Slipping the Noose.

	Crime, in the ill-fated city of Mawlain, was typically met with swift and often indiscriminate justice, with no transgression more vilified than sorcery. To work magic was to trespass on the divine, and a direct slight upon the Queen, closest representative to the gods. Yet, for all the tales of horrific punishments, simple and insatiable curiosity had led Anya to her fate.
	It had only been good fortune that saw the young woman arrested with “only” a single tome. Had she been caught in the act, actually working magic rather than just researching the topic, she would have been killed on the spot. As it was, she had given her confession – the words ripped from her body by the monstrous attentions of the Magebreaker – and now her sentence demanded a walk of penitence, so that she might present it to the Queen and show contrition.
	Not that a walk of penitence was some easy feat. Walking the distance between the dungeons and the palace would have been an unenviable task at the best of times, let alone stripped naked and held in bondage. No doubt there would be a fair crowd lining the streets as well, all gathered to watch a hated witch receiving her well-deserved punishment.
	Even showing the signs of her time spent in the dungeons – her pale hair turned lank and stringy, her skin marred by stains and bruises – Anya knew that she would be a fine sight for most of the assembled peasants. Large breasts, still gifted with youthful firmness, were perhaps her most prominent feature, with wide hips and generous thighs filling out her shape quite nicely. At least, that would have described her build the last time she had seen herself in the mirror, before the blindfold.
	If she had just been blindfolded, her head bound by a thick layer of sackcloth, Anya would have counted herself as lucky, but the dungeon guards were thorough in their work and left nothing to chance. A thick wooden bar was strapped between her lips, reducing even the simplest of words to an unintelligible murmur, and her hands were manacled together. One final piece – a heavy leather collar clamped tightly around her throat – completed the sadistic ensemble.

	“Come on,” a surly voice grunted out, swiftly followed by a merciless tug on the chain leashed to her collar. With such impeccable manners, her new escort could have only been one of the dungeon guards. All too aware of the consequences that would come from resisting, Anya struggled to her feet, a few stray strands of the straw she had been lying on peeling away from her tender body and drifting to the floor. Another yank got her moving, out through the door and into the blinding cold of Mawlain's city streets.
	Even now, at the warmest time of the year, the air was cold enough to cause the breath to catch in Anya's throat. For one brief, irrational moment, suffocation seemed the better choice, when compared with taking that deathly chill into her own body. Then, rational sense reasserted itself and Anya forced herself to drag a deep, gasping breath into her body. For the first time in many days, the thick cloud started to lift from her mind, chased away by the precious commodity that was clean air.
	Such was the novelty of air not fouled by the odour of blood or sewage, Anya was almost able to forget – for one brief, blessed moment – the situation she had found herself in. Reality crashed back a moment later, the cold air gripping her like a giant fist and sending acute pain screaming through her naked body. So numbed by the cold, Anya could barely manage to move her body, and it took a stinging blow from the guard behind her to force the first of many steps out of her.
	The guards escorting her on this walk of penitence carried no weapons, instead armed with thin, willowy branches that they were all too eager to use on her. Lashing out at her thighs, at her backside, the branches left stinging welts upon her skin, no doubt reddening her pale complexion. At first, she thought she could bear the pain, but each strike left her skin raw and sensitive, so that the next blow was even worse. By the time she heard the first sounds of the jeering crowd, bitter tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes.

	Goaded around a corner by her sadistic entourage, Anya was confronted by a howling mob, furious screams coming from what seemed like all directions at once. Never before had the young witch felt so naked, so exposed, as she felt now, every inch of her curvy body laid bare before countless leering eyes. If not for the guards surrounding her, she had no doubt, the crowd would have fallen upon her in an instant, dragging her off to a worse fate than anything the Magebreaker could imagine.
	Whatever gratitude she felt for her guards evaporated in an instant as a new round of cutting pain blossomed across her buttocks, the man behind her punishing the moment of hesitation. Forcing new haste into her steps, Anya stumbled across the uneven stone road, every bump and edge sending new agonies rising up through her wounded feet. There were moments when she felt like she was going to collapse, but every time, the thought of her guards abandoning her to the gathered horde gave her the strength to take one more step.
	When they finally stopped at what was the first of many gates, Anya realised with dismay how sensitive her body felt. Her backside felt raw, as though the countless lashes from the willow branches had laid every nerve open to the stinging air, and her nipples had long since grown hard and erect. Worse still, the witch began to wonder if her torment had given rise to delusions, because all she could think about was being held by a man, held close enough that she could share in the warmth of his body.
	As the looming gate in front of her began to grind open, Anya found herself shuffling on the spot, certain that the guards surrounding her knew every sinful thought that paraded its way through her mind. She could feel their lecherous eyes crawling over her body, fixated upon her stiffened nipples and the soft breasts they crowned. In a way, the blindfold only made it worse – without anything to see, Anya's mind wandered to the darkest fate possible.
	Rubbing her manacled wrists together, Anya realised that she had been panting madly, pulling in desperate lungfuls of air as aimless panic spread through her mind. The thought of the crowd lining the road between her and the next gate sent a terrified shudder through her entire body. Impossible. It was impossible – she could go no further.
	“Wait,” a voice – somehow smoother than the guards she was used to hearing – announced. It was a soft voice, but there was no mistaking the authority in it. To her right, wood creaked as a side door was opened. “Bring her this way,” the voice of her saviour ordered.
	“But sir...” the rougher voice of her cell guard began, before falling silent. Without any further response, Anya heard chains rattling as her leash was handed over. With a tenderness that she never expected to find in a member of the city guard, she was led through the side door and away from the merciless scathing wind.

