Agnese

PROLOGUE:
Many years ago, in a forest near the Baltic, a small acorn fell
to the ground, detached from its parental oak tree by a brief puff
of wind. It found fertile soil. Luckily, no squirrels or mice ate it.
It put down roots to draw water and minerals from the earth.
It pushed up a stem with leaves, finding a few shafts of sunlight
that penetrated through the canopy of the mature forest. Soon, it
was as tall as a person.
In a few years, it had taken its place as a full-fledged member
of the forest. Its trunk grew wide and straight, unbending in the
strongest storms.
The forest and all the farmlands around it belonged to a very
rich and powerful man, the Baron Friederick von Kaltenbach.
His ancestors had come east from Prussia a few centuries ago
and claimed the land. He could sense that perhaps the winds
were changing, that the times might come when one man could
no longer exercise absolute control over a large piece of land and
the people that lived on it.
But for now, the Baron was the ruler of his little fiefdom and
he would do everything in his power to keep that situation in
place for as long as he could.
One day he called his estate Manager, a local man, large and
mean, into his very plushly decorated office. “Juris,” he said,
“These Latvian peasants are lazy. They would rather get drunk
and fuck than work on my land. We need some discipline here.”
He spoke in German, having barely bothered to learn more than
a few words of the local language.
“Yes, Herr Baron,” the Manager said. “I am ashamed for how
they behave.” He was a Latvian himself, of course, but he knew
who paid his salary.
“I want you to take some men and go into the forest and find
the strongest oak tree that you can. Cut it down and make a
sturdy whipping post. I want it erected in the center of the village
so that everyone can see it and know that I mean business.”
“Yes, Herr Baron. I am glad you are doing this. I will be
pleased to whip these worthless miscreants. Man or woman, they
will have no mercy from me!”
Juris took a party of a few men with saws and axes into the
forest. They surveyed the trees, looking for just the right one.
Their eyes lit on our tree. “That one!” Juris exclaimed. In less
than an hour, they toppled the work of almost two decades of
growth and struggle to the forest floor. The rest of the day was
spent sawing the tree into pieces that could be loaded onto a cart
drawn by two strong horses.
The next day, the work crew dug a hole in the bare dirt in the
center of the village, in front of the Church and the tavern and
the few shops that the poor peasants could afford to buy their
basic staples at. They selected a long thick section of wood from
the strongest part of the tree and buried one end in the ground,
packing the space with rocks and then filling in the earth and
tamping it down.
Juris tested the post by leaning all of his considerable weight
into it and pushing hard. It did not move.
“Good!” he exclaimed. The rest of the wood was taken to a
lumberyard in the nearby town where it was sold to be used to
build houses. So, the Baron got his whipping post to discipline
the peasants and made a profit on the deal.
And so the post stood. It was rough and unfinished, so that
when those being punished-by the whip on their back if they
were men, or the birch on their buttocks if they were womenpressed
their naked bodies into it to escape the terrible pain of
their well-deserved lashes, it scratched the skin of their chests,
adding to their agony.
And because it was rough, it was able to absorb the many
things that came off the poor souls who had been punished there-
their blood, sweat and tears-so that when one was tied to it, one
was in essence sharing one’s body with those who had been tied
there before.
One day, the post had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of a young woman named Agnese, who happened
to be born on the day that the acorn fell to the ground. This is her
story….

“Ivo, stop that!” Agnese cried, almost doubling over with
laughter. “How can I get my work done if you keep making me
laugh so much?”
Ivo ignored her pleas, continuing to strut up and down the
field of rye in the stiff-legged way that was a near perfect
imitation of the way the Baron went around his estate on the
occasions when he deigned to leave his elegant house to inspect
one project or another that his laborers were working on. He held
one finger under his nose to indicate the Baron’s moustache. He
spouted some pidgin German about the lazy Latvians, words they
had often heard it said were ones the Baron used frequently.
Agnese wiped the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of
her embroidered blouse. “Ivo, it’s still morning and it’s already
hot and this field is so large. If we don’t finish, we will be in big
trouble.”
Ivo put his scythe down and brushed the cuttings of rye aside,
reaching out and grabbing Agnese by the arm and pulling her
towards him. “No!” she protested. “Not now! There is so much
work to do.”

Ignoring her pleas, he pulled her against his body and kissed
her hard on the mouth. She resisted at first, but he could feel her
relaxing, leaning in towards him. Throwing caution to the winds,
he reached under her blouse, feeling her soft breasts.
