i don’t cry, don’t beg for mercy, my slave-brain tells me it’s futile, a dreg can expect none. But more than that, through all this hurricane of agony, i’m quietly determined – not to resist, no heroics - but simply to take and absorb all he hurls at me. Such is the way, the only way, a slavegirl can survive, this is what i’ve come here to be trained in, the lesson of the Whip. So i cling to the chain with tight fingers, thrust my bare breasts to the pillar like a lover, let myself scream, as i’m flung about helpless, blow upon blow.
He takes his time, long pauses to watch me writhe, waiting till he spots a chance, as my kicking and twisting expose new, nubile targets - then a lightning flash of the whipthong whistles and cracks against my hide again, again, and yet again.
i’m panting, gasping, pouring out sweat, my cries are growing hoarse, a raging thirst adds to my torment, yet still my inward, sexual hunger tortures me worse ...
i’ve no sense how long it goes on for, how many lashes he lands on me – maybe two dozen, maybe three, or even more, it soon becomes a continuous stream of pain, waves crashing over me, sucking me down in a whirlpool of agony.
In the end, i’m confusedly aware of my wrists being freed, i feel myself sink, sliding on my silvery gloss of sweat down the pillar to my knees, and then on the floor in a posture that’s already instinctive, the pose of obeisance, my face on the blood-spattered dust by his boots.
“Th-thankyou ... Sir ...” i croak.
He kicks me, i roll over on my side, onto my back, it’s hideously sore, my spine and shoulders shudder as they ‘re chafed on the rough slabs.
“Sula-ki!” He commands, i lay my arms beside me, palms up, thighs spread, knees bent, soles planted firmly on the floor. Then i lift my whip-weltered hips, he kneels between my legs, his penis proudly erect, i hold myself still in readiness.
my poor vulva’s bleeding from the nips of the stone-tipped whip, i cry out once more as he penetrates me. He grips at my bruised, bleeding breasts, pounding away in the body he’s just been breaking – and still the strong surge of desire is gripping my woman-parts, responding to his violence, the orgasm i’ve been nourishing as i struggled now bursts through the whole of my body, at the moment his sperm erupts into me, i whinny like a mare, he roars like a bull.
He pulls himself out of me, stands up and straightens his clothing, i sink back to the floor, panting, quivering, the muscles of my sore abdomen still contracting in sharp spasms, my mind swimming in a delirium of pleasure and pain as i gaze at the cobweb-hung stone vault above me.
He kicks me again. “Up!” i struggle to pull my senses together, lift myself unsteadily to my feet, stand trembling at the ready.
“Not bad for an earth-cunt,” he growls,
“Thankyou, Sir,” i say, feeling at last that i truly mean it.
“We shall meet again,” he continues with a grin, I shall look forward to it. Full-frontal next time. Then maybe suspension, hanging on chains, eh, dreg?”
“It will be an honour, Sir.”
He grabs my arm and hauls me half-staggering back along the dark passage, out through the narrow archway, almost carries me up the stairs. In the stripping room, the blonde slave is kneeling in obeisance again beside a new girl, naked like me, next in line for the Flagellator’s attentions.
While he starts to examine her, i pull on the burlap, tie the cord, prostrate myself once more for a final “Thankyou”. He is preoccupied now with the intimate anatomy of the terrified youngster, her grey-blue eyes follow me with a look of helpless fear – the sight of my freshly-whipped, still-bleeding and sweat-glistening body must be filling her with terror.
