The Georgia Peach Pt. 04

Chapter 28 - The Punishment Commences, 7:40am May 12th 1864

Without warning Lieutenant Sampson kicked the crate out from under his captive.

Hanging full stretch, by the wrists, her footing lost, Catherine fell and the appropriately positioned sedile impaled her in a single thrust.

"Noooooooooooooo!" She wailed as the impact of the brutal penetration pierced her core.

There was no cheer from the crowd just a simple, dramatic awestruck silence.

For a moment or two she felt nothing, but then the tortured girl cried out in agony as she writhed and thrashed, tugging and twisting at the manacles trying to free herself... but she soon gave up, leaving the skin of her back and shoulders stretched irrevocably tight... and her thighs opened... ready for the whip.

The bound girl's finger nails dug deep into her palms, as tears of defeat shimmered in her eyes. Choking back a distraught sob, her breasts heaved in slow, quivering breaths. From out of the corner of heavy-lidded eyes she saw the guards depart and the bare-chested brute who was to flog her, encroach.

Catherine could feel the sedile deep inside her body. It had hammered through her hymen without a pause and filled her so full. It felt huge, swollen... she was immovably hooked.

General Sherman turned his gaze away. He should put a stop to this... the Lieutenant seemed to be pushing things too far. But yet... He knew how important it was that they get to the bottom of Catherine's nefarious activities, but that wasn't what was focusing his attention, as the unwanted swelling in his army combat pants signified. He was finding the manhandling of his beautiful Goddaughter an extremely stimulating experience, and he was not minded to bring things to a halt... at least not yet.

"The Lord is with you chil'" A lone voice of support came from the onlookers, no doubt the words of loyal Mary.

Sherman looked up. He regretted the manner in which Catherine had lost her virginity, but collateral damage in times of war could not be avoided. His focus was on the bigger picture, it always was.

Catherine's forehead fell against the post as she gripped at the chains with her flailing fingers... a useless attempt to haul herself upwards and away from the insidious wood carving. She was awash with unwanted sensations rocking instinctively against the invasive appendage. Hoping against hope that she did not respond to the already invasive stimulus caused by the profound infiltration of her body... silently begging for blackness to descend, but that was not going to happen... not yet. For now, she was to perform for her audience, a pornographic doll chained to a wooden stage... this was what they had reduced her to.

Catherine felt her hair being heaped over her shoulder, freeing the entirety of her back ready to be properly beaten. Lieutenant Sampson shouted out the words almost everyone wanted to hear, words that she had been dreading.

"Begin!"

Chapter 29 - Whipped, 7:57am May 12th 1864

Her mind was numb, her body aching like never before... as she waited.

Just waited...

The silence was deafening. The chained girl could only hear the sounds of ordinary life, noises that came from nature; The swooping yellow and black bobolinks pecking at the crops, the rustling of the trees and the fields of corn. Only the occasional nervous cough from the viewing crowd broke the sounds of silence, every watching body now high beyond measure on anticipation.

Shepherd the overseer maintained the whips at White Orchard, and stiffening wax rendered this bullwhip taut as a rod. Moaning with distress at her appalling impalement, Catherine jumped as the lash was cracked against the dusty ground, soliciting an audible gasp from the onlooking gathering.

The warming sun poured down piercing the sparse cloud, burning into her pale, unprotected skin. Anticipatory tremors shook her, small beads of sweat forming on her forehead and upraised forearms. The more conscious she grew of the punishment she was about to take, the more difficult it would be to remain silent.

Distracted by a sudden breeze blowing specks of dust around the base of the platform, she glimpsed back, and saw that the man whose half-naked body already glistened with sweat, had taken up position behind her.

Panic induced terror infused her spine and stiffened her body. Why was he waiting? Was he was sizing up her tolerance for pain, how long she would last under the rigors of his lash?

As she twisted her head just a little more, his eyes met hers, bewildered, vulnerable and filled with tears. Time seemed to close in around them. As he put a leather glove onto his right hand, his gaze never wavered from her hanging body, that was still... just waiting.

"Pl... pl... please..."

"You wish to tell me something?" the Lieutenant moved closer to the chained girl, a quiet inquisitiveness lingering in his tone.

"Y... you don't...h... have to do this..." she begged, gazing back at him with doleful eyes, her face tight with a sudden, desperate, weak smile.

