The Family Feud III

Chapter Fourteen
“Methinks she doth protest too much”

STAR COUNT:
WENDY: 26
Get out of jail cards: 1
JAMIE: 29
Get out of jail cards: 1

Jamie said “Oh God, it feels like there is a party in my mouth, and everyone threw up.” In disgust.

“Sis, I didn’t know you were a Futurama fan?” Chris smiled.

Jamie wasn’t sure what he was talking about, she just nodded quietly and finished swallowing the second fish, which was much harder than it had seemed.

As Wendy swallowed the last of her fish, her face had become ashen white and her face knotted with disgust.

“Swallow like you swallow your words, dear. You know the ones where you said 'The Taylor men have devolved into lazy, inconsiderate, cowardly, and out of shape specimens of manhood, totally lacking in motivation' he quoted back for her the very first line of the “Taylor Women's Declaration of Independence” that she had shoved in his face when this entire affair began weeks ago.

All Wendy could do was choke down the adorable goldfish, holding her throat with a pained expression. Nodding in agreement with her husband.

It felt good to remember that, and to make her remember that. When he said those words out loud and heard himself repeat “Devolved” and “Lazy, inconsiderate, cowardly” they felt like fresh slaps to his face; to his ego. It made it easier to enjoy watching his wife's difficulty swallowing the fish. It wouldn't hurt her to swallow them, and her pride.

It also helped so that he didn't feel any guilt about the fact that the girls had prevented him from getting in a fight with a guy he really didn't want to fight with their quick thinking and sacrifice of their pride. They didn't have to do that. He wouldn't have done that if he were them. 'Ack!' he realized he was still thinking about what they just did and it was interrupting the solid erection he was getting from watching them agonize over the 'cute little fishy'.

“Okay fish breath, want to go home?”

“Yes Sir.” Wendy answered her husband submissively.

“What about you turd face, you like it here, or want to lounge your lazy ass in the back of the truck and go home?”

Jamie answered her father “I’d like to go home, Sir.”

“Well too fucking bad, you big babies.” Bill spit on the ground. “You did really good on that last dare. Chris, who won?” he asked his son.

“Won?” Chris had not really thought the dare through to the point that a winner could be determined. He had just wanted to see them stick goldfish in their mouths and watch them flutter and flop around.

This didn’t inspire the girls. Even Bill realized that it came across bad to have not planned the game a little better.

While the girls had tried to become more spontaneous, and the guys had become better at planning, neither had achieved mastery over letting go of old habits.

“You both made up for your shitty fight, so I won’t be punishing you for that.” Bill’s tone was conciliatory, summing up the outcome. “The goldfish dare, I’ve got to admit was fun, it was funny, and I think technically you both tied. You didn’t really have any choice in how many goldfish you got, so other than holding your big mouths open and standing their like sacks of shit, I don’t really think it was a contest.”

Wendy and Jamie couldn’t help but feel he was minimizing their effort to play along, but neither objected.

“Since you did that last little bit at the end, I am going to say that both of you get your ‘get out of jail’ free card. That seems fair. You can’t use it tonight.” He told them.

Wendy and Jamie actually felt a little better about the outcome now, both smiling that they had some sort of reprieve they could use if they were given a correction punishment. They could object with their ‘card’.

“We’ve got a grand finale to do tonight, then we are getting out of here. This is our big finish. Are you two hookers ready, or do you need me to strip you naked and give you affirmations?” Bill asked his wife and daughter.

“What is the dare, sir?” Wendy asked, “And who gets to pick?”

Bill scratched his head. He hadn’t planned on a tie. “You both have to decide. It needs to be unanimous. Don’t decide and we’ll pick for you, how is that?”

“Very good, Sir.” Wendy answered politely.

“Chris, you tell them your dare, and I will tell them mine.” Bill asked. The family had returned to the small food court of four picnic tables that they had sat at earlier to continue their discussions. It wasn’t that busy, being after midnight, many people were simply no longer eating. Anyone who remained at the fair this late, was mostly doing it for the thrill rides to get the most out of their wristbands that permitted unlimited rides, or they were doing the games of chance and skill.

“You remember we walked past the medieval area, with all the knights and troubadours?” Chris mentioned a part of the fair that may have been a blur to Wendy and Jamie. Chris described an area of the fair with a renne faire theme. “There is one stage, and they do magic, or puppets, there was even a whip show earlier.”

Chris described the whip show, which made Wendy nervous. The performer had used an authentic bullwhip to shred a “news scroll” (newspaper) that his partner was holding, cutting it in half, then that half he cut in half, then he cut that half in half, until it was just a tiny scrap of paper. “It must have been something Dad and I saw when we were walking around.” He finally decided.

Wendy didn’t like where he was going with it, picturing being whipped by a real bullwhip made her visualize Kunta Kentai, the runaway slave from ‘Roots’ a show she had seen as a child.

“There is a big beer tent with beer wenches in low cut Elizabethan gowns that reveal their cleavage, who serve. It’s fun to watch them make lemonade. They shake and shake and shake, and then pour.” He smiled.

Wendy liked this story a little better. She had already been humiliated fully nude as “SpongeBoob” tonight. If it was a beer wench, that didn’t sound so bad.

Chris went on to describe jugglers, swordplay, something he called an “SCA Tent” that no one else understood, until his father finally interrupted him to get to his point.

“Okay, yeah. They’ve got this pillory there. People pay a buck for three ripe tomatoes and throw them, while the fool trapped inside mocks them. All you’ve got to do is volunteer to be a fool, and whoever gets the most throws at the end, wins!”

“What is a pillory, Sir?” Jamie asked cautiously. She knew her brother was into dungeons and dragons, swords and sorcery, but had never herself shown any interest in the subject.

“It is what the settlers used in Salem. They would take a woman accused of gossip, or witchcraft and then put her in it. It is a big wooden block, which would have been in the center of town.”

“And if they won’t let us volunteer?”

“I spoke to the guy who runs it, when Dad and I were wandering around on our own. They actually invite audience members, especially drunk ones to come on up and have a turn in the stocks. They have water to wash you off and everything. It is supposed to be fun.”

Wendy wasn’t sure, but she felt there had to be a catch.

Bill spoke about his dare next. “Mine is going to be a simple foot race!” Bill started his explanation and cut right to the chase.

“Actually, it’s more of an ass race, than a foot race.” Wendy and Jamie were the only ones now not smiling.

“You both got to piss earlier, but you haven’t been begging to take a shit. Seems to me, you aren’t regular.”

Wendy thought to herself, “Uh-oh”.

“So you may find there is some health benefit. I call my game the lemon drop. We’ll buy frozen lemonade for you. Then give it to you as an enema.” Bill saw the worried look on their faces and without any empathy for their fear at all added, “Don’t worry, You won’t have to get the enema in public. It can be done privately, you can thank me later.”

The girls started to shift nervously.

