Hammer of Witches

"Fleischmann" I said, trying it on for size on the page. "Fleischman? No, that can't be right." I crossed it out.

"Señor?" the tavern wench asked, offering me a refill.

I covered my tankard. "Thank you, but no." This was an important letter I was forging and it needed to be perfect.

You might ask why a boy from the Rhineland was rubbing shoulders with Spaniards but in 1633 most places were preferable to the Germanies. We were in the middle of a thirty-year conflagration and I'd given enough of my life to princes and their wars. I'd grown tall despite a hungry childhood as a camp follower. My time in various armies had schooled me in weaponry and, most importantly, had taught me the proper application of pain. Not that I really believe in torture, mind, but it is inarguably a skill to keep someone alive while doing one's best to kill their spirit.

I stepped out for fresh air and found myself in a procession. These little Iberian towns were always having religious festivals. This one was for saint something-or-other, he'd probably left enough relic bones for ten people, and the townsfolk had turned out in green robes and pointy red hoods like so many garden ornaments.

"Hola!" said a young woman in a capirote. She'd stopped whipping herself through her clothes to stare at me. "Are you from out of town?"

I gave her my best smile. I had all my teeth and my sturdy features often moved people to say, "He has an honest face." Dozens of fights had marked my nose, cheeks, and ears. I thought I looked lightly-chewed, like Judas in the devil's mouth, but women found this charming. This particular lass stepped back and goggled at me. I could see just enough through the eyeholes to know she was pretty, perhaps beautiful.

"I, uh," she said. "My name is Rebeca and my friends and I are off to see the crucifixions in the square. Afterward I would be happy to talk with you about God, repentance, oh, any number of things."

They don't see many men, these small-town girls, something I relied upon in my itinerant lifestyle.

I bowed. "I would be happy to talk with you. I am Inquisitor Fleshmann, recently promoted from chief torturer." I showed her the seal I'd inherited from my master. He'd drunk himself to death but she didn't need to know that.

Her eyes widened before lighting up. "A holy inquisitor! Amazing!" She started jumping and clapping her hands. "Can I ask you some questions? I'm so very curious about the Inquisition."

"Certainty, certainly," I said. "I'm actually available to give a demonstration of my best techniques, if that's something you might be interested in."

She almost quivered out of her robe. "A demonstration? Oh my goodness!" She took several deep breaths. "I would love to see you demonstrate whatever technique you would like."

"And where can I find a likely subject to practice on, hmm?" I eyed her up and down. Despite her unflattering costume I could tell there was a good body under there. She blushed through her capirote and I coughed. "Have you been punishing yourself properly as a good and faithful worshiper ought to be?"

She puffed out her not-inconsiderable chest and held up her scourge. "Your Excellency, I've been beating my back and feet since yesterday!"

"'Sir' will do. And my dear girl, I only worry for your immortal soul. Because unless you mortify your flesh in life how can you possibly escape Hell and be worthy of Heaven?"

She lifted up her hood at this. I congratulated myself for once again finding a fine piece of womanflesh. "You're right, of course," she said. "But surely the Inquisition has more, er, advanced methods of ensuring a Christian's salvation? Or are you content to let the faithful suffer alone?" Her knuckles whitened around her scourge.

"My dear, cross my palm with silver and I will show you. I'm staying at the inn."

She pulled out a purse and looked around before placing several silver coins in my hand. I was only expecting copper, but i frowned at the coins. She swallowed. "Is... is that enough?"

"I am an Inquisition-trained torturer. How often do you meet someone like myself?"

She clenched her purse. But she bit her lip and placed another couple of coins in my hand. "Will this be enough?"

"That will be fine," I said. "Meet me at the inn tomorrow morning. We'll need plenty of light to do our holy work."

She smiled weakly. "I'll be there first thing tomorrow morning."

* * *

I was just finishing my bread and cheese when she knocked on my door. The attic space was bright and airy, and cheap enough that I could rent the whole thing. "Hello there," I said.

"Hello," she said. She took one step inside, looked around, and then took another step. She was wearing the same green robe and red cap but without the face covering.