She reached out to push his hand away, but without much
conviction, so he left it there and kissed her again. This time, she
barely resisted at all. She could feel his hard cock pressing into
her belly, the tension in his body matching the rising excitement
she felt.
“Ivo, we mustn’t,” she whispered.
“But I love you, Agnese,” he protested. “We will be married as
soon as I finish the cottage I am building. I know it is taking a
long time. I have to scrounge all the materials because the Baron
pays us so little, but I will finish it soon. I promise. Then we can
make love whenever we want.”
He kissed her again, his hand trailing down her front to her
stomach, the fingers playing with waistband of her skirt.
“Your father likes me,” he said. “He gave his approval for us to
marry as soon as we have the cottage.”
She nodded. “I know that, Ivo, but we should wait.”
He pressed himself into her. “I can’t wait. I want you so
much.”
“But the harvest,” she said.
“Damn the harvest!” he shouted. Agnese looked around
quickly, scared that someone had heard him, but the other
workers were far away. “We slave away like a****ls in the field
to make the Baron rich and what do we get? I can’t even afford to
buy wood and nails to finish our house.”
Agnese nodded. “I know that, my love. But what can we do?
We can go to Riga, but how would we live there? What would we
do? “
“Maybe we could go to Canada or America. There is land
there for anyone who wants it.”

“But we need money for the passage,” she replied.
“Well, then at least come with me now,” he said, his right
hand now inside her skirt. With his left hand, he guided her hand
to the front of his trousers. “You can feel how much I want you. I
can’t wait.”
“I want you, too, Ivo,” Agnese said.
“Then come with me. Everyone is in the fields now. The
granary is empty. No one will see us. We will be quick and back
here at work before anyone notices.”
Agnese shook her head no, but he took her hand and she
followed him across the field of waving grain, crouching low, so
that they would be as invisible as possible. She looked carefully in
all directions but the workers had moved down to the far end and
no one seemed to notice.
When they reached the end of the field, they ducked quickly
into the forest and made their way under the trees parallel to the
edge of the field until they reached the open end of the granary.
They looked around quickly. There was no one there.

They headed for the big pile of straw that was left over from
the last harvest. Ivo knelt and pulled Agnese down onto the
impromptu bed. They pulled as much of the straw over them as
they could.
Urgently, unable to wait any more, Ivo pushed Agnese’s skirt
up above her waist with one hand as he pulled his pants down
with the other. Gingerly, she reached down to touch his penis.
“You see what you did, Agnese?” he asked. “You’ve made me so
hard.”
She smiled at him. “Be quick, before anyone finds us,” she
begged.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He moved on top of her, the
tip of his erect penis poised at the opening of her wet pussy. He
pressed his hips forward about to enter her.
Suddenly, a big boot was kicking away the straw that covered
him and a large hand grasped Ivo’s shirt, pulling him away from
his intended target. “Well, well, what have we here?” Juris said.
Agnese stared up into the face of the Manager, who was
accompanied by two of his assistants. “You two are supposed to
be harvesting the rye and here you are fucking like a couple of
rabbits. We’ll see what the Baron has to say about this.”
He pulled Ivo to his feet. Ivo’s cock was still hard, but began
to wilt. Quickly, he pulled his pants up.
Juris stared down at Agnese, who was too shocked to move.
“What are you waiting for, you whore?” he shouted. “Get up and
pull your skirt down and try to look like a decent woman for
once.” She quickly complied, too frightened to speak.
One of the Manager’s assistants took hold of Agnese’s arm,
while the other grasped Ivo’s arm in a vise grip and they followed
Juris towards the grand house where the Baron lived. They went
around the house to the servant’s entrance behind the kitchen.
“Wait here,” Juris ordered. “The Baron won’t want riff-raff like
you dirtying his floors.” His assistants kept a firm hold on the two
lovers.
Agnese glanced down at her skirt and blouse, which each had
several pieces of straw stuck to them. Ivo’s clothes were similarly
decorated. They waited for quite a while, sweating under the hot
sun. Agnese couldn’t hide her fear. She had only had occasional
contact with the Baron, usually at Christmas, when the workers
lined up to receive blessings from the Minister and small baskets
with a few treats from the Baron so that he could consider
himself a good, benevolent Christian. But, never had she been
called to see him for an instance of misbehavior.
And she knew this was a serious matter, one that would
almost certainly mean a visit to the whipping post in the center of
the village. She shivered at the thought. She had seen people
suffering there often enough, the women stripped naked in front
of the whole village, everyone staring and pointing at them. She
had watched as the Manager’s assistants tied them to the rough
wood. She had heard them howling as the cruel birch scored the
soft skin of their buttocks.
