The Joys of Spring

The Joys of Spring

By

Rubberwolf

Feb 2009©

Storycodes:  M/F nc rp bd exhibition snuff?

Foreword

Many of the forums that deal with fetishes, in particular bondage, will invariably have asked the question:

“When did you first get into bondage?”

The answers will usually contain tails of self-bondage and experimentation as teenagers, in some cases, early teens.  But behind these explanations, the conversation will usually ask what gets you hot, or what was your first experience of bondage?  The answer, for many people, tends to be film or literature that is not aimed at a bdsm audience.  For me, it was horror movies and stories.

Horror movies of the time, although having the usual slasher pics, also contained many images where the heroine was bound, ready for the hero to rescue.  However, before this scene, you will always have a body count of heroines who did not escape the sawmill.

Literature was not so squeamish.  Many short horror stories depicted remote communities scenic, brooding countryside.  The hero or heroine of the piece was not always assured of a happy ending.  In fact, a sticky end was more the norm.  The most famous examples of this genre in films are the Wicker Man or The Devil Rides Out. 

It is from this background that my interest in DID first emerged and it is to this story line that I find myself returning occasionally.  Enjoy.

The Joys of Spring

“Following last years flooded summer, many food retailers are warning that prices may rise again this year.  Although this has been the wettest spring on record, with over three months typical rainfall recorded in the first two weeks of April, the Met Office has advised that clearer skies are forecast and that it is unlikely that we will have as bad a harvest as the markets are fearing.  In fact, news from the farmers associations puts a more positive outlook on this years crops and that the supermarkets are merely promoting the down side in an attempt to push up the price.”

The interviewer chose this moment to interrupt.

“Many people fear that this sort of weather will become worse as global warming takes hold.  What can you say the listeners that are pressurising the government to ensure cheaper food?  What do you think the government can do against this pressure to protect local producers?”

Cathy was listening with only half an ear as she packed her suitcase.  The same arguments had gone around and around since the second crop failure, washed out by heavy rains so that entire harvests rotted in the fields.  She had other concerns.  For the moment the rains had stopped.  If anything the next few weeks were supposed to be sunny and fine.  She was far too excited to pay much attention anyway.

This was her first year at university and it was amazing.  She loved her subject and, more importantly, her new sense of freedom.  Although she had spent Christmas with her family, this time was different.  She had met a boy.  Not only that, but he had invited her to spend the spring break with him at his parents place. 

She had met him in the University library a few months ago.  They had both reached for the same book at the same time and, after some apologies and shy fumbling for words, they had eventually struck up a conversation about the weather, of all things.  This had turned into a conversation about mountain bikes, places to eat and, well before she knew it, they were sitting in a movie theatre together.  Cathy had been going out with Andy ever since.

Although their relationship hadn’t moved into the bedroom yet, Cathy was certain that it would.  However, although she fantasized about loosing her cherry to Andy, she was prepared to wait.  She was prepared to enjoy their relationship as it gradually moved into something stronger, more permanent.  Cathy toyed with future possibilities.  Rings, white dresses, a semi detached with dogs and children.  Cathy’s smile turned into a worried frown as she pondered the trip to Andy’s home and the meeting with his parents.  Would they like her?  Would she like them?

As Cathy worried, she played with her bracelet.  It wasn’t much, just a cheap, brightly coloured, woven bracelet, with beads sewn into it.  But it was the first Present that Andy had bought her.  They had been going out for a couple of weeks and there had been a craft market on.  She had been looking at the handmade items when she picked this up to examine it.  Andy, seeing that she was interested in it, bought it for her, placing it around her left wrist and tying it in place.  She hadn’t taken it off since.

Cathy bit her lip before returning to the suitcase.  Now that it was packed she could relax, all that she had to do was wait for Andy to return from his final class and they could go.  Making herself a new coffee, she sat down to watch the rest of the news and take her mind off of her nervous butterflies.

“As it approaches the first anniversary of the disappearance of Sally James, the Police have organised a recreation of Sally’s last movements, using a look alike, in the hope that it will stir memories from people who may have witnessed something at the time.”

Cathy watched as a young girl walked along a busy street, shadowed by uniformed Police and the press.  She wore jeans and a T shirt with some sort of motif on it.