I shut the door behind her. "Are you ready to experience the standard treatment for heretics and suspected witches?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

"The first thing we do is strip the accused naked. This dispenses with their dignity and shows them we're in charge. Are you ready for me to do that?"

She clenched her fists. She took a step towards the door but stopped. "Yes," she said. "I'm, um, ready."

I tore the conical cap off her head. She gasped as I pulled the robe over her head, her dark hair spilling out over her shoulders. When I moved to tear off her shift she covered her hands over her chest. "Hey! Hey!"

I took a step back. "The roughness has a point, dear. You're supposed to be confused and befuddled."

"I understand," she said. She waited till her breathing slowed and she could lower her hands. "All right, I'm ready."

"I'm going to ruin this linen shift," I said, as I got my hands on the collar.

"Please, not the shift."

"Fine, but I'm going to slap you."

"Do what you must."

I slapped her lightly and she flinched. I pulled her shift off in one piece before throwing it in the corner. I tied her wrists together, threw the rope over a beam, and pulled until she was balancing on her toes.

"Please, I -- this is too much," she said. "I can't stand on my toes for too long!"

I lowered her a bit. "Is this better?"

She sighed. She looked up at the rope suspending her from the ceiling. "Yes, thank you."

I walked around her, looking at the marks of recent scourgings. She couldn't meet my eyes. But then, I was probably the first man to see her naked. "You did all this to yourself?" I asked. " It seems wrong to mar your beautiful skin."

"I, um, yes, your Excellency. Thank you sir."

I stroked a hand down her side and cupped her belly. She was fair and nicely plump, with a bit of fullness in her stomach and hips. She gasped when I touched her, and when I looked over her shoulder she stared at my lips before looking me in the eye. "Oh God."

I smiled. "If we find that a woman is only guilty of minor transgressions we don't burn her at the stake. We sell her into slavery."

She swallowed. "S-sell?"

"To slavers in the East. They do love to buy exotic women for their brothels and harems."

She turned even paler. "Please don't sell me. I'll do anything you want, but don't sell me to those heathen barbarians."

"Does it excite you?" I asked, pulling her body close. I gave her a stern look. "Are you having unholy thoughts, Rebeca? That's one of the signs of being a witch."

"I don't, um..." She was trembling and breathing hard. Was she pressing against me? She was. She stared up with big liquid eyes. "I'm, I'm having impure thoughts right now. Sir."

"Then it's a good thing I'm here to nip it in the bud." I reached between her legs.

She gasped. I could feel her heart pounding through her skin. She wasn't closing her legs though. With an effort, I stepped away. I laid my toolkit on a table and unfolded it.

"What are those for?" she whispered.

I brushed a hand over the array of beautiful and horrifying devices. "These are for disassembling a human being as slowly as possible."

Her voice had gone hoarse. "For taking apart? Bit by bit?" Here eyes flicked from item to item and she shivered.

"That's right," I said. I held up a pear of anguish and gave it a twist. It opened like a flower.

"You -- you would put that inside me?"

"Up your arse or your cunt."

"That would hurt," she said, her eyes following it around the room.

I showed her the various pincers. "I heat these red-hot before tearing out bits of flesh. Or fingernails or teeth."

"You'd tear off chunks of my skin?" I could barely hear her. Moisture was welling up in her eyes and in her cunny. "You-you wouldn't."

"It would be a shame to ruin your beauty, wouldn't it?"

"Y-yes, it would," she said. "Please don't use them on me, Your Excellency."

I showed her a brass butt plug and a small bottle of precious pepper essence. "This burns when it goes up you, but I've found that if you whittle a piece of ginger it has the same effect."

"I've never... I mean, that looks like it would hurt. Why are you showing me these things?"

"It is part of the process. Often, simply showing these tools can elicit a confession. Is there anything you would like to unburden yourself with?"

She shifted her feet. She rubbed her thighs together as if to soothe a growing heat. "There is one thing."

I started whittling a piece of ginger. "Speak and you may be forgiven."

"I've been having... impure thoughts," she whispered, her cheeks redder than ever. Her eyes darted between the ginger and my face. She let out a shaky breath. "The kind of thoughts a good girl isn't supposed to have. Thoughts of, of doing things with a man." She lowered her head in shame.

