She awoke slowly, her head fuzzy as she came into consciousness. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth and she took stock of her situation. Blinking open her eyes, she saw her own stockinged feet bereft of shoes and the cobbles that paved the village's main square. Her hair hung in damp, unbound tendrils and clung to her face and neck in the morning's growing humidity. It was early still, and she shivered with unease.
Not good.
She tried to lift her head and realized quickly that she was unable. Twisting her head side to side she took in her bound hands to either side of her, caught up in the aged but sturdy wood that made up the town's stockade.
I'm in the stocks? How...?
Memories flooded as her body awoke and full awareness of her situation was realized. Numbness in her hands warred with the feeling of the cool air burning away as dawn broke. Last night in the tavern, there had been a confrontation she had hoped to avoid. Serving wenches like her were not supposed to spend as much time with their betters as she had with the Mayor's son. Under his tutelage over the last several months, letters on the page started to gain meaning. She could piece together short words and copy her own name thanks to the kindness of a friend whose secret lessons were less secret than she knew. The meetings had always been innocent, a sharing of words and friendship in truth without the perverse act that she had been accused of last night by the boy's father.
Her face reddened as she recalled the interaction with the man. He had crashed into the Bread and Bones last night, busy on a Saturday as the townsfolk, men mostly, added more to their list of things to pray over in church the next morn. A breeze blew through the square, rustling leaves by the posts of the stockade and kissing her skin. Goosebumps thrilled on her legs where her wool stockings ended.
"Have you enjoyed corrupting my boy, slut? Think you to use your wiles to win a husband? Do you think you can spread your legs to reach beyond your status?"
She had been speechless, embarrassed and frozen in place. She was unable to defend her honor against the constant peppering of insults. A small, dark pit in her stomach had clenched like a fist to her stomach as he had publicly berated her. Fingers of that fear and adrenaline had loosened as he neared, threatening bodily harm with his nearness. Almost as if she could start to enjoy this sort of treatment.
"NO!"
She had protested his words, his actions and her betraying body. Turning to flee into the kitchens from his assault and he had gripped her arm, vice-like while she spun, spilling mugs of cider. She whirled, skirts tangling as her worn boots slipped on ale that had been sloshed. Her private hopes of betterment crashed to the ground like so many shards of ceramic ale mugs. Her vision blackened as her head thudded on the planks of the tavern floor.
A flash of pain stung the back of her thigh. She jolted to her current moment.
"Awake, slut? Good."
She was bent at the waist, she realized as another strike landed on her taut, bare legs provoking a cry. She glanced towards her own legs noting that her skirts had been hiked around her waist to reveal her underthings and her dress was lowered so the pale fabric of her corset was visible as well. A ripple of unfamiliar sensation burned her insides hot. She panted, tears brimming in her eyes.
