“He flicked the whip”

‘Now listen, you traitorous whore,’ said Gallo with menace, ‘the punishment for your crimes is a whipping. But I’m going to give you a chance to save your skin if you want. You can choose – either you can take the whipping yourself, or your daughter can take it in your place. What do you say?’
‘Not my daughter! Not my daughter! Don’t hurt her,’ sobbed the captive wildly.
‘So you’ll take it yourself, then?’
‘I… I…’ she steeled herself, and then said through her tears, ‘I will take the punishment.’
‘Call me lord!’ he yelled into her face, face red with lust and anger. ‘I am the Emperor’s representative in this miserable arse of a country, and you will show some respect! Now tell me, who will take the punishment?’
‘I will… take the punishment, lord,’ she said in trembling words.
Gallo motioned to his men, and they took her arms. He reached out and ripped off her kirtle, the only garment of a poor Segdula, and she cried out in shock. He looked her up and down for a while, ogling her breasts and the lines of her belly curving down to the dark muff of hair. She ground her knees together to conceal her feminine modesty, and tried to turn her hips away from him to hide her most intimate place from his gaze. He was amused by such antics – clearly she had no idea of the use of the whipping horse, and how her inmost secret places would be displayed wide open to the eyes of the crowd of soldiers.
The daughter started to fight at this, showing some spirit for the first time and rattling off scorn in her own barbaric language. Longinus put a pair of shackles around her wrists and then had some men lift her up. Longinus looped the chain connecting her wrists up over one of the whipping posts in the courtyard. She was left hanging by her arms, legs dangling in the air, not quite able to touch the ground with her outstretched toes. Her cried became more high-pitched and took on their former tones of fear, then subsided to nothing.
Gallo turned his attention back to her mother. He barked a curt word of command, and the two men holding her arms turned her around and bent her over the whipping horse. She was tied in the familiar position – she was face down on the horse with her breasts hanging down between its cross-struts, her arms tied to its sides. Her belly rested on its edge, leaving her backside projecting into space, and her legs were lashed to the frame wide apart. She was left with two holes splayed open, defenseless against any onslaught which her captor might which to inflict upon them.
Gallo went to the whip-rack and selected the fringed whip. This was the tool of a true master of the whipping art. It ended in a flat, square-ended piece of leather, split into eight thin strands. The trick with the fringed whip was to let the tip just touch flesh and then pull it away. Then the eight little lashes would bite across the skin and nip at it like tiny pincers, rarely drawing blood but always leaving tiny lines of agonizing torment.
He flicked the whip out above her back a couple of times to loosen up his arm. ‘Now you’d better confess your crimes,’ he said, ‘or your daughter will get the same as you. Do you confess to treason against Rome?’
‘Y.. yes lord, I confess…’ she broke off, voice labored with terror. ‘And do you deserve to be whipped for this treason?’ ‘Yes lord,’ she managed to say the words unbroken for once.
‘Tell me it!’ he shouted. ‘Tell me what you deserve!’ ‘I… I… I deserve…’ her voice was breaking apart.
‘Tell me it!’ he yelled in fury. ‘Or your daughter gets it too!’
‘I deserve… I deserve to be… whipped for treason, lord,’ she finally got the words out.
Tiring of playing with the mouse, Gallo started to let fly. The split tip of the whip touched her shoulder and she squealed shrilly, but said nothing. He snaked the leather toward her again, and this time caught her on the upper back. Another cry of biting pain was wrenched from her and she squirmed desperately, but the horse held her and she succeeded only in grinding splinters of wood into her naked flesh. The third stroke curled around and caught her just below the armpit, and then without drawing the lash back to him he caught her again on the back swing, drawing those little agonizing tongues across the small of her back. Her cries merged into one long sobbing scream.
Gallo started to whip her faster. To begin with he placed the burning kisses of the fringed whip on her back, touching the leather lightly to her flesh on one side of her spine and then the other, moving slowly down toward her buttocks like a lover kissing down her back. Then he changed tactics and started placing the blows all over, first curling round her side to lick her flank with lines of fire, then flicking the leather on the back of her leg, just above her knee, then whipping under the horse so that the tip flicked up to tickle her on her dangling breast. For minutes he went on like this, touching here, touching there, never in the same place twice. But he was saving the best until last, and for now stayed away from the two holes that were held so invitingly open, targets for his lust. Her buttocks, thighs and vagina he left untouched for the moment. Nonetheless the assault played heavily on her back, side, arms and lower legs, and he loved to shock her every few strokes that cut beneath the table and left bitterly painful red welts on her belly and breasts.
Her screams were the demented shrieks of a soul driven beyond endurance, interspersed with terrified rantings in the incomprehensible Segdulan language. She writhed desperately, but was unable to move from the horse. The only thing she succeeded in doing was waving her hindquarters wildly from side to side to make an amusing show for the leering Romans. As he plied her back and sides with fiery horror that left angry scarlet marks, she lost control of her body and urine poured from her groin onto the dusty ground. As she fought, screaming insanely, the shifting of her body made sweat drip from her nipples and flanks, and shook residual drops of piss from the lips of her pink slit.