“Sally was last seen wearing jeans and a distinctive “Suicide Girls” T shirt.

The scene changed to show a cheap bead necklace with a yellow stone flower as the centrepiece.

“Sally is also known to have worn this necklace which, if found, may prove of great value to the investigation”.

Cathy was snapped out of the news as she herd the door bell and immediately jumped out of her seat, and running across the room that she had called home since last September, taking a moment to compose herself before opening the door to her first love and possible future husband.

“Ready to go?” the handsome and, if Cathy admitted it, decidedly fit, young man asked as he smiled shyly.  A look that made Cathy weak at the knees as it hinted at things to come.

Ten minutes later and Cathy was carrying her bags, while Andy strode along with a rucksack full of his clothes, having handed in her keys to the University porters, as they walked towards Andy’s car.

Andy’s car was hardly new.  He drove an old Fiesta, with over 100,000 on the clock.  He had bought it on e-bay for £300.  It was not a great car.  Not all of the locks worked, or if they did, you had to jiggle the key a bit.  It had rust and dents.  However, it still had 6 months MOT, it was cheep to insure, it started first time and it had four good tyres.

The drive was uneventful.  They had planned to leave in the morning and had therefore avoided the rush hour traffic, or other Friday commuters and university students, who would not start their journeys until mid afternoon.  Consequently, the M5 was manageable, clearing Bristol after only two and a half hours.

Despite this, the journey slowed its pace as they turned off of the motorway and started onto the A roads, before moving onto the B roads.  The last five or so miles of the journey tested the ancient car to the limit as all pretence at roads were abandoned and single width roads, with high hedges and pull in places, meant that the cheerful conversation which the two had shared for most of the journey, when Cathy wasn’t fiddling with the radio in a vain attempt to find a local station or signal of any description, died off as Andy concentrated on the twisting roads which followed the contours of the hills that rose and dipped in a seemingly random pattern.  However, at last, they crested a final hill to be presented with the small community that Andy had called home before setting off for university.

Cathy’s first impression was of a coastal community, which settled in the protection of the sheltered valley, looked similar to a picture post card fishing village.  Stone cottages – check.  Small protected harbour – check.  Picturesque farmland, with occasional woods – check.  Fishing boats – check.  All of the clichés that Cathy would expect to find were evident in wonderful, sleepy, picturesque, detail.

Fifteen minutes later and the car had pulled up in front of one of these oldy worldy cottages and Andy was unloading their bags.  Rather than the front door, Andy led the way through a gate at the side of the house, into the garden and into the kitchen. 

Cathy stood quietly, fiddling with her bracelet, just inside the kitchen door as a quaint and slightly plump older woman shrieked and ran towards Andy, arms wide, and drawing him into a tight hug as she chided him for not calling and how wonderful it was to see him as, after a few moments the woman raised her eyes as she embraced her son and took in the stranger in the camp.  Cathy was glad that she had chosen a smart, floral dress for travelling.  Although she would usually have travelled in comfortable jeans, the dress meant that she could give, she hoped, the right first impression to Andy’s family.  A dress also had the added bonus in that; during the car journey her legs were available for stroking and fondling.  But that was an added perk.  The main reason for the choice stood before her, hugging her son.

“Oh you know how hard it is to get a signal in these parts.  Anyway, we had already left and I wanted to surprise you,” Andy explained as he broke the hug and stepped back, turning slightly towards Cathy.

“Here it comes,” Cathy thought, as the moment that she had been nervously anticipating for the past 200 miles was finally upon her.

“Mum, this is,” Andy started.

“You must be Cathy.  Andy has told us so much about you.  Come in. Come in.  Don’t stand in the doorway and please, call me Martha,” Andy’s mother gushed as she opened her arms and walked towards Cathy with a large welcoming smile on her face.

Cathy smiled and accepted the hug and kiss on the cheek that Martha bestowed upon her in welcome.

