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Witch Hunt
by
Pus E. Cat

This is my first attempt at a story for ASSM. It's mostly setup and therefore
pretty soft. It is also unfinished and really just designed for me to get
feedback from you, the reader. I'm having a lot of fun with it, hope you enjoy
too.

Future parts will probably contain more (and more detailed) of the same, i.e.,
shamefaced discipline, bondage, humiliation, and possibly the unwelcome (but
not terribly violent) deflowering of an unsuspecting young maiden at the hands
of religious authority figures.

I'd appreciate any comments or advice you might have. Email me at
buckles8@aol.com

And, of course, THIS FILE CONTAINS SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIAL. IF YOU ARE UNDER
THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN OR DO NOT CARE TO READ THIS TYPE OF MATERIAL, PLEASE DELETE
THIS FILE NOW.


Setting: 17th Century Salem, Massachusetts

She awoke to the sun streaming through the barn windows, finding herself clad
only in her corset and bloomers. The dry straw surrounding her had given her
some nasty scratches, and her first thought was, "Whatever did you do this time
to deserve this, Elizabeth...?" Elizabeth, approaching her twentieth year, was
known about town for her playful pranks and "unladylike" musicianship.

"Hmm. So perhaps you've really outdone yourself, Elizabeth. And perhaps I've
gotten meself into a churn o' trouble, too...."

Despite the scratches and her messy appearance, Elizabeth was a beauty. Her
long curly golden hair against the rich brown of her suntanned skin, her pouty
lips and playful green eyes were certainly not missed by the men of Salem,
However, none of them would ever admit it, as Elizabeth defied the current
style of Puritanism and utmost modesty. Hence, she was the object of many a
man's dreams, yet none would dare approach the girl, except perhaps Reverend
Mather, who constantly harped on the girl to change her ways, in the name of
godliness.

"But why is he always beggin me when I'm in the middle of me toilet?" she
thought to herself. The Reverend had a penchant for interrupting Lizzie at the
oddest times, most especially, when she was clad in nothing but the wooden
washing stall outside her family's cottage. She'd be lathering up with some
fresh glycerin soap when he'd come shuffling up, eyes darting left and right
("and usually when Father isn't home to chase him away, 'course!") and ask her
to speak to the Lord with him, to find her the path to salvation. Meanwhile,
Elizabeth would do her best to keep her bountiful soapy
breasts under the protection of her arms as the shower stall reached only to
her chest.

"Elizabeth Chapman, you're too old to be runnin about town like a gypsy-wench!
And playin that
forsaken instrument of the devil. Mark my words, you're fated to damnation if
you don't change your
ghastly habits. Salvation lies beyond those chapel doors, Elizabeth." He was
referring to her guitar
which she occasionally played in town square for those unfortunates in the
stocks. "Reverend,
please let me finish me toilet...perhaps we could take this up at another
time?" Elizabeth could
never understand all the hoopla around the church. She vowed, after her young
mother died when
she was only ten, to spend her time enjoying life, although she had yet to
experience the ultimate
joy of the union of man and woman. She was never terribly interested in such
things, however,
preferring to spend her time with nature and music.

Following the religious tongue-lashing, the Reverend Mather would attempt a few
more glances into
the stall, readjust his pants, and shuffle back to his farmhouse where he'd
promptly alleviate the
growing concern in his pants.

"Oh, demon-woman...I must exorcise you from me own soul," he panted, as he
licked his palms
and gripped himself, imagining Elizabeth's glistening wet boobs surrounding his
member. Picturing
his hands tweaking her cherry nipples, squeezing her ample wet breasts with his
penis between
them...was more than he could stand...

Back to Elizabeth's predicament. Seems the day before she was splashing in a
stream when
suddenly she spied a man in the woods. Curiosity drew her to the other side,
and before she knew
it, she was speaking with one of the mountain people, known to the townspeople
as "The Devil
Tribe," as these red-skinned mountain people saw no need for religion or
propriety or anything else
remotely Puritanical. Reverend Stewart, passing by on horseback, viewed her in
conversation with
this half-dressed man, and immediately yelled, "I knew it! She IS a witch! She
must be punished!"
He rode into town with these words on his lips.

All important men of the town gathered, and, although Elizabeth had a terribly
lenient father who
also would give his own life for hers, he was out of town that week trading in
Plymouth. "It couldn't
be a more perfect time," stated Reverend Mather, who had just seen her father
off.

"We must exorcise this woman, and if that shouldn't be sufficient, then we will
imprison her and do
what must be done until she confesses to her true identity!"

"Aye!" they chanted, not without some salivation.

"This is for the good of our town as a whole; for poor Edward Chapman, her
father, who has seen all
matters of her impropriety and suffers a heavy heart; and for the girl
herself." All the men agreed,
glassy-eyed and anxious, and promptly the lynch mob mounted their horses and
galloped to the
deer stream.

"I play the guitar, would you like to hear? It's only across the stream, and
perhaps I could teach
you," Elizabeth asked the red-skinned man, but he shot into the cover of the
woods as soon as he
heard the gallop of the mob approaching.

"Elizabeth Chapman!! Elizabeth Chapman!! Confess!" Reverend Mather had begun a
chant in time to
the gallop of the horses. She heard it, yet couldn't believe she was hearing
her own
name..."Confess what? I haven't done anything wrong...lately...oh, perhaps it
was that prank I
played on Mary Borden, when I tied her petticoat to the pew at chapel! Oh
my...or perhaps it was
when I set Mr. Hubbard's sheep free before the slaughter...or...." Elizabeth
realized it could have
been a number of things.

"Elizabeth Chapman, come here for your punishment, or confess to your
association with the
Sorcerer of Darkness." She hopped from stone to stone over to the group on the
other side of the
stream, asking, "What am I to confess?"

"Your true identity!"

"Well, then. Elizabeth Anne Chapman."

"And you were sent here by whom?"

"Well, I suppose by the union of my mother and father!"

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!" At that, Mather directed two of the younger men to tie
her with rope,
binding her legs and arms together. Mather supervised the tying, "To ensure her
safety, of course,"
and directed the boys to wind the rope around her wrists behind her back,
several times down
between her legs and up between her buttocks and intimate areas, over her
shoulders, around the
top, bottom, and between her breasts, back around her wrists, around her upper
thighs, and then
down to her ankles, which were tied in such a way as to be slightly
inappropriately spread, but only
for the sake of security. She was promptly tied to horseback, and they rode
into town. She was
effectively hog-tied, her breasts shoved rudely out, and with every gallop, she
felt an unfamiliar
burning sensation below.

They stopped at another stream to water the horses, and the men couldn't help
but see her beautiful
breasts pushed out, her nipples poking through the many layers of her blouse.
Her skirt had been
bunched up by the rope, and, from the force of all the galloping, had ridden up
so as to allow a view
of her roped-up bloomer-clad behind and nether lips. Elizabeth was always
embarrassed by her
behind, which she felt she inherited from her grandmother, who had large hips,
a jutting rear end,
and a very small waist. The round melons behind her were even more accentuated
by the rope,
which both separated them and squeezed them together. She was red-faced from
shame.

... to be continued  ...
*************************************************************************
Comments, advice (or if you have any stories like this!! I love this stuff...)
please email me at buckles8@aol.com.
*************************************************************************

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