“Once you get the enema, the race is on. You’ll start walking together, and you will walk, and walk and walk. The clear winner will be the girl who did not shit herself first. Once you crap your drawers, you lose. The winner gets to release her lemon drop in private behind one of the fair booths.”

“Do you even have an enema bottle, Sir?” Wendy asked quietly.

“They sell funnels near here.” Bill explained.

“Yeah, funnel cake!” Chris laughed, but no one else got his joke.

“I am going to guarantee neither of you can make it more than ten minutes, and you’ll be done with my dare. Chris is going to take at least an hour.”

“You are going to be permitted to get rowdy and yell at people for an hour, even us if we decide to give it a throw. Anything you say, won’t be held against you. So you can be as raunchy or as mean as you want, if you do my dare. The more you rile up the crowd, the more money your pillory box makes.”

“I may need an affirmation before deciding this one, Sir.” Wendy puffed air past her lip, trying to decide which of the two horrible choices lay before her. They had screwed up the dare they chose last time, and for their troubles were made to do the one they didn’t want in the first place.

“This time I think Chris’s dare sounds the least gross.” Jamie said trying to sound constructive. She too was puzzled as to which may be the most satisfying for the guys, with the least amount of humiliation and pain. “I guess I need the affirmation too, Sirs.” She said wistfully. She wasn’t sure the affirmations would help her make her mind up, but it didn’t sound like it could hurt.

“Stand up and put your hands flat on the picnic table!” Chris demanded suddenly.

The girls had been concentrating on the decision before them, it took them a moment to comply. Wendy thought they would go back to some place more private like the tunnel of love.

“Informal affirmation time, cunts.” The girls were already standing, leaning forward slightly, in the perfect position for spanking them. They both had their palms down on the picnic table, with a serious look on their faces.

“Mom, are you my whore?” Chris asked.

“Yes Sir” he said.

They had established at the very start of affirmations, which you couldn’t just agree. You had to hear yourself saying it out loud. “Mom, when you taught me and Dad how to do affirmations, would you have accepted Yes Ma’am, or would you have made us visualize, quantify, and enunciate the change we want?” he quoted back some of her exact words.

Wendy wanted to point out that she (probably) would not have made them say that they were her whore. Although given enough time, drunk with power, she may have found a way to justify it. Instead, she answered her son’s question. “You are right, Sir. I am your whore. I was just embarrassed to admit it, because people may hear”.

Chris looked around to make a show of the fact that no one was sitting at the other three picnic tables. Anyone could walk up at any moment, and the cooks inside the food trailers may overhear, but overall things were fairly private in the immediate area.

“You are right once again, Sir. I am embarrassed to admit it to myself as well.”

“Why did you get it tattooed on your ass, then Mom?”

Chris had asked a deeply painful question. She had chosen to get a tattoo to appease her husband. When she agreed to his request (after denying it several times before) she thought it was going to be smaller and not as graphic. She had been caught up in trying to convince Jamie not to get the tattoo herself. This had never really been about pleasing Chris or admitting she was a whore. But it was becoming that way.

She had continued to go along with it, because she really did feel it would remind her of this experience and because Bill had desired it so much.

She hadn’t processed the concept that Chris had designs on whoring her out to his friends at that time. In retrospect, she probably should have realized it would be possible even without the tattoo. He had been sending Jamie out with guys all week, it had been easier not to think about what that meant to her. She hadn’t got the tattoo with Chris in mind at all.

She advocated honesty, and she felt like such a hypocrite. As with so many things that had been going through her mind, she had mixed feelings. At the house meeting she had tried to explain to the guys some things that had been on her mind, but ended up sticking with only two points she had wanted to make.

There was something else bothering her. On the one hand, she was wanting to be done with this training, this chaos in her life, this pain, this humiliation in as quick a manner as she could, while saving her daughter from the worst of things. That is a big hand, and the one she was presenting to everyone.

That hand told her that they deserved to go through this, not only because they agreed to it but because she had humiliated her son and husband like cuckolds.

Then on the other hand, the little quiet hand, that she felt no one else could see. There was this tiny little voice that was seeing progress, and justifying her behavior. This hand was the counter-point to an internal conflict. There was a comfort in having things decided for her, in seeing the men take responsibility. There was a solace in sharing this experience with her daughter, as tough as it was. She didn’t fear for her life, she knew that as tough as it was she would survive it and that maybe there was more behind why she was accepting the retribution now that she had begun the training.

She just couldn’t see her way clear to process all the reasons. She had wanted to bring them up in the family meeting, but she changed her mind after she started to ramble a little. ‘This is why you always prepare for a meeting’ she chided herself, with something she would have told a subordinate at work in the same situation. It made her smile briefly.

“Cunt, we are all waiting?” Chris demanded.

How long had she been quiet? She wondered. Chris had interrupted her introspection and she scrambled to answer him. “I got the tattoo on my ass, because I agreed to it, and you felt the design was appropriate Sir. It marks me as a whore, your whore sir, my husband’s whore. A Taylor Whore.” She cleared her throat as she looked around hoping no one walked in to the picnic area while she had been lost in thought.

“Are you looking forward to showing Mrs. Waxerman what you got at the fair?” Chris asked.

Wendy couldn’t help but smile, “That WILL be an interesting explanation, Sir”. She could only imagine the old woman’s feigned outrage.

“You see, a part of you wouldn’t do this, if you didn’t enjoy it!” Chris laughed.

He did not realize it, but both Jamie and Wendy had not thought about things this way. How could one ‘enjoy’ having a corn dog stuck between your ass cheeks, or eating it afterwards while onlookers laughed at you? He may not have even thought about how profound his words were, but both Wendy and Jamie started to look back on the experiences that had brought them joy, while they were going through pain. It wouldn’t register to them at that time, but it had planted a seed in their mind.

They had enjoyed playing with Mrs. Waxerman’s head and shocking her. They had enjoyed the attention of some of the people who hadn’t thought much about why two girls would be selling kisses wearing body paint. They had enjoyed some of the fear. Could this be why people enjoy rollercoasters that can make them sick, turn them upside down and dump all the change out of their pockets, send them whizzing at breakneck speeds through the night air? Wendy and Jamie didn’t enjoy rollercoasters and thrill rides, so they had no frame of reference to ask themselves this question or answer it at that time.

Instead, Wendy continued the thought about Mrs. Waxerman’s visit. “I suppose I will tell her, my good husband and son, felt it necessary to mark me with the brand of a whore, like the Puritans did adulterers in Old Salem with a scarlet “A”. She will pretend that is outrageous and ask me to tell her more.” Wendy couldn’t contain her giggles.

Chris hadn’t paid attention in English Literature, but even he had seen the movie Scarlet Letter. “Demi Moore was hot!” he said aloud.

Turning his attention to his sister, “What about you, slut?”

“I will tell her I am the whore daughter, of a whore mother, and I was marked, as I will mark any daughters I bear, unless providence gives me a husband strong enough to save them of my wicked influence, I do declare.” She said in her sweet southern drawl Dixie Sinclair voice.