Several hours later, Cathy changed into her cotton nighty and brushed her teeth as she prepared for bed in the spare bedroom.  She might, as Martha’s welcome and friendly hospitality, which included a mountain of home cooked, high fat content, tradition full roast dinner and pudding, that the woman was able to prepare quickly and expertly, be a potential daughter in law.  But no vows had been said and, even though Cathy had not lost her cherry to Andy.  She had not lost her cherry to anybody.  When she did, it would not be under Martha’s roof.  Not until she had been dutifully walked down the isle at any rate.  This was fine with Cathy, although the way things were moving; she made no promises about her continued virginity in the coming term.  Smiling, to herself, she touched her bracelet for good luck and to remind herself of the boy that was sleeping only a few feet from her in the next room.

The following day, Andy and Cathy spent the morning in the village, as Andy took her for breakfast at the local café.  The locals seemed friendly enough, welcoming her with smiles and politeness that Cathy had not experienced before.  Breakfast, as she expected was a high cholesterol tour de force.  A mountain of protein that Cathy was unable to finish, as she imagined she could actually feel her arteries hardening and her waist line expanding as she ate.

After breakfast, they returned to the cottage, complete with some groceries that Andy had collected for his mother.  Andy led her to an old shed at the bottom of the garden.  After a few moments of rummaging, accompanied by thumps and bangs, Andy emerged pushing two bicycles.   The first one, Andy stated, was his.  It looked very modern to Cathy, having suspension at the front and big, nobly tyres.  It also, looking at the sprockets, had plenty of gears.

The next bike was his old bike, from when he was still at school.  At first, Cathy thought that it did have any front suspension, but she noticed a strange rubber boot where the forks joined the frame, which flexed as he leaned on it.  Unlike Andy’s Scott, the “Dale” had V brakes, rather than hydraulics.   It was also smaller than Andy’s bike.  Other than that, it looked in reasonable condition.

“I was a bit smaller when I had this at school.  It should fit you though.”

Having said this, he started to mess about with the seat post and, before she knew it, she was perched on the older bike as she squirmed to try and get comfortable on the saddle.  However, a few minutes later, Andy having checked the tyres and chain, the pair were cycling up the hill, out of the village and towards a farm gate.  Having pulled the bikes over the gate, the two set off for what Andy called a leisurely ride in the countryside.

After an hour of riding Cathy was thankful that she chose sensible trainers to ride in, but was not so sure about jeans since the heavy seam in the crotch was rubbing in places that would probably be painful for the next few days.   She was relieved when, after clearing a woodland track, she now knew why her bike had so many gears, Andy called a halt.

Cathy took a big swig from her water bottle before walking over to where Andy stood looking out over the valley.  She wrapped her arm around him, before guiding her hand to slide into the back pocket of his shorts.  She had though he was mad when he put them on.  It was warm, but not that warm.  However, after an hour of exercise, and feeling quite hot and sweaty, Cathy understood why he had not wrapped up warm.  She eased into him, lowering her head onto his shoulders and looked out at the valley spread before them.

“What’s that?”  Cathy asked as she pointed down the slope to a pole sticking out of the ground some twenty yards away.

“That’s the Iron Man,” Andy explained as he led her over towards the pole.

As Cathy got closer she could see that it was just an iron bar, perhaps three and a half foot high and cemented into a posthole in the ground.  Other than this, no other man made object was present.  It was just an iron pole in the middle of a ploughed field that served no purpose as far as Cathy could see.

“Doesn’t look like and Iron man.  What’s it for?”

Andy seemed to consider for a moment as his eyes drank in her earnest expression, complete with flowing copper curls, pale freckled skin and grey eyes.

“This is just where the iron man is placed.  It is one of several sites around the valley.  It is considered bad luck for the Iron man to be placed in the same place for two years running.  So we move him around every year,” Andy explained.

“Um, OK.  So what is the Iron man and where is he at the moment?” Cathy teased with a smile as she curled a ringlet around her finger.

“It’s nearly the spring festival, so he is probably at the blacksmiths being repaired and refurbished.”

“The spring festival?”  Cathy enquired.

“Yes.  The Iron man is the central figure.  He is very important for the village.  Every year he is given a new coat of paint, then during the festival he is carried around the village before being brought out to one of the fields overlooking the valley, where he can keep the crows off of the crops and ensure that we have a plentiful harvest.  It sounds a bit rural, but it’s quite an old tradition around here.  Anyway, you will see next weekend.  That’s when the festival is.  That is, if you still want to hang around with me?”

