Lucia at the oar.
“Whores, move them oars,” shouted one of the overseers on the slave galley. Thirty slave women, all naked and chained, immediately responded and in complete synchronicity began to increase the number of their strokes powering the vessel over the open seas.
The slave driver was satisfied and smiled. He coiled his long leather whip, a whip long and supple enough to reach the back, boobs and pussy of any slave on her rowing bench.
Lucia, sweat matting her short, cropped hair and trickling down her back and chest, droplets of it pearling on her prominent nipples before falling down over her damp pussy, strained at the oars, grunting with the effort.
“Bastards,” she thought to herself when she saw the two slave drivers prowling between the rows of wooden benches, just looking for the chance to lash the slaves.
She had been whipped early that morning. Fatigue had momentarily attacked her. She swiftly overcame her weariness but not quickly enough. One of men caught sight of her lessening her stroke. He laughed as he said “Taking a rest, pig?” Then he delivered three blows to her back and one curving around her dangling, full breasts. “Just slack off again pig and you’ll get some cunt lashes.”
Lucia kept up with the other slaves, not wanting to be whipped on her tender pussy. The lashes to her back and breasts throbbed with pain but with determination and will she was able to row on and not allow those sadists to torture her again.