Chapter Three

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Chapter Three It was a bitter cold day for the second of Delila’s floggings. It was not just the bitterness of the air, but the bite inside her that made her struggle against the treatment this time. Despite the matron’s cautions, those that the woman gave to ease the burden of her punishment, Delila, somewhere in her mind, thought that contesting her treatment might somehow change it. Her battle did indeed change the treatment. By the time she reached the dais in the courtyard square, surrounded by dozens of fiendish eyes, the prisoner was already bruised by the hands that had practically carried her to her fate. This time the leather and ropes that bound her were even more confining, and to increase the exposure of her bottom, she was tied over a beam, not just left hanging in the air. The awkward position made her breasts dangle in front of her, her head bow naturally because she couldn’t hold it up, and her arms, strung up by the uncomfortable ropes, ache nastily, long before the flogging was over. Worst of all, with her legs spread wide again, with the added benefit of the bent over pose, her entire female privates were laid open, her anus and her pubic mound below. This time when the lash struck, the bite went beyond the mere padded fanny flesh. The vile implement had little problem torturing the most tender skin in the normally protected places between her legs. She cried from the depths of her being when the lash struck her center. Although she attempted to struggle still, she was too well bound to make any progress against her confinement. At one point the flogging was stopped, an adjudicator and an inspector conferring on the sidelines agreed. “Flog her until she ceases to protest, and ten minutes more,” it was announced. Delila hardly heard the edict. All she felt was the lash striking even harder. The pain was justified though, and almost welcomed. She swore and cried and shrieked and wailed until at last she was exhausted. Only then did the flogging cease. Delila Armand endured a half hour this time. If she hadn’t relinquished after that time, the administrator would have stopped and brought her back the next day to finish the treatment, that, the extent of the State’s compassion. *** Delila: I was livid, though I don’t understand why. The rage came on me all of a sudden. It almost felt as if I wasn’t really in my body, but out of it, and struggling with something beyond myself to end this horror. Still, I was surprised to discover that this second time was no different from the first. The excruciating warmth of it was affecting me right in the pit of my belly, right in the base of my body where the most wonderful feelings begin. They weren’t beginning as I was being lashed, but I knew they would start as soon as it was over. When it was finished, I gazed up seeing Armand staring at me. In horror, in shame, in fear and loathing. My state of clarity after a flogging made it easy for me to read people’s states of mind. I read their lust mostly, so obviously there. I could even see it in Armand. Yes, he too! Ah, I thought myself wiser than everyone in that silly courtyard . . .except perhaps for the dark man. He was standing beside Armand, a man dressed in a leather shirt and pants, not heavy bulky garments as one would think leather might be. His clothes were as soft looking as silk, though they were without a doubt made of some fine animal hide, and stained a threatening black. He was tall, his complexion tan from some warmer climate, his black hair long to his shoulders and swept back, his eyes like the blackest hour of the night that had no moons or stars to break the threatening ebony hue. They were infinite, absolutely without color. Something in his immovable gaze shook me as deeply as my lust was aroused by the flogging. For just an instant, his will and power bonded me with him, until I broke off the stare and looked away. *** “Who was the man in the black leather?” Delila asked the matron when the woman was rubbing the cream into her wounded ass this second time. “You know you did a dangerous thing,” Briel said, as her fingers made their journey about Delila’s backside. “Who was he?” she asked again. “These will hurt for days, and if you don’t behave yourself, you’ll be strung up for an extra flogging before you can adequately recover.” “You won’t tell me?” Delila tried once more. “I’ve seen an angry administrator whip an unruly butt like yours for several days in a row to make a point.” “Who is he?” Delila asked impatiently. The woman was silent for a time, as her hands continued their massage. “Why do you ask?” she finally spoke again. “He has the blackest eyes I’ve even seen. I’d think he was a demon or the devil himself.” “You believe in the devil?” Briel asked. “No,” Delila asked. “Then he’s not the devil.” “But who is he?” “Runs one of the re-training sweatshops up north,” she answered. “Then he works for the State?” Delila asked. “Don’t know, and you’re asking too many questions.” Her voice turned harsh, the woman’s abrupt reply stopping another question, though there really wasn’t another in Delila’s thoughts. Briel’s fingers were moving into the sorest places of her body where the lash had caught the crack of her ass. Her smooth skin against Delila’s singed inner parts soothed her. Such gentleness from one so brusque. The lower her hand dropped, the more the massage turned to pleasure, Delila squirming against the invading fingers, especially when they reached her v****a. “You like this, don’t you?” “Feels so good,” Delila purred. “If I were to slip my fingers in here you might get off,” the woman continued, just as her fingers were slipping into the wet place between Delila’s legs. The prisoner suddenly jerked, her hips thrashing about on the impaling hand, the woman riding her all the way as a series of lush muted moans escaped Delila’s lips. “The flogging arouses you,” Briel said, as she took her hand away from the wet climaxing cunt. The prisoner sighed. “It couldn’t,” she whispered a half-hearted protest. “It does many who come through here. I detected it in you.” The woman rose from the bed, and gazed down at the limp naked form. “Be glad for it, girl. I hear the more you welcome the punishment, the more you’ll pleasure in it.”
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