Silvana's Quest

by Caroline Swift

  "I see no reason to lose weight," the older girl had argued one stifling night down by the stream, prior to her transfer. "I maintain a big arse like mine or to a slightly lesser extent, yours, Silvana, is not just to sit upon. It's there to take the thongs, if you go for that as I do, and have a riding crop slicing deep into your epidermis" - she knew all the terms - "so that the nerve endings excite you, darling. And they need a little stimulation now and then, after being squashed for hours on that bloody bench in the silk sheds. And my arse takes the whip well when I'm thrashed at home." So I'm not the only one enjoying leather, the young one realized. "And it keeps you fit. Quite apart from the pleasure and the orgasms."

  Silvana always listened to what Memona or Vreni had to say and they seemed to know where their erotic zones lay. The lips, ears and neck, leave alone the breasts and quim, were one thing, but she agreed about the bottom. It was a pity the two beauties had gone hence, for she would have liked to have learned more. Their departure was a great loss.

  Standing by the fire, she then considered those slack, drooping tabs of labial flesh she had been born with and found so attractive, especially when she was sexually excited and they quivered and tended to stick together when her juices ran. She was damned if, like some women, she was going to have them trimmed by that old shaman of a medicine man down the lane. She adored seizing their silky lengths and pulling them apart; it was like splitting a ripe fig off that tree by the well to suck out the red meat within. Anyway when, rather than if, the time came, those lobes would lap round a cock as neatly as Vreni said her mouth did round Pervez's when she fellated him - another word she taught Silvana -- behind the bakery. She did it regularly, she said, claiming his rod was as hard as a pestel. And it was Vreni who boasted she had let Pervez quite often ram into her between the arse cheeks. But then Vreni had always been special and had probably made something of a name for herself at the palace.

  All in all, Silvana was content with what the gods of Bithynia had given her. If, again, the palace up there didn't want her as a lady-in-waiting, there were others, like Pervez, who would take her as she was, with her loose labia, the blonde hair, her good looks and her three holes. It was merely a matter of patience.

  The only real problem was when and how she would be deflowered, as the saying had it. For this enforced virginity, keeping intact that tight little membrane just behind her opening, was a misery, as it had been for the two others. It annoyed her. But again, time would tell.

  What told her more, and very suddenly, was the screech of the hovel door and the litany of oaths and carping. The two toilers, the foster parents, were home.

  The complaints came in plenty. Why had she not renewed the branches and straw on the floor? The fire was too stacked up with hard-won wood. The black bread had not been cut - that from the ugly witch. Berated for being an extra and useless maw to feed, the girl turned away to correct her errors, a fatal gesture for it revealed the tell-tale stain low on the back of the smock. Instantly the chair was in place, the leather belt in the man's grasp.

  "So, yer's been afriggin' again, filthy slut." The yell filled the hut. "As if I don't know 'ow many times a night don't satisfy that thing down there. Over yon chair with that carcass and naked it'll be from now on, bitch. I'll thrash the skin clean off yer, from neck to butt."

  "And give the trollop an extra dozen, husband," the scrawny woman counselled. "Make the damn whore bleed like a pig." The harpy seemed not to object to the nudity imposed nor to the inevitable trickle of blood that was to besmirch her chair.

  Silvana never attempted to reply, leave alone argue. Whatever she said would only increase the number of strokes. Remission was not among her guardians' concepts and she knew she served as an outlet for their despair. But this time fear seized her, seeing the brute wrapping the end of the belt round his gnarled fist, leaving the buckle dangling, the metal catching the glimmer of the fire. The pain was going to be ferocious, clearly too great to turn into pleasure as it did when the tongue slashed her arse. Normally the thing never went higher than the coccyx. The rigid back and sirloin seemed less erotic than the juicy rump. But she stripped, bent over the chair and for dear life gripped the edges of the seat.

  The man rolled up his sleeves, gazing at the previous night's welts traversing the cheeks of the broad behind. This time he decided to open her up, the frigging macaque. And, by all the deities, she would not be able to sit down on it for a week.