	Still blindfolded, and with any conversation reduced to a one-sided affair thanks to the gag in her mouth, Anya had no choice but to trust the new guard and allow him to lead her. Soon, the stone floor gave way to bristly fur and a new warmth caressed her naked skin as she entered a new room. A plush room, compared to the cell she had grown used to, with fur rugs and a fire burning somewhere. It felt like heaven, and the young witch couldn't stop a muffled sigh from escaping her as she sank down onto the rug.
	“Most of the witches we get here, you know,” the officer began, lapsing almost immediately into an indulgent pause. Something about his tone brought Anya's unease creeping back, but without any singular cause. “We just slit their throats,” he continued, and his words caused the bottom to drop out of Anya's stomach.
	“Oh, I know, I know,” he laughed slightly, the sound infinitely more cruel for all its apparent benevolence, “You're supposed to present your confession to the Queen and make a show of being contrite, that's what you were told, correct?” Anya could only nod to this, and even that simple gesture seemed to take an incredible amount of effort.
	“Well, the Queen... doesn't want to be disturbed, these days,” the officer explained, “Important things happening at the palace. Far beyond my pay grade.” There was a rustle of cloth as the officer shrugged. “So that's bad news. Probably the worst news you've heard in a long time. Doesn't have to be, though.”
	Anya froze, all her attentions immediately focussed upon the vague hope dangled before her. She waited a long time for the officer to continue before finally forcing a grunt out around her gag, just to break the silence.
	“You see, you're off the books. The moment you left your cell, we marked out down as being executed.” Again, as though seeking to prolong her agony, the officer fell silent for a long time. “So if I so wished, I could let you walk out of here as a free woman. Tempting, isn't it?”
	Although she knew there would be a catch – and she had a growing suspicion of what that catch would be – Anya couldn't stop herself from nodding desperately. Naivety had always been her weakness, and her new-found “friend” had sensed that weakness within moments.
	“I do something for you...” Suddenly, Anya was aware of the officer kneeling next to her prone form. He had moved with utter silence, almost as if he had appeared at her side. She was uncomfortably reminded that she knew nothing about him – not a single idea about how he looked or how old he could have been had formed in her mind. “You do something for me...” he continued, placing a disgustingly intimate hand on the small of her back.
	What choice did she have? Even though she knew something wasn't right – he could have raped her within moments of taking her off the open streets, if sex was all he was after – Anya knew that her only hope of survival lay in complying with the anonymous officer's demands. She didn't need to feel the blade to know that he had a knife to her throat.
	She nodded once – firmly, and with as much dignity as she could manage.

