also pats her not too much on the back
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Lassie-hunting In The Northern Forest
- Thread starter Eulalia
- Start date
...is Eul keeping us waiting on purpose???
Tree
Tree
the longer the wait, the harder the lash - I know that from experience!
23
A heart-stop pause, I hear – no I sense – Wullie pacing behind me, hear a swish, yow! A lightning-flash across my shoulders throws me at the wall. As I steady myself, a second, then a third around my buttocks. Eyes wetting, I’m not going to let them see me cry… God, this is just the beginning, just Wullie, he's only a novice when it comes to whipping! Two more, I’m learning to brace myself, gripping the iron ring that holds the jougs-chain.
“Birl aroon, bitch, let’s see yer!”[1] A rough hand grabs my shoulder, twists me round to face out, it’s old man McRae, he’s got the horsewhip now. I see the faces in the crowd, they’re quiet now, even his pals are watching earnestly, expectantly. He steps back, swings the thong a few times to taunt me, then suddenly swipes it around my lower abdomen, I hear my scream echo through the Square, with a collective gasp from the crowd.
He aims at my thighs, makes me dance, then my ribs, last one right across my breasts, again I shriek with the pain, this earns him a roar of support from his fans, and a fair number of other men in the crowd can’t contain their excitement. Now he gives way to small-built but iron-hard looking guy with a face like car-crash, twisted and scar-crossed. He’s got a whip of his own, bigger than McRae’s, plaited hide that’s frayed and dark-stained with rough usage. There’s a three-strand lasher at the tip, when he flicks it in front of me, it cracks like a pistol-shot, makes me jump with a squeak, women and kids in the audience are frightened by it too.
Again my legs, my loins, he fires one in between my thighs while I’m kicking in agony, catches my cunt, I squeal, can’t help my tears now. I’m already wanting to yell ‘No more!’, but fight myself, I mustn’t give in! He turns me now, facing the wall again, two lashes curl round my ribs, blasting the air from my lungs, I’m gasping, choking, almost bringing up my breakfast – I was wise to have a light one!
Now he hands over to the fourth man, I turn my head and take him in, a tall, black fellow, he towers over the other three, makes me feel like a wee bairn. In tight pants and a string vest, he shows the physique of a champion fighter – “at least ye’re a better luiker nor the ither three!”[2] I think to myself. But he’s carrying a whip that matches his muscles, a huge bullwhip, perhaps one of those rhino-hide one they use in Africa. I feel myself quiver at the sight, he could kill me with that, slice me in two!
I turn my face to the wall and wait. He a skillful whipper, knows how to control his strength and aim, so as to hurt cruelly but without harm. A single stroke curls round my upper thighs and flicks my pubes, I’m thrown sideways, twisting in the sea of pain. I steady myself for a second, again I’m flung into a wild dance. Now he aims higher, my back takes the blow, my breasts are forced against the wall, as I pull back, another stroke spins under my armpit and slices my right tit.
There’s a pause. The Baillie’s beside me. “Do you want it to stop, Lulie?” he asks gently, I shake my head, sprinkling sweat. “Hoo mony hae a had?” I croak. “Twenty.” I nod, “A kin tak mair,”[3] I whisper, hardly convincingly.
Wullie again. He’s using a different whip now, a short, stiff, springy one like jockeys use. A high-pitched swish precedes a shrill shriek from me, as it slices my bum. It hurts viciously, a different kind of pain from the lash, more local, more concentrated. He keeps his aim on my buttocks, loins, upper thighs. Then he twists me round to face him flicks my nipples with the tip, smirking. “Weel, Lulie, hoo’s the braw cubbie injying her laldie?”[4] I spit. Not much spittle, he hardly needs to wipe his face, but it has the desired effect, he gives me an angry cut across my tits, as I scream and hurl about on the jougs he cuts another on my thigh.
His dad takes over and immediately lands one right on my pubic mound, arrows of pain are darting through my body, I’m screaming and writhing out of control. “Daunce, ye wee skelpie, daunce!”[5] he shouts, as a slash to my leg gives me no choice but to obey. Another slice off my breasts, one more into my abdomen, one bite right in my pussy. I fall to my knees, swaying on my arms stretched up to the ring, the iron collar tugging at my chin, forcing my face up.
