THE CURATE'S WIFE by Alex Birch (Judicial, N/C, M/F) The tiny courtroom in the small market town of Stimple was full to bursting, a chattering throng in the public gallery hardly able to contain its excitement as Master Matthew Radleigh and his clerk made their entrance into the chamber from a private door at the rear, the babble subsiding immediately as the Magistrate cast his steely glare around the room and sat down. A pin drop could have been heard as he glared around the court before finally fixing his eyes on the pretty young woman standing in the dock dressed demurely in a lace bonnet, a high necked white blouse affixed at the neck with a brooch and a simple grey skirt. Her face was tense, pale and pretty, her hands clasped and trembling as she waited to hear her fate. Matthew Radleigh had been the town magistrate for two years, since 1650, when the Lord Protector had brought in tougher laws throughout England and the townspeople had quailed at his appointment. Now, two years on, most would agree they might have done worse. He was uncompromising but fair, his preference always to deal with a matter locally rather than reference to the County Courts where sentencing was notoriously brutal. The tension in the courtroom was understandable, for in this small town the only women who regularly appeared before the magistrate were the wives and daughters of the gypsies from the nearby encampment and the occasional poor farmer's wife or daughter on vagrancy or petty theft charges, yet in the dock stood a young woman of quality and refinement, her hands shaking with nervous anticipation. The excitement in the public gallery was thus particularly high, for Radleigh's policy in punishing female transgressors was widely feared and consistently implemented!. His policy was based on the simple logic that no woman owned property or had a personal income, thus to fine her would be to place the burden on spouse or father and to jail her for weeks or months would be too cruel. Radleigh's choice of punishment, therefore, was public shame, the convicted woman being taken to the whipping block in the town square after the court hearing, stripped naked and birched personally by the magistrate on her bare buttocks in full view of everyone. The birching was never excessively brutal, merely painful enough to correct an errant child, but exciting for the crowds which gathered to watch and grossly humiliating for the female victim. Sometimes if the offender was particularly pretty, she was taken back to his chambers for 'further advice and correction'. No woman had ever complained about what happened in there and husbands and fathers were too afraid of the grim faced magistrate to protest. So a veil was drawn over proceedings and the magistrate governed Stimple as he saw fit. Today, for all Radleigh's judicial experience, he could hardly contain his excitement as he stared, dry mouthed, at the nervous young woman in the dock. Her auburn hair was neat and tightly pinned under the prim bonnet, the lovely face rosy cheeked and downcast, her magnificent breasts rising and falling with her nervous breathing. What on earth had possessed her to act as she had, Radleigh wondered, staring at her face which was flushed crimson with the foreknowledge of shame to come. He would not disappoint her, his desire to chastise her growing by the minute. Rebecca Hammond of all people! The Curate's wife! Radleigh was not the only man in court to ponder the girl's behaviour but the anguish of the other was clear in his eyes. The Reverend John Hammond sat with head bowed, afraid to stare at the lovely girl who sat, proud and serene, in the dock. What in God's name had she been thinking of? For a moment, he was angry with her then suddenly ashamed of himself. She was young, caring and impetuous, that's all. He suddenly felt old and tired, conscious of his forty seven years, a full twenty five years older than his pretty young wife. It was not fair on her for he was always so exhausted these days yet she never complained. Rebecca had been so good for him these past eighteen months, such a help with his pastoral care, so loving of his flock. When visited with a warrant for his wife's arrest, John Hammond had come close to collapse and when he had read the terms of the charge he had been shocked for he had no idea that his wife had organised a petition critical of the Lord Protector's increased taxes. Radleigh had been fair, in view of Rebecca's status, and had given her the opportunity to write a letter of apology to the court before action was taken but she had proudly refused. Her husband had told her desperately, with tears in his eyes, what degrading shame she was likely to suffer if the case went to court and to his amazement Rebecca had stared deeply into his eyes and said quietly 'Then so be it!' She had made him promise that, despite his love for her, if she were found guilty and sentenced to a public whipping that he would not attend to witness her shame. He had nodded his head sadly before the court officials had taken her away. Now he sat in the gallery racked with despair as he waited for the verdict. 