell”. I can help you but you’re gonna have to give me something in return” I guessed where he was going with this; but I also knew I couldn’t stand much more of the abuse I had endured so far and it was only the second morning. “I tried to tell him I was listening but just a croak came out. He pressed water to my lips and then said, “I have, you know, er, needs, you know, the sort of needs any man would have around a pretty girl like you. Needs, my wife don’t give me no more. Do yer understand what I’m saying?” I glumly nodded my head; I understood only too well. “Now I could have taken what I wanted anytime, you know that” he continued, “But then that would make me a common thief like you, or worse. I need you to give me what I want, freely” I realized I was trapped here. I could refuse but then my life would be even worse than it was now. “What do you want from me?” I asked. “Just a little attention now and again” he said quickly as if saying it was a sin in itself. “You know, down there” nodding towards his crotch with his chin. “And what do I get in return?” I asked in resignation. “I can make you life here easier” he said “Or I can let her have her way with you” “But realize I won’t let her know I’m helping you so don’t expect too much.” “And if you ever tell…” He let the sentence trail off. I could guess the rest. I could imagine spending the rest of the month strapped into his stocks or worse. This man was clearly not lacking in imagination, or means, when it came to torturing young women.
“Ok, but I’m hungry” I said “Can I earn some breakfast?” with that I slipped down his lap and opened his pants with my chained hands. Out popped the most enormous dick I had ever seen; certainly far bigger than any I had seen on my brothers at any rate. I took it in my mouth and began to suck and lick. I had never done this before. In fact yesterday was the first time I had ever kissed a man; this man here in front of me. But it all seemed to come naturally and so before long he was moaning and rolling his eyes. My mouth was suddenly full of a salty tasting liquid. I choked momentarily and wondered if I had bitten him by mistake. Was he bleeding inside me? But one look at the blacksmith’s face told me he was far from displeased with what I had been doing to him and not at all in pain. I pulled away from him, his juices running from the corners of my mouth. “Swallow it quickly” he commanded “don’t let her see you like that”. I did as he asked not at all sure what it was I had swallowed and not enjoying the taste at all but afraid of his wife more than anything else in the world right at that moment.
This day pretty much followed the same pattern as the previous day. After making breakfast Mary-Ann made me clean the kitchen floor again. This time she made me lick the floor clean and fearful of the switch she held over me I complied despite nearly being sick a couple of times. Her husband was still sitting nearby and she said to him “See this is much better with out that collar. She can do a proper job now” He grunted his agreement and catching my eye walked out of the kitchen to start work. Mary-Ann liked me being on all fours and so I spent most of the day there. At least it was a change from standing up all day as I had the day before. I think what she most liked about it though was that she was able to pull my skirts up over my hips to allow her access for the whipping of my bottom and thighs. I worked as hard and as fast as I’d ever worked that day to avoid the ever threatening switch in her hand. I even had to climb up and down the stairs on my hands and knees; not an easy task in such restrictive clothing and wearing my chains.
Again, after lunch I was tied into the chair and this time the Blacksmith was sent back out to work while she fed me. Half way through the meal though Mary-Ann pulled down the top of my dress, which only just stayed on my shoulders anyway, and started to fondle my breasts. This was too much and I told her she was peculiar. This just earned me a slap across the face and a threat as to the tortures waiting for me if I were to tell anyone. “How dare you speak to me in that way” she demanded. “You’re my slave and I’ll do whatever I want with you. Just you wait until tonight, you little thief. Then you’ll wish you hadn’t spoken to me like that”. I was afraid then like never before despite the promises the blacksmith had made that morning.
Yet again I was sent to the workshop for the night without any dinner. This time Mary-Ann followed me out and insisted the blacksmith fix me for the night into the stocks. I pulled away at that; I never wanted to endure another second in that hated contraption. But he was bound to do whatever his wife demanded; at least while she was watching, so I was placed back into the stocks for the night. “Whip her good Joe” She demanded. “She’s been nothing but trouble today. The whore needs to learn her place here”. And so the blacksmith was obliged to whip me with the switch she handed to him. She insisted on twenty lashes and the blacksmith tried to lessen the effect on me by whipping my thighs and the backs of my legs knowing my back was still raw. Unfortunately, he didn’t know my legs had already been ravaged by the schoolmistress and her friends prior to his whipping me in the town two days earlier. The marks had been hidden by my stockings so there was no way he could have known.
