New in the Village

"It's perfect! We have to buy it!"

Lisa was standing in the kitchen of the cottage. Her husband Mark smiled. The roof beams of the kitchen just skimmed his head. But they both loved the cottage, built in the 1600s and extended many times since, and they loved the small, isolated village on the wild Norfolk coast. House hunting out of London, they had stumbled across it after getting lost — Little Marsham was barely a speck on GPS, and didn't seem to be on regular maps at all except as a road junction and post office. But in fact, there was a village green, surrounded by cottages and an ancient-looking pub with an unusual name, the Oak and Pony. Set a little back from the green behind a wall was a manor house and farm.

Much like many little villages in the English countryside, if a bit more remote than most — Lisa and Mark had come into Marsham unexpectedly after a detour along minor roads through woods and over heathland. But there was one cottage with a "For Sale" sign outside, and they loved it immediately.

The real estate agent smiled, too. Joan Crabtree looked to be in her forties, attractive and comfortably but casually dressed for showing a couple around a home in well-fitting jeans, a cashmere sweater and a country casual jacket and Burberry scarf.

"I'm glad you like it. These cottages don't come on the market very often, and hardly ever in Little Marsham. People here stay put."

"We love it." Lisa said, returning Mark's smile. "It's just what we're looking for."

Joan was glad to close the sale. If anything, she was understating the housing market in the area: this was the first prospective sale she'd had in months. The market wasn't what it was two years ago, she thought. She would have liked to sell the thirty-something city couple a bigger house, an old rectory or farmhouse perhaps, for a bigger commission. But they'd clearly fallen in love with Little Marsham, and there was nothing else on the market nearby.

Money, but not too much of it, she thought. Mark and Lisa had said they both worked in London, but wanted to cash in a cramped apartment on the outskirts and move out. Looking at their country-casual clothes and late model but not luxury car, Joan reckoned they could well afford the cottage. She wondered what they would make of the rest of the village and its traditions.

She led them out of the kitchen, back through the living room to the front door and into the garden with its view of the green.

Little Marsham did have one unusual feature. Where some village greens might have a duck pond or an old well, or if they are feeling modern a swing set or even a basketball hoop, the centerpiece of Marsham's village green was a solid looking wooden object, rather like a small high table with a vertical wooden board at one end. It stood on a grassy mound in the middle of the green, with a dirt path worn out to it.

"What you should know about Little Marsham is it does have some unique traditions," Joan said. "In fact there is actually a covenant that goes with the cottage that makes it a condition of sale that you will follow village traditions."

"I don't think we'll have a problem with that," said Mark.

"What sort of traditions?" Lisa asked. "Do we have to dress up? Some kind of festival?"

"Something like that, yes."

"I'm sure we'll cope," said Lisa, nudging her husband. "We're pretty broad minded."

She turned towards the green, washed in Spring sunshine, with a smile.

"It's just so pretty here." The object in the middle of the green took her attention.

"What is that, anyway?" She stepped through the gate and crossed the road, followed by her husband and the realtor.

"It's the village stocks," said Mark, catching up. "They'll put you in it for stealing and pelt you with rotten tomatoes."

"Technically, it's a pillory," Joan said. Mark looked at her, mildly surprised. "A stocks secures your feet, this is for the head and wrists," she went on.

Mark turned back to the pillory. It was solidly built of dark, weathered wood, but well-varnished and seasoned. At one end was a large wooden board made of three horizontal slats fitted into a wooden frame. The lower two slats were cut with a three half-circles so that when put together, the formed holes for the wrists and neck. Iron rings were set in the wood by each hole. The third slat, on top, provided a larger screen between front and back and the height of the holes could be adjusted by adding or removing slats. Wooden pegs held the panels in place in the frame.

Behind the headboard was what looked like a wooden sawhorse, but rather wider— wide enough to lie on, Lisa thought. She ran her hand over the wood. Like the headboard, it was worn smooth but felt sturdy and warm to the touch. There were metal rings attached to the legs of the horse, she noticed.

"How old is this?" Mark asked. Joan shrugged. "Pretty elaborate to leave out in the middle of the village."

"Maybe they use it for the village festival," Lisa said. "Remember the dunk tank at that head office party a few years ago?"

"Yes, I remember you having suspiciously good aim," Mark said, touching her nose.