  The belt hissed through air dense with smoke from the unattended fire to slam into the shoulder blades, the metal buckle striking the lolling breast. For once, the girl jerked back her head to let out a strident cry; this was the opposite of pleasure. The shock paralyzed her. If the usual erotic reaction was to burgeon, it lay far off but, once the thing reached her behind, she hoped she would sail off into that strange sense of bliss that led to her own personal ecstasy. Then, after fewer stokes than she had expected, the buckle hit her hip, the leather scalding the crown of the buttocks. She danced on one foot, screaming, but relieved the slack arse meat was responding not only to the strap but to something deep in her entrails. Ten lashes laid on, the belt rose higher with a hideous curse from the man, only to pause suspended, the man abruptly turning his head...

  Without more warning than a kick from a boot, the door had crashed back on its decaying hinges, rocking the hovel's flimsy foundations. The two men who strode in seemed to crowd the room with their presence, causing the two labourers to freeze, staring blankly at the intruders' veiled faces.

  Glancing backwards through her tears, the girl remembered vaguely the other time she had set eyes on similar figures, when they had hauled off the handsome Andreas to the palace a month or two before. The same age as she, the stark-naked youth, his wrists corded behind the neck, had been hauled forward by a lead attached to a coil of metal links throttling the root of the stiff penis and bag of balls. That had been her first sight of a male erection, the prepuce slicked back from the glans by the grip of the chain, the haired scrotum bulging tight. As he was dragged up the dark lane, she had seen the lash marks criss-crossing the raw flesh; they resembled her own fuschia-hued weals left by her latest daily disciplining. The sight had sent a flurry of excitement coursing through her entrails, the same as when she began to frig herself. She had felt curiously akin to the nude youth and nebulously wondered if he too masturbated and how he performed it. She had never seen what she imagined to be a fist slithering up and down a solid cock and, according to Vreni, a clotted necklace of spunk arching out in spurts. But now she had other problems confronting her, for she too was naked, facing two intruders in a hovel barely lit by the moon. Could they be the same as those who had towed Andreas off that night? And what had they in mind for her?

  In the frightening hush, she dared rising a fraction to make out the two men more clearly, and suddenly realized they were the very same as those she had seen taking Andreas away; yes, they were the palace slave masters in person. Despite her seething pain, she felt heartened they had condescended to visit the miserable hut, but broke into a gelid sweat as the older and clearly the senior of the two ran a gloved hand over her blistered bottom and then jerked her upright by the blonde tresses to face him. At the same time, his silken cloak parted to reveal the genitals. The massive phallus glistened but hung dormant, its root lodged in a forest of dark hair that from there extended upward to cover the belly and chest; he resembled nothing she had ever imagined. Frightening and yet fascinating.

  "This slag is presumably your ward?" The voice sounded peremptory, barely muffled by the black veil, and used the vernacular as was customary when dealing with vassal trash. As he spoke, he cast his cloak over a shoulder, freeing an arm and grasping one of the magnificent breasts hanging before him. "At least you scoundrels don't flog her loads of bosom meat," he remarked archly. The strange expression and the image of having her breasts beaten made Silvana wince. The gloved hand descended down her belly
to grasp the cunt, a finger burrowing up into the vagina.

  Lowering her eyes, she watched him smile and then saw what she half-expected. The scourge hung sleek and lethal from his belt. Of rawhide, the thongs glinted under a sheen of what Silvana's intuition told her could only be the sweat of slave bodies visited earlier. A shudder ran through her uterus. But it was the whip's haft that truly scared her. The leather binding seemed to be ribbed down its length, the pommel resembling Andeas's hard cock when he was being led away. Trying to check her downpour, she glanced at her foster parents. They had fallen to their knees in servile obeisance, seeming to anticipate what was about to be inflicted on their virginal ward. The filthy shagger was already naked and half-flogged. What more could they want by way of cooperation?

  Breaking the silence, the kneeling woman answered the earlier query. "Indeed, noble sires, that's the wanton bitch you seek. And we be 'onoured by yer visit to this 'umble dwelling. Yer graces'll be wanting to test the chit. She be a right 'un to toil in yon palace, that we swears by the great Locrana."

