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Vignettes from the slave pits

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theseus

Governor
Market Day

melissa - bdsmlr-75293-EP840X7aZH.jpeg

A market is as much a social gathering place, a place of entertainment, as it is a place where people trade and do business. This is especially true in parts of Africa where there is little other public entertainment. This was very much the case in the market at Otjiwambo.

As always, the slave market attracted much attention, much more from casual window shoppers than from buyers. After all, there are many less pleasant things to do than to browse among the slaves on offer. Even a poor man can dream! There was a very definite buzz at the market on this occasion. The pirates had been at it again, very, very successfully. While cargo ships laden with valuable goods were by far the most profitable targets, the odd passenger vessel still operating in the area provided a much more entertaining cargo. This ship was a real bonanza. It was on a “singles cruise,” stuffed full of young people, and a few not so young, all looking for a sexual adventure, and perhaps even a life partner. Abdulrahim, busy making a deal with a brothel in Azerbaijan, felt that he was in fact doing the passengers a favour, by helping them achieve their dream. They were certainly going to have many sexual adventures, and, after all, slavery was for life, wasn’t it?

The male passengers and crew, with the exception of a few who were attractive enough to be marketable, were unfortunate. They would spend the rest of their lives working in the Marijuana and Kat plantations that provided a substantial and steady income for the local warlord. As for the females, and the attractive young men, well, they were on show and would fetch high prices. Abdulrahim knew all about marketing, one of the many useful things he had learned as a student at the LSE. “Get the buyers excited! Allow them to dream. This loosens their grip on their purse strings.” The lecturer who taught him that piece of wisdom was a particularly attractive young Ph.D. who was presently giving very expensive blowjobs in a brothel in Dubai. One of his first successful business deals.

Abdulrahim had put his academic training to good practical use. An interactive market, with a ‘try before you buy’ policy certainly sustained interest, and kept prices high. After all, as the perspicacious lecturer had known, there were certain stimuli that promoted sales and helped raise prices.

He smiled as Annie managed to stifle her gag reflex. She had soon learned that a proper blowjob was nothing like the delicate little kisses she had planted on the head of her boyfriend’s pitiful pecker. Fortunately, she had natural talent, and could soon take all but the largest organs Africa had to offer. He watched as one of the salesmen hovered, waiting for the right moment. The prospective buyer’s eyes were already glazing over as Annie got to work. The salesman would wait until she had the buyer deep in her throat before offering him a sales contract. Both of them knew that no man could think straight with a tight throat massaging the head of his cock. Annie was as good as sold.

Sarah was more than a little apprehensive as one of the sales assistants led her to the show platform. She had been chosen to demonstrate that even a petite white girl could easily accommodate all that the buyers had to offer. She looked away from Mustapha, the sales assistant, afraid that if she looked too closely at the thing dangling between his legs, her courage would fail her. She swallowed convulsively; while still flaccid, it was almost as long as her arm! And almost as thick! Already the salesman was starting his patter.

“Come along, brothers. Let us show you that these feringhee women are insatiable and accommodating. Gather around, and watch as she takes Mustapha the Bull in every orifice! Think about it! For a very modest price you, too, can own one of these tight, eager, almost virgins! Imagine such a tight sheath for your own proud member!”

Abdulrahim smiled. The ignorant Azerbaijani had just closed the deal at a very, very profitable price! Another dozen girls, and four effeminate males sold. His grin broadened as Sarah’s eyes widened, the thought of plumbing her tight holes was bringing Mustapha to his full rampant glory! She now knew why he was called ‘the bull!” As she knelt on the platform the thought flashed through her mind. “Excitement and sexual adventure! I guess we get what we wish for.”

Market day in Otjiwambo was always entertaining!


Artwork by Julie and Melissa
 

theseus

Governor
Oral Practical

fuckslaves bdsmlr-748190-WMEW4Zh4b7.png

Heidi enjoyed every moment at Miss Waterfield’s Academy for Girls of a Certain Kind. Well, perhaps not very moment. Her bottom was on fire again! Another dozen neat, perfectly spaced, exquisitely painful wheals decorated her shapely bottom.