This time I wasn’t gagged and Mary-Ann seemed to take delight in my cries of pain and miserable pleadings for mercy. “Cry baby!” and “Take your punishment thief-girl” and “Whores deserve a good whipping” were some of the abuse she taunted me with during the ordeal. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t a whore but I was having trouble just breathing never mind arguing with the wild-eyed woman. It would have done no good anyway.
Finally happy with my treatment she told him to clear up and retired to the house. The Blacksmith came over to me and dried my tears with the sleeve of his shirt. “Sorry about that” he said. “Here” and held a cup to my lips. I drank and then pleaded to not be left in the stocks all night. “I daren’t.” is all he could say, not looking me in the eyes. “I guess that means my, I, well, you know”. I could guess what he was getting at so I said “For another cup of water, and promise me you’ll let me out as early in the morning as you can”. The Blacksmith looked relieved that I wasn’t too angry with him and came towards me undoing his pants. This time I was expecting the sudden squirt of juices into my mouth and was able to swallow them quite easily. “Thank you, goodnight” he said stroking my hair and reluctantly taking his leave of me for the night.
Another night in the stocks; at least this time my many lavers of underwear provided a slight cushioning from the worst of the spikes sticking into my pussy from the saddle. I thought about the fondling I had received from Mary-Ann that day and the twice I had held the Blacksmiths’ huge dick in my mouth and an extraordinary thing happened to me. I felt a strange awakening in my breasts and pussy. Something felt good as I remembered these events and I found myself rubbing my pussy against the saddle. Even the occasional twinge of the spikes just seemed to add to my arousal and before long I was humping the saddle for all I was worth. An hour or so later I found the release my body so desperately craved and, breathing a long sigh of satisfaction, I slumped in my bonds and dropped into a deep sleep that was full of dreams of making love sandwiched between the blacksmith and his wife.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Six
As promised, the blacksmith arrived just before dawn and awoke me. After asking for some water, I immediately went to pleasing him with my mouth. He seemed surprised that I hadn’t yet asked to be let out from my prison, but was happy to oblige me.
After releasing me and attaching my chains to the wall again, the blacksmith disappeared inside the house to awaken his wife. As usual she awoke in a foul mood and proceeded to make my day a hellish experience. She insisted her husband remove all but my undergarments so that she would have more exposed flesh to aim her constant blows at. Not content with this she had obviously been thinking of more degrading abuse to fling at me as I tried to work under the tirade of taunts and blows. Some of the words I won’t write here as they made me blush to hear such talk; especially coming from a woman’s mouth.
When she realized I wasn’t going to rise to this bait she started kicking and punching me so that by the time the morning was over I was a mass of black and blue bruises.
At lunchtime I was tied into the usual chair. This time she tied me there herself making sure the ropes were extra tight. My hands almost immediately started to go numb and I cried with the pain. Mary-Ann proceeded to molest me in the most unladylike way. She pulled down my top and sucked on my nipples until I was forced to respond. As soon as I began to writhe with the unwanted pleasure though she bit down hard on my nipple causing me to cry out in pain. This treatment went on for the best part of an hour. Eventually tiring of the game she moved further down my body, licking the underneath of my breasts and all over my stomach. I was horrified and tried to move away. Of course being welded to the chair I could go anywhere and was forced to endure the slow caressing. Most frustrating, was that my body was starting to respond to this treatment and I found myself gyrating in time with her attentions.
Without warning, she stood up and said “See! I knew you for a whore!” and with that slapped me hard across the face several times. I really couldn’t make this strange woman out. She was the most complex person I had ever encountered.
The next few weeks blurred into a jumble of conflicting events. Sometimes I was bought to the heights of arousal merely to be plummeted down in the depths of pain as punishment was meted out to me on a seemingly random basis. Other times I was locked up in one or other of the blacksmith’s strange contraptions and left to my own devices. In some of these I was able to pleasure myself but most of the tortures left me unable to rub or fondle myself to orgasm. Slowly, I came to associate pleasure and pain in the same place in my head. I started to ask to be locked in the stocks for the night. Sometimes I deliberately dropped something I was cleaning so that I would earn a thrashing. One time I even begged to be put back into the horrible wooden collar and made the blacksmith promise not to take it off whatever I said to him. He didn’t like that too much as it meant I was unable to service him with my mouth. But I learned to use my hands and he had no complaints. The one thing that puzzled me about him was that he never wanted to have sex with me. Despite being able to rub myself to orgasm I felt something was missing and try as I might I couldn’t get him to give it to me. Perhaps he felt a grudging faithfulness to his wife; I never found out the reason.
