Copyright (c) 2017,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Monday, May 15, 2017

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.


A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: consorti.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com

story_codes: M/g(11), first, bondage, rape

story_intro: A young girl in Puritan New England finds herself in trouble with the stern judgment of the minister and elders. Her torments in the pillory begin roughly during the day, but it is the night that holds much worse in its waiting darkness.


story_language: English


Consorting

Written by madvlad


	"Then you do not deny thy shameful sin, child?" Reverend Sample queried, his eyes like dark flint set in his nearly morbidly thin face.

	"I...I do not, but surely I meant no harm in-"

	"Silence!" Sample thundered, pounding his fist against the table. 

	Seconds passed in the church with not even the rustle of woolen clothing. No one dared to even move or shift their body for comfort's sake. Standing alone before the three men at the table - Reverend Sample and two elders of the community of New Abbottsford in the colony of Massachusetts - Amity Whiting could feel the heat of the eyes of everyone present upon her. 

	A strand of straw-colored hair had escaped from under the front of the coif on her head but she dared not push the scandalously exposed lock in place for fear of appearing vain. She was in enough trouble as it was without another sin being added to her burden.

	Already, her recently orphaned state had placed her in ill-repute among the Puritan enclave. Surely a child saddled with the loss of both parents (neither of whom was held in particularly high esteem to begin with) was receiving a deserving punishment from God. 

	By contrast, the Prescotts, a couple seated in the front row of the congregation, were considered all the more pious in light of the repeated tragedies that had put every one of their four children into the earth during infancy. Silas Prescott, the town blacksmith, was a rock in the community and only for his lack of years was he not seated with Reverend Sample as one of the elders. And gentle Goodwife Sally Prentiss was a paragon of virtue. Even now, she was deep in prayer; distraught over the imperiled soul of Amity Whiting.

	After her parents' deaths in the fire that destroyed their home, a neighboring family, the Smythes, had taken the eleven year-old in. They treated her no better than a maidservant while conveniently incorporating her late father's meager plot in with their larger farm.

	Yesterday evening, Amity had a brief respite as her chores were complete. Taking a walk, she lost herself in the brief moment of freedom and sang a song that had been one of her mother's favorites. She was overheard and received a beating with a switch for her transgression. Then she was brought before the tribunal the next day, Monday, to be properly shamed as her sins were exposed before the entire community.

	"Amity Whiting," Reverend Sample intoned with cold righteousness. "For willfully defiling the Sabbath with song, you are sentenced to one day and one night in the pillory."

	Two men of the church immediately took the sobbing girl outside where the wooden structure stood. Amity's neck and wrists were placed in the crescent cutouts of a wooden board before another similar board with the cutouts on the bottom was lowered into place above her, trapping her as she stood bent over at the waist. Wooden pins were hammered into place to keep the boards secured together and Amity was left to her humiliation.

	Unlike the stocks that usually anchored the person's feet while they sat, the pillory was the preferred device of punishment in New Abbottsford. Amity endured taunts and scoldings and could do nothing to avoid the spittle sent to her face. Young boys found sport in sending small rocks her way, giving her cuts and bruises on her exposed skin to match the ones that resided in her tormented psyche.

	Only when Silas Prescott appeared did the boys stop.

	"This is a lesson in obedience to Gods laws," he intoned in a steady voice, showing sternness but no anger. "Perhaps some reflection on this would be in order before you pursue your idle games - elsewhere."

	The boys dispersed without a word or grumble, cowed by Prescott. Several men nearby nodded their approval of Prescott, some of them secretly shamed as they had been enjoying the boys' antics. Goodwife Prescott unintentionally added to everyone's guilt by kneeling beside the pillory to pray aloud with Amity. The girl joined her with bits of words sown in between her choking sobs. By prayer's end, she had managed more speaking than crying.

	After the Prescotts left, some jeers and hissed admonitions returned, but never with as much venom as before. Most disconcerting to Amity, though, were the repeated visits from Reverend Sample. He never spoke; only stood and looked at her from the side, seemingly inspecting every inch of her. Despite her apron, dress, and shift, Amity felt terribly naked under his gaze.

	By complete nightfall, she was at least left alone. It was of relative comfort as the chilly air seeped through her poorly woven woolen dress and the threadbare linen shift she wore beneath it.  

	As she moved to try to ease the ache in her feet and lower back, the wool scratched her chest through the fraying linen there. The girl swallowed hard as she felt the nipples that graced her new, delicate mounds harden. She knew that such a reaction was of the sin of lust, but she had found of late that she had no control over these frightening but not entirely unwelcome sensations. 

	Amity didn't exactly understand what was wrong with lust if it only created a bit of pleasure in this odd place where her body was changing. But the world was a sinful place with traps set out by the Devil in his relentless collection of souls. So she hid her shameful secret from everyone else and fervently prayed for forgiveness and deliverance every time this happened. 

	But tonight she was too weary and relished even this tiny bit of relief from her ordeal. It eventually vanished but Amity was graced with another respite as she dozed off while trapped in the pillory.