This afternoon was Oral Practical. She and Priscilla were already locked into the stocks, just their heads visible to the gentlemen who kindly donated their time to help the young ladies perfect their oral techniques. Priscilla, they called her Prissy for short, although she was anything but, was as eager as always! Mouth open, eyes eagerly waiting for the first glimpse of a cock to be sucked. Heidi was less eager. Although she knew better than to not have her mouth open. There was no more space on her bottom for any more of the Headmistress’ artwork.

Not that Heidi had anything against cocksucking! She enjoyed a good, thick cock as much as the next girl. It was the casual remark their form prefect had made as she locked them into the stocks for their three-hour practical. “It is the St John’s boys’ afternoon for sodomy practical. As it turns out they are hosting a number of exchange students from Nigeria, which leaves us a bit short of available receptacles. Mistress Burnett suggested that, as your bottoms are, shall we say, extra to the establishment during this practical, they be made available to the exchange students for their practical.” She smiled broadly at the two captive heads. “I assured Mistress Burnett that you would have no objection to helping out.”

“Damn granny!” Heidi thought. There are certain disadvantages to having your grandmother on the staff. Her poor bottom. Those St John’s students tended to be over enthusiastic, to say the least. Heaven alone knew what Nigerians would be like? Her freshly caned buttocks would be groped, squeezed and pummelled, she was sure! “Focus!” She thought. “Focus on oral! Do not lose concentration! The merest slip, the scrape of a casual tooth, would certainly add to the bruises and wheals already decorating her creamy globes.

“Focus, Heidi, focus!” She repeated to herself. “As Mannering said, the other end is excess to the establishment. Let the students attend to the buggery end of things.”

She flashed a quick smile at Prissy as the first of the gentleman volunteers entered. She greeted her benefactor with smiling eyes and a hot, willing mouth!

Oral Practical was one of her favourite classes.
 

melissa

Administrator
Staff member
Market Day

View attachment 970299

A market is as much a social gathering place, a place of entertainment, as it is a place where people trade and do business. This is especially true in parts of Africa where there is little other public entertainment. This was very much the case in the market at Otjiwambo.

As always, the slave market attracted much attention, much more from casual window shoppers than from buyers. After all, there are many less pleasant things to do than to browse among the slaves on offer. Even a poor man can dream! There was a very definite buzz at the market on this occasion. The pirates had been at it again, very, very successfully. While cargo ships laden with valuable goods were by far the most profitable targets, the odd passenger vessel still operating in the area provided a much more entertaining cargo. This ship was a real bonanza. It was on a “singles cruise,” stuffed full of young people, and a few not so young, all looking for a sexual adventure, and perhaps even a life partner. Abdulrahim, busy making a deal with a brothel in Azerbaijan, felt that he was in fact doing the passengers a favour, by helping them achieve their dream. They were certainly going to have many sexual adventures, and, after all, slavery was for life, wasn’t it?

The male passengers and crew, with the exception of a few who were attractive enough to be marketable, were unfortunate. They would spend the rest of their lives working in the Marijuana and Kat plantations that provided a substantial and steady income for the local warlord. As for the females, and the attractive young men, well, they were on show and would fetch high prices. Abdulrahim knew all about marketing, one of the many useful things he had learned as a student at the LSE. “Get the buyers excited! Allow them to dream. This loosens their grip on their purse strings.” The lecturer who taught him that piece of wisdom was a particularly attractive young Ph.D. who was presently giving very expensive blowjobs in a brothel in Dubai. One of his first successful business deals.

Abdulrahim had put his academic training to good practical use. An interactive market, with a ‘try before you buy’ policy certainly sustained interest, and kept prices high. After all, as the perspicacious lecturer had known, there were certain stimuli that promoted sales and helped raise prices.

He smiled as Annie managed to stifle her gag reflex. She had soon learned that a proper blowjob was nothing like the delicate little kisses she had planted on the head of her boyfriend’s pitiful pecker. Fortunately, she had natural talent, and could soon take all but the largest organs Africa had to offer. He watched as one of the salesmen hovered, waiting for the right moment. The prospective buyer’s eyes were already glazing over as Annie got to work. The salesman would wait until she had the buyer deep in her throat before offering him a sales contract. Both of them knew that no man could think straight with a tight throat massaging the head of his cock. Annie was as good as sold.