The time at the blacksmith’s was punctuated by the weekly visits of the Sheriff to check up on me. I was instructed each time to behave myself, to act demurely, make sure any whip marks or bruises were covered up and to say nothing out of turn. By this time I had got used to being called “Slave” and so behaving in this manner was not a problem for me. The sheriff must have wondered what had happened to the feisty girl who had tried to defend herself from the stocks as he was served dinner by a meek and attentive servant. Each visit, he gave me a clean bill of health, praised the blacksmith and his wife for their restraint and went on his way happy.
I soon fell into a contented way of life that made my previous existence seem like a dream. The only memory that persisted was a general unease about the fate of my Pa and brothers. I had set out to warn them of the danger waiting for their return home, but I hadn’t got very far in that task. I consoled myself with the idea there was nothing I could do about it given my current situation.
At the last visit of the Sheriff he reminded the Blacksmith that my sentence would be complete the following week and that he would be along to set me free. The Blacksmith exchanged a look with his wife and she then started listing a litany of all the items I had broken or times that I had spoken out of turn or rudely. She added that I should also be made to pay for all the food and lodging they had given me. A debate followed during which I was discussed as if I were not in the room at all. It felt strange to be talked about in such as way, as if I were a piece of furniture rather than a human being with feelings. In the end it was decided that I would have to provide a further two weeks of servitude to the blacksmith and his wife for my poor behavior while in their care. I spoke up at this point making the case that if I had to continue to pay for my food and bed I would never be free. The sheriff could obviously see my argument but pointed out the McGinnis’ had a right to be repaid for their hospitality. I got angry at this and demanded justice and eventually, I had to be dragged from the room and chained up in the workshop. As I left the room I could hear Mary-Ann saying “See I told you she was trouble. I think she still hasn’t learned her lesson. Let us keep her longer; we’ll turn her into a proper lady who respects authority. She won’t go around stealing when we’ve finished with her”.
The blacksmith came out later to tell me the sheriff had finally agreed for me to stay another two months. I flew at him in a rage at this and was only stopped by the chains jerking me to a standstill. When Mary-Ann joined us she was furious. “You’ve embarrassed us in front of the sheriff” she spat. “String her up Joe. I’ll teach the bitch a lesson she’ll not soon forget”.
The blacksmith went to retrieve the clips he had used on me the first time he had bound me but, instead of binding my hands and feet as before, he released the chains holding my wrists and ankles together and tying ropes to each of my cuffs, pulled my arms and legs apart so I was stretched out between two posts. He went around tightening the ropes until I was stretched so far that my feet were no longer touching the floor. Then he pulled the clips from his pocket and attached them to my nipples. He tied strings to the clips and fastened these to a beam in the ceiling. Tightening the strings until I begged for mercy he tied them off, and then ripped my clothes from me, every last stitch, leaving me hanging there in agony.
“I’ll get the switch” his wife said, but he put his hand on her arm and said “wait, I have something better.” With this he went to the far side of the workshop and returned with the bullwhip he had used to lash me so many weeks ago. It had taken this long for my back to completely heal and here I was again about to receive the same treatment, or worse. I was shaking with fear and began to gibber, promising anything if only they wouldn’t do this.
The pair of them took it in turns to whip me. I lost count of the lashes even though they made me count them out as every time I lost count they would make me start again. The lashes were interspersed with having buckets of water thrown over me to keep me from passing out. This time there was no pleasure in my punishment; just pain. As I jerked about from the impact of the blows landing on my back and legs, my nipples were cruelly pulled by the clamps. In the end I jerked around so much that the clamps came off. This was a cue for the couple to start whipping my front. Mary-Ann forwent the whip in favor of lashing me with the switch. She was aiming deliberately at my already sore nipples and at my pussy, and despite my thrashing about managed to hit her mark most of the time.
By the time they had finished I was hanging limply in my bonds. My wrists and ankles rubbed raw from twisting in the tight metal cuffs, my back felt like the skin was hanging off in shreds and my front was criss-crossed with angry red welts that I knew from recent experience would take weeks to heal properly.