	It was the sharp tang of sulfur that jerked her awake. She might have let out a yelp but her mouth was suddenly clogged with a balled lump of cloth. She could taste the acridness of the sulfur in the cloth and nearly gagged. Her eyes watered, making it impossible to see anything in the darkened village.

	But she heard footsteps behind her but then they stopped. Her dress was lifted - but why? It was pushed up to her waist and then onto her back. Her shift followed suit and the girl keened through her gag helplessly as she was made indecent. 

	Hands grasped her narrow waist testing the texture of her smooth skin and sleek figure. The hands slid up, the fingers searching as they went underneath her shift.

	He found the meager swellings that would one day become proper breasts. For now they were merely small pads of flesh, but they did signal the girl's first tentative step toward womanhood. She wriggled vainly to avoid his explorations like a rabbit caught in a snare. When he found her nipples, he smiled in satisfaction as they instantly stiffened between his pinching fingers. Yes, his little rabbit was starting to grow up.

	New tears sprung in Amity's eyes as she felt the reaction on her tiny mounds. She was ashamed - and fearful for being judged guilty of this terrifying new thing called lust. Her inquisitor pushed against her bared bottom - she could feel the rustle of wool against her buttocks and the odd lump behind the material. Whatever could that be?

	He slid his hands back. With one, he caressed the taut curve of a young, sable-soft ass cheek. With the other, he probed between her legs, drawing a gargled response from the girl. In this place, she was completely childish, without a hair to mar the fleshy mound. He exhaled loudly in anticipation, relishing the purity of his trapped little rabbit. The vaginal lips bulged slightly, trying to maintain the integrity of the cleft into which his fingers slid. 

	He worked on her there, enjoying her attempts to move one way and the other but she could not escape his exploration. He continued rubbing her there, feeling another small bit of flesh harden. Her body obeyed its natural design, unheeding of Puritan teachings as her sex lubricated in preparation for being taken.

	Amity whined softly, knowing this must be a sin but not feeling truthfully repentant.

	With his trousers lowered, he was huge and ready. His erection throbbed, as if it was a separate entity from himself but no less eager to pluck barely ripening harvest awaiting it. Clasping her slim hips, he pressed into her, feeling the bald mons surrender and open until her chaste portal stopped him with its pitiful smallness.

	The delay only enhanced it all. He ground his glans against her moist entrance, feeling her loosen unwillingly. She opened enough for the tip to find purchase. He pressed inward, her inner lips scraping at the spongy flesh at the tip of his head while he felt the thin barrier just inside the portal.

	He pushed mightily, shredding the maidenhead as the girl's body stiffened. Muffled, agonized groans escaped through the sopping cloth - nothing that could ever hope to rouse anyone. The flow from her sundered barrier burst wetly around the end of his prick. He forced more into her; the heat of her lubricating blood inflamed him to use more force.

	His fingers bruised her flesh as he dug at her hips. He bruised her further inside, shifting and hammering as he squeezed into the preteen's virgin sheath. The girl shuddered as she was relentlessly penetrated; not understanding the nature of the assault but unable to deny it. Quite the helpless young rabbit, indeed.

	And like a young rabbit, her flesh was exquisitely tender. Only her cervix prevented him from invading her further. But she was ruthlessly impaled, her young pussy painfully stretched and filled.

	He was killing her! Amity wanted to scream but the sudden brutality of attack inside of her reduced her ability to draw a breath. The cudgel was withdrawn nearly completely, only to be slammed back into her. During snippets of lucidity between the flashes of fear and agony, she prayed as the assault continued. 

	In brief bursts of frisson, her prayers were slightly answered - not providing deliverance but reintroducing the earlier things that had made her wet. But these were even more intense as the hardness rubbed against her aching tissues.

	He stroked relentlessly in the girl's clinging, prepubescent twat. It gurgled messily as every thrust pushed the liquid from her defloration out, staining her smooth crotch and inner thighs with the color of her vanquished innocence. As he continued, the color faded until it was only Amity's juices of arousal that escaped her violated hole.

	His scrotum swung with every push of his hips, the heavy sac brushing against the girl's legs. It grew heavier as the preteen's slippery quim continued to clamp firmly around his sliding cock. With spasms that nearly threatened to make him scream, his balls released. The surges through his member were sweet agony, erupting inside of the snug oven of the youngster's rape-slickened snatch. 

	Now, even Amity's cervix could not prevent the deeper penetration. Steaming gobs of seed poured into the eleven year-old's womb, completing the taking of her virgin body.

	Amity felt him withdraw. The relief from the presence inside of her was lessened by the humiliation as the stuff injected into her now oozed out, polluting her cunny mound and legs as it streamed slowly in sticky tracks.

	She had no sense of time as she stood trapped in the pillory, her dress still pushed up to expose her shame to the untold eyes in the night. She jerked at the touch of hands on her again - back there. But these were smaller hands, softer ones. 

