Denaasi

If she was to save the Holy Order and the Queen, Emily realised there was no time to waste. It was clear to her that the only possible answer was that Denaasi had been replaced by the traitor, and Alexa, Champion of the Holy Order was the one who would save the real queen. Now, about step one: escaping from this wooden frame. Alan, the creepy guard had moved his camping chair over to the stage next to the pillory and was now seated, reading something on his phone.

Her back was really starting to ache now, so she tried bending her knees slightly and arching her spine. That helped a little, although she knew she was effectively sticking her bottom out further. Hopefully, and as far as she knew, there was nobody back there though. She tried pulling her hands free, but this was no good. Craning her neck she could see the ends of the frame, that the top section was hinged on the left end, and on the other end a metal clip held it tight against the lower part. If only there was a way of loosening that clip she could probably lift the top and slide out. She tried shaking her shoulders, feeling her breasts swinging as she did so, but the frame did move a little and the clip wobbled a tiny bit. So it was possible to move it, and it might not take too much. But she wasn’t going to be able to do it from this position.

Alan looked over as she shook the pillory. ‘Settle down,’ he mumbled, ‘or I’ll have to punish you.’

A couple of fighters wearing armour which looked like it was made from carpet tiles stepped up to the stage. ‘Excuse me?’ said one of them, a tall thin boy wearing black rimmed glasses. ‘Could we come up and take a photo with her?’

Emily watched Alan as he seemed to think for a moment. ‘Got any cash?’ he asked. The boys beamed as they paid the guard for two minutes on the stage to take photos with the naked prisoner. ‘No touching!’ Alan shouted as suddenly the remaining crowd surged forward.

Emily tensed her entire body as the first two boys took turns crouching next to her face for photos, then moved behind the pillory as another three warriors gathered around her head. Within moments it was chaos; Alan’s chair was lying on its side, and Emily could hear him somewhere nearby shouting ‘No touching!’

Emily couldn’t help it – the crowd of people just didn’t seem to care about the no touching rule, and each time she felt an unseen hand on her hip or her back, she flinched and cried out. They quickly became more bold; she felt hands holding her hips as somebody stood close to her bottom, powerless to do anything about it; trying to squirm away just resulted in being gripped tighter. She saw somebody kneeling below her, felt him squeezing her breast to the sound of a camera shutter, then she heard a laughing voice behind her shout, ‘Yeah, slap it!’

She only had time to cry out ‘No!’ as a sharp smack landed on her bottom, resulting in a wave of laughter. Then another, and another.

A voice bellowed out over the crowd. ‘Everybody move! Get away or you’ll be kicked off the site! No refunds!’ and the crowd scattered, people jumping off the stage and running into the campsite as two security guards in their plate armour rushed toward Emily. Flushed, panicked, and short of breath, her eyes flitted around and saw two things: Alan stood at the edge of the stage looking worried, and the clip holding the frame together had been dislodged by the crowd, meaning she could now open the pillory and escape.