Joan smiled.

***

"So, like a beauty contest?".

Mr Gibbens smiled patiently at Lisa. The farmer was a sixtyish man with glasses and grey facial hair that would have been fashionable about a century ago.

"You might say that, Miss," he said, with a rolling Norfolk accent. "Just the married women of the village, mind. It's a very old tradition of the village."

"And we dress up?"

"We keep all the dresses at the manor. You won't need to bring anything."

"Huh, sounds kind of fun," Lisa said, relaxing a little. She took a sip of her coffee.

"Yes miss, everyone enjoys our summer solstice."

"What's the prize for the winner?"

"Why she gets put in the pillory for the afternoon." Gibbens leaned back in his chair and smiled at Lisa, who was now staring at him over her coffee. "Noon until sundown."

"Funny kind of prize," Lisa managed to say.

"Oh, 'tis a great honor," said Gibbens, earnestly. "To be the pleasure of the whole village."

Lisa stared at him. Then she thought, look on the bright side. In the two months we've lived here, everyone's been friendly. She'd heard it could be hard to be a new person in an old place, that people could be distant or standoffish. But so far, Little Marsham had welcomed Mark and Lisa as if generations of ancestors were buried in the churchyard.

She shrugged and smiled.

"Ok, I'm in," she said. Gibbens beamed.

After she showed him out she thought, I wonder what he meant, "pleasure of the whole village." Must be a Norfolk phrase, she thought, dismissing it.

***

It was the morning of the summer solstice and although it was a weekday nobody in Little Marsham seemed to be going to work. Mark was Skyping with a client from the cottage's home office. Lisa walked to the Manor House, where the women were meeting to dress before the Choosing Ceremony at noon.

As she crossed the green, she noticed that two young men were cleaning the pillory, and hanging it with garlands of flowers. She nodded and smiled as she passed and they waved back.

"Hello?" She called, pushing open the front door and entering an airy hallway with a stone floor.

"In here!" It was Joan the estate agent, from a side room. Lisa walked in, and was taken aback. About a dozen women were in the room. In fact, the chatter coming from the room would have given it away.

Gibbens had said that Pleasure of the Village was open to all "coupled" women of the village, with no upper age limit. For the most part, the contenders were in their thirties and forties, with bodies ranging from the gym-toned to what Lisa and Mark were privately calling "Norfolk Broad." After two months in Little Marsham, Lisa recognized most of them at least on a nodding basis.

More surprising was that they were all either already, or about to be, naked.

As she watched, Mrs Holley from Post Office — someone Lisa had definitely not visualized nude before now — picked up a piece of clothing from a basket on the floor and slipped it over her head. It looked to be a woolen smock, simply made with short wide sleeves, that a peasant woman might have worn in an earlier age. She took a piece of rope from another basket and tied it around the waist, then fitted a white cloth cap on her head.

"Flattering outfit," Lisa whispered to Joan, who smiled. 'You'd be surprised," she said, and peeled her sweater over her head revealing a pale, firm body and D-cup breasts in a black bra. Kicking off her shoes, Joan wiggled out of her jeans and panties, revealing a voluptuous ass, took off her bra then pulled out a smock for herself.

"Here, get changed," she said.

"Er, why no underwear?" Lisa asked. Joan looked at her with a grin.

"Well, that will just get in the way if you're pleasuring the village, won't it?"

"What?!"

"Pleasure of the Village. Do you know what it means?"

"I thought it was like, a beauty contest..." Lisa trailed off. No, they couldn't be serious.

Could they?

Joan finished tying off her dress.

"Let me explain. It's a bit like the Lady Godiva story. But in the Little Marsham version, instead of riding through town naked, the lady let herself be put in the pillory for the pleasure of the village."

"So pleasure of the village means..."

"Getting fucked by the whole village. Yes."

"You're fucking kidding me."

"Am not." Joan looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Marjorie. I'm explaining what today is about to Lisa, but she doesn't believe me."

"Oh it's true enough, m'dear," said Mrs Holley. "Been a few years since I got picked to ride the oak pony, but I'll still give it a try," she cackled and slapped her ample ass.

Joan turned back to Lisa. "Remember the covenant you signed when you bought the house?"

"Respecting village traditions...Yes..." Lisa felt faint and she dropped onto a couch. "Not quite what I was expecting."

