Abandoning yourself to humping the probe you try to keep some dignity and attempt to keep your moaning and gyrations to a minimal. No doubt you will fail this sick test, but you try to put on as little of a show as possible. Twitching your hips back and forth on the elongated probe you draw near to a climax.
So close; but then you hear the royal apothecary. “Time is up, lower the maiden’s head.”
“No!” You whimper as you feel the thick shaft leave your body as the wooden pole is lowered. Your initial, but failed attempts, to control yourself bought you just enough time to avoid an orgasm, but now the absence of the probe from inside your cunt on the verge of a climax is truly torturous. Vainly you try to squeeze your legs together in an unsuccessful attempt to satisfy yourself. Panting and focusing on relieving your desires you hardly notice the royal apothecary who removes the towel from around your waste and takes the probe to measure it.
“Your honor, the probe is now over seven inches in length and four and a half inches thick, which means the prisoner has caused it to grow more than four inches, and an inch and a half by girth. Morgan Hamilton has failed the test. Clearly this ‘woman’ is nothing but a whore and deserves whatever punishment you deem appropriate.”
The crowd roars with approval knowing that they will be getting the full show.
When the mob is somewhat silent the apothecary asks, “shall we now begin the full slate of torture?”
The judge is about to speak when the redhead takes him by the sleeve and whispers something to him. At first he questions whatever she said to him, but with a glee nod by the wench, he agrees to her unknown proposal.
“No, not yet.” The judge answers, as the crowd is shocked into silent murmurs.
With a slightly uncomfortable voice the judge asks. “Well me Ms. Hamilton, did you enjoy yourself fully?” The redhead harpy has a smile of a poisonous snake as the judge continues. “Do want a little more time to finish, before we move on to the torture?”
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