She trembled at the thought that soon that would be her.
Finally, the Baron arrived, looking angry. Agnese was near
tears even before he spoke. She understood enough German to
sense that he was greatly displeased at her and Ivo. Juris
translated, so there would be no doubt in their minds.
“The Baron says you are thieves. This is his grain and if the
workers abandon the field work, the grain could rot. So, you are
stealing from him. You must be punished and all the village must
watch, so they will know what will happen to them if they do the
same.”
He turned to Ivo. “You will be whipped, 40 lashes. This
Sunday, at the whipping post.” Ivo did his best to look dismissive,
but Agnese could tell that he was frightened.
Then Juris looked at her. “You, Agnese. For shirking your
work you will get 30 strokes with the birch at the whipping post
this Sunday.”
As much as she had expected to hear something like this,
actually hearing it with the ring of finality caused her to feel
faint. Her heart was pounding. She started to speak, to protest,
to beg forgiveness, to promise not to do it again.
Juris scowled at her. “I’m not finished. Agnese, you are a
filthy slut who lured him into this. No decent woman would lie
with a man she wasn’t married to in a bed of straw. For that you
get an additional 30 strokes.”
Hearing this, Agnese burst into tears. She fell at the Baron’s
feet, clutching at the bottom of his trousers. “Please, please, I beg
you!” she implored in German. Then, her skills in the language
exhausted, she began pleading in Latvian, “I am so sorry. I will
never do it again.”
The Manager grabbed her by her blouse and almost lifted her
into the air, slamming her down onto the ground. “How dare you
touch his lordship?” he shouted. “How would you like 20 more
with the birch on your whorish ass?”
And Agnese might well have gotten those 20 extra strokes,
except for the fact that the Baron was a busy who had already
devoted more time to these worthless peasants than they merited
and had turned on his heel and was already heading back into his
house.
“Now get back to work, both of you,” the Manager shouted.
“If you make any more trouble between now and Sunday, I’ll see
that your punishment is doubled.”

Agnese sat, nervous and dejected, on a bench facing the
table in her family’s one room peasant cottage. She was dressed
for Church, wearing a long-sleeved white linen blouse under a
red vest, and a long blue, red, yellow and green vertically
striped skirt. Her dark hair was done up under a round
colorfully embroidered red cap.
The source of her nervousness and sadness was twofold. She
knew that she would not see the interior of the village church
that Sunday for she was destined to be pilloried in front of the
church instead … for the purpose of being shamed before
family, friends and the entire rest of the village. And, of course,
following the church service things would go from bad to worse
as she was to be stripped naked and receive a terrible birching
… in front of everyone.
The other source of her distress was the anger of her father,
who was at that moment pacing back and forth before the other
side of the table, hands clasped behind his back, face red with
fury. He had been angry with her ever since he learned of what
she had done with Ivo. In his view she had brought
unconscionable shame upon herself and her family, and he just
couldn’t understand how she could have been so foolish as to
have done such a thing.
Meanwhile her mother sat in a corner weeping.
Every now and then her father would stop his pacing to
scream at her.
“Agnese, you have brought such shame on this family!” he
would say. She had lost count of how many times he had spat
out those very words.
“I’m sorry, father.”
“Well sorry is not good enough! Why couldn’t you and Ivo
wait? It’s not so difficult, You just have to say no!”

“I’m sorry, father.”
“Do you realize what this could mean for me snd your poor
mother? All the gossip? How will your mother ever be able to
hold her head high in the village again? And for me? This could
be the end of my hopes of ever becoming a manager on the
Baron’s estate someday. I’ve worked so hard over the years to
gain his favor, knowing that as he expands his holdings he’ll be
needing a second manager … and that could be me … but not
now, perhaps no longer.”
“I’m sorry father.”
“And can you imagine what it will be like for your mother
and I to stand there outside the church watching our friends
and neighbors staring at you, our daughter, locked in the
village pillory? And later in the day, watching you stripped
naked and bound to the village whipping post to receive all
those cane strokes on your bare bottom? Utter humiliation!
That’s what it will be, Agnese! Utter humiliation!”
“I’m sorry, father! But please understand, I did it because I
am in love, I know it was stupid, but Ivo wanted it. He
pressured me. And, well, I gave in.”
“No, Agnes. I will not allow you to blame this on that young
man. It was your responsibility, not his, to maintain your honor
intact.”
He had resumed his pacing. Grateful for the silence, she
wondered what was happening with Ivo. Was he experiencing
the same? She suspected he was. Did he still love her? Or would
he try, like her father, to place the blame on her. She felt
confused and bitter.
