The Tale Of Swifty Black

THE TALE OF SWIFTY BLACK

BY Dorothy Strangelove

Sunlight shone through the window of the village church, beaming multicoloured rays of light through the stained glass, onto the man who was knelt in prayer at the altar.

His voice echoed in the empty room as he said his piece to god, the light shone and bounced off his fine jewelled rings and the heavy gold cross and chain around his neck and it seemed to illuminate the whiteness of his embroidered shirt.

"Oh Lord,"He said, "I am but a humble man, who seeks to serve where ever there may be opportunity to do your will and earn a fine purse of gold. I strive to live by the expectations of those who have given me this power, so please give me the strength to play the part and to succeed."

He drew in a heavy breath, then added:

"My life was hard when I was forced to give up my trade, and I have worked my way to the top without your help...but I just want to ask you for one thing....when I'm out there, lying and cheating.."

He paused, then looked up at the golden cross before him.

Sky blue eyes lit up with mischief and he smiled and said darkly:

"If you do exist, don't let me get caught, I'm having too much fun!"

Then, not being a man to kneel before anyone, Swifty Black got up, glanced at the cross, laughed and snatched the coins from the collection plate, shoved them in his pocket and walked briskly out of the church, where his crowd awaited him.

Fifteen years had passed since his mother had turned her back on the witchfinding business and Swift had tried - as much as a man like him could try - to forget his past. But it was impossible. He had known fame from a young age as the assistant to the famous witchfinder and seven years into his marriage after too many drinks and fights and bottling up all the bitterness, he had taken to the open road and gone out to find his way once more. His mother had not approved, neither did his wife, who was now lucky to see him twice a year, but this was a new life, one that had brough success through burnings and torture, the good times were back. His wife Eve had told their son his father was a ship's captain who sailed to far away lands. It was all she could bear to say, other than the last sour goodbye she had given him six months before when she had said, "Is it time to go back to work, Swift? Is the blood not fresh enough on your hands?" She still loved him, he loved her. But now he was Witchfinder Swifty Black.  All the girls loved him. Except for the poor bitches who stood accused of witchcraft. Now and then someone would mention the legend of the witch John Clover who had evaded execution, and all Swift would say was that sometimes, the powers of the Lord were not enough, it just showed how dangerous witches could be. Every time he said it, the words stabbed him in the guts. John was his mother's husband now, the only man who had ever been a father to him. But they lived quietly, anonymously, the tale of the escaped warlock was merely a folk tale now. Of course, those who remembered had said, Mr Swift had once been a mute - yet now he could speak?  This happened, Swift said, by a miracle from god himself.  Enough of the folk tale had stuck to make his re-emergence into public life an event that had turned him into a phenomenon, which he had eagerly embraced, claiming that his years since the warlock episode had been spent in prayer and in the quest to root out all witches and warlocks and those who would commune with the devil. He was older now, over thirty, heavier too, but had lost none of his looks or ability to charm the crowds who turned out for his public executions. He travelled with an assistant, a cook, a servant, his own henchmen to keep the crowds at a safe distance. Women fainted for him. They queued up to fuck him, sometimes even made up watery allegations that they knew about a possible witch - or even claimed to be possessed themselves just to get half an hour alone with him. If they were pretty and clean, he always let them suck on his cock for taking the trouble to meet him in this way. But this latest job was rather small, a little town out in the country where a woman stood accused of using witchcraft against a neighbour. It was in fact nothing to do with witchcraft (as was usually the case), it was more to do with a land dispute that he really couldnt be bothered to sort out. He had burned his way though many 'witches' and now felt he was able to be a little more considerate. Especially as the accused was a pretty young thing and still a virgin....

The priest and the judge were waiting outside, a crowd had gathered, mainly women at the front, wishing they could burst past the armed guards to touch the magnetic Mr Swift. Sex was in the air, he could smell it. He loved that smell. It reminded him his role as witchfinder had brought him fame and that felt good.

"Have you made a decision, Witchfinder?"The judge asked him.

Swift nodded.

"May Crofter is no witch. Those who accuse her could be forgiven for drawing this conclusion, it would seem her being a witch was a possibility but I can usually tell within a few moments with the accused if they are lying. She is not guilty and therefore will not be burned."

They were listening, soaking up all he said. He made a sly calculation; now would be the best time to further his own interests here that would earn him a perk better than a small bag of coins.

"My conclusion is, the sickness that fell on the neighbours was not her doing, but all the same, she is the kind of girl who needs any trace of the devil taken out of her, I have often seen girls like her later seduced by the devil. I'm sure I can prevent this. I shall take it upon myself to cleanse this young woman and while Im doing that, you might want to prepare the public platform as she will need this further correction. And see to it the land is handed back to the neighbouring house, I think after this the trouble will cease."

With that, Swift took the heavy bible from the priest, and walked alone to the judge's house where the accused was being held in the cellar. Swift sent the servants outside, and as the crowds gathered and watched the platform being readied, he locked the doors and headed for the cellar.

On hearing his heavy boots the girl jumped up from where she had been sitting in the corner on the floor, trembling as she looked at him.

"Please, I beg you, I am no witch."

"I know."

She stared at him.

"I was going to read you something from the bible, but I can't read, I never was any good with words, May."

He tossed the bible on to the nearby table and it landed with a thump. His gaze shifted to the other table, the larger, longer one, where he had lined up his instruments earlier on. He looked back at her, right in her eyes.

"It's lucky for you that I don't need to burn anyone today. I like to keep my burnings to at least two a week, its good for business but I dont have to burn you, so I'm going to let you live. Take off your dress."

May's eyes flickered with confusion. He was standing there, staring at her, eyes boring through her.

"Take it off."

She was wearing a pale, sheer night gown, made of flimsy material that she clutched closer to her body. Through the firelight behind her he could see she had a fine figure, big tits and curvy hips. He liked big tits.

"You will give yourself to me to thank me for my charity."He told her, "I will have to make you scream because people outside want to hear screams, and that's what I do, I give people what they want, so while they think Im quoting the lord and paining the devil out, I'll really be enjoying myself with you. Do you understand?"

May, who had spent the last two days thinking she was abut to be taken to the town square and burned alive, nodded, realising this was not such a bad alternative. Swift was a handsome man, a little scary in a way she could not define, maybe it was the way he was staring at her, but she was certainly willing to be deflowered instead of burned.

She took off her gown. It slid to the floor, gliding off her smooth skin. She was naked beneath it, he walked over to her and took hold of her tits and squeezed them. She whimpered but made no other sign of protest.

Still holding her by the tits he led her over to the torture table and told her to lie down. She obeyed him, let him lie her on her back with her legs open.

Swift slid his hand through her pubic hair. She was a little wet, a reaction to his touch.

"Do you like that?"He asked as he slid a finger up and down the outside of her slit.

Her eyes were closed, she was tense, but she briefly nodded.

He grabbed her pubic hair and pulled it sharply. She screamed, binked tears from her eyes and began to tremble harder than before.

"I don't like it like this." Swift took a razor from his array of highly polished tools and started to scrape away her pubic hair, doing it with a skill and confidence that told her he was well practised in the art.

"I like it bare, so I can see everything, so its smooth when I go down and lick."

He paused. Those eyes bored into her again.

"Have you ever been licked?"

She shook her head.

He scraped away the last of the hair, the blade grazed her flesh and she tensed.

"I'm seventeen."

She said it like it was a defense.

Swift shrugged that off.

"When I was seventeen I was burning people alive, I was breaking bones and piercing flesh."

He was so close to her she felt his breath on her bare cunt, he looked at her there, blew gently on her skin and noticed a flush spreading through her cunt, a swelling that made the lips part and juice begin to flow. He smiled.

"You like me, don't you.. I know I'm not the average man - well, I'm above average certainly, but I think I'm a likeable fellow - fairly normal..well, I think I'm normal, what do you think?"

She said nothing, just parted her legs wider. He slid his tongue into her wetness and tasted her, licked her a little harder, until she was moaning with pleasure.  Then her hand reached down and she stroked his hair. Swift pushed it away gently.

"Don't get too fond of this, I will have to hurt you a little bit."

He took her by the legs and pulled her down the table, then spread her wide. She complied with his wishes, yawning her legs as wide as she could. He ran his finger down her bare slit again, this time pushing it in a little, teasing her clitoris. She gasped and he saw the startled expression in her eyes as she felt real pleasure for the first time. Then he had that look back in his eyes, looking right through her as he spoke.

"Don't move. If you move you will be hurt."