Once more the Baillie asks if I want to stop. I look at him, wild-eyed, panting, again I ask “Hoo mony?” “Thirty.” Past half-way, I tell my whirling brain. Again he asks. “A’ll tak mair.”[6]
[1] Spin around, bitch, let’s see you!
[2] At least you’re a better looker than the other three!
[3] How many have I had? I can take more.
[4] How’s the braw cubbie enjoying her beating?
[5] Dance, you little tomboy, dance!
[6] I’ll take more.
23
A heart-stop pause, I hear – no I sense – Wullie pacing behind me, hear a swish, yow! A lightning-flash across my shoulders throws me at the wall. As I steady myself, a second, then a third around my buttocks. Eyes wetting, I’m not going to let them see me cry… God, this is just the beginning, just Wullie, he's only a novice when it comes to whipping! Two more, I’m learning to brace myself, gripping the iron ring that holds the jougs-chain.
“Birl aroon, bitch, let’s see yer!”[1] A rough hand grabs my shoulder, twists me round to face out, it’s old man McRae, he’s got the horsewhip now. I see the faces in the crowd, they’re quiet now, even his pals are watching earnestly, expectantly. He steps back, swings the thong a few times to taunt me, then suddenly swipes it around my lower abdomen, I hear my scream echo through the Square, with a collective gasp from the crowd.
He aims at my thighs, makes me dance, then my ribs, last one right across my breasts, again I shriek with the pain, this earns him a roar of support from his fans, and a fair number of other men in the crowd can’t contain their excitement. Now he gives way to small-built but iron-hard looking guy with a face like car-crash, twisted and scar-crossed. He’s got a whip of his own, bigger than McRae’s, plaited hide that’s frayed and dark-stained with rough usage. There’s a three-strand lasher at the tip, when he flicks it in front of me, it cracks like a pistol-shot, makes me jump with a squeak, women and kids in the audience are frightened by it too.
Again my legs, my loins, he fires one in between my thighs while I’m kicking in agony, catches my cunt, I squeal, can’t help my tears now. I’m already wanting to yell ‘No more!’, but fight myself, I mustn’t give in! He turns me now, facing the wall again, two lashes curl round my ribs, blasting the air from my lungs, I’m gasping, choking, almost bringing up my breakfast – I was wise to have a light one!
Now he hands over to the fourth man, I turn my head and take him in, a tall, black fellow, he towers over the other three, makes me feel like a wee bairn. In tight pants and a string vest, he shows the physique of a champion fighter – “at least ye’re a better luiker nor the ither three!”[2] I think to myself. But he’s carrying a whip that matches his muscles, a huge bullwhip, perhaps one of those rhino-hide one they use in Africa. I feel myself quiver at the sight, he could kill me with that, slice me in two!
I turn my face to the wall and wait. He a skillful whipper, knows how to control his strength and aim, so as to hurt cruelly but without harm. A single stroke curls round my upper thighs and flicks my pubes, I’m thrown sideways, twisting in the sea of pain. I steady myself for a second, again I’m flung into a wild dance. Now he aims higher, my back takes the blow, my breasts are forced against the wall, as I pull back, another stroke spins under my armpit and slices my right tit.
There’s a pause. The Baillie’s beside me. “Do you want it to stop, Lulie?” he asks gently, I shake my head, sprinkling sweat. “Hoo mony hae a had?” I croak. “Twenty.” I nod, “A kin tak mair,”[3] I whisper, hardly convincingly.
Wullie again. He’s using a different whip now, a short, stiff, springy one like jockeys use. A high-pitched swish precedes a shrill shriek from me, as it slices my bum. It hurts viciously, a different kind of pain from the lash, more local, more concentrated. He keeps his aim on my buttocks, loins, upper thighs. Then he twists me round to face him flicks my nipples with the tip, smirking. “Weel, Lulie, hoo’s the braw cubbie injying her laldie?”[4] I spit. Not much spittle, he hardly needs to wipe his face, but it has the desired effect, he gives me an angry cut across my tits, as I scream and hurl about on the jougs he cuts another on my thigh.