Chris hadn’t actually meant to ask her what she’d say to Mrs. Waxerman. His question was more general, but he liked her response. “I say, I say, Dad and I shall have to think of something special for our next social call from Mrs. Victoria Waxerman.” he did his best southern gentleman imitation as response, sounding something like Foghorn Leghorn instead.

“Do you cunts need more affirmation, or are you ready to pick a dare?” Chris asked, not feeling like digging deeper with questions due to his light mood.

“Speaking for myself Sir, you only asked me one question.” Jamie sounded at first disappointed, but then her eyes sparkled playfully, “I don’t think the affirmations will turn us into Roboslut and the Cuntinator 2000. Emotionless whoring machines from the future who fear no humiliation.”

That analogy pleased her brother, who suddenly had visions of a mother and daughter terminator sent back in time naked by a Cyberdyne computer to stop John Conner by titty fucking him to death. “Remember when I said I’d fuck you last? I lied!” Chris said in a perfect imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger delivering one of his classic catch phrases.

Everyone laughed heartily, even Bill who had been quietly observing. He got what Jamie was saying about robots. He did not want them to be emotionless robots incapable of fear, who did everything he said. He liked that they were taking the decision before them seriously. He told them so. “Just make up your fucking minds, though.”

Enema, and go splat somewhere in front of hundreds of people as their colons explode, or agree to the pillory in medieval towne at the county fair? A tough decision between two evils.

“As I am marked with the scarlet W, I suppose it is appropriate to select the town square, puritan style.” Wendy let out a breath as she made her choice.

“I am going to feel bad if we show Mrs. Waxerman the pictures of tonight and she keels over and has a heart attack.” Jamie joked, implying she had no objection to her mom’s decision.

“You would be the only one.” Bill mused as the group made their way to where the medieval themed rides, shops and attractions were all jumbled together at the fair.

It was about five minutes’ walk for them. The girls were made to walk behind the guys for a time, submissively with their heads down. Bill decided half way to their destination to change it up, “Walk in front, let’s see you wiggle it”

Jamie and Wendy got in front of the guys, and Jamie was first to do a cute little rump shake from cheerleading.

“Wiggle it, just a little bit.” Chris hummed a lyric from a song. She shook a little bit more, letting herself dance loosely. Her mother joined in shaking her butt for the guys.

“Wanna see you wiggle it, go on and wiggle it” Chris hummed and sang as the girls jiggled past the stands and games, unsure of their destination, hoping the guys knew where they were heading.

They stopped at a refreshment stand. “Two Lemon Slushees, please.” Bill ordered a drink for his son and himself. He enjoyed looking at his wife’s and daughter’s expectant faces when he ordered something without including them. It was almost as if they were silently hoping he would be generous and get them one too, waiting with baited breath.

“Did you two want one of these?” He rattled the lemon ice in his cup.

“I am afraid, you’d want to put it in a hole other than my mouth, Sir.” Wendy said in deference to her husband.

He smiled. She hadn’t said she didn’t want one. It tickled him to know she probably did. He sipped on the straw and smiled at her. Watching her, watch him slurp it up.

“Mmm, tastes like frozen lemonade, doesn’t it son?” he slapped Chris on the back.

“Indeed it does, Dad!” Chris grinned back at his father. The two men continued walking down the midway lane, while Chris sang his rap song, and the girls jiggled their butts. The men gave no more thought to the girls or whether they would have enjoyed a frosty refreshing beverage than they would to a passing stranger.

The Taylor’s had just passed a Jamaican themed store, with the Rastafarian shopkeeper noticing the butt shaking women strutting in front of his stand “Very nice ta’ see, Mon!”

Bill waved back with a friendly smile, “Welcome to Jamaica, Mon. Have a Nice Day!”, sending ripples of laughter through his family who remembered Mikey’s off-color joke from earlier in the night.

The mood was festive as they turned another corner, opening into “Medieval Towne”, a hodge podge of completely anachronistic and only slightly historical renaissance themed rides, shoppes, and stands arranged like a village from the middle ages around a central square.

To their immediate left was a leather crafter, and Bill thought about taking a diversion to pick up a few supplies for around the house. He decided that could wait when he had a better look at the ‘Stockade’ that dominated the center of the square.

The “Stockade” was a fenced in area, on the ground bales of hay, muddy clay and lots of busted tomatoes. In the very center was a medieval style wooden pillory. A wooden pillory is best described as wooden stocks used for punishments. It is odd then that at that moment, a family of five would be taking pictures of mom and dad sticking their necks through the wooden hole that had been hinged so that it could be locked around their necks. They willingly put their hands through two holes on either side, and mugged for the camera as their eldest daughter took a photo.

Then as if being inside a device like this was amusing, they just as quickly switched places with their kids, and brother and sister got in the wooden devices so Mom and Dad could take a picture of them. The placards read, “N’er DoWell” and “Public Nuisance” under the wooden stocks.

At the center of the entire thing was “Medieval Steve”, a flamboyantly dressed man in purple and red jesters garb, a motley fool’s cap, and red pointed shoes. His face didn’t seem to fit his dress, he wore square glasses, and the neatly trimmed, thin mustache of someone who probably served in the military.

“Tell us, great engine, how to understand Or reconcile the justice of this land; How Bastwick, Prynne, Hunt, Hollingsby and Pye — Men of unspotted honesty — Men that had learning, wit and sense, And more than most men have had since, Could equal title to thee claim With Oates and Fuller, men of fouler fame!” He hawked his enterprise in the town square in a bold but obviously fake English accent to no one in particular.

Noticing the Taylor family walking up to his counter “Three Dollars for a photo, Two dollars for three tomatoes, three dollars for five. Give me a twenty, ladies, and you can toss them all day!” Steve offered with a dramatic flourish reminiscent of a Shakespearean play.

“These are the wenches that wanted to volunteer for an hour, in your pillory.” Chris reminded him of a conversation they had earlier in the night.

“Ah yes, the doxy princesses of ill repute?” Medieval Steve asked and Chris nodded yes, unsure exactly what he had just asked him. It sounded close enough.

“I would love to accommodate you, for you see my fools are wandering here and there, looking for mead or ale.” He said quite loudly like he were performing a play. Then he put his hand aside his mouth as if to speak only to them and said “In short, they are on break”.

His amusing antics made Wendy’s butterflies quiet down in her stomach if only for a little while.

“Yet, I would be remiss in saying that at this, the witching hour of our dear Medieval Towne, I cannot afford to grant you an entire hour in the pillory, though I do believe our dear lass’s crimes most foul and heinous” He looked at the girls with mirth on his face. He had no idea what they may or may not have done. His business was letting people get in stockades, and he said these playful lines to customers on their way to his stocks simply as window dressing to the experience.

Jamie and Wendy were not sure what exactly he knew about them, but it did make them wonder how much Chris had told them.