He slid a thumb and forefinger down to the entrance to her vagina and spread her wide.

She started to scream when she saw him take up the scissors in his other hand, no doubt fear made her scream louder than the actual pain itself, as he snipped through her hymen she squealed, then fell silent except for a soft whimpering. He put the bloodstained blades to one side and opened her again. Now he could see her hole properly. There was blood, cherry-red and in just enough an amount to help him glide inside.

He took his cock out and buried it firmly in her cunt.

She gave a little whine of pain with every thrust. Swift was rough. He rammed it in, drew it out, in again, pumping away at her until the sweat was running from his body.  He shot his load inside her, pulled out and wiped his cock on  her discarded gown.

"Get up."

She tried to stand but was shaking and unsteady. She blinked tears from her eyes.

"Can I go now?"

Swift sighed. He would always say he was nothing like his father, but sometimes he wondered, lately his little perks of the job had been getting more and more sadistic. He decided it was something that was just there, in him as a legacy of his lifetime of giving out tortures. At least he didn't kill everyone he questioned. Somehow that seemed to justify things in his world.

"As far as I'm concerned, yes, you may go. But the people of your village want to see some punishment and that is something I have to allow, its a part of my job if I want to keep my job."

Ignoring her protests, he grabbed her by the arm and led her out of the church, ignoring her protests as she struggled in vain to cover her naked flesh as the crowd began to bay for blood.

Swift dragged her up to the platform and tied her to a wooden post, with her back to the crowd.

He took a step backwards and nodded to the hooded man, who was a little smaller than him but powerfully built and clad all in black.

This was his assistant, Tomas Winter, an old drinking buddy and now a big part of his witchfinding show. But unlike the days when Swift himself had been a witchfinder's assistant, Swift had a new rule: This was his show. Winter always wore the black mask.  He had to - he was too damned good looking to show his face, and this was all about Swift, there was no room in his world for anyone who might steal his thunder.

Winter drew back the whip and lashed once across the woman's body. He lashed her again, again, and then some more. Each blow left a stripe, he worked his way down from her shoulders, slowly, neatly, hitting harder when the blows reached her arse. Winter liked arse, anything to do with arse. He gave her a hard beating, May was sliding down the pole, her body sagging as her skin glowed and bled raw. He glanced to Swift who nodded, a signal that this was enough.

They made their exit quickly, after a speech by Swift about how this woman was not a witch but had to have the devil beaten out of her all the same, a warning to everyone to keep purity in their hearts and minds.  As Swift made his way to the waiting carriage he paused to say farewell to a group of women who stood clustered by the carriage door way.  He leaned forward, stroked the cheek of a pretty brunette in a green dress, and hid a smug smile of satisfaction as she swooned backwards into the crowd.

Once the carriage door was shut and the driver had set off, his companion ripped the leather hooded mask from his face and took a deep lungful of air.

"I was so hot under this today!" He exclaimed, and ran his hand through short, greying cropped hair. His tanned skin was perspiring, as he unbuttoned his shirt the carriage smelled of male sweat, something Winter rather liked, along with men in general and the occasional lady, but that was just Winter. Swift opened the carriage window and inhaled the fresh country air : that was better.

"They loved you today."Winter said.

His big, hazel eyes grew wider as he recalled how the crowd had responded.

Winter had long eyelashes, a pretty face really for a man, and a silky, sensuous voice. But not as sexy as me, Swift thought as he looked at him, never as good as I am, nobody is..He made a mental note that even if he complained about the heat in the height of summer, Winter would not be allowed to take off the mask before the crowd, he would steal the show and he couldn't allow that to happen even once.

"They loved you so much."He was still saying.

Swift shrugged.

"They always do. Everybody loves me, Winter."

And then he looked out the window and watched the green landscape roll by.

Night found them in a small village, somewhere off the map and Swift would not have told his party to stop but the horses needed to rest and he needed a bed for the night.  As they drove through the village he noticed little of interest here, it was a small place but as the lights of the local inn came into view, he felt that warm glow spreading through him that said one thing, the word he longed for more than sex: Drink.

On entering the tavern a few heads turned on seeing a party in such fne dress, but apart from a murmur no doubt wondering who they were, no one realised they were in the company of the witchfinder, here was a small village where word had not yet spread. Swift secured five rooms for the night, then sat down and called to the wench to bring ale.

By nine that evening the whole inn was swimming in drink, with Swift and Winter buying drinks all round and everyone sinking as many tankards as they could manage. This was Swift's ideal night off. Winter was pissed and fooling around, telling lame jokes and flirting with the serving wench, who he told Swift he would fuck later - she looked like the kind to take it up the arse.

Swift sank the rest of his ale and got up unsteadily, staggered to the door and went outside to take a piss.

He took deep lungfuls of sharp, fresh air as the urine left his body, his head swam at first but then started to clear. He blinked and looked up at the night sky. Stars pricked it brightly and the moon was full.

He put his cock away and turned to walk around to the front of the inn - and then he stopped in his tracks.

A carriage had pulled up. A gleaming, black carriage with velvet drapes at the window.  There was something about it that entranced him, as if it had appeared out of nowhere, almost by magic... He watched as the door opened and the woman within it stepped out. She was beautiful, had to be royalty or aristocracy of some kind. Her skin was milk-white and her hair shone a deep bronze, her eyes were dark as night and her face had the kind of beauty he had only ever seen in fine paintings. She wore a heavy red velvet gown, with a matching cloak around her shoulders, the hood partially covering her head. As she slid the hood down she looked at him and for once in his life Swift was lost for words. He just stared like a startled deer.

"You, Sir..Yes, you..tell me, is the wine any good here? My usual supplier seems to have run dry.."

Swift blinked. He was still staring.

She was approaching him, glaring as she took his silence for either drunkenness or ignorance.

"Speak then, man!"

Swift blinked again, cleared this throat and tried not to slur his words too much.

"I find no complaint with the ale, my lady.."

Alcohol and confidence had mingled too well now. He stepped forward, bowed to her.

"The name is Swift. Swifty to my friends...it's an honour to meet you."

And he kissed her hand, which she quickly withdrew as she saw his glazed eyes and smelled the ale on his breath.

"I have no wish to make you acquaintance, Sir. I shall be on my way - "

Swift had slid into pursuit mode and the fact that she had no apparent interest wasn't noticeable to him after the ales he had drunk. He followed her towards the inn.

"Wait - don't go..I like you..please, wait.."

She glanced back, realised the carriage and her driver were now out of sight around the corner. The cobbled street was dark, the only sign of life came from inside the inn. He grabbed her by the shoulders, pinned her up against the wall and forced a kiss upon her lips.

She drew up her knee and smashed it hard into his groin.

Swift let go of her as he doubled up.

"Piece of shit!"She hissed, and stormed into the inn.

Swift stayed doubled up as the pain cleared his head properly. He got his breath back.

"Bitch."He muttered, then tried to straighten up, ready for a second attempt as the lady came out again.

She re-emerged quickly with two bottles. She clutched them close to her side, in her other hand she held a sharp riding crop which she had somehow acquired inside. She raised it in his direction.

"Do not give me a reason to thrash you!"

Swift hurried after her.

"My lady, I'm sorry..I was overcome by your beauty, forgive me...I am Swifty Black..the Swifty Black of legend..I am the Witchfinder General..please do not think you have been assaulted by a common man, I am a man of great reknown!"

She set the bottles in the carriage and turned back to him wearing a bemused expression.

"Better to be assaulted by a great man than a common one, is it?"

Swift looked intently at her.

"You are beautiful."He stated.

She softened a little. For all his greatness, she could tell he wasn't very bright. Just a dumb brute who had got lucky in life somewhere along the way. He had no breeding, no true manners. He was quite an embarrassment to himself really. But there was something about him she found likeable.

"My name is Lillian De Blood"She told him, "Lady De Blood, daughter of the late Lord De Blood and owner of the De Blood mansion and this village and all the surrounding land for some seventy miles. I know little of witchfinding or the men who seek to follow the profession, I do not follow the goings on in further parts, Mr Swift. But I have no reason to doubt your word. Would you care to join me in my carriage?"

Swift's ears pricked up like an eager hound as he bounded after her and jumped in the back of the carriage. She said nothing as they drove onwards into the darkness, as Swift's eyes bored through her as if she were clear as glass. His cock was stiffening to an uncomfortable level, the level where he would usually just get it out and stick it in the nearest hole, be it mouth cunt or arse, but this was different. She was a Lady and quite possibly the finest fuck he had ever been about to experience - he forced himself to exercise patience. When the carriage halted he looked out at the large, fine mansion house and felt his own greatness growing with his erection - here was his chance to really further himself, a wealthy lady would be a fine catch...he kept his own family secret, as secret as their location...he was sure he could manage another wife if it would serve his purpose, and she was so beautiful, too....this was a true opportunity.

