Mr. Saud’s hand probed pudendums. Pussies were palmed and kneaded to reveal secretions. They were also pushed and pulled to exhibit the degree in which they were capable of rear exposure. Each exploration of a girl’s most secret place drew a noncommittal grunt and a well-aimed cut with the cane.
“Keep well bent down, girls.”
The troop bent and gasped. Trudy was thankful for the interval in which Mr. Saud went up and down the line. A quick succession of such strokes as he dealt would have been impossible to stand still to receive.
“That is all, girls. Mr. Saud believes four stripes sufficient for this purpose.”
Trudy gasped thankfully. The four had hurt like forty. But each girl had accepted them without casualties. Her sigh of relief was cut short by Lilith’s next announcement.
“Three of you are white. We have found that white girls require extra cautionary attention. The rest of you will stand still and take note.”
Daphne, Maisie and Trudy were taken from the coffle. It felt good to lose the band from about their neck. But relief was short. Their elbows were looped, drawn tight together and knotted. They were positioned in line to face their dusky comrades, their breasts tautly pointing from wracked shoulders.
“One stroke across each breast. Mr. Saud is merciful.”
Mr. Saud was NOT merciful. Trudy longed to smite Lilith’s bland complacence. But she could strike nothing. All she could do was stand still with jutting cones to receive pain. She dismissed thoughts of kneeling and pleading for mercy. Lilith would love that! Mr. Saud would probably enjoy it too. If it was just one on each—!
The slave trader had discarded his cane. He now held a whip. A short stock, several thin braided lashes of no great length. The cringing girls realised that in this whipping of their breasts, accuracy was of the essence. No doubt, by the standards that governed such things, they were in good hands.
“Stand quite still. Extend your chests. Failure will earn you an additional thrashing.”
They stood quite still.
Trudy wondered about this new pain. She was soon made aware. The thongs bit savagely at her right breast, leaving clearly defined striations she would flaunt for many days. In its turn her left twin was similarly slashed. She was possessed by pain. Her elbows scorched ceaselessly. She was led away by a firm hand upon her prisoned arm. She had walked far before she realised the warehouse and the troop was left behind.
“I will not apologise. Perhaps it is as well you are seen to suffer with your comrades.” said Nicholas Nykobe as he thoughtfully removed the ropes from about his prisoner’s elbows. “Mr. Saud can be trusted not to exceed good sense.”
“Mr. Saud hurt me a lot,” said Trudy without rancour. “I’d hate to have him mad at me.”
“That is his motive, my dear. A deterrent,” Nykobe’s finger traced the lines across his captive’s breasts. He found them absorbing. “I’m afraid I have to say I find these extremely beautiful. They affect me.”
“I’m glad you like ’em. I expect I’ll wear ’em awhile.” She looked up appealingly. “It would be nice if you took off my handcuffs?”
He chuckled at her ingenuousness. “On the other hand it would be nice for me to leave them on. Your sweet helplessness is another potency.”
Trudy deliberately twisted against her fetter to illustrate her impotence. Demurely, she inquired:
“This time I expect you really will—” She allowed a pause to lengthen. “—What do you want to call it, make me service you? You service me! Ravish—?”
“What quaint synonyms! I intend to fuck you.”
“You like the brutality of that word, I can tell,” she glinted up at him. “It’s going to be awkward for me with my arms behind my back.”
“Your problem pleases me. I’m sure you’ll cope.” Trudy knew she would. She refused to admit her excitement. Provocatively, she teased. “Remember, I’ve also got a tender bottom.”
Again the tracery of fingers along ridged skin beneath her joined hands. Her shiver and wiggle was involuntary, a physical admission of sensation beyond control. Nicholas Nykobe laughed amusedly. “Saud’s principle is sound, dear child. He gave you four to instil respect—can I do less?”
Instinctively, Trudy’s cuffed hands sought her wounds. “Oh, not four more!” she wailed. “They hurt terribly.” She looked up at him, doe-eyed. “Besides, I’m innocent, and I’m trained, and I’m behaving myself like a good girl.”
“You are also longing for me to cane your pretty little bottom.”
“Oh damn, how did you know!” Trudy grinned sheepishly. “It must be Caroline’s influence—I never used to—!” She broke off in a sudden realisation. “Where is Caroline? I don’t see why you bother with me when you’ve got her, Caroline makes me look like the ugly duckling.”
Nykobe’s features were impassive. “It is my judgment of you that counts,” he said heavily. “Let us not concern ourselves with Abhad’s whore.”
“Please don’t call her that, she’s sweet! And she hasn’t had much more to say about what happens to her than I have.” Sensing a fading mood of felicity, she asked winsomely: “Would you like me to fetch a cane or something and bend over?”
The mood returned. Nykobe chucked his new possession under the chin. “It is you who make others seem dull,” he said affectionately. “Yes, you may fetch a cane.”
The slender instrument by which she would be given pain rested, with others, on a rack. Trudy used her teeth to remove it, drop it on a desk, then grasp it with her cuffed hands. She proffered it to her lord backwards.
He chuckled at her earnest endeavour. “You could have brought it to me in your teeth, y’know.”
She flushed. “How silly! I never thought—! That way I could have knelt . . . ? Do you want me to do it over?”
“I want you to do everything over. You are a delight. But enough of teasing. Take whatever position you like.”
“You mean I can stand straight to be caned? It doesn’t hurt so much like that?”
“If you wish,” Nykobe was enjoying her sincerity. “You would be easy to indulge. You have a way with you.”
Trudy bent forward, well down, back arched, knees taut. Her rosy round rump reared rampantly in invitation.
“You do like it,” Nicholas Nykobe accused, laughing. He selected skin Mr. Saud had not already used, and struck.
“Thank you very much,” said Trudy. She did not move.
He struck again, crossing a weal. “Thank you, sir. You do it beautifully.”
Trudy was possessed. Some demon of mischief sustained her against a pain normally too great to bear. The agony was fiendish on her tight stretched skin, yet she felt nothing. Or believed she felt nothing. She did not move. She was in a trance compounded of the chemistry generated between herself and this man she had seen but once before. When Nykobe’s third stroke spanned her flesh its cruel ‘thuck!’ evoked only the sweetness of an outrageous plea.
“If the next one is the last, sir, please make it a lot harder.”
“Are you real?” His voice was almost worshipful.
“Terribly real, lord. My bottom belongs to you.” He struck her for the fourth time, harshly cutting into her softest skin. The pain burrowed, burned and burst in a flowering of anguish. Trudy Ramsay slowly straightened up and looked roguishly at the man who held the cane.
“And now my breasts, sir?”
“No, not your breasts. It is enough.”
Like corn swept by the scythe, Trudy’s knees buckled and she was suddenly writhing on the floor, her chained hands vainly seeking to assuage her wounds. It was as though the pain had been pent-up during its infliction on her flesh and was now sweeping her in wave after wave of agony. With a tremendous effort of will she achieved immobility on her back, her shackled arm awkwardly beneath her waist. Her eyes were brilliant as they sought Nykobe’s. “Now!” she gasped. “Now, now, now!” He took her as she lay in the wild abandonment of desire.