His dad takes over and immediately lands one right on my pubic mound, arrows of pain are darting through my body, I’m screaming and writhing out of control. “Daunce, ye wee skelpie, daunce!”[5] he shouts, as a slash to my leg gives me no choice but to obey. Another slice off my breasts, one more into my abdomen, one bite right in my pussy. I fall to my knees, swaying on my arms stretched up to the ring, the iron collar tugging at my chin, forcing my face up.
Once more the Baillie asks if I want to stop. I look at him, wild-eyed, panting, again I ask “Hoo mony?” “Thirty.” Past half-way, I tell my whirling brain. Again he asks. “A’ll tak mair.”[6]
[1] Spin around, bitch, let’s see you!
[2] At least you’re a better looker than the other three!
[3] How many have I had? I can take more.
[4] How’s the braw cubbie enjoying her beating?
[5] Dance, you little tomboy, dance!
[6] I’ll take more.
One cannot assume Sandy is going to like what they are doing to his catch...
Tree
Tree
24
Scarface’s turn again. His scything stroke round my haunches makes me shriek out, almost wishing I’d surrendered, by I struggle to control myself. After a second one, he spins me round, aims viciously across my breasts, I’m screaming continuously, twisting on the chain, he flogs my legs to make me dance, finishes with an upward lash that tears into my cunt. I’m gasping, weeping, howling in pain, my whole body seized with violent spasms.
My tormentors wait and watch, there’s a look of quiet confidence on their faces now, a sense of approaching triumph. The crowd’s pretty quiet too, there’s a low, tense, excited murmur, but only a few shouts from the McRae gang, urging their heroes on.
Now the mighty black stands facing me, his teeth gleaming in a gleeful grin. I look up through tearful eyes, tied in the strange bond that unites victim and true torturer – yes, he is my conqueror, I sense that in the marrow of my aching bones.
A great blow across the top of my legs, catching my pudenda, I kick wildly in response, swinging by my arms on the chain, almost choked by the iron collar biting into my throat. I taste blood and phlegm surging up into my mouth. Another across my breasts, I can’t stand steady, my legs are giving way. A curling snake-strike round my loins, my body’s twisting, my head’s spinning…
“No more!” I hear myself scream, “No more!” The Baillie steps forward, hand raised. “Do you want to stop, Lulie?” he asks again. My head drops, I’m pale, panting, my eyes dark, my brain unfocused, I can’t find breath or words to answer. “Do you want to stop?” I cough, there’s blood in the phlegm, then I lift my eyes, “Hoo mony noo?” “Er – “ he glances towards the Maister o’the Whup, who’s standing behind him, “Thirty-nine” says the Major. I sigh, pant in tight gasps for a few moments, then croak, “A’ll tak mair”
There’s commotion in the crowd, some people are urging the Baillie to stop the whipping, McRae’s mates are chanting “Brak her! Brak her!” Old man McRae snatches the horsewhip from his son, yells “A’ll finish the bitch!” He almost hits the Baillie, who steps back surprised, as he throws a lash at my shoulders that brings me to my knees – or rather dangling on the chain with my legs unable to support me, my knees swinging above the stone flags.
I don’t know how many more times he thrashes me, I’m screaming frantically, but ceasing to feel the separate blows, just a surging, heaving, boiling mass of pain through the whole of my body, swaying around helplessly on the jougs-chain. I think I groan “No more!” a third time. The Baillie steps forward again, between McRae and me, Anna’s dad unlocks the jougs…
Scarface’s turn again. His scything stroke round my haunches makes me shriek out, almost wishing I’d surrendered, by I struggle to control myself. After a second one, he spins me round, aims viciously across my breasts, I’m screaming continuously, twisting on the chain, he flogs my legs to make me dance, finishes with an upward lash that tears into my cunt. I’m gasping, weeping, howling in pain, my whole body seized with violent spasms.
My tormentors wait and watch, there’s a look of quiet confidence on their faces now, a sense of approaching triumph. The crowd’s pretty quiet too, there’s a low, tense, excited murmur, but only a few shouts from the McRae gang, urging their heroes on.
Now the mighty black stands facing me, his teeth gleaming in a gleeful grin. I look up through tearful eyes, tied in the strange bond that unites victim and true torturer – yes, he is my conqueror, I sense that in the marrow of my aching bones.
