The Humiliation Of Redman Dane- Chapter 4

It was a beautiful late summer morning, with a gentle breeze moderating the warmth of the, still rising sun. However, the sanguine weather was not reflected in the face of the handsome young men riding his dappled grey horse through the Doset countryside. To say Redman was sulking would be to understate the sullen darkness of his mood.

For a youth as proud and arrogant as Redman, there were few pains which stung as fiercely as humiliation or the loss of his treasured dignity. Redman had been on this earth, just shy of twenty years, but never before had he suffered such humiliation, nor had his dignity been so shredded as in the last few days.

Almost a week had passed since the mortifying events had occurred in the great ballroom at his family mansion, yet the embarrassing images still flashed through his mind, as fresh and as painful as if they had happened moments before.

He had been forced to strip naked in front of the mocking gaze of the sons and daughters of the leading families of the county, and then publicly spanked on his bare rump like some miscreant child. Humbled and shamed, while the beautiful young gentlewomen giggled with glee from behind their fans, and the young gentlemen, who had previously envied him, now looked on with scorn and contempt.

That had been the darkest day of his life (so far) and one he would never forget.

Yet, as was his nature, Redman was not chastened by what had happened. Instead he seethed with furious anger and desire for revenge. Forgetting how disastrously his previous attempts at retribution had turned out.

All of a sudden his dark thoughts were disturbed when a masked and cloaked figure stepped our from behind a tree, pointing a musket at him. “Get down from that handsome horse young Sir! I have greater need of a steed myself!” the man’s voice muffled by his thick mask.

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Upon realising he had encountered a Highwayman, Redman’s initial impulse was to spur his horse to flight,. However, the barrel of the musket aiming at his chest made him sensibly think better, and he reluctantly climbed down from his horse.

“I’ll have those fine leather boots too Laddie!” sneered the masked stranger.

“You can’t take my horse and my boots…!” Redman protested. However, the robber then pointed his weapon directly at the angry young man’s groin

“You have a choice, young Sir!” the Highwayman laughed “You can keep your boots.. or your pecker, but not both!”

Redman did not require further encouragement, he quickly pulled off his boots and threw them at the armed man “You will hang for this, you villain!” he snarled

The highwayman laughed “In that case, I might as well take those breeches and your fine lace shirt as well!” his mouth twisted into a cruel grin “… and your drawers!”

Redman had had no option but to obey, stripping off his shirt , breeches and then finally his underwear until, moments later he stood naked scowling at the other man. Being forced to strip naked for a second time in less than seven days infuriating and embarrassing him “You can’t leave me here like this!” snapped angrily.

“Oh I can!” laughed the highwayman, as he mounted Redman’s horse, the handsome young blade’s garments and boots held firmly under his arm “Maybe a long walk home, with your pretty white bottom on display, will teach you a lesson in humility!”

With that he jerked the reins and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, and they galloped off down the country lane, as the naked and helpless Redman stared after him.

Vanishing over the horizon, the rider and his newly acquired steed galloped on for over a mile, until he reached the edge of a woodland stream, where, upon stopping , and pulled off his mask, revealing himself to be Able Griffiths, Redman’s long suffering manservant.

Able grinned sardonically imagining the impotent fury and humiliation his haughty young master must be feeling at that moment. “He’ll have a long and uncomfortable walk home” he thought, enjoying imagining Redman’s mortification, his only regret being that he could not personally observe it. “It’s no less than he deserves!” he smiled, as he stuffed the shirt, pants and breeches into the leather boots, which he then threw into the water, where they sank without trace.

He then cantered off across the fields, as he did so, he had no idea quite how uncomfortable and humiliating Redman’s ordeal would be.

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Having spent his life wearing boots, made of the finest leather, or soft kid slippers, Redman had exceptionally tender and sensitive feet, so by the time he had walked a mile in bare feet, he was in serious discomfort and limping badly.

As luck would have it, he eventually came upon the stream where Able had discarded his clothing. Seeing an opportunity to sooth his aching feet, Redman clambered down the bank and stepped into the cool refreshing water.