“I would love to.  It sounds charming.”

Half an hour later and Cathy was whooping as her bike stormed bumpily down a steep hill towards the field gate, which Andy had powered ahead to open for her and which she shot through onto the road and down into the village.

That night, after supper, as they gathered around the fire, half watching television, Cathy asked Martha about the festival. 

“You will see for yourself next week,” Martha stated.  “That is, if you want to stay”

“Oh I would love to,” Cathy assured her hostess, eager to make sure that she made the right impression for her future mother in law.

“Then I will make you a costume.  We all dress up for the festival.  It’s tradition and one should not mess with traditions,” the older woman smiled.

And so it was settled.  The following day, while Andy was out cutting wood for the fire place, Cathy stood obediently as Martha scurried around her with a tape measure.

“You’re taking quite a few measurements for a simple dress,” Cathy mused.

“Oh but you will need a crown of flowers and I must make sure that it falls to the right length,” Martha assured her as she continued with her measurements.

Finally, Andy returned and Cathy joined him for a stroll around the village and a pint at the local pub.  All around, Cathy noticed, the village slowly prepared for the coming festival.  Small figures made from wire metal started to appear above doorways, or hanging from windows.  Also, Cathy noticed that people started to wear daisies in their hair or on their lapels

“The iron man I sort of get.  But what’s with all of the daisies?” Cathy asked as they sat outside of the pub sipping their beers.

“Its in honour of Blodeuwedd,” Andy explained pointing up at the pubs sign.

Cathy squinted as she looked at the pubs sign, swinging above the entrance. Sure enough the Pub was named Blodeuwedd, the painted sign depicting a young girl with wild, red hair and wearing a dress made of flowers.  Behind her, perched on a tree, was an owl.

“Blodeuwedd is a central figure in the Iron man festival.  She is the goddess of spring.  She was made by Gwydion, the magician to be the wife of Lew Llaw Gyffes.  He had been disowned by his mother and so could not marry.  If he could not marry, he could not be a man and so, to overcome this problem, his friend and guardian Gwydion made him a wife out of flowers.  That’s what the daisies are for.  Anyway, she betrayed Gwydion and was turned into an owl.  It’s a bit of a long story, as most Celtic tales tend to be.  But the bottom line is that she is a goddess of spring and fertility.”

“Oh,” was all that Cathy could say to this.  She wasn’t sure what it was all about, but she would probably get the hang of it eventually, after she had been married and settled for ten or twenty years, or so she hoped.

The rest of the week went as a pleasant, friendly period, walking in the woods, cycling, pub lunches or trying on what Cathy was sure would be wonderful, but at the moment looked like a shapeless white sack, as Martha buzzed about her with pins and thread in a blur of movement and domestic efficiency.

During this period Cathy tried to find out a bit more about the festival.  She discovered that Boleudwedd was an old, pre Christian story and was celebrated locally with a festival dedicated to spring.  It was similar to, as far as Cathy could gauge, the May day festivals, except that people would dress as characters from the story, or as other deities from Celtic religion.

At last the day had arrived and Cathy was introduced to the local festive delicacy, a sort of stodgy bread, which she had for breakfast, smeared with jam.  As was the custom, she had worn a daisy in her hair for the week, since hearing the story.  It was a local customer and, as Martha had often said since she came to stay, it was not wise to mess with tradition.

Lunch was again a festive speciality, a lamb broth with the stodgy bread.  Conversation was all about the festival, which would start properly in the late afternoon with a fair and a hog roast. 

Cathy was quite pleased with the way she seemed to have been accepted by Andy’s family.  Even his father, a dower fisherman who had arrived home two days ago, having spent the last month in the north Atlantic, seemed to accept her as a part of the family.  He was dower at first, but seemed to have warmed to her quite quickly.  They had spent an hour last night playing cards in the living room, with Martha and Rob forming one team and Andy and her another.  It had been a pleasant foretaste of the life that she hoped she would soon be regularly included in.  Especially since the last dress fitting session, when marriage had been discussed.  One moment they were talking about how she should breath in and how the garment would fall and then Martha just came out with it:

“ So would you like to marry Andy then?”

