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It Happened In Namur

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The follow-up of Gaius Tracchus' account:

'The Queen bravely got up on her legs and rested her head against the post, closing her eyes.

The scourge fell on the center of of her back again. She moaned loudly and bucked in the bonds, her head snapping back, her muscles tightening. She was shaking, sweat and blood coursing off her, pressing herself against the post, as she was waiting for the pain to subside a little.

As the scourge whistled in the air again, she tensed involuntarily. It landed across the top of her back, the tips biting into her left shoulder, on a spot where the skin had already been beaten away. Her head threw back and she yelled. 'Twenty-one'

The next lash landed across the middle of her back, booming against her ribs. Once again we were gratified by the now familiar dance - head back, chest forward, muscles taut and then, gradually, relaxation as the pain was becoming more bearable. Her breasts were sore now, not just from the lashes, but from being repeatedly rammed into the wood. 'Twenty-two'

The next blow was punctuated by a high-pitched wailing and it seemed that she had lost her breath. After a few seconds, she gulped in air. She couldn't stop shivering, now, and was staring at the wood and the oppidum wall beyond, her hands clutched to the chains above the manacles.

The lash crashed into her just above her left hip. The knots whipped round the soft skin beneath her ribs and bit into her stomach. Her legs gave way. She slithered down the post, her breasts rubbing against the rough wood. She hung, sweat and blood dripping off her, a constant wailing coming from her mouth.'Twenty-four', the lictor announced.

She shrieked and spasmed as the next blow struck her, trying to pull off her blood-stained feet from their bonds. Then, to our complete amazement, she somehow found a standing position again. 'Twenty-five'

The scourge was once again dipped into the salt water bucket. Then, the lash whistled and landed across her already flayed left shoulder blade. There was a spray of blood as she crashed into the post, head flying back, stomach and hips thrusting forward as a full scream left her lips. 'Twenty-six'

The lictor was now obviously enjoying the sensous whip-dance of his royal victim, and a bulge was clearly visible underneath his short tunic. He lashed her again, across the middle of her back, the knots sinking deep into the wounds left by the previous blows. This time, a thick spray of blood flew up, her whole body spasmed and she began retching, violent shudders passing through her. She coughed and bit her upper arm, her beautiful face now a mask of disbelief and pain. 'Twenty-seven'
 
shastar said:
The follow-up of Gaius Tracchus' account:

'The Queen bravely got up on her legs and rested her head against the post, closing her eyes.

The scourge fell on the center of of her back again. She moaned loudly and bucked in the bonds, her head snapping back, her muscles tightening. She was shaking, sweat and blood coursing off her, pressing herself against the post, as she was waiting for the pain to subside a little.

As the scourge whistled in the air again, she tensed involuntarily. It landed across the top of her back, the tips biting into her left shoulder, on a spot where the skin had already been beaten away. Her head threw back and she yelled. 'Twenty-one'

The next lash landed across the middle of her back, booming against her ribs. Once again we were gratified by the now familiar dance - head back, chest forward, muscles taut and then, gradually, relaxation as the pain was becoming more bearable. Her breasts were sore now, not just from the lashes, but from being repeatedly rammed into the wood. 'Twenty-two'

The next blow was punctuated by a high-pitched wailing and it seemed that she had lost her breath. After a few seconds, she gulped in air. She couldn't stop shivering, now, and was staring at the wood and the oppidum wall beyond, her hands clutched to the chains above the manacles.

The lash crashed into her just above her left hip. The knots whipped round the soft skin beneath her ribs and bit into her stomach. Her legs gave way. She slithered down the post, her breasts rubbing against the rough wood. She hung, sweat and blood dripping off her, a constant wailing coming from her mouth.'Twenty-four', the lictor announced.

She shrieked and spasmed as the next blow struck her, trying to pull off her blood-stained feet from their bonds. Then, to our complete amazement, she somehow found a standing position again. 'Twenty-five'

The scourge was once again dipped into the salt water bucket. Then, the lash whistled and landed across her already flayed left shoulder blade. There was a spray of blood as she crashed into the post, head flying back, stomach and hips thrusting forward as a full scream left her lips. 'Twenty-six'

The lictor was now obviously enjoying the sensous whip-dance of his royal victim, and a bulge was clearly visible underneath his short tunic. He lashed her again, across the middle of her back, the knots sinking deep into the wounds left by the previous blows. This time, a thick spray of blood flew up, her whole body spasmed and she began retching, violent shudders passing through her. She coughed and bit her upper arm, her beautiful face now a mask of disbelief and pain. 'Twenty-seven'
Click to expand...


Cruel, But Lovely And Erotic
 
Never in my wildest imagination did I think that the pain could be so bad. Nor did I ever understand the skill that a master lictor must have in order to cause such suffering. The post, with its splinters and roughness is almost like a partner for the lictor, punishing where his whip does not reach. There is little left of me that is yet untouched by scourge or hard wood.
 
shastar said:
All ? Well, considering there's only ONE legion occupying the fortress... and accounting for some losses during the campaign... they should be around 5000, strong and healthy. Not to mention the followers, technical services, and so on.
That's quite a ride, girl ! :D
Click to expand...
You may have to discount those legionaries whose tastes aren't for women -
that leaves, er... is there anyone out there? :p
 
As she was still shaking from pain and exhaustion, the long strands thrashed into her again, the tips this time going around her torso to dig into her left breast. She howled, pulling as hard as she could on the manacles. Then a new roar of pain left her mouth as she rocked back. Panting, she looked down at her breast. There were wheals and blood was oozing from the delicate skin. She turned her head to the lictor, as if to check that he was real, that a human being was indeed capable of such cruelty. 'Twenty-eight'.

Eulalia and Dorothea screamed in horror, then shouted a torrent of insults to the Romans in general and General Tullius in particular.

The lictor calmly dipped the scourge into the bucket again, then took a three-pace run-up and let her arm go. The thongs crashed into her waistline. It seemed for a moment that she was going to be torn from the post as her body convulsed and her head snapped back. She bounced back and retched loudly. Then a howl that was more animal then human echoed throughout the fortress. 'Twenty-nine'

He shook out the scourge and came in again, ripping it down from under her right shoulder to her left buttock. News sprays of blood flew up as the knots tore into the wounded flesh. Barbaria screamed and screamed again to the skies above her, eyes wide open. Then she rested her head on her arm, sobbing, as a pitiful wailing was coming from her throat. It seemed that she was on the verge of fainting again.

Another lictor took a towel, dipped it into the salt water and applied it to the Queen’s back and buttocks. She shrieked in agony as her body stiffened, twitched and then she sank in her bonds again, breathing heavily.

As two legionaries unfastened her, she fell limp to the ground, lying face down in the blood-soaked dust of the courtyard, torso heaving. Her back and flanks were a terrible sight, her skin and flesh having been torn by no less than 360 leather knots.

But she slowly pushed herself up before pausing, exhausted. Her legs still lay flat to the ground but by the way she rested on her arms, her chest was raised and everybody got a fine view of her breasts hanging down. They might have been quite small, bruised and welted now by the lashes, but they were delicate and enticing and a rumour of appreciation, mixed with some sneering, came from the assembled soldiers.

She raised her tears-bathed face toward Tullius, fire in her half-closed eyes.
 
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