“I’ll be honest with ya folks.” Medieval Steve switched back to his informal voice, putting his hand aside his mouth as if that somehow made it possible for him to speak to only them. “This is the time when the drunken frat boys want to put their buddies up in the stocks, families want last minute pictures, if you’d been here earlier I could have accommodated you, but I really can’t tie up the pillory for that long. I’ll be glad to let you get in the stocks and take a few pictures.” He offered.

He wasn’t kidding, the business was busy with people taking pictures of the pillories even with no one in them as a curiosity. What was a medieval form of torture, was now some sort of sightseeing experience and novelty.

While the Taylors were deciding what to do, another family handed Medieval Steve three dollars and gleefully stepped up to the platform. The mother stepped into the stocks, bending over, while the kids yelled “Yay!!!” and had a little fun with her predicament. Her husband was standing behind her. He put the wooden slat down around her neck in jest. Her little boy fed her his ice cream, while she pretended helplessly to have no choice but to eat the soft-serve dessert.

“What if we promise you can make a hundred dollars in tomato sales in an hour?” Bill tried to negotiate with the flamboyant jester and showman.

“One hundred dollars? Each perhaps, and then we might be talking. If we earn more, that shall still be a levy unto me, your Lord Medieval Steve, but if you cannot, then what pray tell?” Medieval Steve folded his hands in front of himself, caught up in his medieval role playing.

“Then for every dollar they do not earn, they shall earn a spanking?” Bill offered as if he were guessing.

Medieval Steve lifted up a wooden mallet that looked like the kind the comedian Gallagher used to smash watermelons in his comedy show. “From Mother-in-law?” he asked with an intensely amused expression.

“Sure!” Bill promised.

Medieval Steve wasn’t sure where to go with that. He usually held up his favorite war hammer and expected people to cower and tremble with fear, or at the very least be appreciative. It was his version of “You call that a knife? That’s not a Knife. THIS is a knife” from the Crocodile Dundee movies.

“I like your spirit!” Medieval Steve said gleefully but offered a counter-proposal of his own. “How about for every dollar they do not make, you reimburse me, and you work it out among yourselves, for you see Mother-in-law…” He brought the hammer down on a soft tomato laying on the ground, squishing it into gushy bits for dramatic flair “Would crush ripe tomatoes like the ones held behind Milady’s petticoats”.

Medieval Steve made quite certain they were willing to proceed with the negotiation, especially the girls who affirmed he did. “Good, you see we did have an extensive scroll of release liabilities for infirmities, loss of limbs, loss of life, decapitation, pox, plague, heresy, witchery.” As he said each one, he counted on a finger in the practiced speech he had prepared “But, alas the scroll was ruined by the last chap who was in your position. His spleen burst all over the thing, and now it is totally illegible. A pity for him.” He was far from serious. It was obviously a standard line he delivered to address liabilities with his customers in an amusing but informative manner, delivered in a way that wouldn’t break character for him.

His manner reminded Jamie of Willy Wonka; walking children through his candy land of wonders, wryly noting each of them being caught up in a chocolate tube, or falling down a pit of golden eggs by their greed or gluttony.

“It looks like you wore clothes you can get dirty in.” Medieval Steve said approvingly.

“Oh yes Sir, we’ve been getting dirty all night.” Wendy smiled back as she stood on the platform, looking at the wooden stocks, picturing a guillotine slicing off her head if she put her neck down.

Medieval Steve got her double meaning and smiled back at her. “Yes, I do love dirty girls. Well, I hope you’ve brought a change of clothes, because this is going to be messy fun. I do emphasize that the messy is more on your end, and the fun is more on everyone else.”

“Yes Sir” the girls accepted his advice, standing with hands behind their back, looking at each other for support.

To Medieval Steve, the fact the ladies called him Sir didn’t seem odd at all. Milord, Sir, Knight of the realm, it was all the same to him.

“Do you have any questions? You two look like you’ve done this before, have you?” He asked as they bent over at the waist to place their pretty necks inside the wooden semi-circle he was holding open for them.

“I’ve never seen an attraction like this before.” Wendy said as more of a general comment, than a question.

“I have will you know fair maiden, that I’ve Medieval Steve’s Pillory and Wholesale Torture Facility has shocked, and awed crowds across seven kingdoms, and been kicked out of every reputable renne faire from here to Missouri, yes we have. It was impossible to tell where he was improvising and what was a prepared line, his wit was so quick. He winked at them, and had them put their wrists through the hand holes before lowering the top half of the wooden pillory on to each of them in turn.

“What about the feet holes?” Bill called from twenty feet away, still at the sturdy, wooden counter.

“I seldom use the feet holes, you see it isn’t lady like. Our fair maidens would have their derrieres exposed to the night airy-air.” He giggled at his rhyming joke.

“And, that is bad because?” Bill called back, putting his hands around his mouth like a megaphone.

“You’ve a point, Milord!” Medieval Steve was ever the showman. “You ladies, I assume have no objection?” he looked down at the two of them now made helpless by the weight of the wooden clapboard holding them in place.

They both said “No Sir” dutifully.

He ignored their responses and yelled aloud “It wouldn’t matter if you did, for I , and only I. Medieval Steve, will be the agent of your release. You are my prisoner. I sentence you to one hour in our stocks, upon which may be visited upon you the humiliations of our gentle towns folk, for a tidy profit to me, Medieval Steve!” he held his finger pointed up for comedic effect. Then helped the girls get their feet into the holes at the bottom of the wooden slat and locked them in place.

He whispered to them each “I don’t think you can make it an entire hour like this, usually I put my fools on stools if I use these holes at all.” He liked to rhyme even when he was being informal. “Would you like me to fetch you the stools?”

“No Sir, my husband will decide if we should have them.” Wendy answered for both her and Jamie, adding, “Or my Son.”

“Ah, very good. Commitment to the part. I rather like that. If you should change your mind, plead for stools, and I shall make them available.” He said nothing else about it.

They were now suspended in the pillory, feet no longer touching the ground. Their heads, hands and feet facing frontwards. Their wrists, ankles and necks were secured inside a locked wooden oval. On the other side of the pillory, their butts were stuck out, seemingly floating in mid-air for their legs were no longer touching the ground. Their calves were already starting to strain from the awkward position.

He gave them each a playful swat on the behind, “Oooh, ladies, don’t tempt me!” he joked with them both in as ribald a manner as his medieval persona would allow before taking his place back at his “Money-Changing” counter where he sold tomatoes and photos.

“You’ll have to call out to the gentle folk, who know not of your crimes, and implore them let loose with their ripened fruit, or else you’ll face the dreaded Mother-in-law.’” He shook his wooden mallet menacingly at the girls.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t get hit with mother-in-law?” Chris asked confused.

“Acting, dear boy. Acting. If your ladies do not act deplorable and contemptible, we’ll n’ery a gold piece do see!”