Sarah was more than a little apprehensive as one of the sales assistants led her to the show platform. She had been chosen to demonstrate that even a petite white girl could easily accommodate all that the buyers had to offer. She looked away from Mustapha, the sales assistant, afraid that if she looked too closely at the thing dangling between his legs, her courage would fail her. She swallowed convulsively; while still flaccid, it was almost as long as her arm! And almost as thick! Already the salesman was starting his patter.

“Come along, brothers. Let us show you that these feringhee women are insatiable and accommodating. Gather around, and watch as she takes Mustapha the Bull in every orifice! Think about it! For a very modest price you, too, can own one of these tight, eager, almost virgins! Imagine such a tight sheath for your own proud member!”

Abdulrahim smiled. The ignorant Azerbaijani had just closed the deal at a very, very profitable price! Another dozen girls, and four effeminate males sold. His grin broadened as Sarah’s eyes widened, the thought of plumbing her tight holes was bringing Mustapha to his full rampant glory! She now knew why he was called ‘the bull!” As she knelt on the platform the thought flashed through her mind. “Excitement and sexual adventure! I guess we get what we wish for.”

Market day in Otjiwambo was always entertaining!


Artwork by Julie and Melissa
I'm glad you found that pic. I did manage to lose it. To save people time in Googling, the term Feringhee is more used in India to refer to white folk in a derogatory sense and Otjiwambo isn't from a fantasy word generator. It is a town of 28 000 in the Otjozondjupa region of Namibia. You learn something new with every visit to the Slave Pits!
 

Loinclothslave1

Executioner
I hope it is okay to share this here. If not, please punish me severely....

ENSLAVEMENT


Our village had been peaceful right through my childhood. Our local Lord collected his tributes but our fields wee fertile so we had plentiful supplies most years...

The year I turned 18, things were more difficult. Our harvest had failed and our Lord demanded more tribute. Many of the men in the village also had to go support our lord as there were skirmishes in the western borderlands.

It was now winter, a hard, cold, hungry winter at that.

On midwinter’s eve, in darkness, we were awakened to screams and harsh yelling.. Raiders! We gathered as many from our part of the village as we could find and separated- most of the men were going to try to engage the raiders in order for the rest of us to escape towards the Lord’s castle. Young men like me, the brave young women and the boys were told to take the children and older women to escape ...

It was a desperate move but we had no choice and carried what we could before fleeing. We bundled up in as much furs and wool as possible and headed south.

16 hours later we huddled together and tried to keep warm and slept. Early next morning as the moon rose, my sister, bless her heart, awoke and began a fire as she normally did at home. No one was awake to stop her.

Awakening with a start, to the smell of smoke! I quickly moved to put out my sister’s cooking fire when I thought I heard people running.

It was too late, the Raiders, having killed most of our remaining menfolk yesterday, and torturing the survivors for information, had been tracking us. Now they had seen the fire and were coming at us in a rout. There was no time to organize, we were only a few young men and women with paltry weaponry, farming implements really, and no one had time to prepare a defence...

As the first light of pre dawn rose, The raiders reached us in great numbers and demand we surrender or die. With no options we submitted, not believing there could be a worse option than death. The Raiders took our meager supplies and kept us surrounded.

They also demanded all our clothes, leaving just threadbare loincloths or shifts for us to wear.

A slow moving wagon appeared.

They were enslavers and this wagon contained all the fetters, manacles, collars, and chains they would need. We were forced into a line, any stragglers encouraged to obey with the snap of whips.

Each of us were fitted in chains, our new collars linked to another villager. Now chained in groups of ten we were urged forward, the use of whips becoming harsher.

About 500 meters behind the great wagon a fire pit was laid and I wanted to get closer for warmth. The brutes had even taken my boots and the snow crunched beneath my bare feet. We were all urged towards the fire and we approached eagerly.

We were kept in an orderly queue, some groups behind us complaining they wanted to be warm too, answered by the harsh crack of many whips and cries of pain.

As I got closer the hint of warmth was welcome and I was eager to get still closer. Then I heard the screams, and halted. The group in front, I could now see, were being forced forward and had to kneel, most were crying. As they kneeled one at a time the brutes were putting something on their arms.

Our group is next and we are moved forward without a word, only whips to encourage us.

As we were forced to our knees I saw a hideous spectacle. The fire pit was full of branding irons! Each were white hot, far hotter than what we used on our animals.

