Medieval Dungeon Party Part 1: Punishment for a Sinful Wench

by Jenny Bonici

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© Copyright 2007 - Jenny Bonici - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF+; club; theme; costumes; M/f; pillory; punish; bdsm; crop; chastity-belt; insert; scolds-bridle gag; shackles; denial; stuck; cons; X

Part 1: Punishment for a Sinful Wench

I’ve written before about some of the events that we organised in our small private bondage club. When I wrote about our Low Cost Bondage Night I mentioned that earlier we’d had a Medieval Bondage Night. Well Don has convinced me that I should tell you all something about what went on during that memorable evening. I really think that he’s biased, as he and the rest of the menfolk are very proud of the medieval bondage devices they had built for the occasion and think they deserve a mention on the World Wide Web. But the main reason I’m writing this is because it may give some of you out there a few ideas for scenes you can play out. I apologise for concentrating on what happened to me on that night but I promise to write more about a few of the other goings on sometime soon.

We were always looking for new ideas for our theme nights so we thought it was a great idea when Bill and Esme said that they were members of the local University Medieval Society and we should invite some of them to join us for Medieval Dungeon Party. The general idea was that everyone should come dressed in the style of the 15th or 16th Centuries – but no swords or suits of armour (the Uni MedSoc just loved clanging about in fields re-enacting tournaments, jousts and battles). It was a great idea except for one thing - we had no medieval dungeon equipment. The flickering light of some strategically placed candles would give a dungeon-like atmosphere to our usual meeting place in the cellar of Bill and Esme’s rambling old house on the edge of town.

But over the next couple of weeks it took on a far more sinister appearance when the menfolk had finished constructing their instruments of torture. In addition to the rings and the St. Andrew’s Cross that were had been attached to the walls for some time, plus the assortment of iron shackles and heavy chains we had already accumulated, the cellar now sported a pillory, stocks, a whipping post and an evil looking rack. One of the students from the Uni came up with an authentic looking cravat. By the time the event took place Bill and Esme’s cellar had been transformed into a very medieval looking dungeon.

Now came the big question – what was I going to wear? So it was on to the Net to find out what women wore in those days. After much searching I decided I’d go as peasant wench as that was probably the easiest (and cheapest) costume to organise In those days the basic woman’s dress was a chemise – a garment that looked a bit like a long white nightie. I downloaded a pattern from the Net and got out my sewing machine. I soon had what I though was a very authentic looking chemise. Having quite a lot of cotton cloth left over I also made a pair of pantaloons – long knickers that had a drawer-string waist and legs that came down to below the knees. Women in those days wore a skirt over the top of the chemise so once more it was off to the shops to find a length of plain brown woollen cloth long enough to make a skirt. I copied the design from pictures that I found on the Net – a simple long skirt that finished about 6 inches short of the hem of the chemise and with a split up the front.

Only one thing was missing – the bodice. More trawling through the Net turned up a local company that could supply stiffened and boned lace-up bodices of the type wore by women in the 16th Century. I also got a velvet mob cap from the same company. Don decided that wearing a snood to cover my hair – a fashion that was all the rage in Medieval times - was not for me, nor were the long woollen stockings (anyway it was the height of summer and also we reckoned that a poor peasant girl probably would not be able to afford stockings). As for shoes, I had a pair of black ballet shoes that looked a bit like the flatties with laces that tied round the ankles that the girls in the pictures on the Net were wearing, so they would have to do.

For Don choice of gear was a lot easier – he already had an executioner’s outfit complete with axe and half hood that he acquired in his days with the local amateur dramatic society. He swore that it was authentic early 16th Century style but I claimed that it would be more at home in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.

The great day arrived. Don and I put on our gear. I decided to loosen the drawer string round the neckline of the chemise so I could wear it off the shoulders. The bodice was stiff and tight and it seemed to want to push my tits out of the top of the chemise. I hoped that it wasn’t going to be too uncomfortable after wearing it for a few hours. By the time we arrived there was already a throng of lords and ladies, squires, courtesans, abbots and nuns, millers and assorted country folk milling around in Bill and Esme’s cellar. The Medieval Society folk seemed very interested in the various instruments of torture that were set out for their enjoyment, but none were actually trying anything on for size. It was then I heard Bill call out, “Come on Jenny, let’s get the party started.”