He followed her from the carriage, scampering after her like a lovesick pup.

"We must hurry.."He said breathlessly, "I'm running out of strength, Lillian..I need you now.."

Lillian paused, a smile on her face.

"This way, Swift." and she took his hand and led him away from the front of the mansion, around the side, up a winding, moonlit path and into the doorway of a small cottage.

"My housekeeper's residence."She told him, "She is away visiting a sick relative..it will be better here than at the house, I share the residence with my late father's aged second wife, she can be something of a dragon if disturbed at this hour."

And then she laughed, opened the door and led him inside.

She took him straight up to the bedroom, he almost tripped in the dark as she dragged him up the winding stairway. Once inside she lit the candles, as the room bathed in a dark yellow glow and shadows jumped the walls, she stripped off the fine dress and kicked it into a corner.

"Come fuck me, you beast!"She dared him, and leapt on the bed naked, spread open her long, shapely legs and one look at her bare, wet and inviting cunt was all he needed to join her.

He took his cock out and rammed it inside her, making her squeal. She dug her nails in his back, scraped them down his flesh and thrust up her hips to meet him, he thrust again, feeling her insides gripping his aching cock.

"Oh, Mr Swifty Black, "She exclaimed, "You hard evil brute, fuck me please do, fuck me - "

Swift was past the point of return.

"Oh no.."He groaned, and shot his load too quickly.

He rolled off her.

"I'm sorry, I could not hold back, Lillian - I'm not usually like this but I am also drunk and you got me so excited..we can do it again - "

Lillian sat up.

"Don't bother, Swift. Just close the door on your way out."

Swift got up, tidied his clothing and left quickly, feeling rather ashamed that he had failed to live up to his reputation - and with a lady, too! A wealthy woman who could have furthered his interests..Swift had walked around the side of the house, back to the front, when he got an idea. It was, as ever, a bad idea, but he was drunk and it seemed like a good choice at the time.

He knocked on the heavy door.

"I have a message for Lillian!"He called out.

A servant answered the door, told him to go away before someone set the dogs on him, but Swift began to argue. Then the servant was roughly shoved aside and an old woman holding a candle glared at him.

"Who the devil, Sir, are you to call at this house at such a late hour? Be gone, you filthy drunkard!"

"No, wait,"Swift pleaded, "I'm Swifty Black - the great witchfinder. I'm in love with the beautiful Lady De Blood and I want her to know that!"

The old woman hurled a chamberpot in his direction, tipping with surprising strength and speed for one so elderly.

Swift staggered back, soaking wet and tasting urine on his lips.

"Groundsman!"She barked, "Release the dogs!"

Swift turned and ran blindly in the dark, up the long pathway, towards the gates, hearing the sound of barking dogs baying somewhere far behind him. Fear was a potent thing, it made him run in a way that caused him to stumble and trip, but he still got up and kept running as the thought of the hounds clamping their jaws in his flesh stayed sharp in his mind, by the time he got back to the tavern, his fine clothes were torn, he had fallen in dirt and manure, and had to pause at a water trough to wash himself to be even the slightest bit presentable to re-enter the tavern.

Winter was still at the bar, the serving wench had abandoned him and shot a sour look across the room before attending to another customer, something had gone wrong there, maybe his filthy mouth had said a bit too much for her liking...

Winter stared at him.

"What kept you, and why do you look like you've been dragged through the dirt, man?"

Swift snatched up a tankard of ale. The truth was too embarrassing.

"I slipped over having a piss. Knocked myself out."

As he downed a much needed bellyful of ale, all he could hear was Winter's manic laughter echoing in his ears.

Next morning Swift awoke, alone in his rented bed, aching and stinking and with a very sore head. He stank of piss, so did his clothes, his boots were caked in horse shit and the only thing in his belly was regret. Lillian De Blood was beautiful, and he had been made a fool of by her servants, after giving her the worst fuck of his life. If ever he knew there was a time when he had let himself down, this was it.

There was a tap on the door.

He got up, paused to straighten his aching back, coughed hard and went to see who was there.

A messenger boy stood in the hallway. He handed him a paper with a wax seal upon it.

"Mr Witchfinder Black? I have a message from Lady De Blood, Sir."

And the boy wrinkled his nose, stepped back a little, wondered why the great witchfinder stank of shit and piss.

"Thank you."Swift said, and closed the door.

He studied the paper, turned it over, opened it, looked at the fine handwriting and smiled. He recognised his own name, knew there was a signature at the bottom, the rest was a mystery..he never had learned to read. He opened the door again and yelled for Winter.

Winter was already up and dressed, his eyes a little bloodshot but remarkably sharp after a night's drinking. He pulled up a chair and watched as Swift stripped naked and began to wash.

Swift was busy cleaning the dirt from his body as he spoke.

"I need to know what a letter says."he told him, indicating to the open paper on the table, "Last night..well I lied to you, I went back to the house of a wealthy woman..it went wrong..her name's Lillian De Blood..she's young, beautiful and she took me to her servants cottage but I was a bit too drunk to impress her..and the servants mistook me for an intruder and let the dogs out, but I know she wants me, she must do..I'm Swifty Black.."

Winter was chuckling at the story. Swift, the great lover had come unstuck..he opened the paper. He read it silently and laughed again.

Swift was glaring at him.

"Tomas, it's not amusing! Tell me what it says, I think I love her.."

Winter lowered his gaze back to the letter, bit his lip to stop himself laughing, then read:

"Dear Mr Swift, I thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of your company last night and I would like to invite you to dine with me tonight, after the grand ball. Ever your servant, Lady De Blood."

Swift's eyes lit up. In his mind, victory was already his.

"I knew she still wanted me!"

Winter, still merry from last night and ever in a playful mood at the sight of Swift almost naked, planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Best of luck.."Was all he said, then he left him to get dressed.

Swift didn't notice Winter was still laughing as he departed.

Swift arranged for his party to stay another night at the inn. He slept for most of the day, then spent a lengthy time getting ready for the ball. By evening he was dressed in his finest clothes, his gold and jewels shimmered and caught the dying sunlight as he stepped out of the inn. This was his second chance with Lady De Blood and he was not going to let it spoil. With a clear, sober head, he took one of the horses and rode towards the mansion.

Too late, Winter flew out of the inn, the smile still on his face after cracking a joke about is the prince ready for the ball yet? That smile soon left him when he realised what he had done - it was too late, Swift was on his way to meet Lady De Blood.

"He's going to kill me.."He muttered under his breath.

Swift arrived at the mansion and tied up the horse, straightened his attire and joined the procession of fine ladies and gentlemen streaming through the doors.

When it was his turn to enter, the servants refused him entry.

"Where is your invitation?"A manservant demanded.

Swift drew the letter from his pocket and waved it in his face, then snatched it back.

"I am here at the request of the beautiful Lady De Blood."He announced, "I demand to see her this instant. Tell her Swifty Black, Witchfinder General is here as she requested!"

The servants exchanged a strange look, then whispered something to a maid, who hurried off.

"Lady De Blood will be with you shortly, Sir." The servant said, with a smirk on his face.

Swift waited, his temper rising as he felt a sea of faces around him, staring at him, whispering, he heard sniggers behind his back.

Finally the servants stepped aside and Lady De Blood emerged.

Swift stared at her.

"Did you not read my letter?"She demanded.

And Swift wished the ground would open up and swallow him. His face was getting redder. He vowed to kick the shit out of Winter when he got back to the inn.

Before him stood the real Lady De Blood. The old woman who had thrown her piss in his face the night before. And as she saw him scanning through her letter with no recognition, worse humiliation was to come.

She took the letter from his hand, opened the page and read aloud:

"To Mr Swifty Black, the witchfinder: You, sir, are an ignorant, drunken pig of a man who saw fit to enter my home and attempt to mount my servant girl before waking me up at an ungodly hour to try and declare your love for me! I shall see to it that all who know of you know of your behaviour. You are a weak excuse for a human being and I consider the contents of my chamber pot wasted when turned over your sorry head. Never visit this parish again sir!

Yours in disgust, Lady De Blood!"

They were all staring at him. Some were laughing at him.

"I trust you now understand my letter, now someone has read it for you?"