Although taken aback, Cathy quickly recovered and, taking her life in her hands, stated that she would.  Having said this, especially to his mother, seemed to make it true.  It definitely seemed to please Martha who beamed, before hugging her.

“Well, we will just have to make sure that he proposes then won’t we?” Martha said.

And that seemed to be that.  It was as though it was a done deal.  All that was required was for Andy to play his part and Cathy would be a part of the family.

When her parents got back off of their second honeymoon, she was going to have a lot to tell her mother.  They were not due back for another three days.  She had not been able to get a reception on her own mobile or she would have gossiped sooner.  As it was, because they were on the other side of the word, it didn’t seem right to use the landline.  However, Cathy wanted to tell her family how happy she was and maybe even her plans for the future.  But she had to keep a lid on her joy, or else it would bubble over of its own accord.  Eventually, after a pleasant day spent walking some of the local trails, it was time to head back to the cottage and change for the festival.

When they arrived they found that Rob and Martha had already changed.  Since Andy was going dressed as Lew Llaw Gyffes, Martha thought that it would be appropriate if she played his mother.  She was another baddy of the story and so she wore a long black dress, cut in the style that she insisted would be correct for the early iron age.  Cathy took her word for it.  Rob had decided to dress as a Celtic King, with bright striped leggings, tied around the ankles, an embroidered tunic and cape, along with a gold crown and a small sword at his waist. 

After the usual greetings and laughter, Cathy was shooed upstairs by Martha, so that she could get changed.

The dress was a simple, long white gown, tied at the waist by a length of white rope, with fine gold woven into the strands as they were twisted together.  Bright embroidery around the collar and sleeves showed bright daisies, blue bells and buttercups.  Martha fiddled with her hair and brushing it for Cathy, before placing a crown of large daisies, woven into a chain, upon her head.  Fortunately, Cathy had packed a set of sandals which seemed in keeping with the outfit and, after changing he ear rings for a simple silver set of studs, she was ready to go. 

As Cathy waited in the kitchen for Andy, she chatted with Martha about the costume.

“Well, as I told you earlier, if Andy is going as Lew, it is only fitting that you play Bleudwedd.  You look like a marvellous goddess of spring.”

Before she could take the conversation further, her breath was taken away by the site of Andy entering in his costume.  As Lew was a young noble warrior, Andy had donned a warriors costume, Black leggings, again tied around the ankle and long sleeve jersey.  In addition to this, he wore a black leather breast plate, sword and leather helmet and short, woven cloak. 

Some men look good in armour and some men don’t.  All that Cathy could think as she took in Andy’s athletic body and the way he looked in polished leather was, Phwar.  After a few moments, Cathy suddenly realised that her jaw had dropped open of it’s own accord and that she was openly drooling.  Pulling herself together, praying that his mother had not noticed her openly lusting after her son, she stammered a compliment about his outfit before allowing herself to be escorted on his arm, out of the kitchen and out to the festival. 

The festival had officially started when they arrived.  Stalls were spaced around the village green selling cakes, pies, local crafts, including the miniature iron man figurines, as well as bear and mead. A hog roast had been cooking for some hours during the day and, the couple settled down on a picnic blanket to listen to a local folk band, who were playing traditional Celtic music on harps, squeeze boxes, drums and a strange looking guitar.  Small bells and tambourines were also played for some of the numbers, even a penny whistle.  Laying on the blanket, with her head cradled in Andy’s arm as she watched the band, Cathy felt that this was the best day of her life and that things just couldn’t get any better.

After another hour, the hog was at last cooked an she made her way, plate in hand, to join the rest of the villages as they waited to have slices of meat cut off of the carcase, before helping herself to salad and sources.

At last it was time for the iron man and so Cathy joined Andy as the villages were summoned to walk around the village in a procession.  It was a strange site as Andy and Cathy strolled along, hand in hand, as the rest of the villager walked along in their own costumes.  Some were dressed as jesters, some a warriors or nobles.  There where also Celtic gods of Animals, where the villager whore a mask or birds with feather cloaks.  Teenage girls, wearing short pink or blue dresses, skipped and danced about the crowd in time with the music.