	And their touch was strangely comforting. Then there was another touch, wet and moving in the place where she had been taken. It dug into her slit and mopped across her small, hairless mound. 
Amity trembled as she realized she was being licked there. The stickiness of the remaining goo dissipated but she was flowing wetly again. Lips clamped around her sex and she was sucked as the tongue caressed her. 

	Amity surrendered, letting her mind drift and then sink in the pleasures. She felt so loose and relaxed, only to have interruptions of quick tightness. The twitches increased, growing closer as a needful ache boiled to the surface until...

	She did not know it but to only let it take her away. Her fresh young pussy pushed more juices into her benefactor's mouth as the girl quivered. Amity floated away, only regaining awareness to find herself alone and with her dress modestly lowered once more.

	Amity awoke with a start as the pillory was released. A cup of water placed against her lips.

	"Drink easily, child," Goodwife Prescott advised as she slowly tilted the cup.

	Amity did and let the woman lead her to the nearby house next to Silas' forge. Sally fed the girl some porridge, her kind face lined with worry. When Amity was finished, Sally cleared her throat awkwardly.

	"We will be meeting in congregation this morning," she said. "And there is something I have been charged to do before then. Do not be afraid, child."

	The pews were full again as Amity stood nervously before Reverend Sample and the two other elders. After what should be a brief but stern dismissal and warning, Amity was to be replaced by one William Hopkins who was found inebriated in public for the second time and would be taking her vacant spot in the pillory.

	After an accusatory sermon toward the girl, Reverend Sample looked toward the front pew.

	"To be sure to know the extent of this child's transgressions, I have asked Goody Prescott to examine her. She will now report."

	Sally stood, wringing her hands as she looked apologetically at Amity.

	"There are signs," she began hesitantly. When she tried to speak again, she could not.

	"Signs?" Sample asked, a flash of eagerness crossing his features, animating them as if he were a bird of prey. "Go on, Goody Prescott. We know you are a woman of honesty and virtue and do not condemn you for whatever you must say."

	"There are signs," Sally repeated. "That she has been...consorting."

	Gasps rolled across the congregation, a response of fear and scandal - and some of titillation.

	"Consorting with the Devil!" Sample roared, rising to his feet.

	Sally shook her head.

	"I found no signs of the Devil's mark upon her," she stated. "It must have been with a man."

	"No doubt one of Satan's agents," Sample thundered. "Preparing her for an orgy with the Devil's imps before Lucifer himself would have her after she has been utterly despoiled."

	Sally sat down hard, looking at her husband imploringly as conversation of outrage filled the congregation. Sample let them go on, letting the fervor grow before he would pronounce judgement. But when Silas Prescott stood, looking as grave as ever, the voices hushed. 

	"Upon learning of my wife's discovery," Silas spoke. "We both prayed mightily for the girl's soul. Surely one so young has been led astray."

	"If she is truly repentant," one of the elders said. "She will find purity in the fire that robs the devil of his carnal playthings."

	Amity nearly fainted at the mention of her fate and eager voices rose among the congregants. But again they went silent when Silas raised his hand.

	"At her tender age, is there not a better outcome?" he asked. "For why simply take her body away from the Devil's use when we can guide her entire being, both body and soul, back into the grace and light of Almighty God?"

	"Perhaps if she is kept somewhere for constant instruction and watching," Reverend Sample mused, eyeing Amity with remarkably keen interest.

	Murmurs filled the pews again. What had surely looked like a proper burning was turning into something else. 

	"It is a task we are willing to undertake," Silas announced. 

	"There is danger in it," the other elder warned. "For the Devil surely is watching her, too?"

	Oliver Farnsworth, a much-respected and prosperous farmer stood.

	"But who better than the Prescotts to do this?" he asked. "For in all humility, I cannot think of anyone more pure in character and devotion to God."

	Other congregants agreed. The elders looked satisfied but Sample looked vaguely disappointed. Nonetheless, he agreed. Amity was told to stand off to the side for the Prescotts to take home while the unfortunate Hopkins was brought forward.  Sample allowed himself a hidden grin. There would be no sympathy for the drunkard and he relished pronouncing sentence.
	
	Silas sat down next to his wife. Neither of them showed any emotion beyond the calmness of the righteous. The others noted their conduct approvingly as neither of them gave any unseemly public displays of affection. 

	None of them, of course, could have seen Sally's leg moving beneath her dress, pressing against her husband's thigh. Silas subtly returned the pressure against her limb and they silently shared their satisfaction.

	In his forge, Silas had tried using mineral coal as a fuel instead of charred wood as coal would burn hotter. As part of the process, he had to burn off impurities in the coal like sulfur, which could make the iron brittle at red heat instead of ductile. It had been a last minute inspiration to dab the kerchief he had used in the sulfur to make Amity wonder about the diabolical nature of her nighttime caller. 

	She had been such a fresh little delight and Sally had confirmed this after tasting the child after he was done. And there would be so many more things to be enjoyed with their young charge; so very much more "consorting" to be done.

	As Reverend Sample railed at William Hopkins, Amity tuned his voice out. Instead, she looked at the couple in gratitude for her deliverance.


madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm






















This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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