Swift bowed his head, muttered an apology, looked back at the furious old woman. And just over her shoulder, he caught sight of her..the girl from last night..Lady De Blood's personal maid. She looked sharply down at the floor, seeing fury in his eyes and recognising that he had an explosive temper.

"I apologise, your Ladyship..this was a misunderstanding..last night I mistook another for yourself."

Lady De Blood turned to the servant in rage.

Swift hurried back across the courtyard and untied his horse, mounted it and rode back towards the village, his anger boiling up.

Swift kicked the door open. Winter shot up from his seat so quickly the table turned over and the tankards clattered to the floor. He had him in an iron frip, slamming him into the wall.

"Cunt!"He hissed, glaring at him like the devil had possessed him that instant. Winter was not a man to be easily frightened but one thing he feared was the temper of Swifty Black. The man was a lunatic when he was fired up like this.

"It was a joke, Sir..a joke! I meant it as no more than a drunken frolic...I learned that Lady De Blood was an old woman..I realised there had been a misunderstanding..I was going to tell you before you took the carriage..I had no idea you would ride on horseback, I was too late to stop you.."

Swift breathed out hard, let go of him. He nodded, his eyes still burning with anger.

"Apology accepted.."

Winter dropped his guard, paused to take a breath and steady himself.

"Winter,"Said Swift sharply.

He looked up.

Swift butted him with a smack between the eyes, hitting him full on with the power of a bull. Winter slammed into the wall, slid down it as blood spurted from his nose.

"Now you're forgiven."Swift snapped, "Never make a fool of me again. Next time, I'll kill you."

And Swift turned his back, walked up the wooden stairs and went back to his room to nurse his wounded pride.

Later, the party travelled onwards to London. Swift was still angry, he and Winter said nothing, Winter avoided his gaze. Swift had a smart house that the two men shared which he treated as his headquarters, down near the Thames, complete with his own little torture chamber that was impressively equipped, but he had the feeling that nothing consisting of friendship would pass between them for a long while, their relationship was one of business only and it would stay that way as long as he was angry.

As the carriage turned onto the highway that led to home, Winter glanced up at him. Swift glared and looked back to the window. Winter turned his face away again.

Swift said nothing when the carriage turned into his own courtyard, he just got out, marched past a maid who bid him good morning and retreated to the privacy of his own grand bedroom.

As he sat on his bed, anger and hurt churned up in his guts. The Lady De Blood episode was fading now he was back here, in his grand London house with all his familiar trappings of success around him. No matter what had happened, she was still in his mind - Lady De Blood's maid, that beautiful woman, who had lied and tricked him but made him feel so alive. He closed his eyes and played back the memory of her naked body shimmering by candle light, her bare slit open and gleaming with juice as she invited him into her body. There was something about her, she was one of those women who he could not forget. And just thinking about her now was making his cock harden.

There was a tap on the door.

"Swift."Said Winter quietly.

He didn't wait to be invited, just ran the risk of another swollen nose and black eye, and let himself in anyway. Swift looked at him coldly, he was no longer angry but the hurt still burned in his eyes.

"Please forgive me, Swift."He said quietly.

Swift sat up, swung his legs off the bed and spread them open, then got his cock out.

He didn't need to say anything. Winter dropped to his knees and gratefully accepted him into his mouth.

Swift had shut his eyes. It was so damned good, the way Winter sucked at him, so hard and hungry and quite unlike any woman, he took him so deep, deeper than he thought possible, almost swallowing him, he could feel the head of his cock being swallowed down, it was like heaven...and there was a thought at the back of his mind that it was so good being sucked by this man who bore the bruises from his beating..

"I'm thinking of her, I'm thinking of her.."He gasped.

Winter sucked him harder, dragged his teeth up and down the shaft of his cock, licked his length and swallowed him again. Swift rammed it hard into his throat, felt him cough and plutter as he pumped semen down his throat. But all the same, he swallowed every last drop.

Swift breathed out deeply and opened his eyes.

Winter wiped his mouth, looked up at him adoringly.

"Are we friends again?"

Swift laughed.

"Get off your knees, you fool! Of course we are!"

Business being quiet, Swift took a walk through the streets later, considered buying a whore for the afternoon but then thought better of it, he was a careful man who had so far avoided disease, he was sure it was more to do with needing to fuck a woman because of Winter - every time Winter sucked him, he always felt he had to cancel it out by having a cunt to even up the score. But not today. Instead, he headed towards his favourite tailor's, deciding some new clothes were in order.

On the way, he walked through the large, sprawling market place. The usual sellers were there along with the usual filth and smells that mixed together, but a large crowd was gathering in the middle of the square, people tossing coins to a woman who called for attention.

She was making a lot of money. She rolled it up in a white cloth and stuffed it in the pocket of her blue gown.

"Gather round and hear my tale,"She called, "The tale of the man who claims to be great and feared, hear how I tempted him to a night of lust.."

That voice was familiar.

Swift pushed his way to the front of the crowd. It was her,

She held her hands out like a vivid storyteller, spoke with the confidence of one who had addressed an audience before.

"Hear how he revealed himself to be a fool, a drunken fool of poor ability and poor performance! And who is this man I speak of?"

Her eyes grew wider and her voice dropped to a whisper as she saw him glaring back at her.

"Swift?"She stammered.

Swift stepped forward, grabbed her by the hair and ripped the cloth from her pocket. As coins rained down on the audience and they scrambled to make a grab for it, no one noticed he was dragging her away, his hand entangled in her waist-length hair.

He gave it a twist and the force pulled her face taut.

"One more word from you and I'll silence you forever."He promised her, then dragged her away from the crowd, back towards his house.

She let him march her through the street, his grip moved from her hair to her slender wrist, he twisted her arm behind her back and forced her to walk.

"Is this the first time you've tried to sell your story about me?"

She nodded.

"Have you repeated it to anyone else?"

She shook her head. He twisted tighter on her arm and they turned into a narrow alleyway, he led her down it towards the street that led to his house.

"What's your name, whore?"

"Emma Farmer."She replied.

He led her into his courtyard, marched her past servants who were busy going about their day, none of whom bothered to look up - he was a witchfinder, he had brought many women here for questioning, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

He led her inside and closed the door.

She looked around, her dark eyes scanning the fine hallway. This was a luxurious house..

Swift recognised that look. He gripped her by the hair again, hissing in her ear:

"If you steal from me I'll rip out your fingernails one by one. Then I'll cut your hands off. Understand?"

She nodded again.

He yelled for the maid.

As the plain, quiet woman approached him, he said:

"This is Emma. Will you see to it that she has a hot bath and a change of clothing.."

He let go of her, smiled as he saw the look of confusion on her face.

"I think we can forgive your attempt at earning some money out of me, after all, Lady De Blood had to let you go after she found out what you did..I just have to make sure you keep out of trouble. Make yourself look nice, Emma."

Swift brushed a finger down her face. His touch was gentle and her expression changed - the fear was still there but he saw a flicker of pleasure. She did still want him! Although it didn't really matter now, Swift concluded, her feelings played no part - now she was all his and he would do what he pleased with her.

"Make yourself look nice for me."He repeated. He reached out and ran his fingers down her long hair.

"Wash your hair as well."

Emma managed a faint smile and nodded.

"Then come back and join me,"Swift told her, "There are some things we need to discuss."

Swift waited, feeling a mixture of pleasure and revenge as Emma cleaned herself up. Winter was out, the house was empty except for servants and not a single person who worked for him dared to show their face unless he asked for them. He sat before the fire in his favourite chair and waited for Emma to return. Sometimes, alone here, Swift's thoughts turned to his family and his real home - but not today. Emma's presence in this house would change everything..

One hearing footsteps, he got up and went back to the hallway. Emma reached the bottom of the stairs and stood there looking at him, hoping for his approval.

Her long hair was shiny, tumbled over her shoulders and looked far cleaner than it had before. He had been quite surprised the woman had looked so dirty after such a short time on the open road, now, standing before him in a sheer white gown, she looked beautiful.

"Come with me."He said politely.

She hesitated as he gestured to the door at the end of the hallway.

He smiled, softened his voice.

"Come with me, please."

She followed him. He led her into another luxurious room, this one lined with heavy oak panels and dark furniture. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, beside it stood an array of pokers and branding implements. To the far side of the room was a long table with straps for ankles and wrists. Another table nearby held an array of torture implements, all metal, all highly polished and gleaming. The walls were adorned with whips of various sizes and on a shelf stood bottles that contained teeth of various shapes and sizes.

"This is my personal torture chamber."He told her, "Where I sometimes take accused witches."