“Start insulting people!!” Chris yelled at them. He was standing in front of several ‘bins’ set into the wooden counter. They were presently empty, but were presumably to hold the tomatoes yet to be thrown. One bin to a customer.

The girls were quiet, unsure of what to do, hanging in a medieval pillory. Jamie called back “What do we say, Sir?”

“I, Medieval Steve, shall bring all the boy’s to the yard, I can teach you, but I HAVE to Charge!” He waved his hands dramatically attempting to garner some attention. “You are dealing with a master wordsmith, an expert at the witty repartee, should you need to insult a wandering varlet, you have no need to look further than I, Medieval Steve!”

Some people noticed and were starting to gather around. “You could point at this man here, Thou wayward plume-plucked wagtail!” he pointed at his pony tail “These women are in sound need of a thrashing, if you haven’t brought your own over-ripe tomatoes, I’ve imported some from Tuscany right here for the throw! They are a mere Two dollars for three tomatoes, three dollars for five. Give me a twenty, and you can throw all day!”

The first man was skeptical, but smiling at the mock insult.

“Lady, Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade. Thou art the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth.” He said to a woman dressed out in denim and biking leathers. She seemed genuinely offended by his words.

She didn’t take the bait, but her hulking boyfriend, with bald head and trimmed goatee stepped up to confront Medieval Steve.

“Defend your ladies honor, I didn’t say that. It was those gossips, who said that about your woman. Don’t slay the messenger, let loose with the arrow of contrition, and defend your goodly woman’s virtue!!”

The biker looked grim. He stood staring at Medieval Steve, the veins in his neck starting to pulse.

“Ah it is just as well, you probably could not hit the ladies from this distance.”

He walked up as if to slug Medieval Steve, but in his fist was a five dollar bill.

“Praytell, a five? The orphans shall have pumpkin soup tonight AND a bit of ale, they thank you.” He let seven tomatoes flow down a small chute by opening a wooden gate into a bin in the counter.

The Biker took aim, cocked his arm and his first throw went wild.

“Ah, I am sorry Sir. You’ve the aim of the females who grace our stocks tonight. A pity!” Medieval Steve mocked him.

The Biker took out his fury on being insulted, by throwing hard and hitting the stocks, but missing Jamie’s face by a few inches. There was a small splat that caused her to shut her eyes.

It also caused her free-standing pillory, held up by a chain attached to a stout wooden overhead beam to spin, since their legs were not holding them in place.

“Ah, keep trying and perhaps you’ll spin them around!!” Medieval Steve laughed at the unlikely occurrence. “The view I assure you, will be of their grand assets!”

The Biker joked finally speaking in a throaty voice, “That would make a better target. They don’t say anything.”

Jamie was the first to answer, having to yell loudly, “We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!” it was ‘chatter’ she used when she was a short-stop playing Softball to rile the batters on the other team.

He flung another tomato, this time landing right above her head, before dropping into her golden hair, wiping the smile from her face.

“You’ve a sensible eye, I can see my friend!” Medieval Steve gave him some encouragement turning his attention to other customers who wanted a bin of their own, to collect their money and arm them with the overly ripe tomatoes he sold for a hefty profit.

“There is offense in the known realms more deplored, more reprobated, more legislated against than ingrossing, forestalling, or regrating. These ladies have done all three, nine times each, and sometimes enjoyed it!” Medieval Steve was talking up his new performers.

Bill and Chris wanted in on the action, Bill laid down a twenty dollar bill for him and his son. “The twenty is a bit of an exaggeration, my friends. Usually, people get bored long before how many throws a twenty could buy you, and want to move on.” Medieval Steve explained his offer was in jest.

Bill tapped the two twenty dollar bills with his fingers, setting them on the wooden bin.

“Well, you’ve not played me false, your girls will fetch a fair price as long as they play their roles. I’ve had bachelorette parties, where all the single bridesmaids took great care to deliver upon the blushing bride her just due after luring the bride up to my stage to play this game. I am sure they were more than a bit envious she had found herself an eligible man, and they were still bridesmaids. I suppose it shall be interesting to see if you are as zealous in your throws as jealous ladies-in-waiting.”

He opened the wooden slat holding back his supply of the ripe fruit letting their bin fill up, as he took their money.

Medieval Steve looked at a mother standing in the crowd in front of her ten-year old boy and smiled “Not to worry, madam. You only gets the jokes you are supposed to gets. Fun for Dads, fun for sons, fun for every girl and boy, and not one complaint, not never. Well there was the one, but how do you think those ladies ended up in the gallows, after all? I’ve got a kiddie show at 2pm, I do one for adults at 4pm, I escape from straight jacket. Ask me why I own a straight jacket? It’s a family heirloom! That’s right, Medieval Steve comes from a long line of nuts, our Family tree never forks!” He was getting the crowd riled up, some were laughing, others just standing there.

The girls had been sploshed a few times by direct and indirect hits. The hour had just begun. Jamie said to her mom, “Thelma and Louise, Right?”

“All the way!” Wendy responded, taking a tomato right to her face, unable to flinch or be anything other than a target. Each hit with the tomato shook the pillory just a little. It was heavy, and suspended on a chain, leaving them both feeling helpless dangling in mid-air.

There were four people in front of the six available bins. The Biker, Bill and Chris, and now a fat girl had walked up to try her luck with a couple tomatoes.

“Don’t you hate that these ladies are so THIN?” Steve slapped his knee. “I suspect you could fatten them up, by hitting them with a tomato right in the mouth.”

The woman’s aim was wild, the tomato never came close.

“She’s too fat!” Jamie shouted playfully, “She’ll never get…” SPLORCH- a tomato landed in her face. The crowd erupted with laughter. The juice still dripping from her pretty face as she blinked her eyes.

The girls did their best to taunt the crowd. It was difficult, they had been taught to be submissive and respectful the past week, and it wasn’t easy, even as a joke, to mock people. Medieval Steve made it look effortless, mocking unibrows, old people, young people, fat people, skinny people.

Steve saw several Hispanic people in a group. “Watch this” he told the small mob of onlookers and then proceeded to shout “La migra! La migra!” at them. They stopped and looked over the shoulder for what may have been immigration police, causing hysterical laughter at his saucy joke.

The girls were just hanging there, trying their best to be funny and interesting but after five minutes there were now only three people throwing tomatoes and two of those were Bill and Chris.

“Cease Fire! Let me check on our wanton prisoners, to see how they fair. Let your throwing arms rest!” Medieval Steve waved his arms around furiously that no one throw a tomato at him while he approached the elevated stage where the girls were bound.

“You are not the most lively of maidens, are you?” He asked them as he approached, keeping his voice down. They were now part of his ‘show’ but they were simply hanging there, like targets.

“I am Sorry, Sir. We are doing our best.” Wendy’s face was covered in red, goopy tomato guts.

“Yes, I can see that. Unfortunately, you are far too sympathetic. The audience pities you, you don’t seem like, well to put it bluntly the bitches they would like to see get their just rewards.”