"I see. Would this be a specific man?"

"Yes," she said. She closed her eyes. "It's you, sir. I've been having impure thoughts about you."

"So you are a witch, and are attempting to seduce me."

"No, no! I swear I'm not a witch! I just, I can't help these thoughts. I don't know why I'm having them, but they won't leave me. I try to fight them off but they keep coming back." She kept shaking her head, over and over.

"Don't worry, my dear girl, I shall purify you with pain." I walked around and pushed the ginger plug between her butt cheeks and into her anus.

I knew it would barely feel like anything at first. Then she moaned. "Y-Your Excellency -- it's starting to burn!"

"Already?" I said. "A true woman of God would revel in the pain!"

"I understand, sir. I will rejoice in this." She grit her teeth.

"Perhaps this will help," I said, and start sucking on a nipple. "Mmmmph," I said, licking one nipple to hardness and moving to the other.

She looked down at me with wide eyes. "That-that feels different from the ginger, Excellency." She whimpered. "It feels... strange."

I put my hand between her legs and started rubbing.

"Your Excellency, I can't, I'm, I don't--" Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes again. She was constantly making pleased little noises.

I paused my ministrations. "Can you feel something building?"

"Yes," she said breathlessly. I held her even as I suckled at her tits and rubbed her cunny. "Please, Excellency, I feel, I feel like I'm losing myself. I just feel so, so strange." She gasped and she moaned.

"You must dedicate your climax to God or else you shall be damned."

She nodded. "I-I am fighting to hold back. I will dedicate anything that happens to, to, God! I understand the consequences if I don't. But, it's so hard to control myself." She whined. "I'm not sure how much longer I can bear it!"

I sucked her right nipple and pressed on it with my tongue. I could feel her button under my fingers. My hand in her wetness was moving fast. Rebeca gripped the rope she was hanging from and shut her eyes. Her lashes fluttered. "G-God."

"Give your heart to God," I tell her. "Because your quim belongs to me." And then I kissed her.

She gasped. Her eyes flew open. My lips were on her lips, my hand was on her breast, my thumb was on her clit -- and there was still the ginger in her anus.

"Oh my... GODDD!!" She jumped, convulsed, clenched around my fingers. Her eyes were wide, her mouth gaped open, her chin was slick with drool. I held her as she thrust herself into my hand, her face clenched in agonized delight. And then she was collapsing into me, her head resting on my shoulder as she panted and gasped.

"That was -- I can't, I've never..." She buried her face in the crook of my neck. Her legs were still trembling and I had to hold her up.

"Do you confess?" I asked.

"Yes, I confess my sins -- and I accept your punishment." She pressed her lips against my neck and stole a kiss.

I chuckled. "I believe I shall keep you as my acolyte and practice dummy. Clearly you are a wicked woman and must be kept on a short leash."

"You would keep me?" She looked up at me. She was still pressed against me. "I understand. I must be kept on a short leash, under your control."

"Shall we continue the demonstration?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Give me more."

* * * * * * *

"I'm so glad that you're here, Your Excellency."

I bowed. "I am glad that Providence has brought me here, Mother Superior. How may I be of service?"

They'll let anyone be an inquisitor these days. You would think that pretending to be a lawful servant of Rome would be a dangerous swindle (and don't think I didn't lose sleep over the possibility of getting caught) but as I traveled from town to town what I discovered was that the whole business was already a theatrical endeavor. God forgive me, people didn't care that I wasn't actually doing His work. All I needed to do was show up, literally whip the community into a self-righteous frenzy, and then preferably burn someone at the stake. I don't think anyone would've blinked if I'd arrived with musicians and jugglers, I was already traveling entertainment.

Did I take bribes? Yes. Did I sweat people like coins in a leather bag? Oh, yes. Did I turn a blind eye to Marranos, Mohametans, and schismatics? See the part about bribes. For not very much money I would swear before anybody that they were better Christians than I. And that was no lie.