As she tensed, he stood behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and gently kissed her neck. Then he pushed the straps from her shoulders and the gown fell to the floor.

"I wanted to show you this room."He whispered, and kissed her again, gently on the cheek.

As she leaned back towards him, he said: "You like me, don't you?"

She nodded, moaning as he ran his hands over her body, fingers sliding down to her bare slit, where he slid his fingers inside and found her soaking wet. He started to rub her clitoris. She gasped and thrust her hips forward, desperate for more.

"Alright,"Swift said softly, "I know you want me to give you pleasure. I'll let you come."

And he rubbed harder, faster, till her legs buckled and she shook and cried out. He felt her throbbing and soaking his hand. Then he stuck two fingers inside her, moved them in and out, just to make sure she got the most pleasure she could out of that orgasm. He did it because he knew she might not feel like another one for a while, not after what he had planned to do to her..

She was still weak from orgasm as he led her to the torture chair and sat her down. Fear registered in her eyes as he strapped her wrists to the armrests.

"What are you doing to me?"She demanded.

Swift calmly buckled up the straps on the ankle restraints to make sure her limbs were strapped down properly to the chair. Then, he pulled up an ordinary chair and sat in front of her.

"Right,"He said calmly, "Let's start again. Did you plan to seduce me to make money out of my name?"

She shook her head.

"I was decieving Lady De Blood. I stole her dress and borrowed the carriage to go and run an errand to get some wine - it was fun, I meant nothing by it. But when I saw you, I wanted you, Swift. So I let you think I was Lady De Blood."

Swift nodded, accepting all she said.

"That's understandable."He remarked.

"Will you untie me?"

"No."He replied, still sounding perfectly civil, "I will not. When did you plan to come to London and sell your story about me to all who would listen?"

"I did not plan it, Swift, I swear to you, I was acting out of desperation when Lady De Blood dismissed me."

A brief smile warmed his face. He leaned forward and gently kissed her lips. She tried to move in for another kiss but Swift leaned back just out of her reach.

"I think you're very beautiful."He told her, "And I want you to know that if anyone else had done this to me, I would have beaten them to a pulp back there in the marketplace. But I really like you. I mean that. So, I'm going to keep you. I can't marry you because I have a wife, I wouldn't want to anyway because you're not rich or titled enough but you will be my source of pleasure.  Would you like that?"

His words surprised her and made her blind to the danger she was in. For that moment, the bonds on her body did not matter. She smiled and her eyes lit up.

"I would like that more than anything, I long to share your bed, Swift!"

"Good,"Swift said, turning his back and running a thoughtful hand over his gleaming instruments, "I am very pleased you feel that way. Of course, I have to make sure I can trust you. I have to ensure you will never be out in the market place or anywhere else attracting strangers, spreading stories about me.. I think the crowd were more drawn to your beauty than your words, so I need to make some changes to put a stop to that."

He selected the sharpest pair of scissors he could find. Emma stared at him, then gave a sob of terror.

"Please do not cut my flesh, Swift..I'll do anything you say, anything.."

Swift was surprised at her assumption.

"I would never harm your pretty face."He assured her, and gently kissed her lips.

"I'm only cutting off your hair, you silly girl!"

And he drew up a long lock of hair, slid the blades down to her scalp.

"Keep still,"He said softly, "I promise you, it does not hurt at all."

And he closed the blades, dropped the hair into her lap, and took another lock of her hair, carefully cutting it off. She sobbed quietly but kept still as Swift worked his way over her scalp. When the final lock of her hair was gone, he stood back, looked at her, then said:

"Just a little more, I think."

He put the scissors down and selected a straight razor.

"Now you have to keep very still."He advised her, and started to scrape the stubble from her head.

"I sometimes shave the witches."He told her, "To find the devils mark. Not that many of them are real witches, but you have to give people what they want, thats how to play the game."

Emma sat in silence, regretting the day she ever met Swifty Black. The man was a lunatic, a complete sadist who had been so twisted up by his profession that he no longer seemed to know when the cruelty needed to stop.

He slid the blade over her head, scraped away the last trace of her hair, then put the razor down.

"This is what happens when you attempt to tarnish my reputation."He told her, "And if you ever speak out against me again, I will use this - "

He held up a sharp instrument, "to cut out your tongue."

She blinked, looked at him with tear stained eyes and nodded.

"I understand."

"You will serve me as my slave."He said, "And you will be shared with my close friend Mr Winter. I will give you a pleasant life. If you betray me, I will torture and kill you."

"Swift, I would not betray you.."

Tear filled her eyes again.

"You did not need to do this to me, I would have devoted myself to you anyway.."

Swift shrugged.

"Maybe you would have,"He replied, "But I happen to be very taken with you. I do not want other men looking at you. Mr Winter is different, he is my companion and associate. But not other men. You are mine, Emma."

He drew in a breath, his voice faltered a little. "You are mine and I want you as much as I did when I thought you was a woman of title. It's just got to be this way because you are no one, do you understand?"

Emma nodded. She feared Swift but even after he cut off her hair, she saw the look in his eyes that said he was speaking the truth - he wanted her, and he was a wealthy man who could give her a better life, even if it meant living the way he demanded.

"Please untie me."

Swift surprisingly obeyed her request. Then he took her by the wrists and dragged her to the floor.

"Open them."He said, nudging her legs.

Emma spread her legs. Swift dived down on her, licking her, then kissing up her body, sucking hard on her tits as he shoved his cock in her.

"This time I'll fuck you properly."He promised, and brutally thrust inside her, making her cry out. He fucked her hard, as hard as he could for as long as he could feeling sure her insides would be as bruised as her thighs.

"What sort of fuck am I now?"He demanded breathlessly.

"A good fuck.."She gasped.

"A fine fuck."He corrected her, "Tell me I'm a fine fuck, you whore."

"You're a fine fuck.."She said breathlessly.

He stabbed it in one last time and came hard, throbbing and wet inside her, spilling so much semen he was sure he had washed out her vagina.

On hearing the door open, he looked up and saw Winter staring at him.

"Is this a witch or a witch game?"He asked him.

Swift laughed.

"This is the slut who got me in trouble..Ive given her a bit of torture as you can see."

He rolled her face down and spread the cheeks of her arse.

"Your turn."He said to Winter.

Emma was pinned to the floor with Swift holding her open. His fingers forced into her tightness and she screamed.  Winter shoved his cock in her. He was a big boy, it hurt. She screamed louder, more sharply. Winter took no notice and fucked her anyway, pumping hard into her tight arse, he came quickly and withdrew, as Swift turned her over he clamped a hand on her jaw and held her mouth open so Winter could put his cock in.

"Suck it clean."He told her.

She obeyed him, then Swift helped her up.

"You may go to your room and rest now."He told her, "Thank you for a lovely afternoon."

And he bowed to her politely.

Emma nodded and put on her gown. She hurried from the room and on hearing her rush up the stairs, Winter said:

"That was a bit harsh, Swift. She had nice hair."

"So everyone seemed to think."He replied.

And Winter understood. Swift was a jealous bastard.

"Can I have her again?"He asked him.

Swift nodded.

"When I feel like sharing."

A week later saw Swift packing up to travel to a witchcraft trial in the country. He took his usual party, with one extra - Emma now rode in the carriage with him. He killed the boredom of the long journey with a bottle of port, swigging from it while the carriage bumped along. His cock stayed hard and warm in Emma's mouth. It was always in Emma's mouth these days. Emma loved to suck him, and when he tired of it, he let her suck Winter's cock instead. He glanced down and watched her, that beautiful woman wrapped up in a silken gown and matching cloak, her hair was growing again and even though it was barely there she still looked beautiful. He told her to keep the hood up, not to look at anyone. Rather like he ordered Winter to wear the hood on the execution platform... This promised to be a big one, he had been summoned by magistrates because a titled lady had been found to have occult items in her possession. The accused was being held in a large village where he had never been before, where there had apparently never been an accusation of witchcraft before, the area being full of deeply religious folk. There was a huge gathering because word had spread. Her identity had been kept quiet, but Swift was arriving here on the authority of the King himself - something Winter had assured him, was no joke as he read the letter to him.

They were nearing the village when Swift spoke up.

He swigged another mouthful of port, blinked blurred eyes and said:

"Give me a few hour's sleep. We will make an entrance at dusk." And he laughed.

"Flaming torches, Winter. I want a procession route of flaming torches to line my journey from the carriage door to the middle of the village square."

Winter nodded.

"Flaming torches it shall be." And he offered Emma his cock.

"Suck."He said sweetly.