Eventually, respite from her father’s wrath and her own
thoughts came through the need to be off for church. As they
left the cottage, her father saw to it that she follow several
paces behind her parents. They were clearly distancing
themselves from their fallen daughter. He also insisted that she
leave her shoes behind and go barefoot as a sign of penance.
She was used to wearing shoes snd the small stones in the path
hurt her feet.
As they passed friends and villagers she could feel their
disdain. She was painfully aware of the smirks and the frowns,
and after awhile she kept her eyes on the ground before her
bare feet so as to avoid visual contact with anyone they might
meet.
On arrival, several of the men from the village were there
waiting for her. They stepped up to her father. A hushed
conversation followed, and then she saw her father nod in
assent, after which they took her in hand and led her to the
pillory positioned off to one side of the entrance to the old
wooden church. A placard had been attached to it which read
“mauka” … whore.
No one said a word. One of the men tugged at her vest,
removing it and tossing it aside, while another set about
stripping her of her blouse. Half-naked, left with only her skirt,
she tried to cover up her bared breasts and erect nipples with
arms and hands, but they wouldn’t allow that. They took her in
hand, drove her roughly up against the bulky frame of the
pillory, and forced her neck and wrists into the half-round holes
in the bottom part of the heavy wooden crossbeam and then
locked the top part down to hold her firmly in place.
And there she remained, half-naked and on display to the
entire village population as they passed by to enter the church,
as well as later when they reappeared following the service.
Being pilloried was horrible. Someone, at some point, had
knocked her cap away, and her hair had come undone, so that
it half covered her face. She felt unkempt … disheveled. Her
back ached from leaning forward, and the sun beat down
mercilessly on her her bare back and shoulders. She felt a bead
of sweat run from behind her ear, trickle down her neck and,
from there, find irs way down the hollow of her chest between
her dangling breasts.
As the crowd of villagers disgorged from the church, she felt
their contempt. The men said very little, but she saw how their
eyes focused appraisingly on her breasts and caught a few lewd
remarks about wanting to suck them. The women were far
more vocal, openly expressing their scorn, cursing her and
repeatedly calling her a whore.
And where was Ivo, she wondered? Why had he not been
pilloried and shamed alongside her? Was it different for him as
a man? It didn’t seem fair.

The whipping post didn’t mind waiting on a beautiful day like
this. It stood in all seasons, ready to receive miscreants getting
their richly deserved comeuppance. The post knew that it played
an important role in the community, helping the Baron to
maintain good order amongst his subjects.
But the summer was its favorite season. The rays of the late
morning sun warmed its fibers. Perhaps that would provide a
small measure of comfort to the young woman when they
wrapped the ropes tightly around her waist, pressing her soft
breasts into the rough wood.
And they were attractive breasts, that was beyond contesting.
Even from a distance one could tell that they were firm and wellformed.
The post could see why that boy Ivo had wanted her so
badly that he had risked this humiliation in front of the whole
village and the excruciating pain that would soon follow.
And here he comes now, shirtless and barefoot, like his lover,
clad only in a pair of drawstring trousers, one of the Manager’s
assistants on each side with a firm grip on each arm. A handsome
lad, trying hard to look unconcerned by the prospect facing him.
But the post knew better. It had seen many make a show of
bravery, but the whip always won in the end. That was how it
had always been and how it would always be.
***
Agnese kept her eyes glued to the ground in front of her feet.
She couldn’t bear to look at her friends and neighbors in her
current shameful state. The girls that she had played with when
she was younger and worked beside in the field, the boys that had
flirted with her before she had chosen Ivo, the baker and the
store clerk to whom her parents had sent her with the few
pennies they had to buy tea or thread and whom she had
charmed with a smile into slipping her a treat.

But when she heard one of the older women cry, “There he is!”
she looked up. It was Ivo, shirtless and barefoot as she was, but
accompanied not by his parents, but by two of the Manager’s
men. They stopped him some distance away on the other side of
the post, so that if they wanted to look at each other, their eyes
would inevitably fall on the site of their upcoming suffering.
Agnese assumed that now that Ivo was here, she would be
released and led to her fate at the whipping post. But nothing
was happening. She could sense the crowd growing impatient.
After all, they had stayed after church, rather than returning to
their homes for lunch to watch the spectacle.
Then Agnese saw the members of the crowd turning their
heads to look behind them. She twisted her body as much as she
could in the pillory, but couldn’t see beyond the crowd. Finally, it
came into view-an elegant carriage pulled by two white horses.