The Blacksmith wasn’t done yet though; the man, who before had seemed to become more gentle with me as his wife became more vicious, was suddenly like a man possessed. He stood in front of me and grabbing a handful of hair pulled my face towards his. “I warned you” he said and brandished a glowing hot iron in front of my face. I could do nothing but whimper in fear as he stepped back and walked to the side of me. Goaded on by his sadistic wife he pressed the molten steel against the side of my hip. At first I felt nothing, there was a strange hissing sound and a faint sweetly smell reached my nostrils. Then a moment later the pain hit me. I had never felt anything like this in my life. I howled like an animal and bucked in my chains and I felt my own pee run down my leg to the floor. I longed for darkness to overtake me and release me from the unbearable agony but the pain was too great and wouldn’t allow me to slip into blissful unconsciousness.
I must have passed out eventually, because I woke to find myself lying on a soft surface which as I slowly came round became aware was he large bed in the McGinnis’s bedroom. They were both there leaning over me and Mary-Ann was reaching over towards me. I flinched at her touch until I realized she was holding a sponge on me. This was strange behavior; they had seemingly thrashed me to an inch from death (or so it seemed to me) and now here they were, sitting one each side of me, gently rubbing oil into my wounds. I could still feel the results of the whipping as a constant angry pain all over my body; not an inch of me was without an ache or soreness. But strangely, my hip where the brand had been so cruelly placed was feeling merely warm. The blacksmith had rubbed some salve into the wound and the burning sensation of earlier had all but disappeared.
It was only as I tried to sit up that I realized I was still bound at wrist and ankle; my cuffs had been very loosely chained to the four corners of the bed. I wasn’t stretched out but I wasn’t going anywhere either. Not that I would have had the strength to run off at this moment, even if I were completely unfettered. Mary-Ann put a finger to my lips to silence me and gently pushing me back onto the bed started to massage oil into my abused breasts. So I lay there allowing the blacksmith and his wife to minister to me. Wondering at their mercurial moods, I didn’t understand the way this couple worked. In my own family of course, my mother had been dead a few years now back when I was really too young to see how she and my Pa related to one another. All I knew is that my Pa still pined for my lost mother and he wasn’t the happy, care-free man he used to be. There seemed to be no love lost between the blacksmith and his wife though; they were always at each others’ throats. Yet here they were, working together almost as one person. The first time I had seen this happen. They had been operating together as they whipped me, spurring each other on and even calling each other by name instead of trading insults. Now they were working as a team to undo the results of their abuse; again speaking to each other and me in gentle almost caring tones. I realized there was more to this relationship than met the eye.
After a while they left me alone again, still loosely chained to their bed. Mary-Ann closed the drapes shutting out the early morning sun, plunging the room back into semi-darkness, and planting a kiss on my forehead, bade me get some rest. I slept, waking to find it nighttime again.
There was a lamp burning on the bedside table and next to it a cup of water. I could just reach the cup so I drank it down in one gulp; finding a sudden thirst. At the sound of my chains rattling, the blacksmith came into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry” he said, looking down at the floor “We got carried away, we shouldn’t have done that”. “It’s ok” I replied “I was out of order; I shouldn’t have said what I did in front of the sheriff”. I didn’t really believe this of course; but for some reason I felt sorry for the blacksmith sitting there looking so contrite and forlorn. There was something of a little boy in him right now. I had only seen him first as a cruel man and later as a sort of father-figure as he tried to compensate for the excesses of his wife. Now he sat on the bed; a small boy, lost and unsure of himself. Trying to put right a wrong he had done.
“You love her really, don’t you” I said.
“What?” He looked up from his reverie. “I guess” he said eventually. “It’s just she’s such a hard woman to love sometimes”.
It was then I had a sudden revelation: “You know she really wants to be me? She wants you to take control of her. That’s why she treats me so bad; she’s jealous of the attention you give me. She needs you to be a man; take her in hand”. There, it was said. And being said, it made perfect sense. The blacksmith just stared at me for several minutes and it was impossible for me to guess what was going on behind his blank expression.
He got to his feet and said “Sorry, I’ll be back in a minute”. With this he left the room; I assumed, to find his wife.
I had got some of my strength back and tested my bonds. I was still a prisoner. At least for once I wasn’t tied in a restrictive way; the chains were almost loose enough that I could curl up on the bed. So I did; curl up as best I could and fell back to sleep.