At last, after twenty minutes strolling around the village, accompanied by the band they had heard earlier, they arrived at the Blacksmiths.  The Iron man stood proudly outside of the workshop.  It was a thing of iron, painted in gloss blue paint.  It looked like a medieval torture device as the iron had been bent into the semblance of a person, forming a metal cage that could keep a person in its strange, star shaped position, since the arms were held horizontally out to the sides and the legs were spread apart, forming an X.

It was held upright by a pole that rose from a strange platform. The part that joined to the Iron Man connected to the crotch.  As she got closer she saw that the platform had polls running along the ground coming out of the front and back.  It was, she realised, meant to be carried.  The box itself was covered in daisies, hundreds of them.  As she got closer, she saw that bits of material, ribbons and bits of jewellery had been tied to the frame in several places.  The man standing next to this strange edifice, who she assumed was the blacksmith, was dressed as a wizard.

Finally, after a few moments, four warriors strode out of the crowd and picked up the iron man by the poles, placing it on their shoulders.  A great cheer accompanied this.  After a short speech in Welsh that, after a few second Cathy tuned out, the procession set off again, winding it’s way back to the square, where the villagers formed a ring around the iron man, who was placed in the village hall.

Once again, the wizard began a speech.  Some in Welsh and some in English.  She started to tune it out again until, as though she had missed something, the wizard stopped talking and all eyes, every eye in the village in fact, was looking at her.  Quickly she tried to remember what she had heard.  It was something about the rights of spring, she remembered hearing Bleudwedd mentioned several times and something about ensuring a good harvest and pleasant weather.  She also remembered something about fertility or some such, but she wasn’t really paying attention.  She couldn’t explain why everybody was looking at her, or why Andy had suddenly stepped away from her and was looking at her with that same expression.  It was as though she was the butt of some strange joke that she hadn’t got. 

While she was puzzling this out, she suddenly grabbed by the arms.  Looking around she saw that she was held firmly by two large men.  She turned to Andy.

“What is going on?  What is this Andy?” she croaked, her throat had suddenly gone dry.

“You are Bleudwedd, the goddess of fertility and spring, my wife.  You will bring wealth and food to the valley,” he said simply.

This calm answer, said in a matter of fact way, sent a chill down her spine and she tried to pull away from her captors, but it was no use.  She started to scream and plead to be released then, to her surprise, Martha stepped up to her and pulled out a knife.  This succeeded in silencing her.

Martha calmly undid the rope belt and let if fall to the floor.  Starting at the neck she used the knife to slice down the front of the dress, cutting it open.  The two men then eased it off of her shoulders leaving her standing in her underwear.  Martha cut the front of her bra open and sliced her plain white cotton knickers from her body.  The underwear joining the dress on the floor behind her.

“Martha, what are you doing?  Please stop.  Please,” Cathy begged as tears began to run down her cheeks and she became stuffed up with snot.

But Martha paid no head, bending down to undo her sandals, which she pulled off of her feet before standing back, a stern expression on her face.  Then the wizard was speaking in Welsh again and she found herself being dragged to the ground so that she lay on her back.

The men released their grip once she was laying on her back, only to have it replace as four teenage girls each took hold of one of her limbs, pinning it to the ground by wrist, shoulder and ankles.  She looked to Andy for support and screamed a long hard wail of despair, as she realized the true extent of her betrayal.  He was naked from the waist down and sporting a massive erection.

Walking towards her he knelt between her wide open legs, as one of the girls played with her pussy, rubbing it and massaging it until her body betrayed her and, despite of her fear and humiliation, she found herself getting wet. 

After a few minutes of this, or so she felt, Andy at last, accompanied by a great cheer from the crowd, moved forward and mounted her.  She screamed as he roughly fondled her breasts and forced his member deeply into her, taking her virginity through rape and degradation.  Turning her dream of love and intimacy into ashes. 

Andy continued to thrust and rut, causing Cathy to squirm in her captors grip as the pain from her newly ruined hymen became uncomfortable.  But this was a minor consideration compared to the feelings of embarrassment, betrayal and despair that raged within her as she sobbed uncontrollably. 