'Mistress Hammond ...' Radleigh's booming voice was authoritative ' ...you know why you are here, do you not?' 'Yes, Sire ...' the girl replied quietly, her face flushed and tense '...it is because of my petition.' 'Indeed it is ...' replied Radleigh, grimly '...it is because of your petition intended for the County Sheriff protesting at the high tithes charged on the local farmers. Tithes set by His Grace, the Lord Protector of England. Good Lord, young woman, do you realise that you could have been charged with sedition had your missive reached the Sheriff's office? You should thank your God that your foolishness came first to my ears and the charge is commuted to insulting behaviour! Do you realise that a charge of sedition carries the death penalty, Mistress Hammond, and that you could have been hanged at Winchester for what you intended?' The young woman lowered her head, a perceptible shudder running through her body. 'Yes Sire ...' she replied quietly '...and I thank you for your merciful intervention.' Radleigh nodded in grim satisfaction. 'At least you have the grace to recognise my charity, but what you did was stupid, ill advised and against the law!' Rebecca Hammond bit her lip, her breasts heaving with nervous tension as Radleigh glared at the errant girl. 'You are a woman of quality, Mistress Hammond, chaste and modest, for whom the town has much respect but the law can take no account of that. As the case is clear cut and you have not disputed any of the details, I find you, Mistress Rebecca Hammond, guilty as charged!' The Reverend Hammond gasped in horror as his wife gripped the rail in front of her, her eyes wide and her body trembling while Radleigh continued remorselessly. 'Therefore, when this hearing is concluded, Mistress Hammond, you will be taken to the market place at mid day and there you will strip naked. You will then lie across the public whipping block for fifteen strokes of the birch across your naked buttocks. A detailed report of the punishment will be stored in the Parish register and ...' 'NO!!! DEAR GOD, NO, I BEG YOU SIRE! DO NOT SHAME HER THUS!' shouted John Hammond, on his feet and swaying from side to side. 'SILENCE ...' Radleigh thundered ' ...or her sentence will be doubled and you will be charged with contempt. IS THAT CLEAR?' Rebecca Hammond , her face now flushed crimson, her small hands tense and white, looked across at her husband, blew him a kiss and mouthed 'I love you' ,as the two yeomen at arms guarding the door moved to the dock ready to escort the trembling young woman to the horse drawn cart which would take her the short, ritual journey to the whipping block. A circle had been drawn in the market square on a radius of fifty feet from the whipping block at its centre and into which only the transgressor and the magistrate were permitted. Outside it, on this warm and sunny day, hundreds of men, women and children had gathered as the news of Rebecca's sentence went round the town. The crowd was large, yet strangely quiet at first, the mood seemingly torn between the love and respect most had for the Curate's wife and the shameful, base instinct of wanting to see a modest, chaste young woman stripped naked for punishment. The cart rolled to a halt and Rebecca was helped down by one of the yeomen and roughly shoved forward. Her heart began to pound as she was pushed through the excited crowd and into the circle of cobblestones until she stood trembling in front of the whipping block and Matthew Radleigh. He spoke loudly and grimly. 'Mistress Hammond has been found guilty of insulting behaviour to the Parliament of England and has been sentenced to receive fifteen strokes of the birch applied to her buttocks after she has stripped to the skin.' The crowd gasped, some men chortled and for the first time, Rebecca felt tears beginning to form. She tried to shut her mind to the crowd as she waited for the degrading instructions soon to follow. She looked at this stern man of the law and, knowing what he was about to do to her here in public, she felt her heart pounding with anticipation . Rebecca stood tense and trembling, her wide eyes vulnerable and helpless as Radleigh tried to control his excitement His voice rose so all could hear. 