Barbaria Act 1 Epilogue
- 3 years ago
- 16
- 0
Barbaria Act 2 Chapter 2 free porn video
PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF
20-YEAR-OLD SLAVE-GIRL CERA
MADE CAPTIVE AT THE SAME TIME AS
FLAVIA DURING THE RAID ON MENOS
How thankful I was to be able to lie down - even though there were only hard planks beneath my naked body and I was weighed down by a heavy chain and collar to which my wrists were manacled. After five weeks I had become slightly more accustomed to this wearisome form of securement. Not that made it any more pleasant. What made it worse was that it was really unnecessary to be manacled in that way for I was already locked and bolted into a small stone cell from which there was no possibility of escape. It was done, I realized, to increase my sense of helplessness and drive home the fact that I was a slave.
Oh what monsters those people of Barbaria were! They treat people like a****ls. No ... worse than a****ls. They were relentlessly cruel. Cruel beyond belief. I suppose that is why they have conquered the world. We people of Menos, on the island of Cipri, were too mild. Too easy-going. Heedless of the world beyond our sunlit shores. True, we had slaves. But they were treated more like servants. With a certain amount of kindness. Rarely were they punished. It had to be a serious matter for a slave to earn herself more than ten strokes of a rod.
How different in Barbaria! They flog without mercy for the slightest fault. I had forgotten how many times I had fainted under the lash. But they did not care, those vile overseers and trainers. Slave lives were cheap. So was slave flesh. It could be striped and striped again and, even if death occurred it was of no concern, for there was always more slave flesh available for striping.
I was being trained as a galley slave. Incredible that a young woman should be put to such a thing. So menial, so arduous. But it was a common thing in Barbaria. All the great ladies of the kingdom had their own ‘barges’ which they used near shore in calm conditions or on one of the numerous lakes around the city. I, it seemed, had been given the ‘honour’ of being selected for the ‘barge’ of Princess Alexena herself. It was an ‘honour’ I would willingly have forgone, needless to say. As yet, with nineteen other slave-girls, I was only permitted in the training ‘barge’ and would not be considered ready for the real thing for some time, it seemed. Many more exhausting weeks, or even months, lay ahead of me. And then what? Only more back-breaking toil under even more frightening circumstances!
My back was sore from the weals across it. But, again, that was also something I was becoming used to. Also, that day, I had got off lightly. No more than half a dozen or so cuts from the long, slim rod the trainer employed. Whips were not used during training for, since they would be put to work frequently, the galley slaves would soon be rendered useless. However, I gathered whips were used in the Royal Barge itself. How long would I last, I sometimes wondered? Would it be weeks or months before I was whipped into incapability or even death?
However, those rods stung fierily enough and drove us to the limits of our endurance. Which was their purpose. Looking back since training began, I realized how much fitter and stronger I had become. Then, like most of the other unfortunates under training, I was ‘pulling my weight’. If I did not, I knew pain. Our trainer, a giant brute of a man, seemed to have an uncanny knack of being able to detect when a girl was not giving of her best.
Once, several weeks before, I had been made an example of. These examples were quite frequent, I may say. A girl had been treated similarly that very morning, poor thing. It happened thus with me.
I had felt rather off colour and very lethargic. I was sweating profusely so may have had a temperature. That was not taken into account. I was trying with might and main, mouth gaping with effort, but all the same, after no more than half an hour, had received a dozen or more cuts. Once, as I stretched forward, the whippy rod bit into the side of my naked right breast. Sheer agony...
Then the trainer called a halt and I shrivelled inside with dread. It could only mean one thing. All around me I heard heavy breathing. Saw the naked breasts rising and falling. They would be thankful for the respite. Not me. I knew what was coming.
The trainer came down the cat-walk and unshackled my wrists from the oar. He was nude bur for the customary bulging loincloth. Sometimes, I may say, he even paraded up and down without that on. Hairy, slightly obese, he made a disgusting spectacle with his big penis swinging from side to side. Doubtless he delighted in our revulsion and fear. He lifted me off the wooden seat by my hair and I screamed with the pain of it. I saw the grin on his ugly face as I literally dangled before him.
“Not putting our back into it today, are we girl?” he said.
“Y-Yes ... ohh ... yesss ... S-Sir ...” I gasped. “I ... I’m t-trying, Sir ... it’s ... it’s ... that ... I’m not very well, Sir ...”
“You look fine to me, girl, “ he said, giving my bare bottom a stinging slap. Oh the shame and pain of it all! I would never, never get used to it!
“P-Please ... Sir ... please ... it .... it’s t-true ...” I began, tears filling my eyes so that I saw him through a haze.
“Come along, little one,” he said remorselessly, “Let’s see if I can encourage you to make an extra effort in future. “
“M-Mercy ... ooooh ... mercy!” I shrieked. I had seen it happen to others. Now it was happening to me. “Ooooh ... merceeeeee!”
But, as if I were a little kitten, he simply carried me along the cat-walk to the prow of the ship. There stood a heavy wooden pillory with the top section open. Still shrieking for mercy, I was put into it. Then the top section was lowered on to my neck and wrists and I heard the padlock click home.
I was helpless. Quite helpless.
And I was going to be mercilessly thrashed.
For a moment, with that knowledge, I almost lost control of my bowels and only the fact that all eyes were upon me gave me the will and power to hold on. A rough wooden trestle was forced under my belly and my hindquarters were uplifted high. Then my thighs were pulled wide apart and clamped into iron rings on the trestle.
Oh the shame of it!
The utter, abysmal shame!
And the terror too!
“Twenty five strokes for you, my girl, “ I heard him say. “And, next time I reckon, you’ll put more effort into it!”
The whippy rod touched my buttocks as he measured my naked bottom. Taut-curving it was the cruellest way to receive a thrashing. Then it began ...
Oh dear god ... the pain of that very first stroke into my soft, womanly buttock flesh!
Do you know what the cane on the bare naked flesh is like?
It is appalling.
Indescribable after half a dozen or so ... when you are secured so helpless with so many still to come!
The rod fell at measured intervals of about five seconds.
Relentless!
Bitingly!
For the first five strokes the tip lashed into my right flank. Then he changed sides and it began to bite into my left. For a moment, absurdly, that was some sort of relief. But when he changed sides again, the agony was all the greater.
All the time, I was screaming hoarsely with pain. Also, in between, I was screaming for mercy. Mercy I knew I would not get ... yet which was impossible for me not to plead for.
