When the vengeful wives had completed their work, leaving the once proud heads covered in ragged stubble, a little man, obviously the village barber, appeared, carrying a bowl and razor. The two victims made no protest as he proceeded to shave each head completely free of any trace of hair, but sat there, huddled over themselves, clasping their wounded breasts, and shifting on their welted hinds. The thought occurred to me that they might even have been grateful to have the barbaric handiwork of their vicious executioners converted into clean smooth domes.

Their respite, if respite it was, did not last long. With a squeaking of ungreased wheels, a small flat handcart arrived, and the struggling blonde was seized and forced to lay her voluptuous body on its lacerated back, her raw buttocks resting on the rough rear edge of the cart, which chafed them sorely. Her arms were drawn forwards and tied to the front corners, while a stout leather strap was passed through slots in the bed of the cart and drawn painfully tight across her belly. Her legs were free, dangling uncomfortably over the rear rail, but any man, or woman for that, standing between them, would have her at their mercy, and could use her as they pleased.

As the cart, pulled by several women out for revenge, set off on its round, Martha laughed shortly.

"She'll have a busy time tonight. Some men will abstain, for their wives' sake, especially those who've had her already, but she's a lush piece still, and it's generally accepted that it's a civic duty to punish the sinner, and not therefore fornication, and most men, married or not, will feel free to put it to her. Apart from that, I've seen a good few rough men from the hills wandering in and out the tavern, so she'll get some sport there. I wish her joy of them. Mostly they make do with sheep, and each other, so their taste generally runs to buggery. From the look of Maria's nails I'd say she can expect a sore cunt, a sore arse and a sore clit, if she has one left, by morning."

Just then the woman fanning the malevolent brass erection into life called out that she thought it might be ready. Whimpering with terror, Camilla was hauled to her feet and dragged to the other bench. The Headman stepped forward and carefully let a small gobbet of spittle drop onto the gleaming glans. It hissed and crackled, as Camilla moaned and shrank away. My own belly clenched at what that crisp sound implied for a woman's tender inner flesh.

"It's ready," he announced, "and now you must cleanse yourself, Camilla, if you don't want to be put to the cart. Bianca's got a greedy cunt but there's sure to be plenty left for you," he mocked, "If you can't face the fire."

Propelled forward by women at each elbow, the wretched young woman was forced to stand astride the bench, just above the phallus, whose heated tip was poised a mere three inches below the cringing vulva. Her arms were seized, and bound, wrist to elbow, behind her back, and all was ready. Her female jailors released her and her husband came to stand in front of her. Another male, a sort of bizarre 'best man' it would appear, stood behind her.

"You know what you have to do. Down on the prick, and legs straight out in front, or it won't count. That hot lover has to go right up."

The woman, almost gibbering with fear, flexed her knees, but straightened them at once, as she felt the heat of the phallus approaching. Half a dozen times she dipped and rose, moaning all the while and then, gathering all her courage, thrust herself down. As the hot tip touched her labia, too far off the mark to make any penetration possible, she shrieked and jacked upright again. Her husband spoke sharply to his cringing spouse.

"You'll have to do better than that. I want that bastard's spunk boiled right out before I'll have you in my bed again."

Three times more she made the effort, only to be unable to face the pain while she tried to get it to enter her terror dried orifice. Watching, again I felt my own belly contracting in sympathy, each time the woman dipped, and I shivered as I imagined that searing length entering my own tender sheath, but, perversely, my vagina flooded to overflowing, rather than dried up with fear, and to my shame, the contractions I felt were composed as much of lust as of dread.

"If you don't go all the way this time, it'll be the cart for you," her angry mate threatened, but, before she could gather herself for one last try, there was an interruption by the woman who had earlier fanned the phallus to full fervour.

"Give her a chance," she pleaded, "the poor cow has done her best. You can't expect her to get that thing started in a dry cunt without her hands. Let me grease her a bit, and then she'll manage it." and she stepped forward with a lump of bacon fat in her hand, and pushed fingers full into the bone dry shrunken vagina.