As long as I found the occasional noble victim, the Church simply did not care. It got an enhancement to its reputation and the poor fool's property to boot. And since I took care to choose unpopular men there was never any shortage of peasants willing to swear on a book they couldn't read that they had witnessed their landlord cavorting with demons, harlots, even thespians, by golly. It hadn't yet been a year and "Otto Fleshmann" was being uttered in the same breath as Arnaud Amalric, Heinrich Kramer, and Tomás de Torquemada, those peculiar worthies.

* * *

But to return to the nunnery, I had been called upon to investigate a possible case of demonic possession.

"She exerts an overpowering sexual magnetism," the venerable mama said. "Clearly the Devil is working through her. Something ought to be done before she seduces half the novices!"

This nun sounded like a woman after my own heart, but I promised to do everything in my power and went to interview the other holy women. It was a few hours later when I climbed up the tower to where they'd confined the suspected possession case. The young nun opened the door as soon as I was about to knock.

"Peace be with you," she said. She didn't look demonic. She was short, plump, and possessed of a head of blonde curls. "What brings you here, my friend?"

"Er, hello, sister. The head of your order wanted me to ask some questions."

"What sort of questions, sir? You look like a worldly gentleman and I am not of the world. We nuns lead a life of simplicity."

"So I've heard. May I come in?"

She hesitated for a moment, but I saw from the twinkle in her eye that I'd aroused her... curiosity. I was tall and broad-shouldered and now I could afford to dress like a gentleman. She stepped aside.

"Thank you," I said. It was much cleaner and nicer inside. "I didn't catch your name. I'm Otto Fleshmann."

"Pleased to meet you, sir. I'm Sister Nuria."

I pulled out a wineskin. "Something to drink?" I said.

She shook her head. "Your pardon, but as a nun, I refrain from consuming alcohol. I do have coffee."

"That would be lovely," I said. The girl went to one side of the round chamber and returned with our drinks.

"This is delicious," I said. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," she said. "It's always nice to entertain a handsome stranger."

I nodded. "And it's nice to sit with a beautiful woman."

Sister Nuria blushed. "You flatter me."

"It's true. You must have had suitors before you took your vows."

"Years ago, yes," she said. "But when I felt the call to become a nun, I knew I had to give up worldly desires and dedicate my life to God."

Oh, indeed. Indeed. "So you never had a boyfriend? Never kissed anyone?"

"I-I have never been in a romantic relationship or kissed anyone, no," she said. "Through prayer and meditation I have learned to channel my physical desires into a deeper connection with God. I have found that true fulfillment comes from serving others and living a life of discipline and self-control."

"Discipline you say?"

"Yes. As nuns, self-discipline is an essential part of our lifestyle. We must control our emotions in order to lives of contemplation and service."

"Your Mother Superior said that you kept a cat o' nine tails in your cell -- are you all right?"

Sister Nuria shifted in her seat and deliberately took a sip of coffee. "I'm fine. Just lost in thought."

I wondered what she was thinking about. Some of the other nuns had caught Sister Nuria kneeling naked on the stone floor of her cell, lashing her back with one hand with her other hand between her legs. There was something else too, but the girls had started babbling. "But tell me more about your decision to dedicate your life to God," I said.

"It was a deeply personal decision. I felt a spiritual emptiness inside me and found myself drawn to the message of love and forgiveness in the gospels. It was a difficult decision, but I knew in my heart it was the right choice."

Maybe not all of you thought so. "You're sweating, my dear."

She blushed and dabbed at her forehead. "It's -- it's just a bit warm in here. Do you mind if I open a window?"

"Not at all," I said, and rose to assist. We walked over to the window, which she opened by herself. A breeze ruffled her habit and it clung to her in interesting places.

"If I may say so, Sister Nuria, but you seem like a very athletic girl."

Her cheeks flushed. "Thank you, I suppose I am quite fit after all the work we do at the convent."

"But none of the other nuns look like you. You're a veritable pillar of strength."

I knew that in her spare time she kept to an intense exercise routine in the privacy of her cell. According to witnesses, she would push herself to the limit nearly every night. And she was always naked. Again, there had been something else, but the nuns hadn't been clear.

"I keep myself busy," she said.

"Very busy, it looks like. But it does not seem to be required by your order?"