“We are definitely bitches, sir.” Jamie coughed and sputtered some of the tomato seeds from her mouth, licking her lips in a futile effort to shake loose some red goo dripping from just between her chin and bottom lip.

“These two notorious cheats!” Medieval Steve turned to the audience with a booming voice, “don’t want to tell you that they think you are all stuck upon yourselves. They would challenge you to a battle of wits, but they believe you are unarmed!”

Steve spun Wendy slowly once by the heavy chain holding the wooden pillory block she was trapped inside.

“Do you want to tell them what you think of them, or would you rather spin for their amusement?”

“I think they are all pathetic and weak!” Wendy tried to sound tough, but felt a little like she had just quoted an old twisted sister music video.

“Oh dear, so you prefer spinning than engaging these good folks to answer for your crimes?” Steve didn’t accept her insult. “Spin it is!” He gave the girls both a tremendous shove, rotating the wooden squares they were encased in to increase their momentum. There was raucous laughter coming from the crowd. Several new people were walking up to see what the commotion was in the medieval towne square.

“Round and Round they go, where do they stop, nobody knows?”

Jamie wanted to vomit. She hated thrill rides, they gave her motion sickness. Her stomach was nearly empty except for the corn dog she had eaten, and the bottle of water. She could sense it coming up her throat as she was spun rapidly in a circle.

She shut her eyes, blocking out the vertigo as best she could and holding back the sick that was building in her stomach, as the chain overhead rattled and slowed, she started to feel safe.

Then it happened.

She peed uncontrollably as her pillory began to slow, at first it was just a tinkle, but soon it was a full waterworks shooting out from under her skirt like a yellow tail in the night air.

As most were standing farther away, most of the crowd did not notice. Bill and Chris noticed. People in the front row noticed. Medieval Steve noticed.

“As the great Malvolio once said, By my life, this is my lady’s hand: these be her very C’s, her U’s, and her T’s; and thus makes she her great P’s.” shouted Medieval Steve in his thunderous show voice. He used his hands to suggest where the C and T’s might be, but the “P” well that was dripping down her leg and on to his wooden show stage.

“Don’t worry about it dear, it was just nerves. Happens all the time, and when I say all the time, I mean I think you are the first, but don’t worry about it at all. The show must go on!” He whispered to her, before heading back to the crowd to sell some over ripe tomatoes to people eager to hear the splat sound against the girl’s faces.

Jamie was in tears. She was helpless, and the uncontrollable pissing had sent her over the edge into hysterical crying. To the crowd, it seemed all part of the act, an over the top boo-hooing by what were supposed to be two wicked women. The girls were the villains in this scenario.

Tomatoes began flying, Chris and Bill were firing off well aimed shots, alongside several others who were enjoying the thrill of tossing tomatoes at the helpless girls.

“You can’t scare the piss out of me! I am a Witch, and I’ll cast a spell on you!” Wendy put the focus on herself, calling out “Double, Double, Toil and Trubb” and before she could finish with the “LL” she got a nice, overripe juicy tomato straight in the mouth.

She let out a dribble of piss herself, trying to spin herself around to face her ass towards the audience and let go a stream of urine. She could not muster a deep stream like her daughter had, but the effect was the same. The audience laughed as if they had hit some “pee-reflex” when they hit the woman they thought of as the ‘older witch’.

Wendy’s intended effect was that her daughter stop crying. They locked eyes mid-spin and Jamie mouthed the words “Thank you” acknowledging what her mother did, her eyes still red, she was no longer crying. As she thanked her mom, a tomato slammed into the side of her head, gushing into her hair and ear, covering the right side of her face and dripping down her neck.

As one person spent their last tomato, a new person would emerge to take their place. The crowd had peaked at around twenty people, but usually few remained for more than five minutes before their attention span took them to some new spectacle or entertainment.

Several large high school football players (Wearing their jerseys) were at the booth now. They were talking to Medieval Steve. Jamie couldn’t make out their faces, but they wore the familiar red and white of Cherry Lawn High.

“Cease fire, Cease Fire, once again!” Medieval Steve raised his hands to console the crowd. “I know, I know. I assure you, you’ll have time to fire your ammunition, at the wicked step-mother, and her eldest daughter. Their crimes know no bounds! However, it is this gentlemen’s birthday, and he’s paid a hefty sum, to have his picture taken with our criminals.”

Medieval Steve walked with the hulking high school boys. As they came closer into view, it was Dave, Noah and Thad from the football team. They were grinning like the cat that just ate the canary as they came into view. Jamie could barely see them, her face dripping with tomato juice, her eyes blinking to clear themselves of the red paste.

“Do you mind letting these knights of the pigskin take a photo with you? You look absolutely ravishing!”

They smiled at Jamie, spinning in the humiliating pillory. She would have bet money that none of them had a birthday tonight.

Her Mom knew these boys were from her school, she looked to her daughter.

“Why would I mind, Sir? I am your prisoner, do what you will! But don’t have them stand too close! I bite!” She chomped her teeth to play act being vicious. Her face and voice were so cute, that it only made them laugh.

Dave and Noah flanked her on either side, resting leisurely around her head trapped inside the wooden square. Thad bent down and puckered up as if he were kissing the side of her face to pose for a polaroid picture. They completely ignored Wendy, having no idea it was her mother.

The flash went off, and the picture was done.

Thad followed through with a wet kiss to her cheek, and whispered in here ear, “Wow, see you at school.” One of the boys gave her a pinch to the butt, and they walked away laughing. Jamie could hear them congratulating each other on a lucky find. The jocks didn't stick around after they got their thrill and picture taken. That was more than enough for them.

Wendy knew that picture would be making the rounds. As a junior it meant that she’d never live it down for the next two years of high school.

“I want a picture, too!” Came one voice from the crowd. “Yeah, how about me?” and then another “How much for a picture with them?”. Soon the entire crowd was restlessly asking for a picture.

Wendy was not sure, but the first voice calling for a picture sounded an awful lot like her son.

“You want your photos taken with these miserable wretches?”

“Yeah!” The jocks were ecstatic at finding goody-two-shoes cheer captain Jamie Taylor in such a compromising position. They didn’t know why, didn’t care why. They just wanted to document what they saw.

Medieval Steve was surprised, but pleased. He hadn’t thought about this angle for profit. He hired two simpering oafs to malign and insult the crowd so they would buy over-ripe produce and throw it at them. It occurred to him, he may have struck upon a far more profitable avenue, of helpless damsels and photo opportunities. He also wouldn't have to buy as many tomatoes. Who was he kidding? He also enjoyed watching helpless females writhe in his wooden contraption.

A line had formed, and some brought digital cameras, while others wanted Medieval Steve to take a polaroid for them. He quickly developed a pricing scheme of three dollars for your own camera, five for his.

People stood in between them as if they had just caught and hooked the biggest fish, and they were hung above the dockside like their proud catch of the day. The girls were slowly spinning, helpless and dripping with tomato juice unable to do anything but look completely miserable.