"Look, you probably won't get picked, then you can watch or go home. Worst case, you'll get a lot of dick this afternoon. Have to admit, I was pretty shocked when I first came to the village. And we don't talk about it to outsiders. But if you go with it, I think you'll actually enjoy it."

Lisa considered. It wasn't like she was some blushing virgin. She'd had an active an adventurous sex life, before Mark and with him. There'd even been a gloryhole party in her college days. Now, that had been a lot of dick. But —

Mark. What about Mark?

"What's my husband going to think?" She said out loud.

"We find the menfolk are usually okay with it," Joan said, winking. "Now, get your clothes off and get your costume on. Choosing is at noon."

***

Just before noon, Mrs Gibbens, a blonde who Lisa guessed was in her mid-fifties but not showing it, led the women down Manor House's gravel drive, across the road and onto the green. Lisa also recognized the Vicar's wife, a barmaid from the Oak and Pony, some farmer's wives, two other women who had moved up from London and telecommuted like Mark and herself, and a couple of officers from the womens' prison on the other side of the heath who shared a cottage and joked that they were a "two for one package."

Most of Little Marsham's adult residents were standing or sitting about on the green in front of the pillory. As the women approached, they were greeted with cheers, applause and a few whistles. The crowd parted and made space in front of the oak pony, where Mr Gibbens had them stand in a line facing the crowd.

One by one, the contenders took a card with a number and were led to step up on to a wooden box for the inspection of the crowd. Some waved and smiled; some blew kisses; Mrs Holley pulled up her skirt to show off a great deal of thigh, to hoots of approval and laughter and slaps on the back for Mr Holley.

When it was Joan's turn she vamped the crowd, putting hands on hips and making the smock as figure hugging as she could. That got a few whistles, too.

Then it was Lisa's turn. Mr Gibbens handed her up onto the box and she looked out on the crowd, smiling uncertainly.

And there was Mark. He was grinning his head off.

A big smile broke across Lisa's face. Taking the hem of her skirt in both hands, she managed a curtsy to the crowd. Then she turned round, pulled the hem right up and stuck out her bare ass at the crowd to cheers and applause.

Dropping the skirt hem, Lisa stepped off the box blushing furiously. What had come over her? Searching the crowd, she caught Mark's eye and he gave her a lewd wink and an "OK" sign.

"Time to cast your votes, folks!" Mr Gibbens announced. Those who wished to cast a vote took a pebble from a pile and took it to a table with a number chalked on it for each woman. Piles of pebbles grew by each number.

Gibbens and the two other judges inspected the piles and conferred, then called over the two young men Lisa had seen earlier cleaning the pillory for a short conversation.

Gibbens stood on his box and called for quiet.

"We have a unanimous winner," he said. "This year's Pleasure of the Village will be...number 12!"

Lisa just had time to think, wait, that's me, then strong hands grasped her by the arms. It was the two lads Gibbens had spoken to and with a firm tug, they started to lead her to the pillory as the crowd whooped and cheered.

Lisa felt almost detached from herself as she was led forward. She wasn't being dragged, exactly; but she realized that if she would have had a hard time breaking the boys' grip.

They led her to the back of the pillory, where two other men were lifting out the slats of the headboard.

"Lie down, Miss," one of them said. "Head through the hole...careful now."

Lisa did as she was told, bending forward so her upper body was supported by the platform and her neck rested in the groove. Feet on the ground, she put her wrists through the holes.

The upper part of the headboard slid into place with a thud and was locked in place. Her wrists were seized and wrapped with leather straps secured to ringbolts on the board. She felt straps wrap round her ankles, fastening them to the frame.

"Strip her."

Strong hands grabbed the neck of her dress and pulled. The seam running up the back — which she had noticed was only loosely sewn — ripped open and the dress fell apart.

She was strapped down tight, naked and helpless. Lifting her head a bit she could look out across the green towards the pub and houses on the other side and beyond that the edge of the woods that rose up to the heath.

A few villagers were still standing around below the pillory mound, watching the action. But most of the action was moving behind her.

"Just a reminder of the rules," Gibbens was saying. "One at a time, no pushing. Everyone stays behind the headboard and that means nothing in her mouth" — there were a couple of 'awww' groans — "one of the other girls can take care of you for that" — laughter — "things get dry, use some of that grease, same if you're going up her arse" — more laughter and cheers — "the maids will give her a clean off now and then." Applause.