  "That remains to be seen," the older visitor replied who, to Silvana, seemed with his pointed beard to be the most attractive man she had ever seen. "She has to be put to the test before we can decide. We take it of course that she's still a virgin and apparently she's accustomed to the whip, which is all to the good."

  The two toothless heads nodded in unison. "Oh, aye, master. We give 'er plenty 'cos the wench can't let 'er cunt rest."

  "Is that so?" The cloaked ones exchanged glances while the wench goose-fleshed, a wave of fear breaking over her. Realizing she was being vetted for palace duties, she was determined to leave the morbid misery of the hovel and the endless forced labour in the sheds.

  To her surprise it was the old woman who again confirmed her state. "The slattern's still a virgin, masters, and pretty, yer see, as yon evening star. Turned eighteen summers some moons ago, as yer graces know. As to them scars, well, we've got to give 'er the strap to keep 'er from friggin' 'erself insane. But, great Thanon, noble Hephaistos," - so the shrew knew their names! - "she be a really fine virgin, as yer graces'll see when yer tup 'er."

  "She'd better be, hag, or you'll suffer for it," the younger one announced candidly. "Any postulant has to be undefiled for us to appraise. Now, don't just cringe there, chewing the cud. Let's have some light on the subject so we can get down to work on the bitch."

  Unsure as to what a postulant might be, the ugly crone lit a candle with the tinderbox. "Of course, master. Yer'll be wantin' to see for yerselves 'ow she bleeds. I means inside and out," she added with a gargoyle's grin.

  As the visitors discarded their cloaks to work naked, apart from their boots, straps and veils, Hephaistos motioned the girl to the table, sweeping off the cracked bowls and trenchers. Both men seemed pleased with the fine body. It had a certain grace, uncommon among peasant stock, and the sort of flesh much sought after up at the palace. The Elders would be particularly satisfied, as the other slaves already selected were run-of-the-mill stuff.

  It was the senior of the two who threw the girl belly down over the table. "Rope her down, brother, and make it tight. As this one's the last on the tally, we might as well give her the full ration. After all, we've earned it. Whip that arse cleft hard. The crack's too pale to show to the Elders, as it is. I'll deal with these handsome cheeks."

  Taking from his belt several lengths of cord, damp from earlier sessions in neighbouring huts, Hephaistos bound the wrists to the table's forward legs and, raising the knees and thighs to the summit of the rear uprights, trussed the girl as if she was a sow about to be slaughtered. The men studied the abundance of the rounded rump, the fissure between the splayed bulges, and the anal bud puckering in terror. Silvana knew that not only was her sphincter visible but also the entire oval of the vulva with its drooping lips. At least, she comforted herself, the breasts were out of harm's way, flattened as they were under her thorax. But the younger slave master knew better than to leave such wealth concealed; he grabbed what he referred to as 'milking churns' and wrenched them out by the teats as far as they would reach. The chin was raised and propped on the edge of the table. It was then that she saw the man's prodigious erection and realized what the position implied. She swallowed hard to clear her throat, moistening her lips in readiness and wishing Vreni or Memona were there, at least in spirit, to advise her...

  Suddenly she felt a gloved hand separating her vulva fronds. "Just look at this one's slot, colleague," the bearded one exclaimed. "Ever seen a pair of drapes that length? Like a slobbering bloodhound's snout. And rancid with discharge already." He gripped the rashers of limp flesh, elongating them for his partner to see. The younger slave master whistled, knowing his senior's partiality for long, unpruned sex lappets, Thanon contending they enhanced friction on a rod of cock. "Ample scope too for the rings, my lad," the senior added, "if she qualifies. Our sister Damiana's going to be ecstatic when she sees this. One can just see her drooling, once she's got this minx strung up by the ankles, and handing a courtier the torture tongs." Silvana went numb, hardly daring to breathe. Tongs? And who was Damiana?