He rang his bell – he was dressed as a town crier – and called for attention. “Hear ye, hear ye. This wench was caught masturbating in the church and you all know the punishment for that. Yes. A time in the pillory. Come wench.” He pulled me towards the wooden structure at the end of the room. A crowd gathered round. The headboard dropped clamping my neck and wrists. A locking peg was driven into the end. I was trapped. Then a second board was clamped across my ankles holding my legs spread wide. At this point Tony, who up to then I had considered to be a good friend stood up and asked the crowd if they thought that the pillory was enough punishment for one caught masturbating in God’s house. There was an almost unanimous cry of “No!”

“Do you think the wench should get a thrashing for her sins?” Tony asked the gathering.

“Yes,” came the reply. With that my skirts were thrown over my head and the drawstring of my pantaloons undone so they dropped down below my knees. The peachy pink cheeks of my ass were now laid bare for all to see. I certainly had become the centre of interest in a very short time. Then ‘Thwack’ a riding crop seared across the fair skin of my backside. Then another blow … and another … then more. After perhaps ten or twelve lusty blows Tony turned to the audience a asked if anyone else wanted to help drive out the Devil from such a sinful wench. There was no shortage of volunteers. It was not long before my once peachy pink cheeks were cherry red. But far from driving out the Devil the thrashing had just the opposite effect – now my pussy was hot as Hell!

It was then that Tony returned. “Gentle folk of this parish I think that our sinful wench has learnt her lesson. But so that she’ll not be tempted to play with herself in church again the good abbot has decreed that henceforth she is to wear a chastity belt.” He waved an iron contraption in the air, but not for long as he was soon wrapping it round my waist and pulling the crotch piece between my legs. As he pulled the three ends together behind my back I felt a short fat iron piece push its way into my hot wet pussy. Then I heard the dull click as a padlock closed. God, it was a tight fit – I’m sure that it was made for a dwarf!

“Now there is one other thing that the good abbot decreed.” Tony was now really rising to his audience, “The good abbot has also decreed that this sinful wench must be prevented from talking to the Devil.” At this point an evil looking brank or Scold’s Bridle appeared. Although I shook my head as much as the pillory would allow, the metal tongue of the brank was soon pressing down on my tongue and the device was being locked shut behind my neck.

With the chastity belt and the brank securely locked on Tony announced to the crowd, “The sinful wench has had her punishment and is now free to go.” The wooden clamps were released from my ankles and neck and I could again stand up straight. But before he finally let me go he locked a pair of ancient looking iron shackles round my wrists, “A little present from me,“ he whispered, “You deserve them as you put on such a good show and certainly got the party going.” I pulled at the short length of chain linking my wrists but I soon decided that this was a fruitless exercise – they were not coming off without the key.

“Where is the next sinner?” I heard Tony ask as I pulled up my pantaloons and straightened my clothes. He had no shortage of volunteers eager to pay for their sins.

A number of people came up to chat to me but it was a bit of a one-sided conversation as the metal tongue that stuck deep into my mouth and the metal strap under my chin prevented me making anything other than garbled sounds. I headed off to look for Don and the check that he hadn’t actually chopped off anyone’s head. The party was certainly in full swing with every bit of equipment in use and people almost queuing up to be stretched on the rack. The MedSoc folk had really laid on a great medieval spread but with this brank locked on my head I couldn’t sample any of the food. I tried sipping mead through a straw but that too was a bit of a disaster so I gave up.

It was in the early hours of the morning when I approached Tony and gestured that I had had enough so could he please unlock all these fiendish devices. “Unlock them! I would if I had the key,” he exclaimed.

“The good abbot’s got them,” he added. “See if he’s still here, I think he may have already left with his latest squeeze.” So I set off on an abbot hunt. It did not take me long to get confirmation that, as Tony had said, the abbot had left with a stunning looking novice nun.

I found Don and managed to get the message across to him. He called the abbot on his very un-medieval mobile. Yes, he did have the keys. However he was now over 50 miles away and was about to hop into bed with a nun so he would drop the keys over to our place in the morning before lunch. Then he rang off claiming that he had some urgent business to attend to. Don said that he sounded very apologetic and had completely forgotten that he still had the keys until he had got the phone call. That was a great help.

I tried to convince Don to cut the things off when we got home. But he said that he couldn’t saw through the brank or chastity belt without sawing into me and that the padlocks all had hardened steel hasps so cutting through them would be an almost impossible task. Therefore I would just have to enjoy the experience until the keys arrived. I think he just liked seeing me suffer. But one thing I learnt that night was that it is almost impossible to get to sleep with heavy iron shackles on your wrists while wearing a Scold’s Bridle and an over-tight chastity belt with a fat iron dick up your pussy.


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