"Now line up nice and let's have some fun." Cheers and applause settled down to a buzz of conversation as apparently, the villagers were getting ready.

At last Lisa felt a pair of rough hands on her ass. The hands gripped and smoothed over her ass then put a finger between her legs, where Lisa could feel herself getting wet as the hands' owner grunted approvingly. She felt body warmth against her legs and then the head of his cock was pressing against her pussy, first a little high but then he found her slit and with a thrust the hot cock was inside her.

Lisa gasped in shock as the man started to fuck her, his hands grabbing her hips and his hips smacking against her as he pounded in hard and fast. Waves of pleasure started to move up her body, but the man wasn't trying to hold back at all and within about 30 seconds his breathing started to get ragged then his cock was twitching and pumping inside her as he came.

The man pulled out to cheers from the crowd but almost before Lisa could catch breath another cock was rubbing against her. This one was thicker and she gasped as he buried his shaft in her. Then started to fuck with a slap-slap-slap of his body against hers. Again his climax came hard and fast.

Lisa could feel cum dripping out of her as he pulled out, warm and sticky against her skin. But then the next cock came in...

After number three, there was a call for cleanup. Warm water splashed over her ass and legs and a rough cloth wiped her clean.

"Think I'll try the arse," said a voice. Then Lisa felt something soft and slippery being slapped on her ass. Fingers smeared grease over her anus and then she winced as a finger went inside her. Remembering the last time Mark had fucked her ass she tried to slow her breathing and relax as the finger popped out and then she felt the pressure of a cock against her ring.

Breathe - relax - breathe - she thought but oh god it's starting to hurt - the man kept pushing and she gritted her teeth, eyes shut tight — but then her sphincter opened and the cock was inside her OH GOD she felt so full and good — He slowly started to fuck her as Lisa gasped and moaned — then as she relaxed he pounded her harder.

Suddenly the man pulled back, leaving her rectum feeling empty — hot jets of cum landed on her ass as he came over her.

"Opened 'er up for you, mate," the man said, giving her a slap. Then another cock was pushing against her anus...now she opened up easily as he thrust into her.

Lisa's head was swimming and sweat was trickling down her face as her body rocked with the thrusts from behind. Below her people were moving around, chatting and watching the action. Some had brought pints from the pub and settled down on the picnic tables. As she watched a couple of women in smocks and caps — she thought it was the barmaid from the Oak and Pony, and that could be the Vicar's wife — walked up to the picnic tables and sat down. Quickly they were surrounded by a half circle of men loosening their belts and dropping their pants.

A man walked from behind Lisa, buckling his pants and laughing to his friends. They slapped his back and walked off to the pub together.

The cock was still pounding into her...then slowed as its owner grunted and started to cum in her ass. He pulled out, and Lisa could feel the warm cum sliding out of her.

Another splash of water and a rub down, then a hand on her ass. The hand felt her for a minute then lifted off...then smacked her hard across the right cheek, making Lisa yelp and knock her head against the board of pillory. But now hands were grasping her hips again and another cock was sliding into her pussy...

There were other slapping and sliding sounds now, then a grunt as splash of hot cum landed on her upper back while a cock was still inside her. There must be men standing around jerking off over her, she realized hazily, as more cum landed on her other side.

Lisa lost count.

She was in a daze of sexual pleasure, buzzed on cock after cock plowing into her pussy and ass, cum drying on her skin where it wasn't rinsed off. Her pussy was aching and her tits were starting to hurt where she lay on the pillory's frame. Ankles and wrists chafed against leather straps, but she felt the pain distant through the haze.

A new sensation. Instead of a cock slamming into her, something soft and warm was exploring her pussy. The tongue ran around her lips then felt its way forward to lap at her clit. Lisa couldn't feel stubble — woman's face, she thought. The face was pressed against her now as the tongue lapped at the cum on Lisa and tried to tease her clit.

Lisa started to moan with pleasure as a warm feeling spread through her. But soon the mouth moved off and fingers slipped into her instead. Lisa panted as the fingers pressed against her g-spot, then pulled out. A hand slapped her ass, then a pause and another cock was pressed against her and ready to plunge in...