At first, when I had been fixed in the pillory, I had felt bitter shame, knowing how openly I was displayed to all. After ten strokes, any such emotion had quite disappeared. I knew only pain ... and more pain. There was only one thing I cared about.
Wanting it to stop.
But on and on it went.
Remorselessly and inevitably as a pendulum swings.
Unstoppable.
With the burning-biting agony always intensifying.
I had lost count of the strokes. My throat was rattling. My head was full of my screams. Bursting with them, it seemed. Before me was a kind of shimmering haze in which bolts of red lightning flashed.
They flashed as each stroke seared into my tormented flesh. It must stop!
It had to stop!
Now... NOW!
But on and on it went...
Then, indeed, it did stop. When I was on the verge of insensibility. With a roaring noise in my ears and the sky spinning.
When I say it stopped, I meant the cane ceased to fall. The agony of the blazing weals, just raised, remained.
A bucket of cold sea-water smashed into my face. Then another. My head cleared. The pain I felt intensified. I could see nothing through my own tears and the water running from my hair. But I wanted to see nothing. I simply wanted to die.
But, of course, I did nor.
The human body is far more resilient than one imagines. It can absorb far more pain than one conceives possible. One is stronger and more durable than one would wish. One finds that out as a slave.
The trainer left me there and dimly I heard him issuing orders to the other galley slaves. The ‘Barge’ began to move again. Slowly my eyes cleared and I could see the prow before me and the water gliding by. The trainer was bellowing. Demanding more pace. My lacerated buttocks would be a potent incentive to see that he got it!
There I remained, my bottom throbbing and throbbing with incessant pain.
There I remained throughout the rest of that two-hour training session. There I remained, as an example.
As I have already said, one of the girls was similarly treated that morning. Poor creature. I knew just how she was suffering. I thank the gods that I have not been made an example of for a second time. Obviously I was making greater efforts. As had been the trainer’s intention when he had thrashed me so cruelly.
My reverie of the day and my past sufferings were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the key in the lock of my cell and bolts being drawn back. I experienced a familiar freezing sensation inside at the sound. What now?
Usually one was left to fall into an exhausted slumber at night. It boded no good and my heart thumped with dread. Without a word, the overseer unfastened the chain from the ring in the wall and led me out by it. The iron collar felt even heavier as I moved. Outside, I found three male slaves already there, all led by a female overseer, recognising them as warriors of Cipri. Past warriors that is. They had been crushed into cringing servitude by circumstances ... and who was I to blame them? Did not I also cringe and grovel? For a moment I felt a stab of shame that they should see me naked, but then it passed. I could not help feel sorry for them. It was savage indeed to make men wear such iron contrivances as they had to. Painfully robbing them of all manhood.
Two more slave-girls were fetched from neighbouring cells ... and soon we were hurrying along the stone corridor, each, no doubt, wondering what was afoot and feeling most fearful. The overseers were impatient, it seemed, hauling us brusquely along. Why the urgency?
Then we rose into the upper part of the Palace. Where all was power and luxury. I began to feel sick with dread. Then we were halted.
“You are being taken to the Princess’s suite, “ said one of the overseers. “in her ante-chamber, you will all go to your knees. Then crawl into her presence when summoned. There you will await her bidding.”
My sick feeling intensified. Did I look as pale and as frightened as the others about me? Doubtless I did!
Along ornate marble corridors. Other slaves flitted by. How terrifying to have to work in the Royal Palace itself, I thought. So near the very seat of power. So near the greatest dangers.
Where I was going at that moment!
Through some ante-chambers. Long d****s. Soft carpets. The scent of luxury.
Terrifying!
A giant overseer awaited us in the last ante-chamber. That must by Ryar, the most powerful and dreaded overseer of all. Weakly I fell to my knees. Oh dear god, what was going to happen?
Help me... oh help me!
A silence ...
Then a voice with the sharpness of a knife.
“Where are they, Ryar? Why this delay?”
“Here, Highness.”
“Bring them in!”
“At once, Highness.” Then the voice was directed to us. “Crawl, slaves, crawl...”
We crawled forward. Shivering with dread. Into the presence of the woman who was the source of all the horrors which had been heaped upon us. Who counted our lives as no more worth than an insect she was about to stamp on.
“Aaaahhhhh...” Another silence. My flesh crawled.
“What is this trash which sullies my chamber, Ryar?”
“Galley slaves under training, Highness.”
“Aaaahhhh...” A whip cracked. My nerves flared to screaming point. “Put him on the whipping frame.”
“Yes, Highness ...”
Scurrying and scrambling. Grunts and gasps. A groan of protesting horror. I dared not look up. None of us did. I simply gazed at the intricate pattern of the Persian carpet beneath me. Oh dear god, what was happening? What new inhumanity was this?
More groans. A sobbing whimper. The sound of a man in despair.
“Good... “ The knife-like voice again. “Now we will see how brave these warriors of Cipri are!”
The whip cracked again... but this time the sound was different. It cracked across human flesh.
A whinnying-whimpering gasp of torment, through clenched teeth.
I prayed for that man. I prayed for him to be strong. For the honour of Cipri.
Craaa... aaacccckkk!
The same sound, but more intense.
Craaaa... aaaccckkkk!
Again the same sound.
Oh be brave, man. Be strong. Thwart this vile ruler of Barbaria! Crrraaaa... cccckkk!
Oh he was brave! Still only that whinnying-whimpering gasp. Oh let the gods give him strength.
Crraaaa ... aaaacccckkkk!
A bellowing howl echoed above our heads.
Oh shame... oh shame on our dear Cipri! He had broken... and so soon! Yet, could I blame him? Would I not have broken, too? And before? No matter how much I loved my country? Oh yes. In my heart I knew I would have done.
Craaa... aaaccckkkk!
Another bellowing howl. Oh poor man! What shame for a warrior! But he was broken. No use in denying it. But what was worst of all was that it was obvious he was being flogged for this evil ruler’s amusement! How could such enormities exist? Crraaaa... aaaccckkkk!
“YWYAAAAAAGHHHH ... AAAAGGCHHHHHH!”
Craaaaa... aaacccckkkk!
“YYYYYAAAIIIEEEEE... AAAAAGCGGHHH!”
Now with every stroke the bellowing was as of a wounded bull. Or like a pig being slit. Pathetic and heart-rending... yet doubtless a joy to this Princess’s ears.