Each slave was to be given two brand marks, one on our chest and one for the left arm... each in the shape of the letter S

My turn came quickly and I vigorously tried to resist, gaining me the attention of the whip. The overseer detached me from the group and had another drag me forward on my knees as he whipped me forward...

As I reached the dreadful branding position, the overseer called out “special treatment for this slave” and my leash was chained to a post. My manacles were opened and my wrists forced into the manacles on the post.

A woman in leather boots and splendid furs appeared in front of me. “Ahhhh, here’s a specimen that shall be made example of”

“Gather the new slaves closer, explain to them this is what happens if you resist your fate!”

“First brand it as the others but ensure the iron is extra hot “

I was unable to move as the first brand is stoked and taken straight from the fire to my breast.

“Hold it hard against it’s skin, let it burn deep!”

Even a touch of the brand was excruciating. The other slaves brands were over in seconds. My first brand took three minutes.

I was in agony, screaming, I tried to move away but couldn’t as the manacles held me firm...

“Now for the second branding get the W brand and apply it next to the S on it’s chest...”

Again I writhed in abject terror, what was happening?
The brand was burned into my breast and the pain was even worse. The smell of cooked meat emanated from my own flesh! I was screaming myself

“Now do the same for it’s arm”

Again two brands were singularly applied spelling out WS. I thought I would die from the pain.

Many agonizing minutes passed, I could not believe the pain. The smell was also indescribable and I felt completely degraded. My wrists were now bleeding as I flailed wildly and futilely in unimaginable agony.

The other villagers looked on in terror. My mother and sisters were wailing.

“Now the same for it’s other arm!”

Oh the pain! I would do anything for the pain to stop! And the heat! I forgot all about the cold as each branding iron heated me as it cooked my living flesh!

The mistress towered above me, and I pleaded for mercy.

Loudly enough for all to hear, she said “There is no mercy for slaves who resist! You must all obey! You will not speak unless spoken to and given express permission to speak. You will be grateful for any scrap of food you are given! Any order given is to be unquestionably carried out immediately. Obey or be punished - severely!”

“I remind you - Slaves are not to speak unless given permission. Speaking out of turn will be regarded as resistance “

“This miserable slave at my feet is to serve as an example. It was the first to resist the branding, and so shall receive a slave’s punishment.”

“All slaves will taste the whip, as most of you already have this chilly morning. That is not to be regarded as punishment- only simple encouragement. You will all receive such small encouragements every day, and for the rest of your miserable lives”

“When you resist or disobey, sterner punishment is called for and it takes many forms.”

“Today, to begin it’s punishment, this slave will receive 100 lashes for it’s insolence, with the cat o nine tails!”

Begin? I thought this might kill me!

Whooo-tash

The cat makes an unmistakable sound as it rushes through the air and the multiple thuds of each tail is felt intensely but heard as one sound...

Whooo-tash...

Each stroke burned my back. I was surprised by the resilience of my body

Whooo-tash...

By the 20th stroke, I realised it was less intense than the branding, maybe I would not die yet...

Whooo-tash...

While my suffering continued, all enslaved villagers were forced to watch while their branding was finished and I was brutally punished. No one was complaining about their branding, just some screams of pain, no doubt relieved it wasn’t as brutal as mine.

Whooo-tash...

the lashing continued and instead of screaming now I just whimpered..

Whooo-tash!

My pain was incredible- each stroke sapped what little remaining strength I had. Not as intense as the hot irons but relentless. By the 40th the ongoing pain from my back felt worse than the brands.

Whooo-tash

I wailed and wanted to cry out in pain at every stroke! By the 50th I was begging for mercy

Whooo- tash!

“ please have mercy!”

Whooo-tash!

“Mercy, please!”

Whooo-tash!

“Mercy, I beg you!”

The woman used all her strength and the lashes whistled through the air at a high pitched whir!

Whoo-tash!!

I screamed like an animal in incredible pain, that stroke felt like it hurt more than ten!

“I will increase the number to 120 lashes, this slave needs to learn discipline, begging for mercy counts as talking without permission “

Whooo-tash.... Tge next 20 lashes were delivered with extra intensity, no doubt as extra punishment for the simple act of begging for mercy.

My torment was extreme, after 70 I felt crippled, by 100 I thought I wanted to die. I couldn’t believe I might survive another 20...