  She had no time to think further as the man called Hephaistos, a long-thonged scourge in hand, approached her face, pinched her nose to open the mouth, and drove his cock into the gullet. The girl wrenched on the cords as the stout tube of gristle gouged her, almost unhinging the jaws. She retched as if being throttled with a choke collar, an item, since she had been compared with a dog, she feared might well be used on her, if selected. The fantasies of silks, slippers and serving sherbet had long since begun to dissolve.

  For the first time in her life and as best she could, she performed the second oldest sexual task known and found it singularly exciting but since she could hardly move her head, exacting. Her initial elation did not last long.

  The two whips landed in slow alternation, to allow the pain to build as it did under the domestic strap, the young one's slamming directly into the blanched cleft between the shuddering buttocks and curling down into the open vulva, flailing the much exalted fronds of slack flesh; the other scourge flayed the lavish, welted arse crosswise. The throat being blocked, she had no chance to moan or, after the first dozen lashes, scream. The beatings rose in intensity, jagged purple flashes of agony blinding her, along with her tears. Her body was being propelled through long labyrinths of white pain her flesh had not only never entered before but never believed existed. After around a score of savage but expert cuts had welted her, she managed to rid her maw of the cock and yelled. The shriek seemed to drive the men to flagellate even harder, Hephaistos seizing the golden locks and, a second later, the shaft was battering her hoarse larynx again. "Up and down it, slut," she heard vaguely. "Use the tongue on the helm... and along the crease on the underside, you useless whore. That's it... Now suck faster." On and on went the whips, lashing what was already a mass of weals. The callow novice's rump, the floggers declared across the roped carcass, was well up to palace standards.

  Silvana did her utmost to suck smoothly. She fellated, clogged up, gulped and fellated again, feeling the new welts swelling into red-hot rods across her rump, sweat gluing her to the table. Something had begun to change in her entrails. The whips had ignited her.

  But, as abruptly as it had begun, the flagellation ceased. Thanon spread her own sex juices over the sphincter and screwed his whip haft into the bowels. She felt she was being torn apart. "Let it in, my beauty," he urged the writhing female. "Relax that clenched hole." And he watched the tight ring ripple along the handle, the crimson roll of anal muscle following each thrust and drag, like the ring of lips slithering along his colleague's cock. Leaving the scourge to jerk in the rectum, he remarked that, “few of the over-sodomized sluts up at the palace grasped a phallus with such trenchant, determined power”.

  Only then - at long last, for Silvana had reached her sexual brink - did the erection drill into the fluttering
quim. Grasping the pelvis with both hands, Thanon tore the hymen as effortlessly as he had ripped three others that evening. After a twinge of pain, the girl felt the shaft thump her cervix - at least that was what sweet Vreni had called it down at the stream one sultry afternoon - and butt against the whip haft somewhere inside her, beyond what seemed to be a frail membrane separating the entrails. The leather shaft and both cocks pumped the three orifices' mucus, Thanon's piston slick with blood from the rent hymen, his colleague's slushing in the flogged slave's saliva. The table was about to cede under the nude.

  The bearded one's gloved fingers descended suddenly, veered the clitoris up against his penis to check how the blonde beauty of a slut orgasmed after a flogging - the palace required prompt response, when allowed, after a flagellation or a spell of sex torture.

  Silvana did not need to marshal her forces nor skirmish. She exploded. In a galaxy of stars she had never sailed through before, her brain shattered, the fragments becoming stars themselves. Thanon let her rest and then resumed the pumping. The second climax seemed to wreck her as if she had been stabbed, and then a third came, the sweating loins surging upwards before squelching back into the table. The men raised an eyebrow at each other. This was the sort of female they sought. All she needed was ruthless training.

  A moment later, Hephaistos's ferret-eyed cock pulsed, inundating the throat with gism. Swallowing as best she could, Silvana then felt her newly opened vagina awash with spunk. Again her exhausted body slumped, as an arrowed bird falling to earth. She tried to mutter, as she thought she should, something that sounded like thanks, not to the gods but to her masters. The final spasm devastating her, she passed out, the men wiping their phalluses, one in the hair, the other on her thigh. Their eyes met again. The blonde had made the tiresome duty journey down to the dregs of Lower Saronis well worthwhile.