'Mistress Hammond, undress yourself completely!' The shy young Curate's wife gasped and put her hands to her mouth briefly as a ripple of excitement ran through the crowd but then bravely she faced Radleigh and first took of her soft lace cap, letting it fall to the ground. Then, her fingers trembling, she began to unbutton her blouse, at the same time kicking off her loose sandals. Soon the blouse was fully undone and Rebecca pulled it open and took it off, revealing beneath a soft bodice through which her firm breasts thrust invitingly. She was trembling slightly, yet appeared remarkably composed as she reached for the fastenings of first her skirt and then the petticoats beneath, allowing the bunched garments to slide to the ground before stepping out of them. Rebecca paused for a moment, trying to renew her courage, as the buzz of the crowd became electric, the men eagerly straining for position as the young wife continued her humiliating task. The shouts of excitement from the crowd heightened as Rebecca was seen to be wearing soft cambric drawers, an item of underwear reserved only for the privileged, the men instinctively aroused by the added shame for a modest young woman of having to take down her underpants in public. The young wife stood, swaying gently, dressed only in her bodice and drawers, her face bright red but not a sign of a tear. Radleigh watched impassively but his heart was beating furiously as Rebecca swallowed nervously before undoing the tiny buttons of her bodice, pulling it wide open to expose her naked breasts, then letting it fall from her shoulders to the ground. As Radleigh's throat went dry, Rebecca stared at him, her face blushing crimson as she pulled at the strings of her final garment until the drawers fell untidily around her ankles. The crowd gasped with excitement as, head bowed with embarrassment, Rebecca stepped out of her underpants and stood like an alabaster statue, hands by her sides, completely naked. Slowly she lifted her head, her beautiful green eyes wide yet without fear, and Radleigh was confused and perplexed. He had relished the thought of the tears as the modest young Curate's wife stripped in public yet he was somehow disappointed, almost cheated. She stood there submissive yet unbowed and it was easy to see why. If Rebecca Hammond was attractive fully clothed then naked she was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her breasts were everything hinted at and more, the firm full globes crowned by coral tipped nipples standing erect and proud in the cool breeze. His breathing rapid, Radleigh looked down at the triangle of soft auburn pubic hair which garlanded the lips of her sex and moaned softly to himself. She had surrendered completely, making no attempt to protect her modesty and now stood with her feet slightly apart revealing the delicate pink lips of her vulva. There was a pause as she waited for Matthew Radleigh's instructions and suddenly he came out of his trance. 'Turn around and face the block...' he ordered tersely '...then take the pins out of your hair and let it fall free to your shoulders!' Rebecca Hammond's eyes widened at the last command but obediently she turned and faced the whipping block before unfastening the pins in her hair, the tight auburn curls suddenly falling free as she proudly shook her head and an auburn mane cascaded wild and freely down to her shoulders. Her hair was now loose around her shoulders as Matthew Radleigh stared at her, his desire undisguised. It was his first sight of her naked bottom and he could barely contain himself as he gazed at the pale hollow of her back leading to the swell of her beautiful white buttocks, shapely and unblemished. 'Mount the block!' he ordered, his voice thick, and he heard only a soft gasp before Rebecca walked forward a pace and knelt down on a small shelf about a foot above the ground, then eased her body forward across the main section of the block. As she leaned well over to place her hands on the ground on the far side, her head and upper torso hung down over the structure, her palms were flat on the ground and her breasts almost swung into her face as her body inclined sharply. Her bottom was now at the highest point of the block as Radleigh ordered her legs spread wide apart but there was no cry of shame, no pleas for modesty. With her legs spread and her body bent over so acutely, Rebecca's bottom cheeks gaped to reveal her most intimate areas to Matthew Radleigh and the crowd in the market square. Yet she lay silent, submissively and degradingly positioned, as Radleigh picked up the birch rod from its bucket of brine. He shook the brine from the birch over her buttocks, eliciting a soft cry and an attempt to tighten her bottom. He waited patiently for nearly two minutes until her buttocks relaxed before raising the birch high. Matthew Radleigh had begun to perspire and tremble, trying to contain his excitement as he stared down at the milk white skin of Rebecca's upturned buttocks, then suddenly swung his arm towards the inviting target. The time had come for this obstinate beauty to experience the kiss of a birch for the first time across her naked bottom ...! ... As Rebecca Hammond knelt submissively across the block, her bare buttocks thrust upwards for punishment, she gave thanks that her mind was not an open book for its pages would have been shocking indeed. She felt the shame of what she was displaying, knew the fear of impending pain, but