	Even with the blindfold, Anya could see the smile slowly spreading across the officer's face. It was that smile that dominated her patchy, flawed mental image of the man, as though she was about to lie with a man whose face was nothing but a pair of lips, parted around leering teeth. With an obvious lack of haste – he had all the time in the world – the officer's hand slid down Anya's back and followed the curve of her waist.
	His grip tightened on her buttock, clenching hard enough that the witch could picture the reddened handprint in her mind, and pulled to the side, spreading her cheeks. Liquid warmth hit her backside and for one brief moment she thought the officer had already reached his climax before she realised that he had spat on her. His thick saliva tricked down her buttocks until it reached the puckered entrance placed between them. Had it not been for the gag holding her mouth open, Anya would have gritted her teeth when she realised what was coming next.
	Leather creaked and metal clanked as the officer tugged his belt open, freeing his manhood from the confines of his uniform. Without any ceremony – and certainly without asking if she was ready – he pressed the blunt tip of his erection against Anya's anus, pushing beads of saliva deeper into her to prepare for his entrance. It came as some small relief to find that his member was unremarkable in all ways – Anya's best guess putting neither his length nor girth at anything other than average.
	Even so, the pain when he thrust into her was immense, as though her organs had pushed further up into the limited space of her body by his invading shaft. Anya couldn't stop a nonsense syllable, little more than a startled grunt, from escaping her as the tightness within her body warred with his merciless push. She had shared a bed with many men – and some women – before, but her anus remained virgin, untested. Even a gentle, considerate lover would have brought her great pain, to say nothing of the officer's brutal attack.
	Frustrated by the unyielding tightness that his thrusts had been met with, the officer yanked angrily at the chain dangling from Anya's collar. He pulled it until the young witch was almost upright, kneeling on the ground with her bare back pressed against the rough-sewn tunic he wore. For a single absurd moment, Anya remembered her desperate wish to share a man's warmth and gurgled out a pathetic imitation of a laugh, shortly before the officer's powerful arm wrapped around her windpipe. Cold metal danced across her naked thighs as the chain dropped, unnoticed, from his grip.
	The officer's thrusts had faltered completely now, his body growing still, and yet remaining inside Anya. She could feel his manhood, hot and pulsing with a potent vitality against the thick walls of her muscle that encased it. She had taken no pleasure from his uncaring assault – and he had offered her no pleasure, at that – but this, the sheer proximity to his solid body, was enough to set her heart beating faster. Slowly responding to the signals she was sending out, the officer's other hand began to explore her body.
	“Your heart is racing,” he whispered, each breath puffing against the wind-chafed skin on Anya's ears as his hand settled on her breast. Anya squirmed, wordless moans slipping out from around her gag as he let his thumb roll slowly across her erect nipple. Seizing her entire breast with a suddenness that caused her whole body to stiffen, the officer tightened his grip on Anya's flesh and thrust into her again, forcing another inch of his manhood inside her.
	Releasing her throat, the officer trailed two fingers down the length of Anya's body, moving through the valley of her breasts and down the expanse of her flat stomach. The delicacy of his touch sent a shiver running through the captive witch, the soft downy hairs on her body rising up as sensitive goosebumps. Tracing lower, down between her legs, he finally touched her slit.

	Cheeks burning with a shameful arousal, Anya felt herself growing wet as his fingers began to follow the outline of her sex, parting to follow her lips and gently brush them aside. With her wrists bound, the witch had no way to stop him, and yet she was not entirely sure that she would stop him, had she the chance. She opened for him, like a flower, and let his probing finger push past the delicate walls of her sex. Soon followed by a second one, his finger crept up inside her and began to explore her every crease and wrinkle, searching for that one special place.
	A bold shudder ran through Anya's body like an electric charge as the nameless officer found what he was looking for, and what she had been hoping he would find. At his first caress, she felt a new rush of fluid filling her sex, gathering around his fingers and slowly filling the air with the scent of her arousal. How far away the harsh, outside world felt! Even the recent memory of the pain shooting through her anus – the pain that still shot through her whenever his manhood shifted inside her – felt distant and somehow harmless.
	His fingers, stroking against the rough patch of flesh on the roof of her sex, grew steadily faster, pushing up into her with a new insistence. It was as though he was impatient, eager to bring his lover to new heights of pleasure so that he could soon follow. No, not “as though” - Anya tried desperately to tell herself – he WAS impatient, and he WAS only thinking about his own pleasure. Yet, that simple fact seemed to slip away from her mind with every warm rush of pleasure his fingers were able to coax out of her. When the first few stirrings of an orgasm began to build within her, Anya knew that she was helpless.
	She could feel the walls of her sex grasping at his fingers, tightening around them just as the muscles of her anus tightened around his invading member. Warmth blossomed within her crotch, slowly spreading out to fill her body with a paradoxical mix of numbness and aching sensitivity. His other hand, still perched like a spider upon her breast, moved to tease her nipple, tugging and pinching the stiffened nub of flesh until Anya could barely force each laboured breath from her chest. In the brief moment since they had joined their bodies together, it seemed like he had learned every trick to make her body sing, playing her like a finely tuned instrument.
	With a final shuddering gasp, the full weight of Anya's climax hit home, drowning her senses in an overwhelming tide of pleasure. Arching her back, Anya let her head roll backwards, her sweaty hair draped like a curtain across the officer's uniformed chest. Even her thoughts grew fuzzy and indistinct, the threat and fear of recent days melting away like snow in a furnace. That brief moment of perfection was quick to fade, leaving her body sagging into the officer's strong grip and her mind beautifully blank.
	In the fading moments of her orgasm, Anya felt every muscle in her body grow lax, loosening up with the unique relaxation of a much-needed release. Sensing her moment of weakness, the officer wasted no time in plunging deeper into the witch's unresisting body, driving the last few inches of his manhood into her body. Vulnerable and painfully sensitive, Anya tried to cry out at the sudden violation, although the gag in her mouth meant that the sound that escaped her was a crippled thing
	Yet, for all the pain that tore through her body, there was an undeniable pleasure to be found there as well. His sensual touch had woken her body to the possibility of further delights, and the animalistic side of her mind rejoiced at the chance to reach new levels of satisfaction. The officer's thrusts were slow, powerful, and each one was accompanied by a rough grunt ripped from the depths of his throat. Before she realised what she was doing, Anya found herself matching his growls, pushing her hips back against his member.
	It wasn't long before that small room – although, in truth, Anya had no idea what size of room it really was, thanks to her blindfold – was filled with the feral sounds of flesh clapping against flesh and low growls of exertion. The officer's thrusts grew steadily faster, and the pain they brought slowly faded until it was the furthest thing from Anya's mind.