The blacksmith awoke me a short time later, saying he had need of the bed and that I would have to continue my sleeping in the workshop. He unlocked my chains from the bed and, lifting me in his strong arms, carried me downstairs and out of the house.
Once we reached the workshop he placed an iron collar around my neck. He had obviously made this while I slept. The collar locked on and a chain ran from it that he connected to the wall behind me. A pile of straw had been placed against the wall and a blanket laid over it. “Your new home for a while” he said and checking the chain was secure, went back to the house. That night as I lay there with my hands and feet unchained for the first time in several weeks I could hear sounds of passion drift down from the open bedroom window. I smiled to myself. Maybe this would change things.
Having slept most of the previous day, I now lay awake my mind racing. Finally awoken, by my harsh treatment at the hands of the lash, from the lethargy that had crept up on me during my captivity; my mind returned to worrying about the fate of my family. They must have returned by now. Had the Clancys been lying in wait for them? What would they do when they found I was missing? I knew my father would suspect the Clancys and surely would have stormed round there to confront his enemies. I dreaded the thought that my whole family might be lying dead in a field somewhere; with me the only survivor, destined to a life of slavery at the hands of a sadistic couple and never to see home or kin again.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Seven
The next morning the blacksmith came to fetch me as usual. He had a skip in his step and a smile on his face. Something had changed overnight, that was for certain.
Instead of releasing me, he gave me food and drink leaving me chained to the wall. “I’ve got a special job for you today” he announced and went off back into the house. Half-an-hour later he returned with his wife. She was on a leash and her hands had been bound behind her. She was lambasting him for her treatment but I could tell she was excited at the sudden turn of events. The blacksmith studiously ignoring her complaints led her around the stocks and proceeded to place her in them. The spiked saddle was obviously a revelation to her and she doubled her tirade. “Oh shut up won’t you woman!” he said finally having had enough of her abuse. Moving round to the front of the stocks grabbed my black stockings from the ground where they had been ripped from me earlier and gagged her with them. Of course that didn’t shut her up but at least her complaining was reduced to an incoherent mumbling.
Once his wife was secured to his satisfaction, the Blacksmith came over to me and released the chain holding me captive to the wall. He yanked on the chain, pulling me to my feet and positioned me in front of his bent-over wife. My chain was reconnected above my head, tight enough that I was forced to stand still with my pussy level with Mary-Ann’s mouth. The gag was removed and the Blacksmith bade his wife pleasure me with her mouth. I balked at this and tried to retreat. The switch came down sharply on my exposed and still healing bottom. “Stand still” he ordered. I froze in place. Mary-Ann clearly wasn’t happy with the situation either and told him so in no uncertain terms. “You don’t fool me, wife” the blacksmith retorted “Don’t think I haven’t seen you two in the kitchen”. At this Mary-Ann blushed from her neck to her cheeks and was silent. She obviously never suspected that her intimate sessions with me bound to the kitchen chair had been spied upon.
“You needin’ some help? Start lickin’” the blacksmith taunted. And with that moved around to the rear of the stocks and proceeded to use the switch on his wife’s unprotected behind. It didn’t look like he was whipping her hard to me but it was obviously a new experience for his wife and her tongue came to life. This was a new experience for me too. I guess Mary-Ann was working up to this in her sessions with me but hadn’t got there yet. It felt strange to be aroused by a woman’s touch, but aroused I was. I couldn’t help it and before long I was thrusting my pussy into her mouth so she could better service me. The whole situation was clearly turning Mary-Ann on too and before long we were screaming in unison and shaking uncontrollably as we simultaneously felt wave after wave of indescribable pleasure overtake us.
Once we were spent, the blacksmith released my chain from the rafter and connected my cuffs back together with the familiar short chains. He also fastened a large heavy ball to one of my ankle cuffs and sent me into the house to start the day’s chores. Entering the house I realized this was the first time in weeks that I had not been either chained to something immovable or watched by someone. If I wanted I could just take off home. I knew the ball would prevent me from getting anywhere far though and I was completely naked apart from my chains. So sighing with resignation I set about my appointed tasks; in no doubt of the consequences of doing a less than perfect job. Occasionally, as I passed an open window, I could hear the sounds of whipping, or grunts of pleasure emanating from the workshop. I was tempted to sneak up and see what was going on but I knew I wouldn’t be able to creep up quietly while wearing my ever clinking chains.