At last it was over and Andy climbed off of her.  The girls continued to hold her down, but now they stroked her hair and body while making soothing noises, but Cathy could only feel disgust as Andy’s seed, mixed with her blood and fluids oozed out of the sore pussy, to soak into the soil.

Then, she felt her eyes being wiped and, as she looked up, her eyes at last clear, she saw Martha leaning over her as she dabbed away the tears and snot with a hanky. 

“Welcome to the family.  You’re doing very well.  It’s nearly finished Cathy,” Martha soothed. 

Then she was handed something by one of the girls.  It was a corncob.  But this was different she noticed as Martha reached over to a pot of something that she smeared on her hand before rubbing it up and down the shaft of corn.  There seemed to be a metal plate at the bottom of the vegetable, from which a metal rod protruded about three inches below the cob.  It must be imbedded into the body somehow.  Fascinated, Cathy stared as the woman smeared some sort of grease over it.  She also noted that the metal rod was threaded, like a bolt.  The base of the cob had also been whittled away so that, rather than the usual flat base that she was used to from the supermarket, this one tapered in, so that the metal disc that formed the base stood out, like the hilt of a sword. 

As if suddenly being struck by lightning, Cathy knew what Martha planned to do with the cob and she screamed in denial as she struggled to prevent this new assault.  But Martha would not be denied.  Nor would the four girls who pinned her down.

Cathy had guessed what was coming, but she was taken completely by surprise when, rather than forcing the cob into her pussy, it was aligned against her anus.  She tried bucking and twisting, but Martha pushed her hip down firmly with one hand as she guided the intruder into her ass.  At first her ass tried to prevent the intruder stealing her virginity a second time, but continued pressure from Martha eventually forced the issue and the six inch cob began to slide bumpily into her rear, before the tapered end allowed her stretched rosebud to contract and the intruder was firmly held in place, with the metal plate pressing coldly against her cheeks.

Cathy stared mutely at the woman who had abused her, thousands of questions running through her mind, but none able to form into coherent words.  All that she could do was sob and moan.  Even the sight of a new cob, larger than the last and without the tapered base, could force the questions that she wanted to ask.  She could only sob, pleading with her eyes for the woman who she would have called mother to stop.  But she knew it was useless and only flinched as the new intruder was pushed into her pussy.

Martha stepped back and Cathy felt herself being lifted up.  She was then dragged, stumbling towards the Iron Man, which was now lying on the ground, split into two halves, front and back, with the iron pole still attached between the legs of the back half.

One of the men, who had grabbed her earlier was kneeling over the front half and fiddling with one of the arms.  Cathy strained to see what he was doing and, as he stepped back, she saw that he had tied her bracelet around the wrist of the thing.  During all of this, she had not realised that it had been removed.  Her mind suddenly clear, she looked at all of the other rags and trinkets that dangled from the ironwork with new understanding.  Each of these had belonged to a girl.  They had come to this village, the same as she had and had been raped and imprisoned within this thing.  Cathy couldn’t believe it, her mind numb with horror.  But then her eye settled on one trinket, tied around the throat of the Iron Man.  A cheap bead necklace hung from one of the iron bands, its centrepiece being a yellow stone flower.  This was the final straw and Cathy struggled and screamed in denial.

The villagers paid her no head as she was forced to lie down, with her arms and legs held wide apart, in her metal prison.  Ribbons were wrapped around her ankles and wrists and pulled taught by the girls, so that her limbs were secured to the limbs of the Iron Man.  Andy knelt between her legs and, guiding the metal shaft protruding from her ass into a slot in the crotch of the Iron man, he took a nut and tightened it in place with a spanner so that it shifted within her, impaling her in her prison.

Cathy’s screams were cut short as Martha approached her with another, shorter cob of corn and, forcing her jaw open with one hand, shoved the four inch vegetable into her mouth, stilling her cries to muffled sobs. 

Cathy still struggled against her bonds, but it was useless and, as the second half of her prison was lowered on top of her, she at last gave up her struggles, laying quietly sobbing through her gag as the two halves, along with the cobs were bolted into place.  Her 34 DD breasts were guided through two circular holes in the metalwork, so that the rest of the metal bands hugged her rib cage.

