administered rapidly, until he had those choice wobbling rearmounds dancing wildly under the repeated slap of the flexible paddle. The relentless smacks soon had the girl twitching in fiery agitation, muffled yelps coming from her inverted head with each decisive slap of the quivering mounds.
Eventually, Kimar slowed the pace, pausing somewhat longer between each repeated smack.
“Thwack!”…Her asscheeks flattened and rebounded, leaving a red welt to spread across the twin curving surfaces… “Thwack!”…The blade whacked the bouncy mounds solidly… “Thwack!”…Another firm, decisive stroke, delivered quite dispassionately by the master slaver, whose eyes were hard and whose lips were set in a tight, determined line.
The girl’s fearful asscheeks cringed, clenching so that the sides hollowed out as the young Saxon woman steeled herself to meet the next attack. Her butt muscles contracted tightly, coiling down to harden the rearmounds and constrict the centerline to a deep, narrow slit.
“Thwack!” Kimar walloped her hardened butt, smacking it squarely across the twin contours with a crisp snap of the wrist. There was an unmistakable howl of outrage, an urgent braying muffed by the wadded rags they had stuffed into her mouth, the gag that was held in place by the silken scarf that bound her head.
Now the slave master paused and stepped up to squat down near her inverted head as it dangled between taut, outstretched arms. He reached out to her, cupping her chin and holding it in his fingers as he lifted her head so that he might look into the wide, moist eyes that met his over the silken scarf. I don’t know what he saw there. Perhaps it was the hurt, or abject contrition, or maybe a silent plea for mercy; but whatever it was he saw there, it brought a smile to his lips. He reached under her to feel a dangling breast quickly before rising and stepping back to take up his position again. Without further ado, he swung the paddle back in a wide, full arc and brought it forward with vigor, ending the swing with a crisp, authoritative snap of the wrist.
“Thwack!” The solid blow landed heavily, ringing out across the exercise yard. The muffled shriek it brought was long and wavering. At that, Kimar was apparently satisfied. Obviously pleased with his handiwork, he nodded in grim satisfaction and ran a hand over the girl’s warm, flinching rear end. Turning to me, he asked politely if I would like to try my hand. While watching the Saxon girl get spanked had resulted in quite an unsettling effect on me, and my swollen penis hung heavy beneath my loincloth stirring at the sight of those well-punished buttocks, I declined politely. Perhaps I felt some twinge of pity for the chastised slave, who surely had learned her lesson. Kimar shrugged his shoulders and suggested that perhaps someday I would like to take a more active role. 1 need only say so, and it would be arranged!
To complete her punishment, the girl would be left on display in the hot sun for one hour, held in place stretched over the bar so she might contemplate the lesson she had been taught. Her fiery buttocks, smarting from the angry sting of the wicked paddle, would serve as an object lesson to her companions who would be marched slowly past so they might view her throbbing ass and reflect on the price of disobedience.
As Kimar had promised, I was to witness many such exhibitions over the next few months, and to play the disciplinarian’s part in more than a few of them. But of these various entertaining spectacles, none was so unforgettable as the time Kimar arranged to have four of his slaves punished simultaneously. His overseers had uncovered a plot: the four young women hoped to run away and hide in the woods. There were some transgressions that the slave master would tolerate, viewing them as only minor indiscretions; but attempting to escape was another matter! It was an offense that was taken quite seriously. Any girl caught trying to escape was inevitably dealt with most severely, so that she might be made an example of to those who might be foolish enough to entertain similar notions. As a measure of my growing status as a very special guest, Kimar arranged for a private disciplinary session for the quartet of would-be escapees to be held in his tent.
That evening, when I entered Kimar’s tent, I saw that the furniture had been rearranged. The small couches and pillows had been pushed back along the canvas walls, leaving plenty of room at the center of the huge tent for a sturdy cushioned bench that was low, long, and narrow. A padded board, the same size and shape as the bench, was hinged to it at one end so that the board could be lifted and swung up out of the way.