At lunch time I prepared a meal for two as usual; not sure whether there would be any food consumed today but not wanting to change the routine without permission. Once the table was laid, I took my place kneeling in front of the open fireplace as had been my lot for the last week or so. I waited to see if I would have to kneel there alone for the next couple of hours. And wondering how long I should wait before clearing the table again, and getting on with the afternoon’s chores.
Eventually, I heard the blacksmith and his wife coming into the house from the workshop. She was unrestrained but seemed unusually quiet. It had obviously been a testing morning of discovery for her. She took her place at the table and, indicating I should remain kneeling, the blacksmith himself waited on her.
Once lunch was complete and I was allowed to clear the table, Mary-Ann made to get up from her chair but the Blacksmith stayed her with a gesture and pointed to his chair. I knew what was required of me and immediately moved over to the chair and sat down. The blacksmith lashed me into the chair, even more tightly than his wife had some previously. I found my elbows drawn together behind my back and my bound wrists pulled down and tied somewhere underneath the chair seat. This had the effect of making my otherwise smallish breasts stick out. My ankles were tied to the back legs of the chair forcing my knees far apart and exposing my pussy to anyone standing in front of me. Ropes were run above and below my breasts and around the chair back, making my breasts stick out even further. Finally a rope was woven into my hair and it was pulled back and attached to the rope binding my elbows. I found myself staring at the ceiling.
“No reason you should miss yer usual fun, Mary-Ann” the blacksmith encouraged. And with that moved across the kitchen and leaned against the far wall to watch. His wife left her chair and approached me. If I thought her experiences of the morning would change her temperament towards me, I was mistaken. The first thing she did on reaching me was to grab each of my nipples between her fingers and thumbs and give them each a vicious twist. I cried out with anguish and tried to look at the Blacksmith for help. He just laughed, evidently enjoying himself.
Over the next couple of hours Mary-Ann switched between torturing me and giving me pleasure. My beasts were alternatively, pinched, kissed, slapped, licked, kneaded and even bitten.
The rest of my body received similar treatment, with my pussy the major attraction. At last she stood on her tip-toes and straddled me placing my upturned head directly under her own pussy. I was forced to lick and kiss until she shuddered with a long orgasm. Then Mary-Ann signaled she had done with me for now by placing a long kiss on my brand and calling me her little slave girl. The blacksmith finally stirred from his position leaning against the wall and, leaving his wife to untie me, ambled off to his workshop to start his day’s work. Once freed I was given a list of the chores for the afternoon and since most of it had already expired while I was bound in the chair I had to make double time to ensure my allotted tasks were complete before it was time to lay the table for dinner.
The pattern of our lives went on pretty much the same for the next couple of months. At night I was kept locked up in one way or another to be released in time to prepare breakfast and start the morning’s chores. After lunch I was inevitably bound into the chair for more personal attention and released only to resume my chores. After dinner I was returned to my corner of the workshop for the night.
But some things had changed. I was never whipped again in all my time there. Mary-Ann was the only person receiving whippings these days and they were far gentler than any I had received - I suspect the Blacksmith was breaking her in gently. I had to share my contraptions with Mary-Ann too. Sometimes I would be locked into one device and she into another. The only real difference is that I while I usually spent the night locked into mine and she would always be released and taken to bed. I would lie there frustrated, unable to pleasure myself, listening to the sounds of unbridled passion coming through an open window. Mary-Ann was less abusive to me. She no longer slapped me or kicked me for failing to do my chores to her satisfaction. She saved up her abuse for the times I was tied into her chair; when she would tease, hurt and pleasure me in equal amounts, but whatever she did to me it was always passionate; passing onto me the rough lovemaking she received from her husband each night. The other change was that I spent my days and nights naked without any clothing at all, save for my chains.
Their roles had reversed and the blacksmith was clearly now the head of the household. Gone were his wife’s complaining ways and black moods. She knew her place and seemed pleased with her new status. I had been right in my guess; she had been wanting this all along and all it had taken was for the couple to find a common cause in disciplining a young wayward girl to bring them into their right roles.
My usefulness was now just that of a maid. I had ignited a fire in them and had no real further part to play in their developing relationship. Only Mary-Ann was allowed to please her master now and I hadn’t tasted cock in several weeks. Long before the two months were up the Blacksmith and his wife both sat me down before dinner and explained they planned to release me from their service the next day. The Blacksmith had been to see the sheriff that afternoon and told him that they considered me reformed; that I had become a useful member of society and was safe to release. The Sheriff said he would visit that night and so we sat in the kitchen awaiting his arrival.