He waited for her to say more... she did not. It was time.

The blackest despair Catherine had ever known came upon her. To her rear a ready fist gathered round the gleaming handle of the shining lash, just waiting to be deployed...

"Commence the first round." It was Sampson's clear instruction that issued the dreaded command.

"... Oh God, help me please..." she wailed in horror, each breath more shallow than the previous one, as her bare back tensed in a futile attempt to limited the impending damage.

Too numb with fright, too shocked to even plead or beg, Catherine heaved her chest, breasts pushing against the post...

The approach of footsteps made her heart race. The brute of a man unfurled the whip as he moved. The taut, wiry lash came alive in his hand, slithering as it sprang forth, bouncing lightly, lithely tapping the dusty floor.

The stiffened lash, whisked up with a quick, fluid whistle, and came down with a sharp, snapping slash, sending a cloud of dust into the air... an horrendous test of her nerve.

Catherine was frantic. Releasing a cry of terror in anticipation of the pain that never came, she sobbed, the deceptive stroke stirring a wild panic inside her mind. She pressed her smooth, bare thighs together, squeezing the sedile, her body twisting and squirming, unwanted sensations mixing with the growing sense of fearful apprehension.

Once again, he lifted his fist, and the sound of the whip whistled with cutting clarity. This time she thrust her gaze forward, wincing, lips parting in disbelief, trembling, breathing fast. He let the whip fly through the air and she clenched her fists. With eyes closed tight, she prepared for the worst... and felt the whip curl around her body with a loud crack leaving a deep, thin burn on her flesh.

Stoically Catherine confined her reaction to a gasp, her face twisting with the intensity of pain... grinding the wood against her stiffening clitoris.

Chapter 30 - At the Whipping Post, 8:34am May 12th 1864

Mary, the House-Slave, could watch no longer. Her face buried in her hands as each cry extracted from her beloved Mistress brought about another wrench to her own body.

"Oh Lordy, deliver her from this evil I beg of you," she beseeched. But a peeked glance from between her fingers told her that wasn't going to be the case.

General Sherman, Catherine's Uncle Billy, saw every curve of her body as his Goddaughter writhed and squirmed, her flesh welted and opened before his very eyes.

The first round was over. Had she had enough? Would she tell them what they wanted to know? Most of him hoped so... most, but not all.

With her consciousness barely returned, Catherine hung from the post gasping for breath, the weight from her stricken body shared between her wrists and the point of impalement between her legs. The torment was all consuming.

Desperate not to move any more lest she increase the pain, or, God forbid, heighten the unwanted stimulation, Catherine felt her consciousness slipping away.

Then, through the miasma of twenty-five torment-gilded, scream-laden lashes, Lieutenant Sampson stood from his seat, moved to the post and grabbed her by the hair. Then, twisting her face towards him, he spoke.

"You endured well, Catherine," he remarked softly, with amusement. "I knew you would, I saw strength in your eyes, the day we arrived."

Lost in the shame of mortification and pain, she looked away. The Lieutenant continued.

"Tell me... is the traitorous bushwhacker that you are hiding with your lack of disclosure worth all of this?"

Catherine said nothing... she couldn't form a single word, even had she had something to say.

"This whipping that you take for his sake will become decidedly more unpleasant," he continued, letting her head fall so that he could circle around in front of her.

"I cannot even begin to imagine the anguish you felt, being left here all alone while William Quantrill rode away, Catherine... abandoning you, only to save himself... leaving you behind, with no more than a bitter, broken promise..."

She gasped, protesting timidly, "That's nothing but a lie, Lieutenant! I have no one. There is nothing else..."

"Really?" he countered. "It might not even matter now. With our Cavalry prowling about in these regions, he might already be dead."

In sudden grief, she lost all control, weeping madly. "You bastard..."

"If so, you suffer needlessly, Catherine... you lose nothing by telling me what you know..."

Through the loose strands of hair hanging over face, she glared at him, scarcely containing the fierceness of her passion...

"Go fetch your whip and finish me," and as soon as she said it, Catherine felt her heart gallop wildly, she was convulsing again.

Sampson looked backwards to where the blood specked bullwhip lay on the table, considering it... as if he might do just that...

"Tempting," came his polished reply.