Jamie heard a familiar little boy’s voice from behind her, as she slowly rotated under the wooden beam. “Can I feed her my ice cream?”

“Are you hungry, you ungrateful, wicked miscreants?”

Before Jamie could answer one way or the other, she was just spinning to face Mmedieval Steve. She took a vanilla soft-serve cone to the eye.

“Ooopsie!” He rubbed the ice cream, trying to feed it to her with her finger. She sputtered and tried to keep her mouth closed. There was no telling where his hands had been.

“She doesn’t want it.” He said sounding quite offended Jamie didn’t seem grateful for his offering.

“Of course, only a baaaad person wouldn’t want ice cream!!” Medieval Steve consoled the young man.

“Bad Girl, Bad!” the little boy spanked Jamie’s butt. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it did send a wave of laughter through the rest of the people in the crowd.

His mother called to him, “Now Duncan, what did we tell you about that?” There was a sound like he was running off in the distance, as the crowd laughed at his attempt at escape from his mom.

Jamie couldn’t see him (She was facing away from the line as she completed her circular rotation), it dawned on her who Duncan was. The little boy who had grabbed a handful of titty when her and her mother were Spongeboob and Sandy Buttcheeks at Madam Chang’s. He probably didn’t even recognize them drowned in tomato chunks, and not in their makeup.

“Hey, how much to spank their butts?” a grown man in the audience said in jest.

“Methink'st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee!” Medieval Steve pantomimed spanking the two girls, to the uproarious approval of the crowd as he quoted a line from some ancient play.

“Nay, nay, this is a family show, let us have our fun, but the beatings will have to commence at a later time.” Medieval Steve explained he had only been joking.

“Family show? I’ve been standing in line for five minutes, and every time the older one spins with her butt facing us, I’ve been looking at her ass-crack!” the deep voice of the man who had requested spanking them declared.

Wendy shuddered, she hadn’t been able to adjust her tiny skirt, and she thought it might have ridden up on her, the cool night air hitting her pussy.

Medieval Steve adjusted her costume. “A simple wardrobe malfunction, I assure you.” He offered cheerfully, tugging at her skirt to pull it down enough to cover her bottom.

“Spanking! Spanking! Spanking!” Came the willful chant. This time it was started by the deep voiced man, but she could definitely hear Chris and Bill in the crowd of voices.

Medieval Steve smiled, a part of him wanted to do it. He also knew that there was a mixed age group standing around, and he might get in trouble, and frankly he assumed that while the girls had been good sports thus far, they certainly wouldn’t be willing to accept spanks on their asses from strangers.

“Your crimes against nature have been extreme. We’ve pelted you with ripe fruit, and now an angry mob, wants to spank your derrieres. Do you wish to confess your crimes, before I am forced to consider the extensive profit I’d be giving up, when you do?” He was giving them an out, in as dramatic a way as possible. They could simply confess their ‘crimes’ and he could end the show here. It had been less than a half an hour and he’d far exceeded the two hundred dollars he thought he might make.

“No sir, we’ll never confess, until our time is up!” Wendy sounded sure of herself. She didn't want to say these things. This was the final dare of the night, disappointing her husband and son at the arcade, in the fight, and some of the other games and contests they had played was not an option. They had come this far with things on the pillory, they would finish it!

Wendy assumed Jamie felt the same way. If they talk tough, and play along with the dare, even if they do get their asses slapped, they can end on a high note and the ten stars would be theirs.

This response surprised Medieval Steve. “I will ask you again. Confess, and you shall go free, but remain and I cannot be held responsible for your fate at the hand of this, this angry mob!”

Some of the people in line roared like rambunctious Vikings and bandits at the mention of ‘angry mob’ in unison.

She could just make Bill’s face out as she was finishing another rotation. He was sipping his frosty lemonade cup, looking at her impressed. He said nothing one way or the other, his face otherwise expressionless. Chris seemed pleasantly amused.

“They are bluffing!” Wendy roared back in a rowdy witch voice to the angry mob. She was nervous, her legs quivering from the strain of being locked in the pillory by leg, arm and neck. She wasn't going to let the crowd hear it in her voice, summoning every ounce of courage, blocking out the fears of what may happen next, she committed to her part.

Several of the more boisterous crowd members returned her challenge in guttural, primal growls and pirate “Arrrrr” calls.

Medieval Steve leaned into Wendy’s ear and whispered, “You don’t get a cut of the profits, you realize that?” She nodded she understood, “Cut and run while you can, dear. I am serious, they want to spank you.”

“What?” Wendy said loudly as if she couldn’t believe what Medieval Steve just whispered in her ear. “I don’t believe they are strong enough to spank me. They would never DARE!” I’t wasn’t that she wanted to be spanked by strangers. It was just that she knew if she didn’t play this for all it’s worth when they got home, Bill and Chris would hit VERY hard.

Jamie and Wendy had been spanked hundreds of times in the past week. This would be over their skirts by strangers who didn’t know them, who were unlikely to strike nearly as hard.

For the most part she was right. Medieval Steve ran a short special, ten dollars for one rear, twenty for two. He insisted parents with kids move along, and sold about twelve photos and spanking combo packages.

If Jamie and Wendy had a change of heart about things one would never know it by looking at them. Helpless as they were to free themselves from the pillory, coated in rotten tomato, and slowly spinning, they kept brave faces (for the most part).

The only customers remaining in line were men, usually over thirty years old. They would walk up to get their picture taken, then each give three to five swats on their ass over their skirts. They ranged from playful to almost as hard as Bill hits. The first one through had given five swats, establishing an unspoken limit of no more than five swats per girl, per customer. The guy going next, just assumed five was all he got. Had the first guy through done ten swats, most likely the girls would have received double the spankings since no one spoke up to tell the customers one way or the other.

The man with the deep voice who had suggested this was one of the last to get his picture taken with them.

“Bill, I can’t believe this is your wife!” He shouted at her husband from the stage. She suddenly remembered him from earlier in the night. He had kissed her as Spongeboob, and mentioned he thought she looked like his friend Bill Taylor’s wife. Did he remember her from when she was painted up pretty? If he did, he didn’t say so.

He put his hands on their ass cheeks, palms down rotating them over their skirts. Then he brought down his hands both at the same time in a powerful strike, causing the chain to shake and the girls to be tossed around in the pillory.

“Watch the merchandise!” Medieval Steve warned, he was busily counting out change to the final customer in line.

“One at a time then.” the man proceeded to dole out five very hard open handed swats to Wendy’s right ass cheek, harder than Bill or Chris had ever hit. Medieval Steve hadn’t noticed just how rough and painful these were. The man was using his own body to hold the pillory in place, to keep the chain from shaking.

Wendy didn’t cry out, but she didn’t count either. Had she not had the amount of hard spankings she had endured all week, she would have most certainly screamed in agony.