She looked up at him, their eyes met and she smiled as she took him in her mouth. In a way she did not smile at Swift. He glared at Winter.

"Don't get too fond or I'll stop sharing."He snapped, and swigged another mouthful of port.

Swift was snoring by dusk, his head against the carriage window.

Someone was shaking him. He opened his eyes, saw Winter looking at him. He was wearing his hood.

"It's time to meet the crowd."He told him.

Swift got up, found a bowl of water beside him that Winter had thoughtfully provided. He splashed his face, wiped away the sweat from an afternoon's drinking, ran his fingers through his hair, changed his shirt and wiped a speck of dirt from his heavy boots.

Then he took a few deep breaths, realised he was still on the edge of drunkenness, he felt fine, he was still feeling warm from the port. The sore head would not come until later.

Swift  stepped from the carriage, his shirt open, the light from the gleaming torches bouncing off the heavy crucifix around his neck. He began the walk down the pathway, emerging from the darkness like a great and powerful force which all the onlookers seemed to pick up on, as they shrank back in fear and awe. Women stared at him, a few were on the verge of hysteria as he passed them. It gave him a glow inside that could not be matched by anything: This was real power.

He was met in the centre of the village square by several local magistrates and a priest.

"Bring the accused before me." Was all he said.

A heavy door opened and two guards escorted a woman from the building. She walked with dignity, with no trace of fear. And she stared at Swift. Swift stared back at her. A smile spread across his face as he realised this would not be a standard torture and burning, this would be a special revenge torture and burning - the accused was Lady De Blood...

Lady De Blood was not disturbed by his presence.

"Mr Swift,"She remarked, "If all that stands between me and freedom is your ignorant self, I have nothing to fear!"

"This Lady,"The senior magistrate said, "Comes from a neighbouring village - she is Lillian De Blood. She was found to have in her possession several books containing spells to conjour the devil."

Lady De Blood spoke up.

"I found these books in the cottage of my former housekeeper - I brought them here to the local church to determine if they were the devil's work and therefore harmful!"

The priest nodded.

"This is true, she brought the books to me, but I can not say how long she owned them - nor if she has tried to dabble in the dark arts."

And to Swift's horror, the priest opened the book and handed it to him.

"If you read, Sir, you may be able to determine more than I."

Swift swallowed hard. He leafed through the pages. Recognised pictures and shapes, maps.

"These are maps of the stars."He confirmed, "And there are drawings of phases of the moon, which are known to be necessary to demonic practises."

"And you would know so much about the devil, Mr Swift? How strange, because last time we met, you could not read a simple note."

All eyes were on him.

"This woman is a lying whore and belongs to the devil."He announced. "I think her guilt is obvious, see how she tries to turn us against one another!"

Lady De Blood shrugged.

"This man who calls himself a witchfinder could not read a simple note last time we met, yet now he claims to understand demonic works - or can you only understand demonic writing, Mr Swift?"

And she smiled. Swift felt a sliver of fear creep through his bones - this was every witchfinder's worst nightmare, to be accused..

The priest and the senior magistrate exchanged a glance.

"When did you meet Mr Swift?"Enquired the magistrate.

"Recently."She told him, "He came to my house, very drunk. I have been told by a servant that he was seen going to a cottage on my grounds with my former serving maid. The cottage where I later descovered these books."

"This is not how it seems,"Swift said quickly, "I...I was drunk, it was my night off, I'd been to the tavern.."

He shot a desperate look to Winter, who shook his head beneath the hood as if to say, No, no, shut up, Swift, you'll make it worse.. But Swift was already lost. He was tripping himself over with his words, he was still drunk and the unthinkable was happening - the accuser was becoming the accused. He was sweating heavily, a desperate look of panic was creeping into his eyes. He could feel everything sliding from his fingers as he stood there on the spot.

"Listen to me..please...I met this girl..she said she was Lady De Blood but she was an impostor, it was a trick...I went back to the cottage because she said it would be alright"

"For what?"Demanded the priest.

Now his face was scarlet.

"For pleasure. For my pleasure..it happens.."

He tried to forward the story but blurted out: "This woman, the real Lady De Blood, set the dogs on me..it was all a misunderstanding.."

Lady De Blood had already mapped out her route to freedom.

"Can you not see that I am telling the truth? Clearly Mr Swift placed the books in the cottage, no doubt he summoned the devil to seduce my poor maid, where ever she is now! We have seen the proof, gentlemen, he can not read, yet clearly understood the work of the devil!"

The priest handed Swift the open bible.

"I am sure we can clear this up, Mr Swift. I'm sure you will be more than happy to read from the good book and silence the accused."

Panic made his head swim. Swift looked back at Winter, who stood at his post by the edge of the square, too far away to help him make sense of it. He saw fear in his eyes beneath the hood.

Swift stared at the words.

"Er..God made the world and said..I cast out the.."

The men were looking at him in a different way. Like they had seen through the mask, like they were seeing something else, what their superstitious minds wanted to see..

"t..the devil?"He stammered breathlessly.

The priest took the bible back from him, glaring at him.

"Mr Swift, this is a handwritten list of items to be bought for the poor from my weekly church donations - you are not even on the first page of the good book!"

"I can read..a little bit."He protested, "I can write too..a little bit..just not the words in this book."

It wasn't exactly a lie. He had once scrawled a note to help John Clover escape from his cell, it was barely legible, but he had managed a few basic words..

"I'm not decieving you!"He protested weakly.

"Arrest this man."Said the magistrate.

That was the moment it all fell apart, as the guards siezed him he felt his legs give way, there was a flurry of activity as Winter rushed forward and was also apprehended. Somewhere afar he saw men were running, carriages were leaving, his party were abandoning him before they stood accused along with him. He briefly wondered where Emma was, hoped she safe, but then they dragged him towards the magistrate's house, and as he lurched forward, he puked down his shirt.

They took them to a dark cellar and locked the door. It reminded him of a place long ago where his stepfather had been held, a fire burned in the hearth and there was a bench filled with an array of instruments, a chair with restraints, built to hold the screaming accused. He knew what was coming. No one knew torture like a torturer.

Swift sank to the floor sobbing and shaking.  Winter wrapped his arms around him. He was tearful too, he knew what to expect, he did not want to suffer. He did not want Swift to suffer. He could give it out, but he couldn't take it, no way could Swift stand up to torture...

"I want Eve, I want my son,"He sobbed, "I want my mother.."

Winter held him tightly, rocking him, trying to console him, to calm his hysteria.

He took his face in his hands and wiped his eyes.

"Swift, listen to me...we knew this could happen one day."

"No, I didn't!"Swift sobbed, "I'm Swifty Black, I'm too good for this, they can't do this.."

"Listen to me."Said Winter, then he wiped his eyes again, kissed his lips and held his gaze, "Listen...it's too late, it's happened. All we can do is try not to suffer...I can deny you, I can swear I'm an honest man and get myself out of this...but if I stand up for you, they will kill me as well. Swift, they want to kill you. If you confess that will spare you torture."

Blind panic filled his tearful eyes.

"No, no I don't want to go to the fire, not the fire, no, don't let them burn me, please, please, please.."

Winter kept hold of his face.

"Look at me, Swift."He said calmly.

Swift fell silent, his frightened eyes locked on Winter's gaze.

"I shall tell them I am an executioner - that I am a hangman...I will ask that you be hanged in exchange for a full confession...I will see that you do not suffer, you will not go to the fire, Swift. I will ensure that!"

Swift's thoughts had veered from thinking about the torture that awaited him to the overwhelming horror of living through the experience of death by fire, something he had seen so many times he knew what to expect moment by moment. So much fear and regret was running through him that all he could do was nod in agreement.

As footfalls sounded on the stairs, Winter blinked back tears, pulled him close and kissed him a final time.

"I love you, Swift. God be with you. And god forgive me for what I am about to do."

As the door opened, Winter pulled away and stood up.

He turned to Swift and looked down at him in disgust.

"You filthy ungodly scum!"He snapped, and spat in his face.

Then he turned to the magistrate, who was accompanied by heavily armed guards.

"Your honour, my name is Winter. Tomas Winter. I am an innocent party here, working in the profession of hangman and executioner, I am a god fearing man and do not wish to be in the same room as this evil man who has clearly become seduced by the devil! The Swifty Black I came to know would never have read from a book of sorcery, he could not read from any book, Sir! I refuse to be housed with the devil - accuse me, try me, but know that I am innocent - I am willing to execute this man myself if he is found guilty..as he clearly should be.."