	When the shove – perhaps closer to a slap, or closer still to a callous punch – hit home, it took Anya entirely by surprise. Dull pain blossomed between the contours of her shoulder blades and knocked her forwards, manacled hands helpless to stop her collapse. Her thoughts, still muddied with the afterglow of her orgasm, were reeling and the first conscious thought that entered her mind afterwards was that the rug that cushioned her fall had a scent of its own – a curiously faded animal odour.
	With her thoughts still racing to catch up with reality, it took the sharp pain of the officer yanking hard at a fistful of her hair to drag her back into the moment. All traces of his smooth manner or sensual touch had vanished completely, replaced with the snarling, grasping demon that was thrusting mercilessly into her. Everything, all of the pain and fear that the young witch had felt at first, came rushing back as the officer pulled her head back, exposing the pale flesh of her throat.
	“We slit their throats,” he had said, throwing the words out into the silence of the room like some casual statement about the weather. Anya couldn't feel his other hand anywhere on her body, and her thoughts were filled with the image of him reaching for a dagger. Then, with no warning, a stinging pain shot through her body as the officer brought his open palm – the very palm Anya had envisioned gripping the hilt of a blade – to slap her already sensitive buttock. Tears, first from relief and then from simple suffering sprang to her eyes.
	If the officer's outburst had been merciless in its intensity, than it was at least mercifully quick. His thrusts grew harder and faster until he buried his manhood deep into her one last time, a great shuddering climax gripping his body. His member pulses within her, straining against the warm flesh encasing it and flooding her with a heat of his own. The seed boiled out of him in three powerful jets, hot enough that Anya could almost feel it crawling up inside her. A long, slow breath escaped him in a low hiss as the tension bled out from his body and, for a brief moment of insanity, Anya found herself regretting that their violent union had reached its conclusion.

	It came as a surprise when he reached around and pulled the gag from her mouth, the leather straps that had held it in place around her mouth falling uselessly away. Finally freed from the constant taste of clammy wood, Anya was free to retch and spit, the moment of inarticulate groaning covering up her initial confusion. Eventually, she felt confident enough in her tongue to form words, a question.
	“Who are you?” she rasped out, knowing full well that the officer would give her no answer, or at least, nothing helpful.
	“You will never know my name,” he replied, reaching around to fumble with her manacles for a moment. His voice had regained its softness, that smooth tone that first sounded to steal her away from her walk of penitence. A moment later, while Anya was still turning the answer over in her mind, the metal cuffs dropped away from her wrists. Save for the collar and the blindfold, she was free.
	As she reached up to take the blindfold off herself, the nameless officer seized her wrists, slowly forcing them back down to her sides. “I've left you some clothes. Enough for you to walk out of here, at least,” the officer told her instead, his voice so devoid of passion that, had it not been for the throbbing pain running through her entire body, Anya would have thought their union had been a dream. A moment later, she heard the door open as he began to leave. Then, a pause.
	“One last thing,” he added, before lapsing into silence.
	“Yes?” Anya prodded, curious despite herself. She should have torn the blindfold from her face and hurried out of that room, to anywhere else in the city, but her troublesome curiosity kept her rooted to the ground.
	“Don't go sticking your nose into any old books from now on,” it seemed impossible, but there was almost a note of wry amusement in the officer's voice, “If you know what's good for you.”
	Anya was still trying to form the words to a reply when the door creaked shut. For what seemed like the first time in many days, she was alone.