Tiring of these preliminaries, Gallo eventually decided that it was time for the real fun to start. He paused and stepped back to the natural distance at which a stroke would just reach her nether regions, which projected so invitingly into the air. He gave her a little time to calm down. In a minute her screaming had stopped and she had stopped shifting, but her exhausted body relaxed onto the wooden frame and sobs of agony racked her body. Just when she thought it was all over, Gallo started again, this time on her more tender parts. He started with the fine curves of the buttocks and thighs, licking those two fleshy mounds all over with the eight agonizing tongues of fire. Again she shrieked and jumped, driven mad with horror at the thought of another round of torment. Slowly he played with whip down the outsides and backs of her legs, covering them in bright hot stings that burnt with hideous pain. Then, starting at the knees, he laid lash after lash on her inner thighs, gradually creeping up toward the vulnerable feminine secret between her splayed legs.
When Petronius was getting close to those gates of pleasure, he changed his attack again and targeted her rear crease. The darting end of the whip played over it, seeking to descend into the dark canyon between her cheeks. As she screamed in a foaming madness of tortured fear, she jerked her bottom desperately from side to side to prevent the blows from falling into that tender spot. Many times her convulsions were successful and the lashes fell just outside the crevasse, cutting the flesh at its edge with tiny knives of unbelievable pain, but as time went by she could not help some of her tormentor’s cunningly aimed strokes reaching right to the valley floor where the flesh was more sensitive. She did everything in her power to clench those two flanking orbs together, narrowing the way in to her vulnerable inner flesh, but it is difficult to keep one’s body under control under the attentions of a whip, especially in the hands of a master. Clenching and unclenching wildly, her buttock muscles seemed to go into spasm as her agonized rear end waved wildly in the air.
Over long minutes of torture that seem like hours to the wildly thrashing and squealing victim, Gallo played with her nether cleavage in this way. He started at the top, just below the base of the spine, but he was slowing moving down toward the dark mysterious passage that was held so shocking open to the world by her obscene position on the horse. The bright and burning marks of the fringed whip clustered heavily around the valley walls and near the top of her buttocks, and with time they started to extend further down. No inch of that cleft was spared the full horror of pain, and the horrific kisses of torment left their fiery imprint all along the trench’s very bottom as well as up both sides and on the expanse of open flesh surrounding.
Eventually the tiny flailing tongues reached the most sensitive part of her rear end, the dark and tightly closed ring of her anus. In the dreadful position of a victim on the whipping horse, this target area is spread wide open and the buttocks, not matter how clenched, offer little defense to the sphincter. With renewed desperation she jerked her seat from side to side to save that dark rose of her body’s inner privacy from the horror of the lash, but it was no help. Inevitably the tongues of fire reached to her very rectum itself and cut the sensitive flesh with burning punishment as well as scoring the walls of the trench on either side. He lingered here deliberately, drawing shriek after shriek and scream after scream of utter misery from her.
Then finally, once the inside of her dark nether valley had been shredded by the concentrated attentions of the eight tiny agonies, Gallo turned his attention to her front door. The two outer lips were still wet from the urine, which she had discharged in her fear and misery. The fringed tip of the lash headed up between her legs and caught her just to the side of the pink opening. A torrent of lashes followed, and despite her agonized writhing most of them struck the delicate flesh of her womanhood. Droplets of piss span wildly away from those two curtains of flesh, which were set to quivering by the wild impacts of the eight fine lashes. Again and again the leather tormentor struck her there in her most intimate and secret place, scoring the burning flaps and the surrounding flesh with a pain more terrible and humiliating than anything she had heretofore suffered.
Her back door, though sensitive and undefended, had at least had the protection of being a tight aperture into which the whip could not pass. The front entrance had a greater vulnerability. With her legs splayed so wide, the orifice was pulled wide and the flanking lips no longer touched each other. As the strands of the whip cut into the terribly delicate skin of her outer lips, they were able to curl inside, nipping those labia between two pinching leather claws and even cutting across the inner lips that huddled within. Gallo took a long pleasure in cutting her in there. He played lovingly over the outside of her love-port, scoring and burning not only the lips but also the surrounding flesh, the hair-covered mound above her sex.
Eventually his lust was too great. Tossing the whip aside he pulled out his tool. It was hot and hard, and bursting with energy. Stepping up he laid his hands on her thighs and moved them up to caress her bottom-globes. The fringed whip rarely broke the skin, and there was hardly any blood on her skin, but the red lines of the lash’s impact were still agony, especially when touched. As he ran his hands up and down her flesh she shrieked again as if she were being whipped anew. He stroked down her cheeks, the fingers of his right hand searching around the outside of her rear crack where the whipping had been particularly intense. She jerked and wailed in horror at this, the mere touch of his hand. Her cries became worse as his right hand moved down into the trench, and with his left he took the abused lips of her front door between his fingers and roughly fondled them, pinching them brutally hard. Then he moved his hand to his inflamed rod, grabbed it and stuck it all the way into her pink slit. She bucked and squealed, trying to get away from it, but that spear pinned her fast. He thrust her long and deep, caressing her whip-burnt thighs as he did so, enjoying the shrieks of despair as his thick shaft penetrated deep into her sex and took away her honor. The soul-rending horror of violation was made worse by the biting pain that erupted in her cut and abused pussy lips. Every time his swollen shaft thrust past them, it chafed the wounds that scored that most delicate of all flesh, drawing fresh agony from them.
Gallo had already been heavily aroused when he entered, and he shot his bolt quickly inside her.
This is an excerpt from ‘Roman Games’ by Rod Caine, available at http://www.geocities.com/sternpub

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