First thing in the morning the gibbets were loaded. Ten women condemned to a day at the mercy of the crowd were paraded in front of the ten frames hanging from the arms of the gibbets and at Dunbar's command whatever clothes they were wearing were cut from them with knives wielded by the sheriff's men and sliced into ribbons, a walk home stark naked was part of the sentence. Then leather hoods blocking eyes, nostrils and ears were pulled over their heads and laced tight at the back, leaving only their mouths free. The crowd needed to hear the screams. The naked and trembling wretches were then roughly pushed forwards and fastened into rectangular frames that stretched them out into X shapes, wrists and ankles fastened at each corner. The sheriff's men availed themselves of the helplessly stretched flesh and the crowd hooted and cheered as breasts were mauled and groped harshly, nipples were pulled till they were twice their normal length and fingers were rammed unceremoniously into cunts. But finally the frames, hanging from a chain at the end of each gibbet arm were hauled up till they hung about five feet above the ground.

Ten naked and helpless figures faced the gleeful spite of the townspeople, the majority of whom were female inevitably, and as Dunbar gave the word and stood back to avoid the barrage of rotten food, mud, eggs and worse that was hurled at the women he was once again filled with admiration for the state he served. It had turned every woman against every other woman. It had made the collar - in days gone by a symbol of shame - into the most longed for thing in a woman's life; preferably the lighter collar of wifehood, but even the thick collar of a slave was better than the semi nomadic and shiftless life of a whore. Women condemned for the most trivial of crimes were enthusiastically pelted by crowds of their own sisters who would ecstatically count the lashes of the later floggings.

The state ensured that however downtrodden the majority of women were, there was always another woman worse off than themselves and on whom they could look down.

There was an extra loud cheer as the sheriff passed along behind the frames once the first barrage had been exhausted and set the frames spinning. This made the sport more challenging as choice targets appeared and disappeared as the bodies spun.

Assize days were holidays. Even while the frames provided plenty of fun, up on the scaffold the whipping of those condemned to slavery began.

Leaving the frames with their naked occupants twisting and flinching blindly as missiles thudded home, Magistrate Dunbar climbed up onto the scaffold, pulled off his short tunic and bared his sizeable torso to an excited female cheer. The sheriff fastened the first of the slaves to the backward-sloping and sinister X shaped whipping cross and to a gasp of indrawn breath from the excited crowd below, he uncoiled his favourite whip. It was a braided length of hide about five feet long. About one foot from its end the braiding ceased and it became a single heavy blade of leather finished off by tassels that concealed small weights. It was the perfect implement to introduce condemned slaves to the rigours of the life ahead of them and for those condemned merely to flogging, it was far worse than most husbands and owners used. But then, a public punishment by a magistrate had to send out messages to the watching crowd.

By lunchtime, fifteen of the condemned women had groaned and screamed their way through their floggings. The crowd had counted every lash of each sentence and laughed as Dunbar had paused now and again to rest and to prod the pulsing welts with the whip handle to induce a sharper pain and get a sagging body to straighten up for the next few lashes. Frequently he would pause and auction off a few moments for any man in the crowd to step up and enjoy a public fuck. There was never a shortage of men willing to stand on the scaffold and display their wares to the cheering women before leaning against a well-flogged back, grabbing two handfuls of breast and slipping themselves up into a vagina which had been stirred almost to a froth by the severity of the flogging.

The blonde whore destined for the Slavemaker had taken some time to deal with. She had put up a struggle and it had taken two of the sheriff's men to bind her to the X and then there had been constant clamourings from the crowd for a chance to screw her. Dunbar had had to stop the beating no fewer than five times and it had taken each man some considerable time, fumbling inside her with his fingers to lubricate her enough for comfortable penetration. However, she had weathered her punishment without a sob escaping her, even when he had played his usual game of pretending to lose count of the lashes administered. The crowd would yell out numbers and he would pick one that seemed to him to suit the way the woman was bearing up. The blonde ended up taking over a hundred.

After lunch the magistrate handed whipping duties over to the sheriff for a while and took advantage of what every town referred to as the 'Magistrate's Tip'. As pretty a whore as the town could find would be made available to ensure that the magistrate was able to relieve himself of the inevitable stimulation his duties caused him. In this case the town clerk brought forwards a buxom, black haired girl with enchantingly big, dark eyes and bee stung lips. She wore a simple green gown which she had evidently been wearing for some time, for although it was clean, it struggled to contain the swelling breasts and rounded hips she had developed despite the hardships of a whore's life. She unlaced it and slipped it off with no demur when he commanded her to and laid herself back on the cleared dining table, leaving her legs dangling over the edge. Dunbar stood between them and rummaged his fingers inside the flooding, tight little channel of her vagina. Sarum had indeed found a gem of a magistrate's tip. How she hadn't been snapped up yet mystified him and he told the town clerk as much.

"She's just blown in a few days ago, been staying over the baker's and he's filed to take her to wife but the mayor said you was to have first refusal."

"Good man," Dunbar murmured as his thick fingers, swirling and clenching in the girl's innards while his thumb ground her clitoris roughly against her mound, fetched pretty moans from her mouth and hungry sucking noises from her cunt, its pinkly flushed lips stretching wide around his big hand. With his other hand he unlaced his trousers and guided his rampant prick home, steering the huge dome to spear her deliciously tight opening and disappear slowly inside her. He leaned over her and savoured the salacious grip she took on him inside her as he began to grope and torment her breasts, spreading his hands over the soft mounds and pressing them cruelly against her chest, then grinding the nipples under his palms. She arched up to meet his cruelty eagerly, her hands fluttering, unsure of where and how she could touch him. He thrust himself hard into her, making her body jerk on the table. She shouted in surprised pleasure and Dunbar gazed down at her softening face shrewdly, but could see nothing except genuine excitement. He pulled both nipples and twisted them hard. They were of a length and thickness that would take ringing exceptionally well. She covered his hands with hers, encouraging him to torment her tits even further.

"Do you want to be taken on as a wife? Is that your game?" he asked as he rammed into her again.

"Yes, yes, of course, lord!" she gasped as he jerked her again with the force of his penetration.

"I keep six of them and have them whipped each day, even while I'm away," he growled.

The girl's eyes softened as she spiralled up towards orgasm but she managed to control herself for a few seconds.

"A woman belongs under her husband's lash, my lord! Oh!" A series of spasms shook her slight frame and the magistrate himself passed the point of no return and began to ram her in earnest as he pumped thick strings of sperm deep into her.

He pulled clear after a few moments and looked at her, panting and undone on the table. Whores seldom gave such passionately enthusiastic service. She seemed quite genuine. He smiled, it had been a long time since he had had a natural in his household. Whereas all women were schooled to the lash to some extent or other and could find pleasure in any male attention they were lucky enough to get, a natural would welcome - sometimes demand - cruelty from her master and worship him for dispensing it.

As the girl peeled her sweating body off the wood of the table and regained her feet, Dunbar laced his trousers up and opened the purse he kept at his belt, tossing a few coins onto the tabletop.

"Go along to the saddler's, tell him to fit you with a collar with my initials on it and then pick out a horse whip. A slender and whippy one. Then come back here and wait in my chambers till I have time to thrash you."