Yes, you will say your peace.

Figuring you are going to get tortured no matter what you say you decide to make every moment count. Clearing your voice you speak boldly and without fear.

“Let this mob of pigs that seek but cheap thrills her today know that though I have robbed from many, it was from rich and imperial bastards that truly rob from you something much more precious, your freedom.”

“It is true I have not followed the mores taught by the royal sages and priests in my private life, but this is just slavery also. They enslave the commoner to impossible standards while they themselves are the biggest whores in their private lives. Their rules especially enslave women to be nothing more than an animal owned by men.”

“So to all of you who support this corrupt system, especially the asses sitting under the canopy, I have only one more thing to add. Go to hell!”

Though you receive a few faint applauses, the vast majority of the crowd boos and demands your torture begin forthwith. The aristocrats under the canopy all mummer to each other, pretending they have never heard such language before. Only the judge and his redhead companion give a faint smile.

When the boos die down the judge unceremoniously speaks. “Whipmaster strip the prisoner down to her undergarments and secure her on the posts.”

The hooded ogre of a man approaches you from behind and removes your chains. You rub your wrists enjoying a brief moment of freedom as the torturer commands. “You heard his honor, strip, or I will do it for you cunt.”

The crowd again demand your clothing by chanting, “Strip! Strip! Strip!” When you bend over and start to untie your boots it bursts into cheers.

When your boots are off, you strip off your vest and throw it to the side. With a sigh you begin to unbutton your shirt exposing more and more of your cleavage. When you open the shirt wide revealing the skimpy bra underneath many in the crowd gasp at the size of your tits. Placing your shirt on top of your boots you untie the front of your paints, painfully aware of much your breasts sway back and forth. Pealing the paints off you show the crowd your thong like loin cloth underneath.

Once stripped down to your undergarments the whipmaster leads you between the iron poles in the middle of the platform. You see parallel holes running down both sides of the poles. Taking your wrists and then your ankles the torturer puts leather straps on them and pulls them tight so that you are secured and spread eagle between the iron rods.

The whipmaster moves back as the judge has an announcement to make.