On and on it went...
The whip cracking and lashing remorselessly. I could imagine the be-ribboned flesh. The awful, purpling welts beginning to merge. Perhaps he was bleeding.
Then he was not only bellowing, he was sobbing. And gasping out for mercy. Oh that a warrior should be brought so low as to ask a woman for mercy! Yet he was... he was! I felt his bitterness within my own breast. But begging for mercy only speeded up the whip.
It cracked faster and faster...
“Ah yes... aahhh... yes... ssss... “ I heard that she-devil panting. Craaaa... aaaacccckkkkkkkkk!
Crraaaa... aaaccccckkkkkkkkK! Crrrraaa... aaaccckkkkkk! Crrrraaaaa... aaacccckkkkkkkk! He was howling. Howling dementedly. Why did he not fall senseless? How could he endure? He was at the end of his tether. Yet still suffering the agony of stroke after stroke.
For her amusement...
Crrraaaa... aaaccckkkkkkkk!
Erupting across the flesh...
Crrrraaaa... aaaacccckkkkkkkk!
Another long ridge of excruciating torment...
Crrrrraaaaa... aaaaaacccckkk!
Oh come, Morpheus!
Crrrraaaa... aaacccckkkkkkkk!
Oh let him die!
Crrrraaaaa... aaaaccccckkkkkkk!
A terrible, swooping groan. Then another and another.
Crrraaaa... aaaaccccckkkkkkkk!
And now only another groan. He had gone. Into the blessed pit of oblivion.
At last!
“Revive him, Ryar” She was panting. I could imagine eyes wild with sadistic joy.
Yet how could she do this?
“At once, Highness...”
There was the acrid smell of burning twigs. Then he was choking. Great heaving gasps. Awful groans. Poor devil. He had been returned to the land of the living.
The whipping began again.
And the sounds became inhuman.
Unbelievable.
She would kill him!
Perhaps that had been her intention all along.
To kill him for the pure pleasure of it.
To flog him to death.
I thought I was going to be sick as the sounds became those of a slaughter-house and I was trembling uncontrollably.
Then, with a sudden groan - this time - a piercing one - he fell silent. At last the whip stopped cracking. It must be all over. He must have left this world for a happier place.
“Take it away, Ryar,” said the breathless voice.
“At once, Highness...”
There were no more sounds from the wretched warrior. Just the scuffling of him being removed. I could imagine him like a carcass of meat over the Chief Overseer’s shoulder.
He had made entertainment for the Princess. Now he could be tossed on the dung-heap.
There was the sound of Ryar returning. Terror gripped me as in a vice. Were we all to be flogged to death? It was beyond all reason. Incredible. But there was no reason why she should not do it if she wished. She was all-powerful. Our lives or deaths meant nothing to her. The matter would pass from her mind as soon as we had served our purpose and were gone. I tried to steel myself. At least, I told myself, after the awful agony, it would be all over. For ever. Just the place of oblivion.
Crraa ... aaaccckkk!
“That one!”
My hair seemed to rise up on my neck. But it was not me. There was a wailing, girlish shriek as one of my fellow galley slaves was seized by Ryar.
“M-Merceeeeee... m-merceeeeeeeeeee!”
Soon that will be me, I thought, as I listened hopelessly to the poor girl being fastened to the whipping frame.
“No ... ooooo ... aaaahhhhh ... no ... ooooo merceeeeeeeee!”
“Thank you, Ryar...”
The deed was done. The soft, womanly body awaited. Awaited the flailing whip. Soon that body would be unrecognisable. A red-purple mass of criss-crossing weals and welts.
For the sport of a tyrant!
The whip cracked... and a terrible shriek erupted. Piercing as only a female shriek can be. A shriek of agony and ultimate despair. A shriek that begged for death to come quickly.
But it did not...
As before, the whipping went on and on remorselessly. Twice the wretched girl was revived to suffer yet more. To suffer beyond all understanding.
Oh that I could have shut my ears to the terrible sounds!
But I could not. I knelt, hearing all, feeling the shadow of death approaching ever nearer to myself. If only I could get a dagger and stab myself. The idea was a sudden beacon of hope within me.
Quickly it died.
How could I possibly do that? I would be seized immediately I moved.
And my suffering would be made all the greater.
At last... at long last... the inhuman shrieking ceased. This time she could not be revived.
“Take it away, Ryar.” This time the voice was tight and hoarse. She was panting still.
“At once, Highness...”
Who would be next? Perhaps it was best to get it over and done with...
There was the sound of Ryar leaving with the silent carcases. Then of him returning.
“Bring me my harness, Ryar.”
“Yes, Highness....”
What was this? Some new devilry? Some different kind of amusement for this monstrous woman? Doubtless... doubtless.
“And bring me the slave, Flavia.”
“Yes, Highness...”
Flavia! That must be the Lady Flavia. A young woman of quality in Menos. Poor Lady Flavia. Yes... I had heard she had been assigned to serve this Princess Alexena.
“Pinion her arms behind her. I will attach her.”
“Yes, Highness...”
In God’s name, what was going on? We could but wait and wonder. And shake with ever-mounting dread.
“They may get to their feet,” said Princess Alexena, “so that they can observe how I treat a so-called ‘Lady’ of Menos.”
“Up!” rasped Ryar, “Up... slaves!”
I stood up with the others, feeling my knees rubbery. There was the whipping frame, just to my left. Behind it was the ruler of Barbaria... a tall, magnificently-built woman. Black-haired; dark eyes blazing. Imperious. Contemptuous. Radiating power.
She was, to my shocked surprise, quite naked. And obviously indifferent to our gaze. We could as well have been a****ls. At her feet was the Lady Flavia, also naked, with her arms roped up behind her back. Around her head was fastened a series of straps and, in turn, these straps were fastened to a harness about Princess Alexena’s waist. There were four straps, all pulled tight, forcing the Lady Flavia to keep her face and mouth pressed into the triangular bush of dark hair at the apex of the long white thighs.
It was a sickening sight.
Disgusting!
How could any woman treat another woman so?
But there it was... before our disbelieving eyes. One of our proudest Ladies being forced into an unnatural act. And being made an exhibition of...
Ah yes... more sport for this bestial woman!
“Let’s feel that tongue, slave... get it well in... “ The command was issued in a flat voice ... and, it seemed, obeyed instantly. This, I guessed would not be the first time that the Lady Flavia had been forced to perform this revolting task. Princess Alexena’s big, firm breasts, already heaving, began to heave a little faster.
