Emma's Witch Trial

As Emma dealt with these conflicting emotions Mrs Boyce walked towards her brandishing the goose feather.

"Go on Mrs Boyce. Let her have it!" Mrs Holland sang out.

"Every nook and cranny Mrs Boyce." chipped in Mrs Braithwaite.

The men stole glances at each other. None of them had believed in this nonsense from their wives about witches from the beginning but once the Professor had rambled on about this Prodd fellow they knew better than to interject, and as they held the naked curvaceous freshly shaven Emma they felt thoroughly vindicated.

"Right this is your last chance to confess!" boomed Mrs Boyce as she stood between Emma's open legs.

"I keep telling you I'm not a witch!" Emma protested. She knew deep down she could have ended this nightmare by confessing but then these people had lost their minds and god knows what they'd do if they thought they'd actually captured a real life Witch.

"Have it your way young lady." Mrs Boyce sighed as she flicked the feather over Emma's lower tummy.

As the feather worked its way over her plump shaven mound, Emma gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to give the Daily Mail reading fascists the satisfaction of seeing her writhe and cackle. Maybe they'd think she wasn't ticklish at all and stop. As the feather swooped down over her labia, Emma was trying everything in her power to stop the fit of giggles she could feel rising from the pit of her stomach. Mrs Boyce trailed the feather up and down each outer lip in turn before bustling it over both in a zig zag pattern.

Mrs Boyce stared her hapless victim direct in the face. She knew this was driving Emma insane and it was only matter of time before she cracked. How Mrs Boyce had dreamed of this moment from the moment she clapped eyes on Emma. Here she was stripped, exposed and totally at her mercy. This is what should have happened to that shameless Price woman, thought Mrs Boyce to herself. Showing her bosoms off like that. Maybe some of this treatment around her nipples in her garden in full view of the neighbours would have been even more effective than the note though her door in teaching her humility. Mrs Boyce's mind raced with possibilities.

As the feather moved upwards and circled the hood of her clit, Emma began to splutter and her faced turned crimson with stifled laughter

"I think you've found the spot Mrs Boyce." chirped the Professor "Don't be afraid to try other methods though. It's said that Mr Prodd was just a deft at tickling a witch's undercarriage with his fingers as his trusty feather."

Normally the idea of touching another woman's private area would have been unthinkable to Mrs Boyce but so caught up in the moment was she that she reached down between Emma's thighs with her right hand and began to tickle all over the hapless woman's pussy with her fingertips and manicured nails. The shock of this assault was too much for Emma to bear and she was soon in a hopeless fit of laughter. Emma screamed, giggled, cackled and howled as her pussy was given a thorough tickling that Obadiah Prodd himself would have been proud of.

The hilarity increased as Mrs Boyce jumped up to straddle the end of the table and put the wriggling fingers of both hands to work. Mr Boyce noticed a look come over his wife's face that he had previously only seen within the confines of the bedroom. She was beginning to make as much of an exhibition of herself as she was Emma but he hadn't the inclination to tell her to stop. A cursory glance at the other men's' tented trousers told him that they wouldn't be stopping this spectacle either. As Mrs Boyce tickled Emma's clit Mandy let out a tremendous gasp and bucked her hips wildly

"That's definitely the spot Mrs Boyce!" cried Mrs Holland "Keep at it. You've nearly got her!"

Emma too was now lost in the moment and the wet slipperiness of her pussy made it even more susceptible to Mrs Boyce's touch. As the older lady concentrated her efforts on her swollen clitoris the hoots of laughter form Emma were gradually replaced by gasps and moans. The woman she disliked more than anyone was manipulating her clit in front of a room of fully clothed near strangers. Emma should have been mortified but the smell of her arousal and the red flush spreading across her chest betrayed her true feelings. Suddenly she cried out as if in pain as her orgasm surged through her.

"Oh god, Oh my fucking god!" screamed Emma as Mrs Boyce tickled her clit faster "Oh God!!"

After an orgasm so hard that she thought she'd pulled every muscle in her tummy, Emma fell back breathlessly into Mr Holland's now strangely comforting grip. Mrs Braithwaite and Mrs Holland gently but firmly pulled Mrs Boyce off of Emma and the modern day Witch Tickler looked embarrassed as she smoothed down the hem of her skirt and wondered how on earth this was going to come across in the parish newsletter.