above both those emotions she felt a powerful surge of sexual excitement which she could hardly control. As she waited those two minutes which seemed an eternity before her first taste of the birch, her mind began to race back to her childhood, her arranged marriage and how she had come to this. Her parents had been God fearing merchants in Winchester and all through her childhood the scriptures had been fed to her daily. Her father was obsessed with Christian decency, thus no one in her family was ever immodest enough to be unclothed before another. She had a younger brother and she had never seen him naked. Her childhood was spent in total ignorance of sex until her breasts developed and her periods started, a terrifying experience after which she was virtually abdicated to the care of her mother who was ashamed of such things and told her as little as possible. By the time the two families had arranged her betrothal to John Hammond she had no idea how a naked man looked, what couples did together or how babies were created. She had never masturbated despite the insistent desires within from about the age of twelve for her mother had muttered about 'desires of the devil which must be resisted or face the fires of hell'. She had such repressed desires that when the Reverend Hammond took her virginity on their wedding night, she was alternately shocked, frightened and then very aroused. It had taken all his gentle persuasion to convince her that what they'd done was not wrong, not sinful and, indeed, was the way children were conceived. The genie had escaped from the bottle and having sampled the delights, Rebecca Hammond began to want more and more but soon found that her older husband was not up to her sexual needs. She could never hurt him by betrayal, thus there were endless nights of restless writhing as her husband slept innocently beside her, her hand straying often to the now frequently moist, hot cleft between her legs. Something had to give and it did. It had begun with a pastoral visit on her husband's behalf to the gypsy encampment where she spoke to the mothers and daughters in the caravans. She had been warmly received and in one caravan lived a family with a nineteen year old daughter, a raven haired beauty named Maria, who had been birched but two days before. Rebecca had enquired gently of the girl whether she had recovered from her ordeal. 'Of course, Maam ...' the girl had replied with a cheeky grin and a flashing smile '...I'm used to it. On a cold morn, when a poor gypsy girl has no money for drawers, there's worse things can happen than Master Radleigh warming your arse with his birch rod, you can be sure.' Then to Rebecca's embarrassment, the girl had hoisted her skirts and displayed the fading blush on her olive sheened shapely bottom, her legs wide apart as she quite blatantly moistened the lips of her vulva with eager fingers. 'Gets my fanny right juicy, it does..., .' she'd said with a grin ' ...and Master Radleigh's man enough to take care of that too! Begging your pardon, Maam!' as Rebecca Hammond had blushed to the roots of her hair yet suddenly experienced an intense and exciting urge for sexual relief. As she walked home that afternoon, her legs trembling, the image of the powerful and virile magistrate dispensing punishment making her blush, she began to think of something so shocking, so shameful that she prayed that night for forgiveness, yet the notion kept coming back. What if she did something radical, something socially provocative without her husband's knowledge which would arouse the wrath of the town magistrate? He would have to punish her, wouldn't he! Then perhaps she would need 'further correction' in his private chambers! She could satisfy her longings without loss of respect for how could she resist the demands of the law? Her husband need never know what was in her mind! Rebecca Hammond's heart had begun to pound for the gypsy girl's blushing bottom had aroused such base desires that she wondered if she'd fallen under Satan's spell. She was so ashamed of herself that she tried desperately and vainly to dispel her fantasies yet the thought of receiving the birch on her bare bottom in public began to excite her beyond reason and, deciding to wait no more, Rebecca Hammond had written her petition.... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ -------------------------------------- ...Rebecca came back to earth with a squeal as the first stroke of the birch whipped across the centre of her bottom and the scalding pain caught her by surprise. She gave a gasp then heard the crowd chuckle and a ribald ' That's warmed her pretty arse!' She sensed the heat of shame in her face though it was nothing to the heat in her bottom which she wriggled from side to side as someone sniggered. She tried to relax her body but Radleigh waited half a minute before he swept the birch down across the lower slopes of her buttocks and grinned as the red dots began to dart about her once flawless white skin. His efforts were rewarded this time by a prolonged 'Oooooohhhh!' as Rebecca's hands beat the ground and her hips writhed in distress. He smiled grimly as he watched the bottom quiver and the angry mottle of bright red score the once flawless cheeks. He paused for half a minute, sensing the tension of the crowd, before he swept the birch down for the third time across the lower slopes of Rebecca's buttocks, two of the outer withes stinging her well displayed vulva, the lips reddening immediately. He was rewarded this time by an anguished raise of her head and a tearful 'Ooooooooooooohhhhh!!' as her hands beat the ground in pain. Rebecca Hammond was making no attempt to stem her tears now for that last stroke had been fiendish. She sobbed softly as the scalding pain in her bottom was compounded with each stroke and now her most private place had been exposed to punishment, the pain fading to a relentless tingle which seemed to invade the entire tender channel of her sex. The birch continued to fall across her bottom .. four, five , six, seven and she was now impervious to the crowd, conscious only of the scalding of her bottom and genitals which generated a fierce heat throughout her freely perspiring naked body. It seemed an eternity before the eighth stroke landed and when it did, Rebecca became gloriously aware that she had conquered the pain threshold for now the strokes began to feel pervasive and exciting. When Radleigh applied the ninth stroke to the centre of her buttocks, Rebecca raised her head and screamed 'Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!' not in pain but in realisation that her whole body had begun to tingle, the sudden glorious sensation deep in her loins impossible to understand as she began to shake and tremble, ignorant of what was happening to her yet wanting it never to end. She thrust her bottom up silently imploring the birch once more. As Radleigh raised his birch rod for the last six strokes, his eyes never left the reddening lips beneath the girl's bottom, the tiny nodule of her clitoris visible and swollen as she writhed in eager expectation. He grinned slyly as he watched the Curate's pretty wife climax under the scalding birch for he had wondered about the petition and how news had 'accidentally' got to him! He shook his head in amusement and proceeded to complete the punishment with six slow and evenly distributed strokes which left not an inch of Rebecca Hammond's bottom unblemished. She lay for some minutes writhing and gasping before he said gently 'Get up, Mistress Hammond, your punishment is over. Get dressed!' No one in the crowd had moved as Rebecca climbed shakily to her feet, a yeoman handing over her clothes. She could hardly keep still, such was the scalding pain in her bottom, but with trembling fingers she put on her blouse and buttoned it before quickly climbing into her skirt and tying it, unable to bear the thought of underwear. Radleigh glared at her sternly as the crowd began to disperse in disappointment and motioned her towards the cart. 'Climb aboard, Mistress Hammond, I think we have some unfinished business!' he demanded with a grin. Rebecca gasped, her face bright red, and obeyed immediately. She knew where they were headed now and she knelt on the cart floor, unable to sit down. Radleigh sat opposite and stared at her. She made no attempt to avoid his gaze and her excitement began to mount as the cart neared his chambers of office. She looked down at the bundle of underwear in her hands and then up at the powerful magistrate whose face gave away how much he had enjoyed his task. Rebecca blushed crimson, reflecting that leaving her drawers off would probably save some time, for there was no doubt what came next and she closed her eyes in eager anticipation as the honey dew oozed from her sex. When the cart stopped, Radleigh ordered the driver to help her down and ushered her into his chambers. When they were alone, he ordered her to stand by the arm of a leather sofa, ready to bend over it and, crimson faced, she obeyed. He took her hand and pressed it to the front of his breeches as Rebecca cried out in excitement. 'You're a cunning young woman, Rebecca Hammond! ' he said grinning ' I think my eyes told me more than a modest woman ever would. You enjoyed the birch even more than you dreamed, didn't you!' Her sob of shame made him laugh. 'Do not fear, little one, your secret is safe with me and your husband will never know. Provided you visit me regularly from now on for a little supplementary correction!' and her gasp of delight was answer enough. She moaned softly as, without prompting, she unfastened his breeches and took his massive erection in her hand. 'You took your punishment well, my child...' Radleigh smiled as he lifted her skirt and bent her over, positioning himself behind her naked bottom '...and I think you fully deserve your reward!' END