“You see to what use one of your ‘Ladies’ can be put?” she said sneeringly. She remained standing commandingly, hands clutching Lady Flavia’s hair, though, of course, she could not escape her in any event. It was a question which went unanswered.
“Mmm... yes ... even a ‘Lady’ of Menos has its uses... “ I saw her give a little shudder of pleasure... and my hatred knew no bounds. For a few moments it even overcame my terror. Then that hatred subsided again. What was the use? I was utterly helpless.
“Ryar... “
“Yes, Highness?”
“These four will be birched. Two at a time. One male, one female. Bring in the blocks.”
“Immediately, Highness... “
My throat went dry and I felt rather giddy. But at least it was not the whip. It was not the end. However, I had felt a birch before. I shuddered, suddenly realizing my nails were digging painfully into my palms.
Several of Ryar’s eunuch assistants brought in two heavy punishment blocks ... of which there were so many in the Palace. They were made of rough timbers with a leathern top. The rear end of the block curved up high, thus thrusting up one’s hindquarters and stretching the skin ready for whatever form of flogging one was to receive. I had been over such hideous contrivances all too often. And now it was to happen again. Not because I had committed any fault, or alleged fault, but simply for the amusement of that terrible woman. Her pleasure, as poor Flavia’s tongue did its work, would be heightened by our sufferings.
Oh the wickedness of it!
“You, girl!” Ryar was pointing at me... and the familiar icicles of terror went through my entrails. The moment had come. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the assistants removing the birches from brine water in which they were kept. Each was a mass of green and supple twigs. Tears began to form in my eyes as I moved hesitantly towards the block. “And you!” The warrior at my side was also summoned forward.
Then the massive Ryar gripped me and I felt like a toy in his hands as I was lifted up. My breasts and belly were pressed to the cold leather. The pinioning straps began to be buckled on immediately. First my wrists, to the side of the block. Then my thighs to the back of the block... my limbs first being pulled well apart. Finally a broader strap went over the back of the waist, crushing me down even more. My poor bottom curved high, tautly rounded. Exposed. Helpless. Ready to receive the slashing twigs. After this there was a little refinement. So as to ensure that I would have to look upon the Princess’s pleasure, a cord was tied to a hank of my hair... my head was pulled up... and then the cord was fastened to my waist-belt.
I began to sob.
And, as I did so, Princess Alexena began to sink down on to a couch, gasping and shuddering. She took the harnessed Lady Flavia with her. I realised that vile woman was having her first orgasm.
“Birch them, “ she said in a hoarse voice. Then she raised her thighs a little... and Lady Flavia continued to probe and lick.
I tensed, clenching my teeth. There was a faint hissing sound. Then there was the agony of the multiple twigs biting simultaneously into my tender flesh. I screamed, mouth agape. By my side, the warrior uttered a rasping howl.
Oh the pain of it!
Incredible...
But it was, I knew, a pain that was going to get far worse. Far, far worse.
I felt my taut nates clenching with dread in anticipation of the next stroke.
It was so long in coming.
Then, through a mist of tears, I saw the Princess raise her finger. The second stroke came as agonisedly... if not more so... than the first. Again I screamed my torment as the slashing twigs spread and bit, curling round into my flank.
Another pause.
Another long pause.
My terrified eyes were fastened on that evil woman’s finger. Just by raising it she could bring us excruciating pain! Whenever she wished. At any moment she chose.
Oh the power of that finger!
I saw her haunches give a little shudder of lustful pleasure... and the finger came up.
Sssswwweeee... sssssllllaaaasssshhhhh!
Agony!
Burning, blazing agony!
Our agony... her increased delight.
As I screamed again, the hatred in my heart for this monstrous woman seemed so great as to burst it.
My naked breasts were heaving, tears streaming down my cheeks. Doubtless a most satisfying sight for her. Again my nates were clenching with dread. Oh please no... no... don’t raise that finger!
Don’t... don’t!
Clench and twitch... clench and quiver.
The pause was longer. Much longer. Every nerve in my body seemed at snapping point.
Oh the hideous cruelty of it!
The torment of waiting was, in its own way, almost as bad as the birch itself.
Then, at long last... inevitably... the finger was raised once more. Ssssswwweeeee... sssslllllaaasshhhhh!
An even greater agony.
For now the twigs bit into flesh already red-raw and lacerated with thin, criss-crossing weals.
She shuddered again... as my high-pitched shriek burst out. Her dark eyes were hot and lustful. Gloating. Oh how she was revelling in her power.
“Get it in deeper, you Ciprian bitch,” she grated.
Her finger came up... more quickly this time.
Sssswwweeeeee... ssssllllaaassssshhhhhhhh!
Oh how could I endure such agony? It was not possible! It had to stop! It had to!
But, of course, it didn’t.
In that same cruel, long-lingering fashion, the birches continued to fall at intervals across the blazing flesh of the warrior and myself. Our howls and screams grew ever louder and more desperate. At one point I was shrieking for mercy... but the smile of lustful pleasure on those imperious features only deepened.
How many strokes we received, I know not. Twenty? Twenty five? It could have been more. There was just continuous and ever-increasing torment.
Then I saw and heard her beginning to gasp and groan again. To shudder convulsively. She was coming to a second climax.
Her climax of pure pleasure.
Our climax of unadulterated pain.
For, as the waves of lust engulfed her, that finger rose faster and faster so that, ultimately, those agonising birch twigs were slashing down at scarcely more than one-second intervals. The agony was beyond all describing.
Beyond all belief.
It was not possible for flesh and blood to endure it. And as the Princess collapsed, sprawling and writhing, crying out in orgasmic joy, I swept down into insensibility.
To the exquisite quietus of oblivion.
When I recovered, I was back in my cell, with salves applied liberally to my raw and bleeding flesh. I sobbed and sobbed bitterly for the incessant pain had lessened only a little.
Doubtless, I thought, that cruel orgy had continued.
Oh the monstrous wickedness of it!
And poor Lady Flavia. It was well-nigh unbearable to see her brought so low. To be made to perform such disgusting obscenities. She was such a kind and gentle thing. A true Lady. It was incredible to realize she had simply become a slave.
Slowly, exhaustion crept over me. I continued to sob, but more softly.
However, there was, at least some small comfort. After the savage flogging I had received, I would surely be unfit to be trained in the galley for several days.