"Are you likewise a coward, Lieutenant?" she seethed with a sneer, goading him. "Do it! Whip me for the disgrace I've brought upon your great and noble Union!"

"The measure of your punishment is fixed, Catherine... I will not accelerate it and bring about your oblivion before we are good and ready."

Her whipped, open thighs trembled, pressing hard against the timber to which she was secured, and also to that upon which she was speared.

He leaned closer once more and she felt his breath upon her ear as he whispered "I know you are guilty, Catherine McCown."

Chapter 31 - Break Point, The Whipping Post, 8:45am May 12th 1864

Silence reigned. With the whipping stopped and her interrogation becoming unbearable, Catherine let her conscious self simply fade away and with it the immediate memories of the brutal flogging.

"Major, if you please..." The General, who despite abhorring the ferocity with which his Goddaughter's body had been whipped, remained resolute in the need to do so, instructed the surgeon to attend to her.

"Begging your pardon Sir, but might we wake her first?" It was Lieutenant Sampson's voice, and he clearly did not want to miss out on this treat.

Sherman sighed and nodded, "Yes, yes of course."

A smile and a nod brought Private Hill forward with a full bucket, water slopping over the top.

"Is it salted soldier?" Sergeant Oak asked. The question raised an audible gasp from the watching crowd, and when the private answered, "Yes Sir," the gasp turned to an excited babble.

"Then proceed to rouse her."

Taking up position within a few feet of the unconscious girl, Private Hill threw the entire contents over Catherine's limp, shackled and impaled body.

She woke with a start, arched away from the post and screamed at the shock. But the cry turned to a writhing groan when she felt the salt begin to bite.

"Was that really necessary Lieutenant?" The General questioned.

"It will help her heal General Sir," Sampson added with smug intonation, once again putting his diabolical action into a rational context.

Catherine's extreme reactions had stilled somewhat to a constant mewling as she writhed and squirmed her way through this new agony.

Moving to the post, Major Watson placed his fingers under the girl's chin and lifted her head. He looked into her eyes and nodded. As soon as he took his fingers away, Catherine's head fell once more onto her chest.

Remaining professional in his duty, he took out his stethoscope and listened to her breathing, a glance down her body towards her thighs caused him to see the glistening moisture that coated the wooden carving, stimulated juices to mix with the red release of her maidenhead.

It took but a minute from him to stand clear of Catherine and announce. "She verges on the edge of exhaustion but the girl is fit and healthy enough for the whipping to continue."

Upon hearing his sanction for the continuance of this horrific spectacle, the level of excited chatter rose again.

The Lieutenant approached the post. His eyes gleamed as he beheld her. In Catherine's mind they were the eyes of a demon.

"I'm enthused by your tolerance, Miss McCown. You've shown an impressive degree of resilience. You withstood a punishment that would have driven the hardiest man to his knees," he remarked, his features lost in the shadows as he approached her.

"Go. To. Hell." The lashed girl was able to enunciate weakly, but clearly.

Sampson laughed, "You need to start addressing me with the proper respect girl."

"You're already having me whipped," she snarled, trembling, glancing up at him. "Why should I bother with hollow tokens of respect?"

Sampson spoke again. "Catherine, you could make this so much easier on yourself."

"By submitting to your games Lieutenant? By giving you this so-called valuable information." Her muted laughter was filled with disdain. She paused before releasing yet more vitriol.

"How dare you and your kind inflict such horror on us! How dare you snatch us from our civilized world and submit us to your barbarous way of life!"

The Lieutenant's face broke out into a smirk. Unbeknown to the girl who had previously led such a sheltered life, 'the cat' was the worst whip of them all, it had been selected for the next round, and it was upon her nubile form that this evil appliance would wreak its havoc.

From its long-studded handle hung nine narrow straps of thick leather. Small knots graced the ends of each, they would quicken the whip's flight and sharpen its sting.

"Where is he, Catherine?" Sampson's question came as swiftly and sharply as a knife. She slowly twisted her head to face him, trembling, her head dizzy with the uprush of pounding blood.

Through heavy breath and parched fatigue, Catherine replied, "I. Do. Not. Know."

