The Visitor
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In the cramped dank space below decks, chained to their oars, little brass bells affixed to nipple rings on each breast, sat the naked slave women who propelled the galley. Most were convicts, rebels, Christians or other such rabble.
Aurelia was also a convict, condemned to the galleys for murdering her master. Her master, an elderly Roman patrician, had begun coughing and clutching his stomach at a banquet. When he fell to the floor, he began convulsing and soon died. Since he was old, no one suspected his death was not natural, except his young wife. “Poison, poison!” she shouted. The wife, who would inherit his vast estate, accused all the kitchen slaves of poisoning her beloved husband. A search was made of the slave quarters and sure enough a small vial of poison was found among Aurelia’s meager belongings. At her trial, she was quickly found guilty of murder, a terribly heinous crime for the Romans since it was a slave murdering a master. She was condemned to be crucified, but the dead man’s wife urged mercy. Heeding her pleas, the magistrate ordered Aurelia to the galleys.
Aurelia’s view for the past year was unchanging: the naked whipped- striped back and ass of Iola, a young Greek girl from the Peloponnese. Aurelia had long since gotten over her hatred of being falsely accused and sentenced to the drudgery, torture and humiliation of oaring a galley. Now all she thought about was food, water and, above all, avoiding the whip. Her first two months she was almost constantly whipped, but now she was well-muscled and could stand the pace of the drum and rhythm of the oars. She was still whipped, of course, but usually to encourage her when great speed from the women was needed or sometimes just for pure sadistic pleasure of the slave drivers, who sometimes liked to chime the tit bells by lashing the undersides of the slaves breasts, so that their udders leaped from their chests, causing a tinkling ringing along the slave benches in the galley, much to the delight of the occasional visitors as well as the slave drivers themselves.
Today there was a visitor. Aurelia could hear the slave driver escorting someone to her bench. She didn’t look up, for she was not only not curious about who the visitor was because she had grown used to people coming on board to gawk at the naked sweating slaves laboring, but also because she was intent on keeping in rhythm and avoiding the whip at all costs. “She was beautiful once,” the visitor told the slave driver who had escorted her to Aurelia’s bench. To her horror, Aurelia recognized the voice her former mistress, the widow of the man she was accused of murdering.
“But now she looks like some field slave on my villa. Pity. You know my husband, poor man, once fancied her.”
“But you are so lovely,” the slave driver said tactfully.
“Thank you. But men sometimes look elsewhere. Well, he wouldn’t look at her now, were he still alive.”
“I am sorry for your loss, madam,” said the slave driver, who thought to himself that he would like to have this haughty bitch stripped naked and chained to an oar so that he could lash her from neck to feet.
“Thank you again. He was very rich and now,” she giggled, “so am I.”
She continued to watch the slaves pull and push the heavy oars.
“Would it be possible for me to see you whip one of the slaves,” she asked demurely.
“Of course. Just pick one or do you want us to go down the line and whip them all.”
“No, no, that would be too cruel. Just one. How about this woman,” she said pointing to Iola.
The long leather whip lifted Iola’s breasts, ringing the bells dangling from her nipples. Iola screamed. Her breasts were lashed from one side and then the other, her wobbling orbs causing a slightly different ring. Then he lashed her broad muscular back and strong meaty ass. Aurelia knew that the woman was just teasing her by having Iola whipped, knowing full well that she really wanted her whipped. By lashing poor, innocent Iola, the woman was merely previewing what would happen to Aurelia.
The woman held up her hand. “That’s enough. You are quite skillful. A wonderful demonstration. I hope the slave girl didn’t suffer too much.”
“Don’t worry about her,” the slave driver said. “She’s used to worse than that.”
Iola’s naked body shook with her sobbing, but she still continued to oar without missing a beat, even though her back and ass burned with pain and her full breasts throbbed in agony.
Aurelia trembled. She knew it was now her turn, and that unlike Iola, she would suffer more than just a few lashes.
“Uh, and this whore,” said the woman pointing to Aurelia. “She murdered my husband, you know. Can’t we do something to her in his memory.”
The slave driver expected this. He knew of Aurelia’s crime, although he suspected with the woman standing next to him was the real killer. Aurelia gripped the oar tightly in anticipation of the coming torture. The slave driver ran the long leather flogger along the palm of his clenched fist, stripping off the stray bits of Iola’s flesh that still adhered to it. He then gave the whip a couple of practice swings, whose thunderous cracks caused Aurelia to jump with fear. He started with her breasts. Each stroke to her tits rang the nipple bells, but their tinkling sound was hard to hear over Aurelia’s screams. Her breasts leaped, bounced, jiggled, flew from side to side or wobbled, depending on where he struck them and the force of the blow. He sometimes paused from this onslaught to her breasts, by lashing her back, ass and even her genitals. Aurelia tried unsuccessfully to continue rowing, hoping the steady rhythm would somehow help her endure the fiery bite of the lash, but when the whip streaked across her large pink areolas, she lost her grip and the oar dangled loosely from her chained wrists. Her bare toes, curled over the triangular foot rest, gripped the apex so tightly that blood oozed from her feet onto the damp floor. So many tears filled her eyes that Iola’s naked back and ass appeared to her as an undulating blur. Her throat was raw from her shrill screams. The salty sweat that poured over her stung as it flowed over the fresh welts from the whip.
As first the widow smiled as the slave driver began whipping Aurelia, but as the man displayed his excellent skills in causing Aurelia’s breasts to bounce and fly in all directions, she began to giggle and then to openly laugh. She was glad she had this whore spared from the cross. It was so much more enjoyable to know that Aurelia would continue to suffer each day for a long time to come.
Text written by
d'Not (found on bdsmlr), picture created by myself.
Had to post it here finally as bdsmlr keeps loosing all my pictures!
