The tutorial continues.
Bianca walked, scruff brown dirt, fallen dried leaves and drips of spattered sunlight scattered behind in her wake. Her head turned from side to side, perhaps looking for redemption, or a safer route, or at least a moment to pause and ponder the path her steps were taking. Pushed forwarding, her hands clutched a folded map, her eyes fixed straight ahead, pretending not to know the purpose of her destination. A face of innocence, except for the subtle upturned corner of her mouth, a sly wisp of a grin that passersby would likely miss, or even if noticed, would only convey a wry hint of pleasure attributable to the joy of the morning sky and spring blossoms and crisp cool air. She almost believed the innocence of the journey. Almost. She pushed onward, hoping not to see anyone.
Her assignment had begun earlier that morning. Called to the Professor's office, Mrs. Willoby sat behind her oaken desk and stared through Bianca like a dog owner whose pup just crapped on ancient hardwood flooring paving the holy vestibule of the Church of Everlasting Sacred Vows. Empathy was not Mrs. Willoby's strength. Nor were kindness, sympathy or understanding. In a different era she would have been another Carrie Nation, a siren of hail and brimstone. In modern times, she was simply Mrs. Willoby, senior school secretary.
"I received a note to come see you," Bianca spoke, trying to keep her voice from wavering.
"The Professor asked that you help prepare for the upcoming field trip. The students this Tuesday are making their annual pilgrimage to Salem Falls to view the reconstructed New England village." Mrs. Willoby tapped a yellow envelope on the desk impatiently, her nose scrunched as though she detected a foul odor in the room.
"But, I mean, ok, it is Saturday?" Bianca tried not to blush, her body murmuring wordless thoughts.
"Yes, it is in fact Saturday, Ms. Vergini. Your understanding of the calender is impeccable. Here are your instructions, a map is enclosed, please use the school car, the Fiesta. Professor Montgomery was very clear about his wishes."
"But." Her words drifted aimlessly as Mrs. Willoby turned away to face the computer screen.
______
Moving along the worn dirt path, Bianca brooded about the other cars in the parking lot. In addition to her Fiesta, and the Professor's Lexus, there was an older Audi, and a Prelude. Both resembled cars she has seen before in the faculty parking lot, although she could not be sure. The map directed her through a cluster of birch trees past a sign post; "Old Salem Town Square ahead, 0.5 miles." She recalled visits as a child and the strange rituals of Town Square. Despite her reservations, her pace picked up.
The arch of trees faded to a neatly mowed circle of lawn. The morning tasted of hay and spreading blue sky. The sun above the tree line warmed her skin, her thin cotton blouse floating over small beads of sweat. Her legs exposed, barely covered by the hem of her red plaid skirt. A buzz of anticipation in her ears, she smiled briefly, looking down and admiring the pull of sheer cotton across her breasts, and the vulnerable bare flesh of her thigh. "He needs to come up with new outfits," she thought, enjoying the soft push of grass as she walked across the field towards the Center House.
Oak timbers pieced together in a one story white rectangular meeting hall. At the entrance a ten foot tall pair of wood paneled doors, surrounded on either side by Georgian white columns. The air was still, hesitant. She pushed open the door and walked into a dark hallway.
"Charming, isn't it Ms. Vergini? You are late."
She recognized the Professor's stern tone as he stepped from behind a door carved with a Calvinist cross. "Sorry, Sir; I, um, I came as soon as I got your message."
"Step inside." He led her down a dimly lit hallway.
"My instructions were explicit. Be here at 10 sharp."
"But Professor, I did not even receive the message until 8:30, how was I supposed to know, it takes an hour to drive here, it's Saturday morning."
He stopped, and turning, leaning towards her, his jaw jutting forward. "You must always be prepared to obey. Tardiness has consequences. You recognize the setting."
"Yes, of course, the Central House, a replica of a 17 century New England village."
"Very good Ms. Vergini, at least you have done your reading. You understand the role of the Center House?" He peered down at her over the top of his glasses.
"Yes, I mean, I am not sure what you mean Professor." Bianca stood stiff straight, her arms crossed behind her back, her face and chest flushed bright red.
He paused, enjoying the heat of her embarrassment, "The political and religious climates of this era were oppressive. Disobedience was sharply punished."
She paused for a moment before answering. "The trials were held in the Court of Oyer and Terminer, to hear and decide. The commissioners, the town elders, lay judgment on all aspects of life, from criminal activity to social indiscretions. The courts were all powerful, and at times were caught up in religious fervor."
He nodded, "Perhaps they were acting responsibly. Dissent corrupts the purity of a young woman's soul. Especially young ladies who disobey their elders."
Blushing, her words were momentarily lost.
"Well Ms. Vergini, out with it."
"Sir, Puritan society was harsh towards women. If you were not chaste, you would be punished."
"Yes, expectations were high. Virtue and obedience were valued, a simpler time. There were tragedies and mistakes of course. Headstrong zealots succumbed to mass hysteria. Yet in those times women of virtue recognized the need for the firm hand of discipline, even those of excessive spirit. Much like yourself don't you think?"
"Sir?"
The hallway came to an end, and the Professor pushed on circular face carved into the wall. "A graven image," he said, smiling. The wall swung outwards into a hidden courtyard. He pushed ahead, stepping behind a stone fence.
She followed, lowering her eyes against the glare of sunlight. Turning the corner, she gasped. The Professor stood next to a medieval pillory. Her mind flashed to images of the Scarlet Letter, convicted adulterers wearing the red letter A on their chest, their hands and neck clamped between the wooden frame, at the mercy of tormentors and sadists.
Catching her breath and composure, she spoke, "I am innocent of wrongdoing."
She turned, intent on walking back inside, but the Professor firmly took her hands. "You are slut in need of punishment."
Leading her to the stocks, he lifted the upper wooden frame, "Bend over." She leaned forward, resting her neck and wrists in the circular carved-out slots. As she took a breath he swung down the hinged wood beam and latched it in place.
Stepping back, he watched her legs tremble. Buried in the ground by her feet were two metal supports, each securing a chain that held an iron ring. Kneeling down, he tied each of her feet to one of the rings, forcing her stance outwards, her weight shifting forward into the stocks.
The Professor stood back, enjoying how her skirt pulled up over her hips, exposing lacy white panties. As he watched, her hips began to shift, and he could see wetness seeping through the cotton swath stretched over her cunt.
"Nasty slut," he intoned. His hand reached out, his fingertip running over the curve of her ass. Grabbing her panties, he ripped downwards with a violent jerk. A shudder rippled through her, and a low guttural moan sang from deep within her chest.
Stepping around the stocks, he wiped the sweat from her forehead with the torn underwear. "Open your mouth," he commanded. She obeyed, and he gagged her with the panties. "The only sound anyone to be heard from you will be whore groans of pleasure." Her eyes looked upwards. Undoing his tie, he blindfolded her. "Some of those violating you may prefer to remain anonymous," he whispered, stroking her hair.