Whooo-tash

Whooo-tash

I was in eternal agony, my screams gave no release. Blood ran freely.

Whooo-tash

Whooo-tash

Whooo-tash

Finally the last stroke came to pass. I was soaked in blood, sweat, and urine. I was surprised to notice my loincloth skirt, while soiled and frayed, remained largely intact.

An overseer tipped a bucket of saltwater over me, at first I thought to clean me off, then I screamed again as a new wave of even more intense pain rolled over me.

“Now, slave, will you resist your masters again? You may speak”

“Oh mistress, I am your obedient slave, I will do anything you ask. Please have mercy on your miserable slave”

To my horror, Mistress raised the lash again, whipping me another 5 times.

Whooo-tash, Whooo-tash, Whooo-tash, Whooo-tash, Whooo-tash!!!

I didn’t know how to respond, surely she wouldn’t simply whip me to death on a whim? I’m young, surely my now worthless hide would still raise a price at a slave market somewhere?

“No, slave, that is not enough. I want your soul. You are to be an abject slave who begs to be whipped even when speaking with permission. If you do not accept this I am sure I can find some other slaves to help persuade you by torturing them”

Was she referring to my family? Oh dear Ghod, my mother and sisters? I cannot let that happen!

“Your brand marks you for special treatment. You are my whip slave until I tire of it. You will be whipped daily with the cat o nine tails to serve as an example. You will be more badly tortured for any infraction. As we march, you are to crawl. You are the lowliest slave, beneath all these others who are to humiliate and torment you at every opportunity. Accept this slave, right now. Grovel before me now and promise me you will be a groveling pain slave, beneath all. Do you accept this?”

I had been put back in my shackles, and so I groveled before her. I was about to speak, but was tormented, Mistress certainly asked a question, did that give me permission to speak?

I waited on my knees, groveling.

Whoosh tack!

The feeling of dread was upon me, noooo not more punishment? But i noticed it wasn’t as painful as before.

“You may speak, slave, that was my encouragement whip!”

“Oh thank you mistress! I beg to be your whip slave, lowliest of the low, please punish me at your pleasure!”

My degradation was complete. I could barely say the words, yet in my torment she had given me no choice... I was miserable and if I had tears left would be crying even more intensely than I did during the torture.

Mistress gave me another six strokes with the Cat, as “encouragement “...

“Very well, whip-slave, I will spare your miserable life today but do not disappoint me. I will find other slaves to torture and worse if you require further education as to your proper place beneath my boot...”

I could hear my mother’s unmistakable sobbing, and not from pain.

I groveled more deeply with my face in the dirt beneath my mistress’s feet in complete supplication

As the other slaves were encouraged into a long line of coffels- I was whipped some more for all of them to see as they stumbled past in their chains. Several spat at me, fearful of Mistress and wanting to ingratiate themselves to their new masters. At last my leash was chained to the back of the last slave coffel as I began the long march to permanent enslavement and torture, on my knees.

I crawled painfully but fortunately the coffel was slow. I was encouraged with the lash as my knees rubbed red raw. The snow was some comfort now but I was again chilled by the bleak winter air. But nothing was chillier than the bleakness of my heart.

As I received another encouragement lash I was surprised to notice my cock was rock hard... perhaps there was an upside to my predicament?
 
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theseus

Governor
Sentenced to transportation

Preparation ADFDC7E.jpg


For Clarissa the humiliation was worse than the pain that she knew would follow. Yesterday she had been a governess to the children of the Earl. She came from a respectable family, fallen on hard times. A position as governess to the children of a peer was a coup that might help her family back to prosperity.

That was what she had thought, until the events of the last few days. It started when the Earl suggested that her duties as governess should be expanded, that her services should become more, personal. She had spurned his advances, quite properly, although, in hindsight, using words like beastly, obscene, disgusting and perverted had not been very wise. That same afternoon the Earl found his snuffbox to be missing. The staff were all searched, and the Earl himself, accompanied by the butler, was the one who found the missing object in Clarissa’s reticule.

“Arrest her, Mr Beasley! At once! Bind her! Then deliver her to the magistrates!” A bewildered Clarissa found herself, hands bound tightly behind her, bundled into a cart and taken to the town gaol. She spent a miserable night, a slatternly whore her only company, listening to the scurrying and squeaking of the rats.