The purpose of this ingenious arrangement was demonstrated for me. Sandwiched between the padded surfaces were the four naked malefactors, who knelt on hands and knees, their lithe young bodies draped over the bench, bellies pressed down on the leather-covered padding. The top board had been lowered to cross along the shallow curves of the lower backs, and then locked down at the far end, thus clamping the row of kneeling maidens in place. Imprisoned between the two padded surfaces, each girl found herself on hands and knees, her shoulders and hips snuggled cozily to her mate’s. She presented her naked buttocks for our edification and approval. I noted that each girl not only had been gagged with a wide leather strap tied behind her head, but she was also blindfolded. This latter refinement of the wily slave master’s served to increase their helplessness and, by depriving them of knowledge of the approach of their chastisers, introduce the element of surprise into their punishment. A girl might shudder at the thud of the paddle, cringe to hear her friend’s muffled cries, sympathize as she squirmed in distress. It increased her own fearful expectation to know that her time was about to come, but never to know exactly when the paddle might strike her vulnerable behind.
I eyed the charming row of girlish bottoms with genuine delight, resonating with a rutting surge of lust that had my manhood responding instantly, quickening, inflamed with the urgency of desire. Momentarily speechless, I beamed my approval, flashing my host my most appreciative grin. He acknowledged my silent compliment with a tilt of his head and put a single finger to his lips to assure my silence. Then, with overblown courtesy he bowed and offered me a paddle, presenting it with a flourish. For this evening’s session, two wooden paddles had been selected by that consummate connoisseur, sturdy ones with short handles and wide oval blades. Leather paddles imparted more of a sting, but the wooden paddles, with their greater heft and stiffer, less pliant blades, delivered a more solid bone-jarring impact.
Still silent, we moved stealthily, stepping up to take up positions at either end of the row of kneeling women. I stood behind the fourth girl, a slim-hipped slave whose pert rounded bottom pointed back at me temptingly. My host went down on one knee to conduct a detailed examination of the first girl in line, enjoying himself by lewdly fondling her helpless ass. I followed his example, squatting down to inspect the girl who was positioned at my end. I adored the symmetry of that small bottom, the way the undercurves were well defined so that the mounds jutted out from the tapering thighs. She kept her legs together, squeezing a lightly furred pussy so that it bulged out between the smooth columns of her lithe young thighs. The sight sent my penis soaring to its full height as it came to me that, aside from being ideal for chastisement, the pressing bench would allow a master to take a slave in any number of interesting ways. As I crouched down behind her, contemplating the girl’s helpless bottom, I couldn’t resist placing a hand on her conveniently placed rump, curving my fingers to fit one of the contoured rear-mounds, squeezing lightly.
The sudden and unexpected touch of a masculine hand on her bare ass caused the blindfolded girl to twitch nervously as a tiny whimper of surprise came from her mouth. Her agitation fired my lust, and I slipped my fingers down to touch the softly furred vulva that peeped out at me from between her clenching thighs. The girl shifted uneasily as my fingers sampled the tiny coils of pubic hair and pressed tentatively at the closed fleshy gates.
Intrigued, I drew my stiffened index finger along the fur-edged seam and straight up into the deep division between her spasming asscheeks, giving the helpless girl a sharp thrill that energized her abruptly, making her twitch her ass in a most enticing way. My host watched me, smiling, giving me an encouraging nod. We were in no hurry to begin the punishment; he saw I was clearly enjoying myself, and nodded. Smiling back at him, I turned to the slave at hand.
I clutched her tight-cheeked young bottom eagerly in both hands, curling my fingers along the sides, slipping my thumbs into her rearcrease so I could pry apart the firm orbs to reveal to my eyes her most intimate secret, the pinkish rosette of her newly exposed anus embedded in that shallow valley. I contemplated the soft pink of her asshole. The thought of taking her there fired my lust! The tiny ring of muscle seemed to spasm, winking seductively at me as I watched. I touched her there with one fingertip, pressing lightly, encountering stiff resistance, and getting a muffled grunt from the other end of the slave girl. I smiled to myself. There would be time to force the tiny gate later, after a proper paddling had made the girl more tractable. I eased out my fingers and let her straining asscheeks snap shut, leaving the kneeling slave with a friendly swat on her protruding behind.
Now, still on my knees, I shuffled over to place myself behind the next ass in line, for this one would also be mine before the night was through. Unlike the first girl, whose bottom was small and perfectly rounded, the next girl’s posterior was more shapely, sculpted with fuller flowing curves that formed a heart shape. Her plump ass seemed to jut back in saucy defiance. I traced the rich swells, drawing my fingertips over the magnificent sweep of those feminine buttocks. I thrilled to run my fingers along the curves, savoring the smooth, velvety feel of the tautly