Oh what a joy to think of that!
20-YEAR-OLD SLAVE-GIRL CERA
MADE CAPTIVE AT THE SAME TIME AS
FLAVIA DURING THE RAID ON MENOS
How thankful I was to be able to lie down - even though there were only hard planks beneath my naked body and I was weighed down by a heavy chain and collar to which my wrists were manacled. After five weeks I had become slightly more accustomed to this wearisome form of securement. Not that made it any more pleasant. What made it worse was that it was really unnecessary to be manacled in that way for I was already locked and bolted into a small stone cell from which there was no possibility of escape. It was done, I realized, to increase my sense of helplessness and drive home the fact that I was a slave.
Oh what monsters those people of Barbaria were! They treat people like a****ls. No ... worse than a****ls. They were relentlessly cruel. Cruel beyond belief. I suppose that is why they have conquered the world. We people of Menos, on the island of Cipri, were too mild. Too easy-going. Heedless of the world beyond our sunlit shores. True, we had slaves. But they were treated more like servants. With a certain amount of kindness. Rarely were they punished. It had to be a serious matter for a slave to earn herself more than ten strokes of a rod.
How different in Barbaria! They flog without mercy for the slightest fault. I had forgotten how many times I had fainted under the lash. But they did not care, those vile overseers and trainers. Slave lives were cheap. So was slave flesh. It could be striped and striped again and, even if death occurred it was of no concern, for there was always more slave flesh available for striping.
I was being trained as a galley slave. Incredible that a young woman should be put to such a thing. So menial, so arduous. But it was a common thing in Barbaria. All the great ladies of the kingdom had their own ‘barges’ which they used near shore in calm conditions or on one of the numerous lakes around the city. I, it seemed, had been given the ‘honour’ of being selected for the ‘barge’ of Princess Alexena herself. It was an ‘honour’ I would willingly have forgone, needless to say. As yet, with nineteen other slave-girls, I was only permitted in the training ‘barge’ and would not be considered ready for the real thing for some time, it seemed. Many more exhausting weeks, or even months, lay ahead of me. And then what? Only more back-breaking toil under even more frightening circumstances!
My back was sore from the weals across it. But, again, that was also something I was becoming used to. Also, that day, I had got off lightly. No more than half a dozen or so cuts from the long, slim rod the trainer employed. Whips were not used during training for, since they would be put to work frequently, the galley slaves would soon be rendered useless. However, I gathered whips were used in the Royal Barge itself. How long would I last, I sometimes wondered? Would it be weeks or months before I was whipped into incapability or even death?
However, those rods stung fierily enough and drove us to the limits of our endurance. Which was their purpose. Looking back since training began, I realized how much fitter and stronger I had become. Then, like most of the other unfortunates under training, I was ‘pulling my weight’. If I did not, I knew pain. Our trainer, a giant brute of a man, seemed to have an uncanny knack of being able to detect when a girl was not giving of her best.
Once, several weeks before, I had been made an example of. These examples were quite frequent, I may say. A girl had been treated similarly that very morning, poor thing. It happened thus with me.
I had felt rather off colour and very lethargic. I was sweating profusely so may have had a temperature. That was not taken into account. I was trying with might and main, mouth gaping with effort, but all the same, after no more than half an hour, had received a dozen or more cuts. Once, as I stretched forward, the whippy rod bit into the side of my naked right breast. Sheer agony...
Then the trainer called a halt and I shrivelled inside with dread. It could only mean one thing. All around me I heard heavy breathing. Saw the naked breasts rising and falling. They would be thankful for the respite. Not me. I knew what was coming.
The trainer came down the cat-walk and unshackled my wrists from the oar. He was nude bur for the customary bulging loincloth. Sometimes, I may say, he even paraded up and down without that on. Hairy, slightly obese, he made a disgusting spectacle with his big penis swinging from side to side. Doubtless he delighted in our revulsion and fear. He lifted me off the wooden seat by my hair and I screamed with the pain of it. I saw the grin on his ugly face as I literally dangled before him.
“Not putting our back into it today, are we girl?” he said.
“Y-Yes ... ohh ... yesss ... S-Sir ...” I gasped. “I ... I’m t-trying, Sir ... it’s ... it’s ... that ... I’m not very well, Sir ...”
“You look fine to me, girl, “ he said, giving my bare bottom a stinging slap. Oh the shame and pain of it all! I would never, never get used to it!
“P-Please ... Sir ... please ... it .... it’s t-true ...” I began, tears filling my eyes so that I saw him through a haze.
“Come along, little one,” he said remorselessly, “Let’s see if I can encourage you to make an extra effort in future. “
“M-Mercy ... ooooh ... mercy!” I shrieked. I had seen it happen to others. Now it was happening to me. “Ooooh ... merceeeeee!”
But, as if I were a little kitten, he simply carried me along the cat-walk to the prow of the ship. There stood a heavy wooden pillory with the top section open. Still shrieking for mercy, I was put into it. Then the top section was lowered on to my neck and wrists and I heard the padlock click home.
I was helpless. Quite helpless.
And I was going to be mercilessly thrashed.
For a moment, with that knowledge, I almost lost control of my bowels and only the fact that all eyes were upon me gave me the will and power to hold on. A rough wooden trestle was forced under my belly and my hindquarters were uplifted high. Then my thighs were pulled wide apart and clamped into iron rings on the trestle.
Oh the shame of it!
The utter, abysmal shame!
And the terror too!
“Twenty five strokes for you, my girl, “ I heard him say. “And, next time I reckon, you’ll put more effort into it!”
The whippy rod touched my buttocks as he measured my naked bottom. Taut-curving it was the cruellest way to receive a thrashing. Then it began ...
Oh dear god ... the pain of that very first stroke into my soft, womanly buttock flesh!
Do you know what the cane on the bare naked flesh is like?
It is appalling.
Indescribable after half a dozen or so ... when you are secured so helpless with so many still to come!
The rod fell at measured intervals of about five seconds.
Relentless!
Bitingly!
For the first five strokes the tip lashed into my right flank. Then he changed sides and it began to bite into my left. For a moment, absurdly, that was some sort of relief. But when he changed sides again, the agony was all the greater.
All the time, I was screaming hoarsely with pain. Also, in between, I was screaming for mercy. Mercy I knew I would not get ... yet which was impossible for me not to plead for.