As he stood there allowing the water to ease the pain in his tender feet, our unlucky hero had no idea that his boots and clothing were mere yards away from him, hidden by less than two feet of dark running water.

Just as the water was soothing his painful feet, Redman was about to experience a far greater pain in a very different part of his anatomy. In order to take the weight off his feet, he decided to sit down on a rock, but unfortunately for his, he didn’t notice that the rock was already occupied buy a brightly striped and venom filled European hornet, blown north from it’s usual Iberian homeland by a recent gale.

As has been noted previously Redman had a spectacularly beautiful bottom, smooth, well rounded, creamy white and hairless, it resembled the an artistic creation, carved by a great artist, in the finest marble. However, the hornet saw no beauty in the huge and terrifying shape, blocking out the sun and moving rapidly towards it.

The tiny, but well armed, creature acted with instinct, believing itself under attack, it attacked back, with an angry BUZZ it flew straight at the approaching buttocks and, upon landing, sunk its fiery, venom filled stinger into the tender flesh at the very edge of Redman’s puckerng anus, before ejecting an agonising stream of acid fire into Redman’s most sensitive parts.

To Redman the sensation felt akin to a red hot pokere being rammed into his rectum, he jumped up, clutching is backside, and let out a yell of pain which echoed round the open countryside.

Young Master Dane was on yet another losing streak. The pain from a hornet sting is notoriously long lasting, and Redman would have a mighty sore butt hole for the next 24 hours or more. However, that was not the only discomfort he would suffer in that period.

Still miles from home, Redman trudged on, sore bottomed and sore footed, he tried to walk on the grass, which was less hard on his feet than the rough and stony path.

As he reached the brow of a hill, he spotted a small cottage in the distance, but more important than that, he spotted clothes, including a man’s shirt and breeches, hung out on a washing line next to the dwelling.

Had his prayers been answered, the garments may be poor quality peasant garb, but at least they would cover his nakedness and allow him some dignity when he arrived home.

Briefly forgetting the pain in his feet (if not yet the still burning hornet sting) Redman crept quickly across the field towards the cottage, glancing around in the hope that nobody would see him.

Upon reaching the washing line, the handsom myoung man quickly unpegged a white shirt and pulled it over his head. Although the garment was likely the owners Sunday best shirt, our haughty young gentleman frowned in disgust at the feeling of the rough course material against his skin.

However, seconds later, Redman experienced an altogether more unpleasant sensation, as the prongs of a garden fork were jabbed into he bare backside. He jumped in the air, tripped, and fell, landing heavily on his hornet stung and just jabbed rump.

He looked up and saw an angry looking man holding a long handled hay fork which was pointed threateningly at him. More disturbing still, was the woman next to him, holding a huge and, no doubt very sharp scythe, of the sort often depicted as held by Azrael, the Angel of Death.

Appreciating the danger he was in and what this hostile couple’s perception must be, he attempted to explain himself “I was robbed ….” he began, but was immediately interrupted

“It seems to me, it be you who’s doing the robbing!” snarled the farmer’s wife, taking a step towards him, still clutching her terrifying weapon. “I’ve a mind to rob thee of them fine pair of bollocks, your exposing to the world!”

Realising, to his horror, that his lower body was totally exposed, Redman hastily covered his groin with his hands. “It was a Highway man, a villain, he took my clothes and my horse!”

“A likely story!” scoffed the woman “There be no Highwaymen in these parts since then hanged Sam Wiggins back in ’52 ….. like you’ll be hanged soon enough you young Scallywag!”

“We’ll see what the constable has to say about this!” interjected the farmer, who was of a more temperate nature than his hot blooded wife “We’ll take you into town, and let the law deal with this, now get up!”

Redman was about to object , but one look at the wild haired Valkyrie and her deadly scythe made him think better of it “Please good Sir, could I have the loan of a pair of breeches, to cover my modesty?”

