Myds6

Gretchen was almost insulted that the archer and townswoman who led her away didn’t bother to tie her up. In reality, however, any threat she might have posed was mitigated by the cactus needles in her rear that made her whine with each step.

Yvette pointed and laughed. “Empirical evidence says otherwise.”

“When my sisters come to my rescue, I am going to make you pay. With every fiber of your being. No one humiliates me!”

Gretchen, who had just undergone the slow and painful process of being extricated from the cactus by the townswomen, glared at her.

“It worked!” she said, cheerfully, to no one in particular.

Moments later, she was surrounded by spear-wielding townswomen. And a petite, begoggled woman in striped pants and a leather corset was starting at her, arms crossed, with a huge smile on her face.

The silence broken, and her apprehension inevitable, Gretchen let out a series of expletives and threats directed at the hypothetical creator of the trap that had systematically stripped her, spanked her, hit her with a pie in the face, and landed her ass-first on a cactus.

Of course, her attempts at silence were also moot, as whoever had decided to place a cactus there, presumably the person who placed the rope above the quicksand, spilled the oil, and installed the flagpole and plank, had thought enough in advance to install a bell, attached by a short piece of wood, into the cactus.

Even though she was on a stealth mission, she couldn’t help but let out a short, high-pitched squeal as her well-spanked cheeks made contact with the spiny plant.

If she HAD looked down, she would have seen the ground down below, and the giant potted cactus that had been carefully placed below the plank, flagpole, oil puddle, and climbing rope.

The soft fabric of the panties couldn’t handle all the strain of her violent movements in addition to holding her up, so they gave out sooner, perhaps, than they would have, sparing her some time in the indignity of a hanging wedgie.

The panties dug into her, both back and front as she dangled. Terrified, she swung her arms and legs to try to right her position. To what end, she was uncertain. She was still afraid to look down.

Again, she anticipated a serious fall, although she was less than half as high as she had been when the flagpole gave out.

The string had been attached to a rope, which held on one side, a counterweight. As the string broke, the counterweight pulled down on the rope, which, through a pulley on the ground was connected to a lever.

…and dropped her again on her beleaguered behind.

The springboard launched her a few feet into the air again…

Any comments?

To her surprise, the fall was broken, in short order, as her backside made contact with a wide, thin plank that was inexplicably projecting from the wall just below the flagpole, the puddle of oil, and the attachment of the rope that had allowed her to escape the quicksand.

Then, things took a turn for the worse, if that was possible.

"Gopfertelli! My eggs are scrambled!" she cursed as her fall was broken by a flagpole that was located directly below the puddle of oil. Indeed she had landed with one leg on either side of the flagpole.

She should have been looking in front of her, however. As she planted her feet on the wall and stepped around to survey the situation before her next move, she failed to watch the stone under her feet.

Finally reaching the ledge, she pulled herself up without difficulty. As a mercenary, she had pulled herself up more than a few ledges even at her relatively young adulthood.

Much relieved, she found that the rope was firmly attached to the wall. But to her unexpected chagrin, the wall had been outfitted on either side of the rope with small hooks.

She considered turning back, but found that the ground under her was sinking fast.

She found no evidence to answer any of these questions, but, as she drew near the rope, the ground became soft and muddy. Her steps became difficult as her boots sunk into the mire.

Spying a rope hanging from the top of the wall, she approached it for a closer inspection.

Meanwhile, outside, Gretchen, the youngest of the three sisters, was examining the fortifications in search of a weakness.

She lifted her head from the filthy slop long enough to witness one of the sows chewing on her beret, then lost consciousness.

What could have been a bone-crunching thud was instead a gurgling splat, as the mercenary plunged into a too-conveniently placed pig sty.

But just after she reached the top and relaxed for a second, she noticed the marbles under her feet. She tried to catch her balance, but her momentum coming up the wall had left her moving slightly forward.

It was little consolation that at least she fell on the inside of the wall.

With catlike precision, Carlotta scaled the walls, balanced on a buttress, and worked her way from one section of construction to another, using the variation in building styles as a foothold.

Carlotta, meanwhile, had walked around to the south, where she found a section of wall where walls of buildings were built into the defensive works.

Unable to stifle her curses, she climbed to her feet and inspected the damage to her pants.

Trying to muffle a scream as the leaves tore at her skin and clothing, she landed unceremoniously on her backside in a holly bush.

About three quarters of the way up, she grabbed onto a stone that came loose, and lost her purchase, plummeting down the wall.

Carlotta followed the wall north of the gate, looking for weak spots.

“OK, remember the plan,” Carlotta said.

While stealth operations usually took place in the dark, Carlotta and Martine had decided that they were in unfamiliar territory, and wanted to be able to see where they were going.

“Speaking of troops,” Auriane added, “I think I’ll hurry to the capital, tell them of our success, and beg for reinforcements.” Helena nodded, “Be careful. You can invoke my name, for what it’s worth, but it might not carry as much weight as you think. Most of them thought that I was a fool for leaving the walls of the capital.” Auriane departed, Broussard stood watch, Yvette and Helena planned and schemed, but the night passed without further event.

In another tavern across the river, the women of Dacqoise were toasting their success at liberating their town.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and a woman in a red suit and cap, and a yellow vest entered the room.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the river, scouts were reporting back to the tavern that served as the forward command center for the Foxglove sisters.

After some time, the beatings reached a crescendo, and Auriane stepped forward and spoke to the crowd: “I think it’s time we see what the rest of the town thinks is appropriate for these women.” There was a massive cheer, as the townswomen ran toward the scaffold.

The spanking went on and on, to the enjoyment of the townspeople who had gathered to watch. The backsides jiggled, from Rowena’s the biggest, to Vittoria’s chubby butt, to Lorraine’s small one.

Locking Lorraine in the stocks, Patrice started to seriously punish the woman who stripped her, while Clarabelle continued beating Rowena with her own sword, and Corinna gave Vittoria the spanking of a lifetime.

This continued until Lorraine was fully nude and Patrice was armored.

As the traitor was systematically stripped, the denuded town guard was able to cover up again.

The bad girl cleared her eyes, but the springboard wasn't done with her yet. She bounced another five or six times, her backside red with screaming pain. But then, the plank shifted just as the flagpole had.

Patrice was garnering applause by forcing Lorraine to remove the armor she had taken from her, piece by piece, and putting it on.