At first, when I had been fixed in the pillory, I had felt bitter shame, knowing how openly I was displayed to all. After ten strokes, any such emotion had quite disappeared. I knew only pain ... and more pain. There was only one thing I cared about.
Wanting it to stop.
But on and on it went.
Remorselessly and inevitably as a pendulum swings.
Unstoppable.
With the burning-biting agony always intensifying.
I had lost count of the strokes. My throat was rattling. My head was full of my screams. Bursting with them, it seemed. Before me was a kind of shimmering haze in which bolts of red lightning flashed.
They flashed as each stroke seared into my tormented flesh. It must stop!
It had to stop!
Now... NOW!
But on and on it went...
Then, indeed, it did stop. When I was on the verge of insensibility. With a roaring noise in my ears and the sky spinning.
When I say it stopped, I meant the cane ceased to fall. The agony of the blazing weals, just raised, remained.
A bucket of cold sea-water smashed into my face. Then another. My head cleared. The pain I felt intensified. I could see nothing through my own tears and the water running from my hair. But I wanted to see nothing. I simply wanted to die.
But, of course, I did nor.
The human body is far more resilient than one imagines. It can absorb far more pain than one conceives possible. One is stronger and more durable than one would wish. One finds that out as a slave.
The trainer left me there and dimly I heard him issuing orders to the other galley slaves. The ‘Barge’ began to move again. Slowly my eyes cleared and I could see the prow before me and the water gliding by. The trainer was bellowing. Demanding more pace. My lacerated buttocks would be a potent incentive to see that he got it!
There I remained, my bottom throbbing and throbbing with incessant pain.
There I remained throughout the rest of that two-hour training session. There I remained, as an example.
As I have already said, one of the girls was similarly treated that morning. Poor creature. I knew just how she was suffering. I thank the gods that I have not been made an example of for a second time. Obviously I was making greater efforts. As had been the trainer’s intention when he had thrashed me so cruelly.
My reverie of the day and my past sufferings were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the key in the lock of my cell and bolts being drawn back. I experienced a familiar freezing sensation inside at the sound. What now?
Usually one was left to fall into an exhausted slumber at night. It boded no good and my heart thumped with dread. Without a word, the overseer unfastened the chain from the ring in the wall and led me out by it. The iron collar felt even heavier as I moved. Outside, I found three male slaves already there, all led by a female overseer, recognising them as warriors of Cipri. Past warriors that is. They had been crushed into cringing servitude by circumstances ... and who was I to blame them? Did not I also cringe and grovel? For a moment I felt a stab of shame that they should see me naked, but then it passed. I could not help feel sorry for them. It was savage indeed to make men wear such iron contrivances as they had to. Painfully robbing them of all manhood.
Two more slave-girls were fetched from neighbouring cells ... and soon we were hurrying along the stone corridor, each, no doubt, wondering what was afoot and feeling most fearful. The overseers were impatient, it seemed, hauling us brusquely along. Why the urgency?
Then we rose into the upper part of the Palace. Where all was power and luxury. I began to feel sick with dread. Then we were halted.
“You are being taken to the Princess’s suite, “ said one of the overseers. “in her ante-chamber, you will all go to your knees. Then crawl into her presence when summoned. There you will await her bidding.”
My sick feeling intensified. Did I look as pale and as frightened as the others about me? Doubtless I did!
Along ornate marble corridors. Other slaves flitted by. How terrifying to have to work in the Royal Palace itself, I thought. So near the very seat of power. So near the greatest dangers.
Where I was going at that moment!
Through some ante-chambers. Long d****s. Soft carpets. The scent of luxury.
Terrifying!
A giant overseer awaited us in the last ante-chamber. That must by Ryar, the most powerful and dreaded overseer of all. Weakly I fell to my knees. Oh dear god, what was going to happen?
Help me... oh help me!
A silence ...
Then a voice with the sharpness of a knife.
“Where are they, Ryar? Why this delay?”
“Here, Highness.”
“Bring them in!”
“At once, Highness.” Then the voice was directed to us. “Crawl, slaves, crawl...”
We crawled forward. Shivering with dread. Into the presence of the woman who was the source of all the horrors which had been heaped upon us. Who counted our lives as no more worth than an insect she was about to stamp on.
“Aaaahhhhh...” Another silence. My flesh crawled.
“What is this trash which sullies my chamber, Ryar?”
“Galley slaves under training, Highness.”
“Aaaahhhh...” A whip cracked. My nerves flared to screaming point. “Put him on the whipping frame.”
“Yes, Highness ...”
Scurrying and scrambling. Grunts and gasps. A groan of protesting horror. I dared not look up. None of us did. I simply gazed at the intricate pattern of the Persian carpet beneath me. Oh dear god, what was happening? What new inhumanity was this?
More groans. A sobbing whimper. The sound of a man in despair.
“Good... “ The knife-like voice again. “Now we will see how brave these warriors of Cipri are!”
The whip cracked again... but this time the sound was different. It cracked across human flesh.
A whinnying-whimpering gasp of torment, through clenched teeth.
I prayed for that man. I prayed for him to be strong. For the honour of Cipri.
Craaa... aaacccckkk!
The same sound, but more intense.
Craaaa... aaaccckkkk!
Again the same sound.
Oh be brave, man. Be strong. Thwart this vile ruler of Barbaria! Crrraaaa... cccckkk!
Oh he was brave! Still only that whinnying-whimpering gasp. Oh let the gods give him strength.
Crraaaa ... aaaacccckkkk!
A bellowing howl echoed above our heads.
Oh shame... oh shame on our dear Cipri! He had broken... and so soon! Yet, could I blame him? Would I not have broken, too? And before? No matter how much I loved my country? Oh yes. In my heart I knew I would have done.
Craaa... aaaccckkkk!
Another bellowing howl. Oh poor man! What shame for a warrior! But he was broken. No use in denying it. But what was worst of all was that it was obvious he was being flogged for this evil ruler’s amusement! How could such enormities exist? Crraaaa... aaaccckkkk!
“YWYAAAAAAGHHHH ... AAAAGGCHHHHHH!”
Craaaaa... aaacccckkkk!
“YYYYYAAAIIIEEEEE... AAAAAGCGGHHH!”
Now with every stroke the bellowing was as of a wounded bull. Or like a pig being slit. Pathetic and heart-rending... yet doubtless a joy to this Princess’s ears.
On and on it went...
The whip cracking and lashing remorselessly. I could imagine the be-ribboned flesh. The awful, purpling welts beginning to merge. Perhaps he was bleeding.