Winter's eyes were wide, his voice higher than usual, his muscles tense with fear. He was giving the performance of his life to save it.  The magistrate looked at him thoughtfully. Winter's innocent expression was unwavering.

"I shall give evidence against him."He declared, "And I demand to be set free. I am guilty of no wrong doing!"

As the men looked at him, a small wave of relief ran through him. They believed him, he could see it in their faces. The magistrate nodded, beckoned to Winter and ushered him out of the room.

As the door closed again, Swift crumbled and began to sob.

Once, a man named John Clover had been in a cell like this, awaiting torture and death. But they had freed him, back in the days when Swift was still young enough to see a way through, in the days before boredom and lust for what used to be had taken over his life and driven him to succeed again, set him on the path to riches, fame..and this. It had all become too much, the way he was idolised, how it had gone to his head, his abuses and misuses of power, all blurred by too much drink and money and lack of morals.

Swift took a deep breath and blinked away tears.

"I should have stayed with Eve."He whispered, "I should have stayed with Eve, I want my son..I want my mother..I want to go home.."

He waited. In those hours that followed everything that he had become began to crack and fall away. He was shaking with fear and sobbing, wishing for Eve over and over. Between thoughts of home his thoughts flew to what would happen next. He feared that more than he feared death. He knew they would remove his clothes and restrain him. Maybe they would shave him, maybe not. Certainly they would prick all over his body. Then they would break his bones, possibly burn his flesh with irons. They would beat him, relentlessly question him. The routine varied from place to place, but it would be a deliberate and constant ordeal that may not stop if he confessed. He knew his best option was to confess to anything he was accused of, Winter was right, all he could do now was wait for them to come for him, to be ready to admit anything they accused him of and hope the rest would be over with quickly.

When the door opened every nerve in his body jumped in violent unison and he started to sob again.

"No, please, please don't hurt me.."Swift begged, "I'll confess to everything, everything, please don't hurt me, please.."

As the guards took hold of him and started removing his clothes, he realised all the pleading in the world would not make a difference - he had heard accused witches plead like that many times. No one ever listened. They took off his rings, they tore the chain from his neck, they sat him in the chair and strapped him in.

Then the magistrate and the priest entered the room. With them was Tomas Winter. He looked at Swift, seemed devoid of all emotion. He had to be. He looked at Swift but avoided his gaze lest he showed his true feelings.

"In light of Mr Winter's obvious innocence in this matter I have charged him with the duty of torturing you."The magistrate said, "I am convinced that his anger and disgust at your activities will ensure he does a thorough job in extracting the truth."

Winter leaned forward and tightened one of the straps that held his arm to the chair. As he did so Swift noticed he touched him, ever so lightly and briefly, a quick squeeze as if to say, I'm sorry.

Then he selected some irons of varying sizes and thrust them into the hot coals on the fire. Swift wished he could vomit again, but had nothing left to come up.

"Mr Black,"The magistrate announced, "You are accused of possessing articles related to sorcery. You are also accused of being influenced by, or being under the influence of the devil. You are also accused of practising witchcraft."

And Swift heard the charges he was up against, with one thought running through his mind: I am fucked.  Even up until now, he had been hoping there was a faint chance he could prove his innocence; That was when he thought he was up on one charge, the charge of possessing occult material.  With so much stacked against him, there was no chance at all that those who saw a witchfinder accused would settle for anything less than an execution.

"If you name your accomplices,"The magistrate added, "It will be favourable for you."

He knew what that meant - it was a false promise to end the torture if he named others. 

He burst into tears.

"I have no accomplices."He sobbed, "I found the books in the home of a witch I burned a month ago. I took them with me, meaning to study them for further understanding of my own business as a witchfinder. It was my own doing."

The magistrate glanced to Winter.

"Go to work, Mr Winter."

Winter drew an iron from the fire, its tip glowed red. Swift could feel the heat on his skin long before Winter had brought it close enough to singe the hair off his body. He knew what would come next, a hiss as skin melted under the iron. Screaming always followed, the high-pitched, shrieking screaming.

"I have no accomplices."He sobbed, "Please, no..don't do it to me.."

The hot iron touched his flesh. He didn't hear the hiss, only his own screaming as he struggled in vain and screamed again as Winter made another burn on his ribcage.

"Names."The magistrate repeated.

As Winter turned away to select another iron, he kept his concentration on the job. This was just another torture. It wasn't Swift in that chair, he told himself, it was a stranger. He had to think like that, it was all that was getting him through it, all that was keeping him alive. The act he was putting on meant he was the torturer instead of the tortured. He took another hot iron and began to burn another part of his body, this time his lower thigh.

Swift screamed like an animal, he shrieked and sobbed and pleaded so incoherently that his words were impossible to understand. Winter removed another iron, and pressed it to the centre of his chest.

At this point, Swift lost consciousness.

Cold water in his face brought him around.

His body throbbed, his throat was sore and his voice was hoarse from screaming.

"No.."He managed to say, "Please, no more.."

Winter was touching him gently, feeling his arms, his legs. As his hand darted betweeen his legs he was grateful the pain was strong enough to deter him from getting hard at his touch.

Winter noticed his eyes closing again and squeezed his balls painfully.

Swift groaned and opened his eyes sharply.

"I have no accomplices."He said, looking the magistrate in the eye, "This is all my own doing."

"Are you sure, Mr Black?"

Swift's body was throbbing with pain. He looked his accuser in the eye.

"I am sure, Sir."

The magistrate said nothing to this, instead watched as Winter took up a knife with a narrow, pointed blade.

Swift started to weakly cry, he tried to protest but his hoarse voice could not be heard between his sobs.

Winter drove the point into his shoulder. He was still screaming as he drew it out and plunged it into his arm, as he drew in a breath there was brief moment of no pain as Winter selected a spot on his other shoulder. And Winter was discreetly tapping him with his finger.

The tapping was a trick he had employed in the past, to signal he had found a numb spot that could be called a devil's mark - usually when the victim was too far gone to register the pain. His hand was out of sight of the magistrate. He was still tapping. Swift understood - Winter was helping him out. He was tapping the tiny scar on his left shoulder, silently telling him - do not show pain when I prick this spot.

Swift focussed his mind on the worst pain of all, the largest burn, the one in the middle of his chest. Then he thought about the face of his son. Then the face of his wife. He would never see either of them again and that was the worst pain of all.

Winter drew the blade out of his shoulder with a pop.

He glanced at the magistrate and shook his head, indicating Swift had felt no pain.

"When did the devil bite you, Mr Black?" Demanded the magistrate.

"When I took the books."He said, "He jumped out of the pages and bit me - I think on the shoulder, I do not remember clearly, I cannot to this very day, I swear.."

He knew he was believed, this in itself was a relief - Winter's tactic had spared him being pricked all over his body.

"What kind of arrangement went between you and the devil?"

Swift had heard these conversations enough times to know the most acceptible answers. His mind was now moving into a stronger gear, working towards a quick and easy death, his only goal to escape further pain.

He shook all over, tears still blurred his vision, but Swift was able to think again.

"The devil bit me and this gave me the ability to understand his writings. He said this would be all I needed to work with the books."

"And did you?"

"No, Sir, I continued to work as a witchfinder, I was only tempted briefly by the devil, purely in the search for knowledge.." He drew in a breath, whimpered as pain throbbed through his body, and added:

"I confess to being influenced by the devil, I confess to practising witchcraft if witchcraft can be considered the reading of these books only. Of these things I am guilty, Sir. I confess fully."

The magistrate  nodded to the guards, who began to free him from his bonds.

Swift fell forward as they tried to haul him to his feet, instead of standing or giving him chance to stand, they dragged him over to the table, as every part of his body throbbed with pain. In his confused state Swift felt a surge of relief, thinking they were leaving him to rest...until he felt his arms raised above his head and secured, then his ankles secured.

"NO!"He cried, "No, please, no more, I can't take it, please.. in the name of god, please, stop.."

"Flog him." Said his accuser.

Winter took a long, sharp whip from the table and raised it. Swift shut his eyes, still sobbing as he recalled the whipping Winter had given to the girl called May. He knew how he worked. Started at the top, worked his way down..

The first blow sliced across his upper chest. He screamed, screamed again as a second blow stung across his chest and sliced into a nipple. He tried to scream again but the air wouldn't come, he was gasping and trying to scream but all that flooded his head was pain as another blow cut across his belly. The next blow came right between his open legs, this time Swift managed to scream and for a moment, as the whip cut into his cock and stung him even lower down, leaving a wet, painful sensation, he wondered if the blow had sliced his balls open.