Once the sheriff had made himself comfortable, I was brought before him wearing some of Mary-Ann’s old clothes and told to say my piece. I hung my head in shame and said I was truly sorry for my aberrations and that the McGinnis’ had shown me how to be a law-abiding citizen and he could expect no further trouble from me. The sheriff was moved by my speech and agreed to my release on the condition I left the town the next day and not return.
After the sheriff had left, the blacksmith took me into the workshop and removed the cuffs he had welded onto my wrists and ankles all those weeks ago. He also unlocked the metal collar that had been put on me since my whipping. I rubbed my hands and feet and was glad that they had not suffered too much from wearing the metal bracelets for so long. The blacksmith said that I could leave in the morning and said I could sleep unfettered for once. But I begged him to put me in the stocks one last time and so I spent the night reliving my very first night in Glanville.
The next morning I was released and for once was allowed to join the couple for breakfast. After we had eaten and I had washed the dishes, I was given some food for the journey and told I could keep the clothes I had worn the night before.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Part Eight
Leaving was surprisingly hard. Despite the abuse and pain I had received from the blacksmith and his wife and despite being kept as their slave against my will for so long, I had grown strangely attached this couple. I gave each a hug and, casting a longing look behind me, set off for home.
As I approached my own house I became nervous. What would I find? My men-folk dead and the Clancys taken up residence there? Would the Tucspow sheriff be there ready to take me back into the woods for that lynching I had so narrowly escaped?
Instead as I grew close my brother who was working in the yard spotted me and shouting to the others ran towards me whooping for joy. Soon they were all crowded round asking what had happened to me all these months. They were so overjoyed to have their little sister back with them; they had come to the conclusion I was dead and couldn’t believe here I was back amongst them, large as life and suddenly all grown up.
As we sat down to eat I asked what had happened in my absence. Apparently they had taken longer than expected to drive the cattle to market and by the time they had returned the Clancys had given up guarding the house and my Pa and brothers had returned to find it trashed but empty. They had searched in vain for weeks for me and finally assumed I had fallen victim to the Clancy’s revenge over the stolen cattle.
Pa and the boys had stormed over to confront Clancy Senior again only to be embroiled in a shoot out. Luckily no one had been hurt, everyone mostly just firing wildly into the air. Since then the uneasy truce of the last few years had broken into outright warfare with neither side risking going near the border of our two lands in fear of being shot on sight. The fence was probably in a sorry state right now but no one dared to go out and fix it.
On my journey home, in between moments of thinking the worst, I had hatched a plan and so I told my Pa I had an idea of how to resolve the years-old feud. They pressed me for details but I told them they would have to wait and see.
In the morning I laid out breakfast before the boys stirred and, taking one of the horses, set out for the Clancy ranch. As I neared the den of our enemies I was sighted and before I could reach the house I was brought to a stop by three of the older Clancy boys who pointed their rifles at me and ordered me down from my mount. “That’s no way to greet a lady” I stated. At this, Clancy Senior came out of the house and ordered them to lower their weapons. “State your business, young lady” he said.
“My business is with John Clancy alone” I replied. This caused the others to exchange glances but eventually John was summoned from the house and they reluctantly withdrew, allowing us a modicum of privacy.
“I hate this stupid feud between us” I told him once we were alone. “It will always be keeping us apart unless you and I do something about it right now”.
“What can we do?” asked John. “We’re the youngest and least of our families”. We’re also the future” I countered. “Ask for my hand in marriage and you’ll not find it refused”.
At that John blushed deeply and was lost for words. It was several minutes before he could speak and casting furtive glances back at his father and brothers standing a few yards away just out of earshot, he finally found the courage to look me in the eye and stammered “Lucy Henshaw, I would be honored to call you my wife”. That said he took me in his arms and kissed me full on the lips. Turning to the rest of his family he announced “Lucy an me are to be married and don’t you say nuthin; ‘agin it.”