Then he was not only bellowing, he was sobbing. And gasping out for mercy. Oh that a warrior should be brought so low as to ask a woman for mercy! Yet he was... he was! I felt his bitterness within my own breast. But begging for mercy only speeded up the whip.
It cracked faster and faster...
“Ah yes... aahhh... yes... ssss... “ I heard that she-devil panting. Craaaa... aaaacccckkkkkkkkk!
Crraaaa... aaaccccckkkkkkkkK! Crrrraaa... aaaccckkkkkk! Crrrraaaaa... aaacccckkkkkkkk! He was howling. Howling dementedly. Why did he not fall senseless? How could he endure? He was at the end of his tether. Yet still suffering the agony of stroke after stroke.
For her amusement...
Crrraaaa... aaaccckkkkkkkk!
Erupting across the flesh...
Crrrraaaa... aaaacccckkkkkkkk!
Another long ridge of excruciating torment...
Crrrrraaaaa... aaaaaacccckkk!
Oh come, Morpheus!
Crrrraaaa... aaacccckkkkkkkk!
Oh let him die!
Crrrraaaaa... aaaaccccckkkkkkk!
A terrible, swooping groan. Then another and another.
Crrraaaa... aaaaccccckkkkkkkk!
And now only another groan. He had gone. Into the blessed pit of oblivion.
At last!
“Revive him, Ryar” She was panting. I could imagine eyes wild with sadistic joy.
Yet how could she do this?
“At once, Highness...”
There was the acrid smell of burning twigs. Then he was choking. Great heaving gasps. Awful groans. Poor devil. He had been returned to the land of the living.
The whipping began again.
And the sounds became inhuman.
Unbelievable.
She would kill him!
Perhaps that had been her intention all along.
To kill him for the pure pleasure of it.
To flog him to death.
I thought I was going to be sick as the sounds became those of a slaughter-house and I was trembling uncontrollably.
Then, with a sudden groan - this time - a piercing one - he fell silent. At last the whip stopped cracking. It must be all over. He must have left this world for a happier place.
“Take it away, Ryar,” said the breathless voice.
“At once, Highness...”
There were no more sounds from the wretched warrior. Just the scuffling of him being removed. I could imagine him like a carcass of meat over the Chief Overseer’s shoulder.
He had made entertainment for the Princess. Now he could be tossed on the dung-heap.
There was the sound of Ryar returning. Terror gripped me as in a vice. Were we all to be flogged to death? It was beyond all reason. Incredible. But there was no reason why she should not do it if she wished. She was all-powerful. Our lives or deaths meant nothing to her. The matter would pass from her mind as soon as we had served our purpose and were gone. I tried to steel myself. At least, I told myself, after the awful agony, it would be all over. For ever. Just the place of oblivion.
Crraa ... aaaccckkk!
“That one!”
My hair seemed to rise up on my neck. But it was not me. There was a wailing, girlish shriek as one of my fellow galley slaves was seized by Ryar.
“M-Merceeeeee... m-merceeeeeeeeeee!”
Soon that will be me, I thought, as I listened hopelessly to the poor girl being fastened to the whipping frame.
“No ... ooooo ... aaaahhhhh ... no ... ooooo merceeeeeeeee!”
“Thank you, Ryar...”
The deed was done. The soft, womanly body awaited. Awaited the flailing whip. Soon that body would be unrecognisable. A red-purple mass of criss-crossing weals and welts.
For the sport of a tyrant!
The whip cracked... and a terrible shriek erupted. Piercing as only a female shriek can be. A shriek of agony and ultimate despair. A shriek that begged for death to come quickly.
But it did not...
As before, the whipping went on and on remorselessly. Twice the wretched girl was revived to suffer yet more. To suffer beyond all understanding.
Oh that I could have shut my ears to the terrible sounds!
But I could not. I knelt, hearing all, feeling the shadow of death approaching ever nearer to myself. If only I could get a dagger and stab myself. The idea was a sudden beacon of hope within me.
Quickly it died.
How could I possibly do that? I would be seized immediately I moved.
And my suffering would be made all the greater.
At last... at long last... the inhuman shrieking ceased. This time she could not be revived.
“Take it away, Ryar.” This time the voice was tight and hoarse. She was panting still.
“At once, Highness...”
Who would be next? Perhaps it was best to get it over and done with...
There was the sound of Ryar leaving with the silent carcases. Then of him returning.
“Bring me my harness, Ryar.”
“Yes, Highness....”
What was this? Some new devilry? Some different kind of amusement for this monstrous woman? Doubtless... doubtless.
“And bring me the slave, Flavia.”
“Yes, Highness...”
Flavia! That must be the Lady Flavia. A young woman of quality in Menos. Poor Lady Flavia. Yes... I had heard she had been assigned to serve this Princess Alexena.
“Pinion her arms behind her. I will attach her.”
“Yes, Highness...”
In God’s name, what was going on? We could but wait and wonder. And shake with ever-mounting dread.
“They may get to their feet,” said Princess Alexena, “so that they can observe how I treat a so-called ‘Lady’ of Menos.”
“Up!” rasped Ryar, “Up... slaves!”
I stood up with the others, feeling my knees rubbery. There was the whipping frame, just to my left. Behind it was the ruler of Barbaria... a tall, magnificently-built woman. Black-haired; dark eyes blazing. Imperious. Contemptuous. Radiating power.
She was, to my shocked surprise, quite naked. And obviously indifferent to our gaze. We could as well have been a****ls. At her feet was the Lady Flavia, also naked, with her arms roped up behind her back. Around her head was fastened a series of straps and, in turn, these straps were fastened to a harness about Princess Alexena’s waist. There were four straps, all pulled tight, forcing the Lady Flavia to keep her face and mouth pressed into the triangular bush of dark hair at the apex of the long white thighs.
It was a sickening sight.
Disgusting!
How could any woman treat another woman so?
But there it was... before our disbelieving eyes. One of our proudest Ladies being forced into an unnatural act. And being made an exhibition of...
Ah yes... more sport for this bestial woman!
“Let’s feel that tongue, slave... get it well in... “ The command was issued in a flat voice ... and, it seemed, obeyed instantly. This, I guessed would not be the first time that the Lady Flavia had been forced to perform this revolting task. Princess Alexena’s big, firm breasts, already heaving, began to heave a little faster.