It could only be the Baron, come in person to watch their
punishment. He normally didn’t attend these events in person,
but obviously, for whatever reason, he had decided that her case
merited his personal attendance.
The carriage driver descended, reached up onto the top of the
carriage and pulled down an ornately carved and upholstered
chair, which he brought to a position close to the whipping post.
Then he returned to the carriage and opened the door. The Baron
stepped out onto the bare dirt, dirt which he owned, along with,
more or less, the assembled people.
His footman opened a large umbrella which shaded the Baron
as he walked to his seat and held it over him as he awaited the
spectacle.
Now that all was ready, Agnese saw Juris, the Manager,
approach her. He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the
pillory, lifting the top wooden piece. “Come on slut, time for your
ass warming. On your feet,” he said.
Reluctantly, Agnese stood, her legs unsteady, both from fear
and from the strain the pillory had put on her muscles. Juris took
hold of her arm to steady her, then guided her towards the post.
When they reached a point a short distance away, he stopped and
turned her to face the crowd.
“You have to take your skirt off now,” he told her quietly. She
shook her head.
Louder now, loud enough to be heard by the entire village, he
ordered, “Get your skirt off now! A whore like you shouldn’t
pretend to be ashamed of showing her body to everyone. It might
bring you more business.” The crowd laughed at his joke.
Feeling deep shame, but knowing she had no choice, Agnese
reached to the waist of her skirt and lowered it slowly over her
hips, letting it fall to the dirt at her feet. She was naked now. She
tried to cover her breasts and genitals with her hands, but Juris
grabbed them and pulled them away.
“No!” he shouted. “You show them! Let them see what caused
your boyfriend to do such a stupid thing!” She stood now, totally
exposed, her cheeks burning in shame.
The young men in the crowd were whistling and hooting.
Some of the women, jealous at the impression Agnese was
making on their men yelled, “Whore! Slut!”
“Now turn around,” Juris ordered. “Let them see your ass
before I mark it with my birch.” He pushed her, forcing her to
turn around. Then, after the crowd had seen enough, he marched
her to the post, where he raised her hands over her head to tie
them to the ring set high in the post with a cord that he had taken
out of his pocket.
Juris adjusted the cord so that Agnese would be raised on her
toes, then tied it tight. Then, he called for a longer piece of rope,
which one of the assistants brought him. He pushed Agnese’s
naked torso against the wood, firmly, though not unnecessarily
roughly, wrapped the rope twice around both her waist and the
post and tied it tightly.

Now, Agnese was held in place, totally helpless and exposed,
her ass bare and defenseless against the onslaught of the birch.
Once she was affixed in place, the Manager turned his
attention to Ivo. “Strip him!” he ordered. One of the assistants
who held him took hold of one of the legs of his trousers and
yanked them down, leaving him just as naked as his lover.
Agnese didn’t really want to watch, but couldn’t help herself.
She had to admit he looked handsome, even if his cock was
shriveled from the shame and fear that he must be feeling,
despite his attempts to hide it, which were a bit more successful
than hers had been.
She felt a tingle in her groin at the site of him. She wished
they had had time to complete their lovemaking before Juris and
his men had so rudely interrupted them. She hoped that after all
this was over and they had paid for their sins that they might be
forgiven and allowed to marry by her parents and the Minister.
The men hustled him to the post and quickly tied him
opposite Agnese. “I love you, Agnese. Please forgive me,” he
whispered.
“I love you too, Ivo,” she replied.
“You must be strong,” he said.
“I will try,” she replied. “You, too.”
“Shut up, you two!” the Manager shouted. “The only sounds I
want to hear from either of you are the screams when we whip
you. Any more talk and I will add strokes.”
Then he stepped away and turned to address the crowd.
“These two worthless criminals have stolen the work time that
they owe our Lord, Baron von Kaltenbach. For that Ivo has been
sentenced to be whipped 40 times on the back and Agnese has
been sentenced to be birched 30 times on her buttocks.”
The crowd nodded approvingly. “Furthermore,” he continued,
“The slut Agnese has been sentenced to 30 additional birch
strokes for her lewd and whorish behavior.” Many in the crowd
cheered. None thought to ask why Ivo wasn’t also paying a price
for his sexual misdeeds. There was no need to; he was a man and
that was how men were expected to act, but she was a woman
and was supposed to resist his urges.
His speech done, the Manager motioned for the birch and the
whip, which one of his assistants carried through the crowd,
holding them over his head like a trophy.