Chapter 32 - The Cat, 9:05 am May 12th 1864

Shutting her eyes, the movement of her hips only succeeding in swapping one position of discomfort for another, she reached deep within herself for any hidden reserves of tolerance. The sedile was fully buried inside her body, not one inch was in view, and she knew that her body was responding to its penetration. Slowly she writhed and squirmed, and despite her appalling predicament Catherine knew that she craved some of what it was doing to her. But the point of her impalement was growing numb, and its mental anguish had been cast to the recesses of her mind by greater, more sentient, tortures from the lash itself.

Sleek and sinewy whistles cut the air as without any delay the soldier drew back the whip and let the instrument with many tails loose. Catherine's head flung itself backwards, her neck twisting, long hair flailing, as the tips of the cat swung hard across her bare, sculpted thighs with a salacious crack.

"AAAARGGGHHHHH!" Her pitiful cry was loud and resounding.

Sampson could hold back his perverted lust no longer. He needed to see her grovel, beg, plead and sob... He rose from his seat and moved towards her.

"You have harboured bushwhackers, passed on ciphers and been party to sedition Catherine McCown. Where can William Quantrill can be found... may his soul roast in the pits of Hell for his subversion."

Hearing the whip come again Sampson stepped to the side. Catherine steeled herself against its angry deliverance and cried out once more as the cat struck at her thighs. Her spine arched and her body stiffened, shredding whatever remnants of composure she had left.

"You will now address me as Sir, Miss McCown. Otherwise the lash will not count towards the dozen. Do you understand?" Sampson instructed, standing to move once more to her front.

Silence.

"Catherine. Do. You, Understand?"

"Y... Yes..."

The cat lashed out again... harder, the stroke bringing her already reddened flesh to burning point, her jaws to clench, her lips to tremble.

"Yes... 'Sir'," he smirked.

She lifted her eyes to him with fierce wretchedness.

"Yes, 'Sir'..." she responded quietly.

"On your estate we found evidence of your collusion with these outlaws, do you acknowledge that?"

With a quiver in her voice, she answered, high and soft, "Yes... Sir..."

"It was your spying that resulted in several of General Sherman's Army being murdered. Is that true?"

"No, no, no... Sir," There was even more power behind the next stroke, a flicking of the wrist that caused the lashes to splay and the slap of knotted leather to bite ever deeper.

"Like a common whore you sheltered Quantrill in your house, and gave him food and supplies that would have otherwise benefited our troops."

"No, no I did not... Sir,"

In panic, she began tugging pointlessly at the shackles, sagging deeper in her bonds as her naked breasts thrust hard against the rough-hewn timber of the post.

"You took the silver regimental buttons from those murdered men as ghoulish souvenirs, didn't you?"

"Please Sir, I have no... idea wh... where... th... they came from..."

Sherman stood up, his face blazing with a mix of concern, fear, and righteousness, "For the love of God Catherine, tell him what you know and end this shocking torment!"

Catherine turned and, through heavy-lidded eyes, she simply stared into her Godfather's imploring face.

"You kept records of coded messages. In short you have built a Rebel intelligence station here at White Orchard, admit to that Miss McCown, and I will end this now."

In a barely audible whisper she responded, "No... Sir, I have... not"

The whipmaster grunted with fatigue each time he swung the menacing lash. So engrossed was he in this wretched task, watching her near-naked body writhe and squirm under his exertions, that his pants sported a huge bulge... what he wouldn't give to satiate it in place of that wooden thing between her legs.

Smiling, Sampson reached out to brush his fingers against the point where the sedile disappeared into Catherine's body. Unwittingly she writhed against his ministrations, his tactile fingers caressing her, moving around her hips to touch at the blood streaked whip marks and finally at the tender, lash-streaked skin of her thighs. The poor girl closed her eyes, her trembling body wincing at his touch.

"Oh, you like that do you..." His smirk turned into a grin. Catherine twisted her head away, fearful of the sensation that his touch was creating inside her confused body.

As the Lieutenant nodded, a pleading whimper escaped the girl's lips. The hard crack on the backs of her legs pushed another pathetic cry from her parched throat...

"Where... is... he...?" Sampson asked again, his voice calm, his tone assertive.

Shaking with exhaustion, Catherine collapsed into a fit of deep, convulsive sobs.

Chapter 33 - A Turn for the Worse, The Whipping Post, 9:37 am May 12th 1864

"Lieutenant, I should check her again?" It was Major Watson.

"And let me rouse those senses of hers," Private Hill ready with another salted water filled bucket.