There was shocked silence for a moment and then his father spoke. “So be it then, it would be good to have a woman in our house again”
“I have one condition” I said, cutting him short”. They waited to see what I would demand…
And so now the fence between the two lands is finally gone. In its place is the house that John and I live in. The house was a present from our two families and was the first time in living memory that they had worked together on a project. Of course a feud festering for so many years doesn’t disappear overnight. But, with John and me living between the would-be antagonists, we at least stand a better chance for the future. We are all learning slowly that combining the resources of the two families is helping us all to prosper.
I invited the McGinnis’ to our wedding. It was amazing to see the change in them; they were happy and, even, holding hands. Josiah gave me and John a present each before they left. I knew what mine was straight away; the box was just over two feet long and three inches on a side and very heavy. I knew it would have spaces at the ends to hold my wrists and ankles immovably. John opened his present and was surprised to find a beautifully-made, but heavy, padlock. The key for it was threaded onto a chain obviously suitable for wearing around someone’s neck. He looked at me in puzzlement. “Don’t worry, I know what it’s for” I whispered in his ear “I’ll show you as soon as all the guests have gone home”.
Andreabound at the Blacksmiths – Epilog
Ok, I’ll come clean. I couldn’t manage all of these bondages and of course I couldn’t whip myself! But I tried my best and here’s what I did:
The position I first find myself tied in the story was really easy. An ice cube in my detergent bag tied through a ring set in the top of a doorway ensured I was kept on my toes. My ankles and knees were bound tightly together with thin ropes making it difficult to maintain my balance. My hands were simply cuffed behind my back at first until I realized I could just about reach round and touch the clips on my nipples. Obviously that was no good, so I retied myself; this time adding a crotch rope and feeding the handcuffs through the rope at my back. Of course I used my Japanese clover clamps making sure I was going to stay on my toes the whole time. It took an hour and a half for the ice to melt and set me free.
I did make some stocks. As I stated at the beginning of the story Zack emailed to me. His design allows for a pretty long stay to be organized so I net for six hours – half the time my heroine was made to endure the stocks in the story. Trust me; six hours was long enough! My stocks were a simpler affair than the blacksmith’s construction. I used the back of a chair to force me to lean over in the right position. I fixed a knobbly (but not sharp) kitchen implement to the top of the chair back to simulate the saddle in my story. My ankles were just tied to the chair legs. I tried the stocks out for a short period before going for the six hours. I found my back ached after twenty minutes or so. That’s the reason I added the chair back. Having something to rest myself on prevented most of the back ache but I was still stiff for a good day afterwards. Of course no one came along to switch my legs or whip my back. Perhaps that’s a good thing!
I had made the wheel sometime before; it was an easy task. I was going to save it for a more suitably medieval adventure but in the end I couldn’t wait to try the wheel out. So after freeing myself from the stocks I spent most of the rest of the weekend wearing the wheel collar. I did all my chores in it and even tried to sleep in the thing. It forced my head up worse than a posture collar and boy was it heavy. I had a red ring around my neck Monday morning and had to wear a turtle-neck sweater to work! Next time I will find a better way to lock it on; maybe post the keys to myself.
I don’t have a rigid cuff. I’d love to own one of these; they’re seriously medieval. I just can’t work out how to put one on myself. I think if I actually bought one of these devices I’d find a way to use it but they’re so expensive and I can’t afford to buy I on spec. If anyone knows a way I can put this item on myself (and get it off again!) especially behind my back; please, please, let me know. This was the only bondage in the story that was completely imaginary. Damn!
Over the weekend every time I wasn’t in any other sort of bondage I made sure my mealtimes were conducted with me tied firmly into a chair. One breakfast I made myself thick sticky gruel and dropped my release key into it. I had to eat a huge (and disgusting) dish of the stuff using just my mouth (no hands) before I found the key and could release myself.
I have already stretched myself out in the woods on a previous adventure. But I wanted to see how far I could go so I fixed some eyebolts into the walls of my basement and did it again (for details see ‘Andreabound between the Trees’), this time going for maximum stretch. It was good, but I still need to work on taking that last inch or so of slack out of the system. The nipple clamps were a fun addition to the torture and certainly discouraged me from moving around too much! This time I used more ice, reasoning that it would melt faster indoors; I was stuck there for over two hours on Sunday night. That was hard work but would have been better if the ropes had been tighter. I used my leather cuffs this time instead of rope nooses to prevent rope marks; that was an improvement. Next time I might add a noose. That way as my feet move apart and my body drops, my neck will be slowly stretched. Before you write in; I will be careful!