The birch consisted of two supple branches, each almost as
thick as Agnese’s little finger and longer than her arm, bound
together at one end. This was the infamous “rod pair” or “ruten
paar” in German, which was used to punish disobedient females
in that time and place.
Of course, she had seen it before from afar, when other
women had been punished, but to see it up close now, knowing
that it was to be used on her, was horrifying. She bit her lip to
keep from crying. But, the whip to be used on Ivo looked even
worse, a long piece of cured horsehide.
The assistant took his place behind Ivo, while Juris, the
Manager, took his place behind Agnese. She turned her head to
see him and his awful birch, which she felt tapping gently against
her soft ass flesh as he measured the distance.
“We will alternate,” Juris announced. “Five lashes for one,
then five for the other and so on until all the lashes ordered have
been given. I am a gentleman, so it will be ladies first,”
Agnese watched him draw the birch back. Then, unable to
watch any more, she turned her head to look Ivo in the eye as she
heard the rods cut through the air.

The whipping post didn’t directly feel the first lash that Juris,
the Manager, delivered across Agnese’s luscious hindquarters.
But it couldn’t help but notice that the force drove her hips,
already held firmly against the post by the ropes that had been
used to bind her, forward into the unyielding wood.
It also couldn’t help but notice the frenzied gyration of
Agnese’s torso as she sought to dissipate the burning that was
rising in her twin globes where the birch rods had hit home on
her sensitive skin.
The post rewarded her movements by embedding a small
splinter into the triangle just above her pussy and another small
splinter next to the nipple of her right breast, which she also had
pressed against the rough wood in a vigorous, but futile attempt
to move out of the way of the next lash, which she knew would be
coming all too soon to add to her already unbearable pain.
The post had no ears to hear the intake of breath and the gasp
of “Ohhh!” that came from Agnese’s mouth, though it felt her
breath against its fibers.
But Ivo heard, and winced along with his lover, both in
sympathy and in the knowledge of the pain he would soon be
suffering himself.
Finally, Agnese’s gyrations died down. The post felt her hands
gripping all the harder as she prepared herself for the next lash.
***
Juris smiled to himself. He was in no hurry. It was a beautiful
day, sunny and warm, but not too hot and he was engaged in one
of his favorite activities, applying the birch to the buttocks of a
deserving young lady being punished for her misdeeds. And
Agnese was a particularly attractive young lady.
How could this foolish couple have been so stupid as to
imagine that they would get away with shirking their work to go
off and fuck? Juris had long had his eye on Agnese and had made
a play for her and been rejected. Sure, he wasn’t as good looking
as Ivo, and yes, he was married, but what was the point of being
Manager if one didn’t get some action on the side?
So, he had watched them as they had made their way through
the rye field. He had been pretty certain they had been heading
for the granary and of course he had been right. Well, she was
paying for it now and in a few minutes, so would Ivo, for Juris’
assistant, Andris, who would be whipping the young man, was
very proficient with the lash.
Juris watched the twin red lines from the first lash rise up
across the center of Agnese’s ass and slowly darken. He waited
until her wriggling ebbed then struck a second hard blow slightly
above the first one. This one drew a loud moan that he could hear
over the murmuring of the crowd.
Juris turned toward the Baron, who was watching
comfortably from his luxurious chair. It was hard to tell from
this distance, but he thought he detected a slight smirk on his
face. The Baron didn’t smile much, so Juris was pleased. Perhaps
he would get a nice bonus for good work done.
Pleased by that thought, he reared back and delivered the
third blow.
Ivo was feeling terribly guilty, watching his beloved suffer. He
knew that even though they were blaming Agnese for seducing
him, that it was he who had prevailed on her to abscond to the
granary for some illicit sex. To be sure, he was going to pay for it
as well as soon as Juris had given Agnese the first set of five
lashes with the birch, but it still pained him greatly to watch her
suffer.
Ivo heard the fourth lash strike Agnese’s buttocks, the soft
globes that he had enjoyed stroking, that wouldn’t be so soft
again for quite some time. She moaned plaintively and rose up on
her toes as far as her bonds would let her.
Agnese wasn’t really thinking about whose fault this was. Her
mind was filled only with the terrible burning in her nether
cheeks, which were now well-scored by the cruel birch rods, a
burning which rose ever higher as the fifth lash struck home,
driven by Juris’ powerful arm.
