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Warrior Woman Prisoner - Prisoner for the Lash

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    Alert as a young deer in the forest, Conine heard the first stroke coming before she felt it.  She tensed for the inevitable pain, and was not disappointed when a burning line of fire blossomed between her shoulders.  She grunted, and closed her eyes, the muscles of her back tensed.  She drew a slow breath, and when she knew she was again in control, opened her eyes slowly to again gaze with loathing at Gracus.   

     For his part, the general smiled appreciatively.  His slave girls at home would have been crying like a baby under that first stroke, and even some Chevaan sluts too, he knew from experience.  But he had never had the joy of finding a woman who could so endure the lash with such control.  Her arrogant posture and the hatred burning in her eyes fairly cried out to be broken.

     The whip-wielder drew back his arm and again the leather cord flew forward.  This time the lash curled slightly about the victim's slender waist, causing her to jerk sideways and leaving a bright red weal on the smooth skin.  Once again, Conine gritted her teeth against the desire to cry out with pain, but there was nothing she could do to prevent the tears welling in the corners of her sky-blue eyes.    

     With callous precision the man continued his flogging of the chained warrior, concentrating on her curved back and broad shoulders.  Up and down the length of her spine he worked the pitiless leather, so that soon a fine sheen of perspiration silvered the prisoners skin.  Conine bore the torment a silently as she was able, but before long found she could not entirely subdue the moans and soft whimpers of anguish welling with her.  She had to blink to clear her eyes from the sting of sweat and tears, while on her back she could feel the trickle of blood from some of the deeper cuts of the lash.     

 After five minutes the soldier with the whip paused to rest his arm, and Gracus took time to notice how the warrior woman's spirit continued to sustain her through the torture.  No cry of pain had she given, only tiny groans, but somehow Gracus found them more arousing than full-throated screams for mercy.  He found the notion of hurting such a powerful, strong willed woman compelling, much more so than the torture of mewling, easily subdued slaves.  He had hoped that this girl's endurance would be a match for her stubborn pride, and it seemed he would not be disappointed.
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WildRover4's avatar
Excellent 👍