It was a grimy and dishevelled Clarissa who appeared before the magistrates the next morning. The whore’s case was heard first. “Good morning, Daisy,” the leading magistrate grunted, “at it again?” She smiled a gap-toothed smile. “Aye, Sor. A body got to eat. Bairns need to be fed. A girl does what a girl has to do. Sor.” The magistrate sighed. “You are incorrigible, Daisy! Sixty lashes, on the bare hide. Totally naked. Then you can spend two days in the pillory, naked, to contemplate your crimes. Take her away!” The whore bobbed a curtsey. She had expected worse. “Next!” The magistrate grunted, taking a long swig from a tankard at his elbow.

“Case of theft, sir, and slander sir. Brought by the Earl of Winston, sir.” The magistrate raised his eyebrows. “I see. Do you have anything to say, girl?” Clarissa took a deep breath. “Sir, I am not…” She got no further.

“Guilty! Theft is a serious crime! Five years’ transportation! To the Sugar Islands.” He took a deep swig from his tankard and lifted his gavel to end the session. Mr Beasley approached him. There was a whispered conversation. “Slander?” He coughed, taking another swig. “Slander? Three charges? Called his Lordship obscene, and beastly, and perverted? Guilty, of course. Twenty-four lashes on each of the three charges. On the bare back, of course. As she is of gentle birth, the punishment to be given in three instalments, two dozen each time, a week apart. In the town square. Entertain the people. Take her away!”

The bailiff took her elbow, leading her outside. Daisy was already tied to the whipping post, her pale, plump body stretched tight, her hands high above her head. A crowd had gathered, many making lewd comments, comments that the bound woman returned in kind. Among the crowd were a group of tawdry whores, all of whom had been in the same position at one time or another. The youngest of them called out, “Give them a good show, mom!” A strapping young man, one of the blacksmith’s apprentices, stepped up, uncoiling his whip. There was no shortage of volunteers to do their civic duty when it came to whipping whores. Daisy took the first lashes in silence, apart from grunts. Blood trickled down her back and buttocks where old scars opened. The eleventh stroke broke her silence. “Oh! Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” She cried out as the lash whipped around, impacting a plump, sagging breast! Clarissa felt the world go dark, almost collapsing, as she realised that this was what awaited her. The third flogger was starting to flag as the bailiff counted “Sixty!” Daisy was sagging against the whipping post, her feet covered in bloody mud. A bucket of salt water brought fresh screams, and served to wash the blood from her lacerated back, buttocks and thighs. She was hustled to the pillory, her head and hands locked in so that she was bent over at the waist. Her feet were spread wide, shackled to a bar. “Have fun, Daisy!” The bailiff cackled.

“Your turn, lass!” Clarissa jumped at the bailiff’s words. Her knees threatened to give in, her stomach knotted with fear. She was going to be whipped! “Let’s get this off you. Let the boys have their fun.” He gripped the collar of her dress! Clarissa realised what he was about to do. “No, Please! You can’t! My back has to be bare, not…” The fabric tore! He ripped the dress so that it was open to her waist. Her shift suffered the same fate. She looked around in terror! People were watching her, lascivious eyes, focused on that which no man had seen. “Please, no.” She whimpered as his calloused hands cupped soft, white flesh. “No.” The bailiff chuckled. “Modest, are we? We’ll soon cure that. When you get to the Sugar Islands, lass, you’ll be sold off, same like them blackamoors. Same as them, buck naked, as the day that you was born.”

He led her to the whipping post, still glistening with the whore’s sweat. Her bound hands were pulled high, so that she teetered on tiptoe. He tugged the remnants of her dress low down her hips. One of the whores, the oldest, whispered in the bailiff’s ear. She came over to Clarissa. “Bailiff John says we can do it. It will be a couple of months before the next convict transport sails. We’ve agreed that you can work in my house. Sixpence a go. He gets a penny and you gets a penny. Good money! Why, by the time you sail you could have two pounds in your purse. More, if’n you does specials!” She stroked Carissa’s bare breasts. “Such nice bouncers! You’ll be very popular. No need to worry about your back, it won’t put them off. The marks will excite many of them. They do love a fresh flogged whore, they do. Anyway, you’ll be on your back, most of the time, so they won’t get to see it.” She left in a cloud of sweat, halitosis and gin fumes.