She knew that she would have a break now, as the attention
turned to Ivo. She hoped that the fire would die down a bit,
though she feared that it would soon be re-ignited by the next set
of lashes. And she would have to watch Ivo suffer now. Though
she knew that he had prevailed upon her to transgress, she
blamed herself. It was the woman’s role to say no, and she
hadn’t. In fact, she knew she had wanted it just as badly as Ivo
had.She watched as Andris uncurled the long piece of leather,
letting it drag on the dirt behind him, before he flicked his arm
forward, snapping the tip viciously across Ivo’s shoulders. The
blow drove Ivo forward against the post as she had been driven
forward. He grimaced and sucked in his breath.
Agnese closed her eyes as Andris drew back for the second
strike. She couldn’t bear to watch, but with her hands tied, she
couldn’t block her ears, so she heard the snap of the leather
against skin and the choked grunt.
By the fifth lash, Ivo was moaning, as she had been. Agnese
open her eyes to see Andris curl the whip up. She knew that Ivo’s
respite meant that her agony would begin again. And, as sure as
the sun rising in the East, Juris struck the birch across her ass,
reigniting that fires that had died down, but by no means been
extinguished.
And so, the duet of pain continued, five birch strokes across
Agnese’s buttocks alternating with five lashes of the whip across
Ivo’s back. The two of them were united in suffering, each coated
with sweat, each writhing against the rough wooden post, each
howling their agony to a God who was unable or unwilling to
intervene and a crowd that was enjoying the diversion from their
difficult lives.
Juris was sweating now. It was almost noon and the sun was
beating down on them. He had given 25 lashes to Agnese. Her ass
was a sea of red. It was impossible any longer to distinguish one
birch mark from another. And she wasn’t even halfway to the
total that she would receive.
He walked around to where Andris stood to inspect Ivo’s
back, which was a mass of welts and cuts, blood dripping from
several of the deepest wounds. At least he was almost done, being
due only five more lashes. “Good work,” he told Andris.
Juris saw one of the serving girls from the tavern that lined
the square handing a glass of beer to the Baron. He waved in that
direction, hoping to catch her attention. He saw her nod and
head for the tavern, returning quickly with two glasses of beer,
handing one to him and the other to Andris, who was also
sweating heavily. They both drained their glasses in a single gulp.

The whipping post was pleased with how things were going so
far. The two lovers were hanging somewhat unsteadily by their
wrists as Juris and Andris, the two designated floggers, were
refreshing themselves with a nice cold beer on this warm noon
time, with the sun high in the sky.
The post was pleased that its owner, the Baron, the man who
had ordered it cut down in the forest and placed at this spot, was
in attendance and seemed to be enjoying the show.
The post had embedded little splinters of itself into the flesh
of the two stars of the spectacle at numerous places on the front
of their bodies as they pressed against the rough wood for
support and wriggled desperately in their agony.
For the girl, the post had left some nice souvenirs in her
breasts, belly and groin. For the boy, there were a few in his chest
and several embedded in his cock which was much smaller than
it had been in the granary, hanging down limply, sexual
escapades being far from his mind at this moment. The post was
reasonably sure that these added to their discomfort, which
pleased it, as the Baron had decreed that these violators of his
trust must suffer to the greatest extent possible.
The exchange of gifts was not just one way, either. The
miscreants had offered gifts to the post as well. Between the heat
of the sun and the stress of their agonies they were both sweating
copiously and the post was pleased to quench its thirst by
absorbing some of that liquid. Both had expelled some mucus
and phlegm from their noses and mouths in their struggles to
breathe through the battering strokes, and the post took those in
as well.
The girl had cried and when her head had rested against the
post, some drops had run down her soft cheeks-the upper onesinto
the porous wood. The boy was probably bleeding, given the
34
ferocity of the lashes that he had absorbed, but unfortunately
that would be from his back, which was not in contact with the
post. Neither of them had urinated yet. The post knew that often
happened, especially with this number of strokes, but it could
still hold out hope as there were more lashes to come, especially
for the girl.
***
Agnese was happy for the respite, even though Juris didn’t
offer her a sip of beer or even water and she was very thirsty. The
burning in her butt had diminished, but only slightly. She had
never really had the chance to attend school, so her knowledge of
numbers wasn’t that strong, but she knew that she still had many
more lashes to take and was certain they would quickly re-ignite
the flames.
Her ass wasn’t the only thing that hurt. In her gyrations, she
had rubbed her body against the whipping post quite frequently.
The wood was very rough and splinters had lodged in several
places on the front of her body. There were a couple of
particularly painful ones lodged in the areola of her right breast
and another couple right next to her pussy.
She would have given anything to be able to pluck them out,
but her hands were tied and she could do nothing about them
except suffer.