“Bill, are you sure you are cool with me spanking your daughter?” the man turned to ask, after finishing with Wendy.

“Ask her, not me.” Bill yelled his reply.

“You look familiar, did I run into you earlier tonight?” The man asked Jamie, he was rubbing his hand on her ass cheek in a circular motion as if ‘warming up her butt’.

“Yes Sir, I believe you kissed my mom.” Jamie admitted. She had endured the other spankings without breaking a sweat. She had no reason to suspect this would be any different.

He had no reason to believe that the back of her skirt was piss, and not tomato drippings, since he hadn’t been present when she had her accident. The thought of him sniffing his hand later, secretly amused Jamie for some reason.

“I thought that was you two! You get around working the fair. Can I buy a kiss now as well?” he almost begged.

“Sorry Sir, we aren’t selling those anymore, just spankings to naughty girls.” Jamie tried to sound pathetic, but all she managed to do was sound sexy and inviting.

“YOU LITTLE” –SMACK- “TEASE!” the chain rattled once again, alerting Medieval Steve.

“Sir, I’ll have you take care, not to spank so hard”

“What? This is a scam, I paid to spank their asses, not pat their rears!” he sounded indignant.

“It’s okay Sir, he didn’t hurt me. I doubt he could.” Jamie was lying. The strike felt like what she imagined “Mother-in-law” the wooden mallet would feel like reverberating through her body. The strike had electrified every nerve in her already over-stimulated body.

“Lay on, then, but no more than 4 more, or you’ll pay for a second thrashing.” Medieval Steve pointed in warning.

The man cocked his arm above his hand, and brought it crashing down on her ass cheek hard, sending ripples through her ass muscles, as the well-rounded ass flattened ever so slightly under the pressure of his strong arm and reverted back to its original shape.

“That’s two sir, thank you, may I have another?” Jamie grunted the words that her brother made her say during spanking sessions.

When her brother had made her say those words, it had been humiliating for her and submissive in tone. When she said them just now, it was more like a challenge or a taunt.

He drove a third strike down on her ass, and she repeated her request, for the fourth and fifth strike. She didn’t want him to see that her ass had probably gone from rosy red, to yellow-purple from the painful strikes. That had happened several times at home, but usually after an even longer session. Instead, she smiled at him and said, “Thank you Sir.” There was a trace of defiance in how he said it, leaving him dissatisfied.

Bill hopped up on the wooden platform when the man was finished. The man was spent, he had put all his effort into striking her ass, and she hadn’t cried out. He felt denied, even though neither girl had tried to stop him in any way from striking them.

“Ted, what you want to do is angle her so her legs are wide spread, so you can spank the inside of her thighs.” He took a liberty with his daughter, spreading her leg for him so that only the two men could see. He made no effort to hide what he was saying, speaking as casually as if he were giving him a tip to improve his golf swing. “The nerves in their butt muscles have probably gone numb after all these spankings, watch this.”

He dug the fingernails of his left hand into the inside of her delicate thigh, and then used his right to deliver a powerful and satisfying swat to just below her cunt.

“Owie!!” Jamie let out a very real yelp of pain, before answering “Thank you Sir, may I have another.”

Ted said nothing, he didn’t mention that he could see Jamie’s pussy from that angle, he just nodded, eyes wide.

Bill had only wanted to demonstrate one swat, telling his daughter, “No you may not, one is enough.” As if he were refusing her an extra dessert at dinner.

“You’ve one more spanking customer, I guess we have about twenty more minutes left, back to tomatoes?” Bill asked Medieval Steve. He was energized and excited to continue.

The final customer was delivering his swats to Wendy. Medieval Steve looked at Bill incredulously. “I don’t know who you are, friend.” He dropped all pretenses of a medieval savoir faire and manner. “I’ve made more than I could have expected, and I think your girls are worn out. How about we stop now?”

“Wenches, would you like to be let down and finish twenty minutes early?” Bill put it to them.

“No Sir” Jamie was the first to say it, the tomato drying on her brow. “We agreed to an hour, we’ll finish it out.” Her leg muscle was spasming, being locked in the pillory by her feet and arms was causing her considerable pain, the swats hadn’t helped.

“Alright then, if there are no more good lords who wish to spank the ladies, then I suppose I should see what business I can drum up.” Medieval Steve said casually before nearly bumping into Uncle Creepy.

“Where did you come from?”

He was holding a crumpled twenty dollar bill, to pay to spank the girls.

“He is with us.” Bill explained. He was pleased not to be the only one who had not turned around and been shocked to see his ugly, quiet mug looking back.

“Oh, then I suppose it is gratis.” Medieval Steve was not going to charge them to spank the girls they brought to his show.

Uncle Creepy continued to hold the twenty out.

“Alright, I will take your money.”

Uncle Creepy delivered five to Wendy. She answered each swat with, “Thank you Sir, please may I have another.” counting him up to five. He did Jamie the same way.

If he was satisfied or in any way moved by his actions, looking at his stony expressionless face, you could not tell. Looking at his polyester pants, you could see the outline of his dick fully erect.

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” Medieval Steve sighed, watching the two helpless girls continue to spin, dripping from tomato goo, and the three men that escorted them here. He wasn’t sure the game they were playing, but he had profited tidily from it.

He managed to summon a small audience, never more than five to six people as they tossed tomatoes at the girls for the final twenty minutes, only adding to their misery. The girls politely remained good target practice. They had used up whatever confidence they had to shout contempt at the crowd during the spankings they received. They mostly kept their mouths shut.

Medieval Steve even called a cease fire, and put an over-ripe fat, juicy tomato into each of their mouths for them to bite down on like a gag. They looked completely pathetic from a distance, like stuffed pigs with apples in their mouths, except instead of lying trussed up on a dinner table, they were trussed up vertically. The actors he usually used would taunt and tease the crowd and since the girls weren’t, it made sense to him that they appear to be silenced as “Shrewful nags.”

“Silence is golden, duct tape is silver, and when that is not available, tomatoes be red!” He said with flourish to the amused group of customers playing out the end of the night throwing tomatoes at the helpless girls. Almost all of whom had no way to know they weren’t paid employees of the fair.

Not too far away from the spectacle, the Jenkin’s family was walking out of the fair. Gerald wanted to check out Medieval towne, but there hadn’t been enough time. His parents also had absolutly no interest in feeding into their son’s sword and sorcery interests. “Look, tomato throwing, c’mon!” Gerald pleaded.

“Oh please! Those girls on that stage are even trampier than the Taylors.” His mom scolded him to keep walking towards the exit of the fair.

She grumbled to her husband “Can you believe the audacity of the Taylor Women, I tell you, I don’t think she had a stitch on, but that little skirt.” She grumbled to her husband.

Bradley junior, took one last forlorn look over his shoulder at the women on the stage as they left Medieval Towne and wondered. He just shook his head and laughed, putting his arm around his parents and little brother, walking them hurriedly to the exit.