“You see to what use one of your ‘Ladies’ can be put?” she said sneeringly. She remained standing commandingly, hands clutching Lady Flavia’s hair, though, of course, she could not escape her in any event. It was a question which went unanswered.
“Mmm... yes ... even a ‘Lady’ of Menos has its uses... “ I saw her give a little shudder of pleasure... and my hatred knew no bounds. For a few moments it even overcame my terror. Then that hatred subsided again. What was the use? I was utterly helpless.
“Ryar... “
“Yes, Highness?”
“These four will be birched. Two at a time. One male, one female. Bring in the blocks.”
“Immediately, Highness... “
My throat went dry and I felt rather giddy. But at least it was not the whip. It was not the end. However, I had felt a birch before. I shuddered, suddenly realizing my nails were digging painfully into my palms.
Several of Ryar’s eunuch assistants brought in two heavy punishment blocks ... of which there were so many in the Palace. They were made of rough timbers with a leathern top. The rear end of the block curved up high, thus thrusting up one’s hindquarters and stretching the skin ready for whatever form of flogging one was to receive. I had been over such hideous contrivances all too often. And now it was to happen again. Not because I had committed any fault, or alleged fault, but simply for the amusement of that terrible woman. Her pleasure, as poor Flavia’s tongue did its work, would be heightened by our sufferings.
Oh the wickedness of it!
“You, girl!” Ryar was pointing at me... and the familiar icicles of terror went through my entrails. The moment had come. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the assistants removing the birches from brine water in which they were kept. Each was a mass of green and supple twigs. Tears began to form in my eyes as I moved hesitantly towards the block. “And you!” The warrior at my side was also summoned forward.
Then the massive Ryar gripped me and I felt like a toy in his hands as I was lifted up. My breasts and belly were pressed to the cold leather. The pinioning straps began to be buckled on immediately. First my wrists, to the side of the block. Then my thighs to the back of the block... my limbs first being pulled well apart. Finally a broader strap went over the back of the waist, crushing me down even more. My poor bottom curved high, tautly rounded. Exposed. Helpless. Ready to receive the slashing twigs. After this there was a little refinement. So as to ensure that I would have to look upon the Princess’s pleasure, a cord was tied to a hank of my hair... my head was pulled up... and then the cord was fastened to my waist-belt.
I began to sob.
And, as I did so, Princess Alexena began to sink down on to a couch, gasping and shuddering. She took the harnessed Lady Flavia with her. I realised that vile woman was having her first orgasm.
“Birch them, “ she said in a hoarse voice. Then she raised her thighs a little... and Lady Flavia continued to probe and lick.
I tensed, clenching my teeth. There was a faint hissing sound. Then there was the agony of the multiple twigs biting simultaneously into my tender flesh. I screamed, mouth agape. By my side, the warrior uttered a rasping howl.
Oh the pain of it!
Incredible...
But it was, I knew, a pain that was going to get far worse. Far, far worse.
I felt my taut nates clenching with dread in anticipation of the next stroke.
It was so long in coming.
Then, through a mist of tears, I saw the Princess raise her finger. The second stroke came as agonisedly... if not more so... than the first. Again I screamed my torment as the slashing twigs spread and bit, curling round into my flank.
Another pause.
Another long pause.
My terrified eyes were fastened on that evil woman’s finger. Just by raising it she could bring us excruciating pain! Whenever she wished. At any moment she chose.
Oh the power of that finger!
I saw her haunches give a little shudder of lustful pleasure... and the finger came up.
Sssswwweeee... sssssllllaaaasssshhhhh!
Agony!
Burning, blazing agony!
Our agony... her increased delight.
As I screamed again, the hatred in my heart for this monstrous woman seemed so great as to burst it.
My naked breasts were heaving, tears streaming down my cheeks. Doubtless a most satisfying sight for her. Again my nates were clenching with dread. Oh please no... no... don’t raise that finger!
Don’t... don’t!
Clench and twitch... clench and quiver.
The pause was longer. Much longer. Every nerve in my body seemed at snapping point.
Oh the hideous cruelty of it!
The torment of waiting was, in its own way, almost as bad as the birch itself.
Then, at long last... inevitably... the finger was raised once more. Ssssswwweeeee... sssslllllaaasshhhhh!
An even greater agony.
For now the twigs bit into flesh already red-raw and lacerated with thin, criss-crossing weals.
She shuddered again... as my high-pitched shriek burst out. Her dark eyes were hot and lustful. Gloating. Oh how she was revelling in her power.
“Get it in deeper, you Ciprian bitch,” she grated.
Her finger came up... more quickly this time.
Sssswwweeeeee... ssssllllaaassssshhhhhhhh!
Oh how could I endure such agony? It was not possible! It had to stop! It had to!
But, of course, it didn’t.
In that same cruel, long-lingering fashion, the birches continued to fall at intervals across the blazing flesh of the warrior and myself. Our howls and screams grew ever louder and more desperate. At one point I was shrieking for mercy... but the smile of lustful pleasure on those imperious features only deepened.
How many strokes we received, I know not. Twenty? Twenty five? It could have been more. There was just continuous and ever-increasing torment.
Then I saw and heard her beginning to gasp and groan again. To shudder convulsively. She was coming to a second climax.
Her climax of pure pleasure.
Our climax of unadulterated pain.
For, as the waves of lust engulfed her, that finger rose faster and faster so that, ultimately, those agonising birch twigs were slashing down at scarcely more than one-second intervals. The agony was beyond all describing.
Beyond all belief.
It was not possible for flesh and blood to endure it. And as the Princess collapsed, sprawling and writhing, crying out in orgasmic joy, I swept down into insensibility.
To the exquisite quietus of oblivion.
When I recovered, I was back in my cell, with salves applied liberally to my raw and bleeding flesh. I sobbed and sobbed bitterly for the incessant pain had lessened only a little.
Doubtless, I thought, that cruel orgy had continued.
Oh the monstrous wickedness of it!
And poor Lady Flavia. It was well-nigh unbearable to see her brought so low. To be made to perform such disgusting obscenities. She was such a kind and gentle thing. A true Lady. It was incredible to realize she had simply become a slave.
Slowly, exhaustion crept over me. I continued to sob, but more softly.
However, there was, at least some small comfort. After the savage flogging I had received, I would surely be unfit to be trained in the galley for several days.
Oh what a joy to think of that!
Trisha
- 06.10.2020
- 16
- 0