Once she was secured, many hands grabbed her caged body and lifted her onto the platform.  She noticed that as she was lifted up, a pole was still in place on the box.  However, as she was lifted up and the pole attached to the iron man was aligned, she saw that the cage pole would drop down onto the top of the box pole, hers being hollow.  She landed with a resounding thud that juddered through her entire body, especially the intruders.

There she waited until she could here the magicians voice speaking in Welsh again.  After several minutes of this, she felt her platform being lifted as her prison swayed from side to side.  Then she felt herself move as the pole bearers moved off, their prisoner secured for all to see, around the village.

Her journey around the village, lewdly displayed in her medieval torture device, for all to see, for three laps before snaking out of the village onto a dirt track.  She tried to see her captors and occasionally saw signs of the crowd out of the corner of her eye.  She also, as her position shifted, saw the teenage girls that had held her earlier.  They, along with more girls from the village, were now naked and skipping around her, dancing to the front and then behind her as she was carried on her journey, accompanied by the musicians that she had heard earlier.

At last they arrived at the head of the valley, in the field that she had cycled to earlier in her visit.  Her platform was as last put down by the pole bearers and, she was not surprised to feel the bolts that had secured her to the iron pole removed and that she was lifted clear of the inner shaft.  Cathy was then carried over to the iron pole at the top of the field and again, with a bone jarring thud, she was again mounted on a pole, which was again bolted into place to stop her from swaying, facing the valley below her.

The naked girls approached her, holding long daisy chains, which they tied at one end around the head of the Iron Man.  Her floral crown was again placed on her head.  The girls stepped back from her in a rough circle, allowing the daisy chain to fall through their fingers until it was pulled taught, several feet away from her.

The girls waited as the Magician again began to talk, or perhaps chant, in Welsh.  Cathy tuned him out as he droned on.  She tested the bonds of her prison and she was not surprised to find that she was held tightly.  The steel bands hugged her body like some strange harness that had been made specifically for her.  Another moment of clarity struck her.  The reason why the limbs were exactly the right length and diameter, why it held her boobs, chest and waist so securely, why the metal cage hugged her head so tightly was because it had been made for her.  This was the reason for Martha’s exacting measurements.  She was not just getting the right measurements for her dress, she was getting the right measurements for her metal prison.  Cathy would have sobbed at the deceit her dreams had been based on, but by now, she noticed that the Magician had stopped talking.  She was all cried out anyway.

As if to applaud to defeat the music started again.  Now the naked girls began to dance around her, pulling the daisy ropes with them as they hopped and skipped in intricate patterns around the caged girl.  The daisy chains were pulled this way and that in time with the music and the dancers gyrations until, after perhaps five or six minutes, the pattern was complete and all of the girls were kneeling at Cathy’s feet, her body and cage now woven with flowers.  Not enough to hide her nakedness and deliberately avoiding her boobs, pussy and ass.  But enough to give her the semblance of clothes.

After this, the music stopped and the magician was talking again.  Then, accompanied by a great cheer, the villagers all threw off their clothes and, grabbing partners seemingly at random, they began to copulate at the feet of the Iron idol that was the villages totem of fertility.

This went on for several hours.  The elders, along with Andy, did not join in with this.  Instead, as the evening drew to a close, they formed a naked ring around Cathy.  They began jerking themselves off and, one by one, they spurted their seed onto Cathy’s abused body, sending cum onto her back, her boobs, her stomach and finally, as if he had been saving his best until last, Andy shot his seed into her face, using his hand to flick the vile liquid in a splat that caught her in the eye.

This seemed to be the final degradation and the orgy dispersed.  Cathy was left alone with her thoughts, the sun having set, she could only watch the bright torches as they snaked their way down the valley towards the village.  A part of her toyed with the idea that this was just some perverse marriage ceremony.  But she did not really believe it.  She was to be some pagan sacrifice.  She would spend her last days trapped in this iron prison, cold and naked and alone with the reality of her betrayal.  Cathy would have sobbed if she had anything left to live for, but Andy and his village had robbed that from her and so, she settled down to the darkness.

End