Posted by PK on August 24, 2006 at 16:42:29:
Before dinner I had to settle a domestic dispute. It was a tedious affair. A yeoman farmer accused
his wife of infidelity, but didn't dare flog her himself because her family would have beaten him.
The woman looked quite comely for a peasant of around thirty years, being tall and blue eyed
with strong, regular features and a thick mane of wheat coloured hair. Easy to see that some
village womaniser might have taken a fancy to her. They had brought their children with them,
two girls, because both parties wanted custody, she intending to divorce him for unmanliness
and move back to her old family, he intending to chastise her for cuckolding him. After hearing
them bicker for ten minutes I asked the woman "Did you do it or not? If you lie and I find out, I'll
cut off your children's heads."
The woman finally, tearfully, admitted that she had. I ordered her to divest herself of clothing and
she complied hesitantly, looking puzzled. Not a bad body for her age; large, full breasts hanging
like ripe fruit from a robust but womanly frame. Hanging. Yes, that would do. "Hang her," I
ordered the guards. "When she's done, cut her down and take her to the kitchen to be
butchered." Her mouth opened in shock but she said nothing at first, just stared at me as the
guards led her away.
The farmer protested incoherently; he probably hadn't wanted to take things this far. I held up a
hand. "Take the eldest girl to the kitchen too," I said. Noting the horror on the farmer's face, I
added "She'll be trained as staff to replace one we recently lost." That reminded me that Greta
would be nearly done by now. With that, I dismissed the farmer and his remaining daughter and
went to see justice done. I try never to miss the hanging of a woman if she's decent looking. Of
course, I favour the slow strangulation method rather than the long drop as it's far more
entertaining. The farmer's wife put on a fine display. She started to struggle as the guards
dragged her up the steps to the gallows and she came out of her shocked daze and realised that
this really was happening to her. The hangman, summoned by a runner at short notice, followed
the party a few minutes later and placed the noose around the weeping, pleading woman's neck.
With indifferent, professional ease he lashed her wrists behind her so she couldn't grab the rope
and hold on. I like to prolong the show as much as the next man, but there was a limit. I hadn't
got all day and it was nearly dinnertime. The hangman glanced at me, I nodded, and he slowly
winched the rope up until the woman's feet were a few inches above the platform. She tried to
stretch herself downwards, reaching with her toes, but of course it was no use, then she began to
kick desperately and wriggle about like a gaffed fish, her breasts swaying and bobbing quite
enticingly, and I wondered idly whether she had shown the same energy in bed. If so, she must
have been quite a ride. I rather hoped she and her illicit lover had enjoyed themselves, though if I
caught him I'd probably have him castrated just to be fair. I didn't have anything against the
woman personally, you understand, and her little bit of fun on the side was no concern of mine;
I'm no prig. I only wished to discourage the hoi-polloi from bothering me with their silly squabbles
and a good hanging should take care of that, as well as providing me with a pleasant spectacle
and a fair quantity of wholesome, farm-reared woman meat. Pampered slave girls were delicious,
but there was nothing wrong with the occasional hearty farmer's wife for a change. Of course, the
same might well apply to the bedchamber. I wondered momentarily if I should let her down and
find out and, by coincidence, at that moment, the woman raised both legs at once, knees apart,
as if to flaunt herself. The sight of her prominent, darkly furred pubis and those strong, clenched
belly muscles was quite stirring. In fact, her whole physique was impressive and I admired it
openly as she continued to fight the rope. Strong neck as well, I presumed. However, I couldn't
really let her go, it would make me seem weak and indecisive, but it was almost a pity. I like a
fighter. In the end, of course, her heroic struggle was doomed to failure. At last, with a final
twitching kick, she went limp and swung passively on the rope, a small stream of urine trickling
down her long, muscular legs and dripping off her toes as her bladder let go. I almost applauded,
it had been an excellent performance and far better than that of the last woman I had hanged. Of
course, that would have been unseemly. I did take a moment to admire her. A fine piece of
woman flesh; even in death she exuded vitality.
"Tell the cooks to store her whole," I instructed. It went without saying that she would be shaved,
washed and gutted; she would keep for quite a while in the cold room, hanging like a side of
beef. I could decide later whether to have her butchered or not. A body like hers would make a
fine spitted roast over an open fire out of doors. With that pleasant prospect in mind, I went in to dinner.