Then Winter put the whip down and lifted his testicles, inspected the surface wound that had nicked his skin.

"He's still in one piece." He said to the magistrate, "But I don't recommend much more if you want him to walk to the execution."

The magistrate looked thoughtfully at the array of instruments that lined the wall. He indicated to a heavy hammer.

"Crack some bone."He told him, "It doesn't do to give the impression that confessions are wrung out too easily."

And then, to Winter's relief, the magistrate scribbled some notes and left the room, taking the sentries with him. As the door closed, his guard dropped. Tears pricked at his eyes as he looked at the hammer. It was too heavy, it would pulverise his bones.

He leaned over Swift and spoke his name.

Swift was drifting, here and yet not as the pain carried his awareness away.

"Swift."

Hearing Winter's voice, he opened his eyes.

"Help me.."He begged him weakly.

Winter nodded.

"This won't hurt."He promised, and quick as lightening smashed an elbow into his temple. The blow was enough to knock him senseless. Winter took a small hammer from the collection, sharply brought it down with a crack on his left forearm. Then he did it again, on the back of his left hand. Small bones, small fractures, and if it healed awkwardly assuming Swift survived by some miracle, he was right handed - it would not be so bad. He repeated the sharp blow on his right shin. Nothing happened, he did it again, heard a faint crack. Then he set the hammer down, concluded that soon the bruising and swelling would look worse than it was. For a brief moment, he congratulated himself on being such a master of his craft - after all, it was Swift he had learned from - and then a decision came to him: Through it all, even when in pain, Swift had never named him as an accomplice even though it could have helped his case. He had stayed silent and watched him take back his freedom while he sat condemned. And of course, he still loved him.

That was the deciding moment. Winter vowed that Swift would not die.

He knew the story of how Swift had rescued a man falsely accused of witchcraft many years ago. It had been easy, a fire was lit as a distraction and they fled in the confusion, he had told him. But that was a different time and place, and here it would prove impossible to escape so easily. Or was it so difficult? As a free man, Tomas Winter had his old life along with his liberty. Would his old life be such a sacrifice if he risked it all to save Swift? They would both have to vanish. The house in London, the money, it would all be gone. But Swift would live...

Seeing him lying on that table, knowing the only other choice was to watch him die, Winter decided to act.

Winter's plan would take time, it was not something he could carry out in an instant. Later the magistrate came back, inspected the apparent damage on the unconscious Swift and congratulated Winter on his good work. Winter assured him he would watch over him until morning, when he intended to break some more bones if no one objected. He also showed him another, subtle form of torture he had inflicted on Swift - he was now wearing the former executioner's mask, closed firmly around his head.

"It will add to his fear,"He explained, "He will awake and find his vision and breathing restricted."

The magistrate nodded. Just before he left the room, he asked him something:

"Good work, Mr Winter,"He said,  "This parish needs a man like you, would you consider becoming the local hangman?"

Winter smiled and accepted graciously.

"I would be honoured, Sir."He replied.

The magistrate left.

And then he waited.

Midnight came and went.

Then Swift went to the door and looked out. The house was in silence, a single guard stood outside.

He beckoned to him.

"I need your help."He told him, "I'm trying to move the prisoner into a more accessible position for some rather intimate torture but he's unconscious and I need someone to lift him.."

The guard nodded, and happily left his post and followed Winter down into the cellar.

Then he stopped, seeing an empty chair and no prisoner strapped to the table.

"Where is he?"

"There."Said Winter, indicating to the space behind the table.

The guard leaned over the table. This time Winter had no objection to using the largest hammer, as he smashed it down on his head.

The guard fell across the table. Winter took his legs and lifted them, rolled him on his back and placed the hood over his head. Then he stripped him of his clothes. He ws a slightly bigger build than Swift but no one would notice that, not immediately. Every moment he could gain would be an advantage..

"Swift, come on, man. We have to leave."

Swift was leaning against the wall, in the farthest corner, watching the shadows leap as the fire flickered. He was black and blue, he hurt all over but there was something else: a  look in his eyes that Winter had never seen before.

"I want Eve." He whispered.

And he just stood there, hunched and in pain, leaning against the underside of the wooden stairway for support.

Swift had become a hard and brutal man, whose arrogance had only rivalled his ego by it's enormity over these past few years. But all that was gone. It was as if he was looking into the eyes of a different Swift, almost a frightened young man, a stranger he had never met before.

He wasn't sure if it had been the torture or the sheer terrror of his ordeal that had done the most damage, but the man he knew was gone.

Winter put his arm around his wait and heped him to the stairs.

"Do as I say." He commanded, "You are not going to be tortured, you are not going to the rope or the fire. But you must come with me now. You are not too injured to walk. Now walk!"

Swift obeyed him, stifling whimpers of discomfort as they took the flight of stairs. Once at the top, Winter snatched up the guard's long, heavy coat that lay draped across the back of his chair and threw it around Swift's shoulders. He clutched it tightly about him as Winter led him to the door. He silently lifted the latch and pushed it open. The village was deserted, no lights shone in any windows. He held him tighter about the waist and began to hurry, ignoring his protests, dragging him into the cover of the woods, where the carriage had been left. He was hoping and praying it was still there, when the sound of horses and turning wheels made him stop.

Winter turned to face the carriage that was coming out of the darkness.

It halted. He smiled.

The driver smiled back at him.

"You had better not be leaving without me, Tomas!"Said Emma, "I haven't left without you. I heard they let you go, so I waited." And she gestured to the bruised and battered Swift.

"I don't want to spend the rest of my days with that vicious sweaty drunk. But I might say yes to you.."

Winter's eyes lit up and he blew her a kiss, then helped Swift into the carriage. As he closed the door she cracked the whip, and the horses carried them far from the village, by night's cover they rode freely through the countryside, away from danger and took the long road back towards Swift's family home.

The journey  took four days. For most of this time, Swift slept. He dreamed about his mother and John Clover and how they had once saved him. Then he wondered why he was in the same predicament. Then he dreamed of searing hot irons, woke screaming to find himself pinned down on the carriage seat and Winter looking down at him saying, "You're dreaming, Swift. Just dreaming.."

When the carriage finally reached the cottage where Swift's family lived, he shook him awake.

Swift woke with a jolt, fear flickered in his eyes for a moment and then he saw Winter's face, looked around him, saw the familiar garden, his old house.

"You're home, I got you here safely."Winter said.

Then he leaned closer, ran a hand tenderly down his cheek.

"Live well and live long, my friend..and most of all, forget."

And he gave him a quick, gentle kiss on his lips before opening the carriage door and leading him out.

The cottage door flew open. A beautiful woman with a curvy figure and long, dark hair came hurrying out.

She stared at Swift in alarm. She reached for him. He started to sob and threw his arms around her, leaning on her like he could not stand up without her presence.

"What's happened to my husband?"Eve demanded.

Winter got back in the carriage.

"It went wrong."He told her, "It was bad, it went as wrong as wrong could be. And now it is over. Never ask him about it. Just take care of him."

Then he bid farewell and the carriage set off on its way.

She gripped Swift's arms and looked into his eyes, but all he said was her name, over and over, and held her like he was afraid to let go,  so she held onto him, thankful at least she had her husband back, and all traces of the bastard he had become in recent times seemed to be gone. She held him tightly, whispered that she loved him.

And all Swift could do was weep.

Then daybreak came and he opened his eyes as the cellar door swung wide. This was it, the end. No more dreams of rescue. They dragged him to his feet and took him to the village square where the scaffold was ready. His burns were weeping and the whip marks still bled. He thought about her as the rope was put around his neck. Eve. He would never see her again. Then the stool was kicked away, he dropped, the rope closed around his throat.

He gasped for air, sat up choking, a wild look of terror in his eyes.

It was always like this, like an eternal punishment.

"Eve.."

She was there, beside him, running gentle hands over his body. She glanced down at the scars that had now healed and concluded there were some that never would.

"I'm here, Swift, it's all right."

She held him tightly.

"You're home, you're safe."

Swift blinked back tears as he recognised her and knew he was safe in his bed.

"I was dreaming."

"I know."

Eve drew him into a tighter embrace, gently kissed him, he covered her mouth with a hungry kiss, pinned her to the bed and shoved his cock inside her desperately, thrusting in the warmth and safety of her body until daybreak, holding back until he shot his load so hard all he wanted to do was curl in her arms and sleep again.

Eve held him, Eve loved him.

She would love him forever, she had always loved him.

He never spoke about his ordeal.

And she never asked him, either.

END