She fidgeted. "I suppose I spend a lot of time exercising. It's not required, but I find that it helps me stay focused. It's a good way to release tension."

"You mean it keeps your demon in check?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," she said, looking down at the floor.

"I've heard enough and seen enough," I said. "It must be hard to be a woman of God who's always thinking about fornication."

"It is... difficult," she said. "I try to fight the temptation, but -- sometimes it feels like the more I fight and pray, the stronger it gets."

It was always good to have them confirm things themselves. "Is that why you exercise so much?" I asked.

She bit her lip. "Yes. It helps me focus on something other than those thoughts. But sometimes I think it might make it worse, because I get all hot and sweaty, and then I'm all alone in my cell..."

She wanted to confess something, I knew. Perhaps the excessive self-flagellation?

"But enough about me!" she said. "You say that you know about demons?"

"I do," I said. I glanced at where her nipples were showing through her habit. There was something odd about them too, now that I was looking. "Inner demons are my specialty."

"What -- what kind of inner demons?" she asked. She caught my glances and blushed even harder.

"The ones involved with our most shameful vices," I said. "You aren't wearing anything under that habit, are you?"

"No, I don't," she said. "It's, it's part of our vows of simplicity and humility. It's a reminder of our commitment to chastity and poverty.

"Is it now?" I said. "Chastity, you say?"

"Yes," she whispered. "We are supposed to be chaste, to dedicate our lives to God and our convent. But it's. it's not always easy. Sometimes the desires of the flesh are so strong, and--"

"But inside some women is a demon that makes her crave cock."

"That's not true!" she said. "There are many pious women who do not have those... desires."

"Because they found someone like me to control their demons."

"Control them... how?" Her knees shook. The floor was exerting a powerful attractive force.

"With the strength of my faith," I said, and put some holy fanaticism into my eyes. I'd practiced that for hours in front of a mirror.

"Your... your faith?" she whispered. "And-and what would this do to me? How would it work?"

"It would dominate the demon inside of you and force it to do good," I said. "It could start with a simple command, such as Take off your clothes."

Her hands trembled as she removed her habit. As she stood before me in just her wimple, I saw that she was covered in piercings and tattoos like some kind of savage. She was also voluptuous with muscle and her skin glistening with sweat.

"Kneel," I said. "Arms folded behind your back, dear. Thrust your tits out."

She obeyed. Her breasts jiggled. She looked up at me and her nipples hardened to points.

"What's this?" I asked, brushing a finger over the welts on her back and shoulders.

"They-they are marks of my penance," she said. "I often punish myself with a cat o' nine tails, to rid myself of my sinful thoughts. I have thoughts, fantasies, that I know are not appropriate for a woman of God." She shivered. She took a deep breath and her chest heaved. "I have... thoughts of a sexual nature. I think about touching myself, about what it would feel like to be with a man."

I crouched to get a closer look at the other markings. "Are these tattoos? Did you do this to yourself?"

She looked at the lines and dots on her arms. "Every time I feel that the temptation is too strong, I mark myself to make my body less appealing."

"Fear not, my dear. I am not repelled. However, it is more serious than I thought."

"Please," she said. She looked up at me, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please help me. I tried so hard to control myself, to repent for my sins. But the feelings, my demon, I cannot escape it!"

I scrutinized the rings in her nipples, clit, and labia. "Did you do this to yourself as well?"

She looked away, but the rest of her body was locked in a kneeling position. "I thought it would make me less-likely to give in to temptation. They are a penance too, as they constantly pull on my flesh."

I looked her up and down. Clearly this woman was broken in ways I couldn't begin to unravel. I had to have her. I reached into my doublet and pulled out a steel collar, on which was engraved: PROPERTY OF THE INQUISITION.

She took the collar and held it in trembling hands. "You're an inquisitor," she said. "God be praised."

With a flourish of my cape, I showed her my seal. "Can you feel the power? Now your demon will be forced to obey me!"

She closed the collar around her neck and shivered. No doubt the metal was cold. "Yes," she said. "Oh, yes. Something is shifting inside of me!"

"What are you, Sister Nuria?"