“You’ll get no more from us!” replied the women “You’ll ride into town bare assed, like the Rapscallion you are!”

Redman responded with characteristic haughty outrage “Do you know who I am madam?!!!”

“Don’t take on airs laddie You are nowt but a lowlife scoundrel!” shouted the farmer jabbing at the unhappy Redman with his fork.

Redman dodged the weapon, and reluctant to suffer further injury decided to control his tongue and comply with the farmers barked instructions. Hopefully and officer of the law would be more easy to deal with that this angry low class couple.

Poor Reman’s latest humiliation had only just begun, to his horror, the farmer ordered him to lie face down over the back, of an old, flea-bitten looking donkey, and then tied him in place, as the wife stood nearby menacing him with her scythe.

As Redman was still only wearing the farmer’s shirt, he was naked from the waist down (or in his current position, from the waist up). Hence the position he was now in resulted in maximum exposure. With his legs apart, his smooth, pink and hairless bare bottom uppermost and his anus and ball-sack on full display, he presented quite a striking spectacle.

It was with the deeply furious and painfully embarrassed Redman in this state, that the farmer led the across the fields into the local town, while his wife followed on, intermittently tapping the donkey’s hindquarters and Redman’s upraised bottom with a long riding whip. Predictably she smacked the second harder, and more enthusiastically than the first.

As Redman’s increasingly bad luck would have it, that day was Market day in the small town of Tinker’s Bottom, so the streets were crowded with shoppers who would all be afforded an exquisite, and close up, view of the unlucky young blade’s nether regions.

There was nothing Redman could do, but stare at the cobble stones below, or back over his shoulder, his face now scarlet with embarrassment.

“What have we here?” boomed a voice with a clear note of authority, as a tall man in a local constable’s uniform stepped out of the swiftly crowd of amused onlookers.

“He be a low misbegotten thief, who we caught stealing our Silas’s Sunday best !” replied the farmer’s wife.

“I am no thief Officer!” cried Redman, attempting to sound dignified despite his position “I am the Honourable Redman Dane, the son of Sir Humphrey Dane of Dane Mannor, and I have been sorely mistreated by these Common peasants! …..OWWCH!” he cried out in pain as the farmer’s wife hit his bare rump with her whip.

“Don’t you be callin’ us common you bog dwelling pinch purse!” snarled the angry woman.

“And also don’t tell lies!” commanded the policeman “The very suggestion that the son of a gentleman like Sir Humphrey Dane would be running round the countryside with no breeches, and stealing from good people, is an outrage!” he said “You better not make such claims in front of the Magistrate, or it will go worse for you!”

“Magistrate?”

“Aye! The Magistrate is holding court in the morning…. and you’ll be in front of him sonny Jim!” the constable paused “Except there’s nowhere to keep you overnight, the jail is fit for bursting!”

“Put him in the stocks!” cried a helpful voice from the crowd

“Excellent solution!” agreed the cunstable

“You can’t be serious my man…OUCH!” cried Redman in outage, and in pain, as the farmer’s wife gave him another whack.

Redman was horrified at the prospect of being placed in stocks, but not as horrified as he was when he actually saw the stocks themselves.

Over the years the weight of the heavy panel through which an unfortunate miscreant would place their head and hands, had proved too much for the central column on which it sat. The column had collapsed, and the panel had sunk to the ground.

As a result, any individual placed in the stocks, was required to kneel, with his face inches from the ground and his bottom raised high in the air.

This was an extremely undignified, exposed and humiliating position, and especially so for Redman, who, you, gentle reader, will recall, was still naked from the waist down.

Despite Redman’s protests, it was this revealing position he was manhandled into by two burly village locals, before being locked firmly into place.

Once again Redman was in a highly exposed and embarrassing position from which he could not escape. His mortification made all the worse by the sound of tittering and guffawing he could hear from behind him, as the growing crowd of villagers enjoyed the view.

And it seemed he would have to endure this indignity for many hours, and through the night.

Could Redman’s bad luck possibly get any worse?