Clarissa was stunned. The woman’s proposal had just registered. She wanted her, Clarissa, a respectable woman, to be a whore! To… No! Impossible! She was a virgin! A respectable woman! Her breasts rubbed against the wood of the whipping post. Her naked breasts. Naked in front of dozens of townsfolk. Some, many, of them would be eager to pay a sixpence to enjoy her body. She did the sums; two pounds, at a penny a time. There were four hundred and eighty pennies in two pounds. Impossible! Unthinkable! Yet… She was no longer a respectable young lady. She was a convict, a convict sentenced to transportation, a convict about to be flogged. She watched as a well-built young man stripped off his shirt. His friends were laughing, joking. “Tuppence she screams at the first stroke!” She heard one cry, laughing.

The young man rolled his shoulders, cracked the whip a few times, then moved out of sight behind her. Her muscles tensed, anticipating the pain to come. Tears came, unbidden, rolling down her cheeks. She waited for the first stroke of the whip. So much can change in a day! From respectable governess to convict, and worse, in one day. Behind her she heard him grunt, the whistle of the whip! The Pain! The pain started.

Her new life!
 

theseus

Governor
Sacrificial Virgins

sacrificial virgins bdsmlr-691436-fxBUsWARPz.jpg

Sir John had a long history of rebellion. He preferred to call it independence, but Duke Guy felt differently. The attack on the Duke’s tax collectors had been the last straw!

The Duke and his soldiers arrived outside the town. Sir John was unworried. His walls were strong, and they had food supplies for more than a year. When the Duke sent messengers demanding Sir John’s surrender, Sir John replied in his own inimitable fashion. His catapult men were highly skilled, and knew their ranges. Two heads crashed through the entrance to the Duke’s pavilion. A message wrapped around an arrow delivered the Duke’s ultimatum. “Surrender within seven days, or every man, woman and child dies by crucifixion!”

For a month there were raids and skirmishes, but none had any effect on the defences. Then, one morning, there was a crack like thunder, and a huge plume of foul-smelling smoke rose from the Duke’s camp. There was a resounding crash as something smashed into the walls. The massive masonry shuddered under the impact. Day after day the massive cannon hurled its stone balls at the walls, slowly weakening them. On the fortieth day the wall cracked!

Sir John knew that the end was in sight. He sent a messenger with a request for terms of surrender. The Duke’s reply was chilling! His men started erecting uprights for crosses, hundreds of them! The first one was decorated by the messenger! Sir John watched the man writhing in agony, his screams and cries for mercy clearly audible. The arrow with the message came as a relief. “This is how you and all your people should die! Slowly and in agony. However, I am a merciful man. I will spare your people on one condition. You have two daughters. Send them out within one hour! They must be totally naked! Bring all your people to the walls. They will watch as your daughters service my troops! They will watch as your naked daughters are nailed to their crosses! You may have the night to prepare yourselves and listen to your daughters’ screams. Tomorrow morning you will all come out, every one! You will all be enslaved! When my flag waves, you have one hour!”

Sarah and Susan watched their father, saw the pain on his face. The choice was unbearably cruel. “Father,” Sarah said, her voice breaking, “look at your people! You cannot let them all die in that terrible fashion. Listen to him! You must send us out!” Sir John shook his head. “I can’t! He has hundreds of men out there! Think of them all…” He sobbed bitterly.

Susan, the younger daughter, started undoing her dress. Soon she was naked, in front of the entire population of the town. Her sister followed suit. Outside, they could see the Duke’s men forming up, many of them already naked from the waist down. They could see other men readying the crossbars of two crosses. Sir John was a broken man. “Open the gates.”

The sisters walked slowly out into no-man’s land. The wind was chill. They knelt in front of the hundreds of men. They could see the lascivious smiles, the erect organs, the crucified messenger’s moans sent chills down their spines. That was their fate. A voice from among the soldiers roared out a command. “Archers! You have the honour of being first! Form two lines!” Numbly, the two girls watched as a hundred archers obediently formed two lines, one in front of each of them. The voice roared again. “In all three holes! Carry out your duty!”

Many hours later the two exhausted, battered girls were laid out, their arms stretched out on the crossbars. They whimpered weakly as soldiers bearing steel spikes and heavy hammers prepared to do their duty. The girls had suffered greatly for their people.

The greatest suffering was yet to come!
 
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