Just as she turned around to see what was happening, Agnese
saw Juris place his empty beer glass on the ground and pick up
the horrible birch. She knew it was probably hopeless, but she
was desperate and didn’t think she could take any more. She
shouted out, “Please, I’m sorry!” I will never do anything wrong
again!”
Her plaintive cries woke the crowd up. “Shut up you whore!”
one woman yelled.
“Too late for that now!” a man called.
35
Juris quieted them with his hand. “It’s up to Herr Baron von
Kaltenbach, of course,” he said.
The Baron took a sip of beer and stood. “Nein!” he shouted,
followed by a string of German words.
Juris translated. “The Baron says that all you lazy louts need
to watch this and learn not to steal the time he pays you for.
There will be no mercy for her and none for any of you if you do
the same.”
Agnese slumped against the post, totally defeated. ‘How will I
bear the rest of my punishment?’ she thought. ‘I will die.’
Juris struck across Agnese’s aching ass flesh, doubly hard
after his refreshing break. Refreshed by the break herself, she let
out a mighty scream and shook her entire bottom vigorously,
resulting in another splinter, this one sticking into the very lips of
her sex.
Juris struck the next four lashes quickly, each one eliciting a
scream from the poor girl, who was beside herself with pain and
fear. And yet, she was only halfway through her torment. The
first part, thirty lashes for stealing work time that belonged to the
Baron was completed, but she still owed her master thirty more
for being a filthy whore.
She did get a bit of a rest when Juris paused while Andris
administered the next five lashes to Ivo’s battered and bleeding
back. Agnese had to listen to his distressed moans and cries as he
suffered through the latter part of his ordeal.
Then, it was her turn again. She would take them five at a
time, she resolved. What choice did she have? She was naked,
helpless, bound to the whipping post, completely at the mercy of
men who knew no mercy for people like her.
She shouted and hollered in her anguish as the cruel birch bit
into her flesh. Her ass and legs were shaking now, as her nerves
tried to deal with the pain. She felt cold, even though the sun was
now quite hot and she was sweating profusely.

Agnese couldn’t stop herself from shaking even as the
floggers’ attention turned again to Ivo. Andris was striking these
blow especially hard it seemed. Even her strong, manly boyfriend
couldn’t stop himself from screaming as the leather gouged his
flesh.
And then again, it was Agnese’s turn to suffer through five
more terrible lashes across her lower cheeks, leaving her sobbing
piteously as five more lashes cut into the flesh of her lover’s
shoulders.
Then, it was once more Agnese’s turn again. She gripped the
post for dear life as the birch bit into her lower cheeks stoking the
fire to a fever pitch. She counted five strokes and then relaxed,
slumping as much as the ropes would allow her.
‘Ivo’s turn,’ she thought, desperate even for the all-to brief
pause that she believed was coming. But there was no pause.
Juris slashed the cruel rod across the poor girl’s ass without a
moment’s delay.
“What?” she protested angrily. Then she remembered. She
was due twenty more lashes than Ivo was! That was unbearable,
impossible! “Please, I can’t! Please, God help me!”
“God doesn’t help whores!” a man cried. Whether that was
true or not, God didn’t help Agnese. Juris struck again.
He delivered the remaining blows at several second intervals,
but without a break. Agnese somehow took them. She didn’t die,
though she might not have minded at that moment if she had. At
some point during those final twenty strokes, she felt warm
liquid running down her thighs, a good bit splattering onto the
whipping post where some of it was absorbed to join all of the
other secretions that the post had absorbed from poor suffering
souls over the years it had been standing.
Agnese was too far gone to care that she had pissed herself,
though some in the crowd noticed and yelled some comments
about what a filthy whore she was. She was also too far gone to
count the strokes, even had she had more schooling in
mathematics. She was too weak to scream or protest or beg
anymore and simply hung there against the wood until finally,
blessedly, the blows stopped.
Juris turned around to face the crowd, bowing to
acknowledge their applause. He pointed at Andris who bowed in
his turn. The Baron stood and made his way to his carriage, his
footman holding the umbrella to shade him against the harsh
sun, the driver carrying the upholstered chair.
Juris approached the post. “You two can enjoy the sun for a
while,” he told them. “Andris and I want to have a few beers if
you don’t mind. It’s been hot and thirsty work as I’m sure you can
appreciate.” He headed towards the tavern. Most of the men
from the village followed him, while the women headed back to
their houses to take care of their domestic tasks.
As for the village whipping post, it stayed right where it was,
ready and waiting for the next poor villagers foolish enough to
break the Baron’s rules.