"I am... I am yours," she said. She looked up at my with big eyes. "Your property."

"Good girl. Now grab your ankles, arch your back, and present your rear."

She obeyed. "Please don't hurt me."

I reached into my jacket again. A spare bootlace would do until I could make some blacksmith's day. I threaded it through her labia rings, pulled the whole thing closed, and tied it with a bow.

"Oh, oh," she mewled. "Please, I can't take much more of this!"

"Your cunt is the demon's mouth," I said. "Does that make sense? It must be starved to keep it weak."

She shivered and then slowly nodded. "My, my cunt is the demon's mouth. But, starved? But-but that would mean I can't have any pleasure. You would deny me that small comfort?"

"That's your demon talking, Nuria. It wants to take, take, and take without giving anything back. You must starve it until it swears to serve me and the Lord God."

"You're right," she said. She nodded forcefully. "I need to starve my demon. I need to submit to your control. Whatever it takes!"

"Swear to me, demon!"

Her voice cracked. "I swear to starve this demon until it submits to you and your wisdom. I surrender myself to you, completely and utterly."

"Swear it again!"

"I swear to give up my own pleasure and to submit to your control. My demon will starve until it is under your command."

"Swear it a third time, and on your own soul it shall be written!"

Her voice was stronger now. "I swear on my soul itself. My demon will starve, and it will submit to your command. I am completely yours, body and soul!"

"Good girls. Your demon is female, of course. Such a hot little slut."

Her cheeks flushed. I unlaced my breeches and exposed myself. She gasped. I'd wager this was the first cock she'd ever seen. She looked up at me, her eyes wide and her lips trembling.

I grinned. "Your demon deserves to be rewarded for her loyalty, doesn't she?"

She nodded. "She has suffered and will continue to suffer, so she deserves a small token of your benevolence."

"Taste it, then."

She leaned forward, her lips parting as her tongue darted out to touch the tip. She looked up at me. "Are, are you pleased?"

"Oh, Nuria. Yes, keep going."

The nun took my pizzle deeper into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip as she slurped and sucked. Fear and disgust passed over her face but something drew her on. Her arms were locked together behind her back with nothing but her own submission.

I reached down and tugged on a nipple ring. I eased my boot between her legs and she groaned. Her head bobbed and she sucked like she was, well, possessed. She leaned into me, her body writhing on my leg and foot. Her laced-up pussy was leaving tracks on the shoe leather.

She met my eyes again. "Please," she said, talking around my cock. "Please let me... just a little bit."

"Let me feed your demon?"

She nodded, her mouth still full of me. "Yes," she gasped out. "Please, I need to feed my demon. Just a little, just a taste!"

I stepped back, putting a hand on her shoulder so she wouldn't fall. She squatted and I reached down and unlaced her velvet purse.

She looked down at herself. Her clit throbbed and her pierced labia were puffy and swollen. I sat back on her bed and indicated she should mount me. She got on her hands and knees and kept her body low. She climbed onto the bed, onto me, and then she was straddling me with her pussy hovering over my cock.

She put her hands on my shoulders. She was breathing fast and trembling. "Please, I can't, I can't..."

I knew what she needed. I reached out and placed my hands on her waist. And slowly, slowly, I impaled her.

She let out a soft cry as she sank down. I'd deflowered enough women to know she was feeling violated, but also incredibly full. She could feel her body betraying her, her hips moving to accommodate me. Pain and pleasure warred on her face. All she could do was hold on as I pushed her down and further down until finally I was sheathed in her. And then I just... held her.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. "Please, please move."

I sighed and began moving underneath her. Her eyes crossed for a moment as she felt me work my way inside her. She embraced me like she was afraid of being swept away. I thought of earthquakes and landslides and shifted my body slowly but powerfully, thrusting upward with titanic power.

"I, I need something," she whispered. "I need to lose control. I need to feel completely helpless. I need to feel like I belong to you -- like you own me."

I took her hands and moved them above her head, tying them together with her own shawl. Lips unconsciously parted, she tried to look up at where her wrists were bound. I caught her chin and brought her mouth to mine. We were kissing as I bore her down to the sheets.