A great blow across the top of my legs, catching my pudenda, I kick wildly in response, swinging by my arms on the chain, almost choked by the iron collar biting into my throat. I taste blood and phlegm surging up into my mouth. Another across my breasts, I can’t stand steady, my legs are giving way. A curling snake-strike round my loins, my body’s twisting, my head’s spinning…
“No more!” I hear myself scream, “No more!” The Baillie steps forward, hand raised. “Do you want to stop, Lulie?” he asks again. My head drops, I’m pale, panting, my eyes dark, my brain unfocused, I can’t find breath or words to answer. “Do you want to stop?” I cough, there’s blood in the phlegm, then I lift my eyes, “Hoo mony noo?” “Er – “ he glances towards the Maister o’the Whup, who’s standing behind him, “Thirty-nine” says the Major. I sigh, pant in tight gasps for a few moments, then croak, “A’ll tak mair”
There’s commotion in the crowd, some people are urging the Baillie to stop the whipping, McRae’s mates are chanting “Brak her! Brak her!” Old man McRae snatches the horsewhip from his son, yells “A’ll finish the bitch!” He almost hits the Baillie, who steps back surprised, as he throws a lash at my shoulders that brings me to my knees – or rather dangling on the chain with my legs unable to support me, my knees swinging above the stone flags.
I don’t know how many more times he thrashes me, I’m screaming frantically, but ceasing to feel the separate blows, just a surging, heaving, boiling mass of pain through the whole of my body, swaying around helplessly on the jougs-chain. I think I groan “No more!” a third time. The Baillie steps forward again, between McRae and me, Anna’s dad unlocks the jougs…
...aauuggghhh...
...but all will want to know how many...
T
...but all will want to know how many...
T
Quiet Paul
Tribune
Bloody hell Eul (please forgive the language), this is just amazing writing. Thank you
25
Everything goes dark and silent for a space, next thing I’m aware of I’m on my knees, clutching at my pained and bleeding tits and girl-parts, still sobbing, McRae and his companions leering over me, I sink, involuntarily prostrating myself before my conquerors, cursing myself for a coward, McRae spits on me…
I hear the Baillie speaking into the microphone. “The linkie has called ‘no more!’ for a third time, so her whipping is terminated. She took forty-three lashes…” there’s commotion in the crowd, lots of yelling, I can’t make out much of what’s being said, the Baillie struggles to be heard, ”Order! Order, please! May I remind everyone that linkie Lulie MacAlister volunteered to take this whipping to show that she’s not a coward…” more shouting, “I repeat, she took forty-three… it is for you to judge… now, please disperse quietly…”
My body’s shaking, seized with spasms, I’m still on my knees at the feet of my tormentors, they’re still grinnng, sneering. I must get my clothes, my mind tells me, I turn myself round, try to drag myself across the platform to where my things are lying in the far corner, but all goes dark again…
I seem to be swimming in a dark whirlpool of pain, I’m being touched, pressed, handled, held, carried, I feel a cold yet sharply burning stuff, oily, creamy, spreading on my hurt parts….
“She’s okay, she’ll be fine,” I hear an elderly man saying. I open my eyes, glance around, paramedics – one man, one woman, Mam and Sandy looking anxious, a tall, gentle, grey-haired man examining me. Must be in the ambulance, he must be a doctor…
“Lulie?” he says, I open my eyes again, “How are ye, lassie?” I sigh, tears are welling. “Wh-what happened?” I whisper, “I skuiled, didn’a? A didna mek fufty…”[1] “You did fine, young lady.” I start to cry like a baby, he strokes my hair gently, “Look, Lulie, I ken what I’m talking aboot – I’m a doctor, retired now, but I was oot in the Gulf for nigh on thirty years. I saw plenty of men being whipped, and a lot too many women as well. You’ve taken a worse flogging than most men could bear. You’re no coward.”
I choke back my tears, give him a faint smile. “We don’t think you need go to the hospital, Lulie,” he glances at the paramedics, they nod, “Your Dad’s fetching the car to take you home. Just have a good rest –“ he turns to Mam, “If there’s any cause for concern, ye’ll ken what to do.” She nods. “Otherwise, see your own doctor next week for a check-up, I’ve given your Mam a note.” I smile again, say “Thanks,” and sink back into unconsciousness.
I do as the old doctor advises, rest. I’m tearful, not surprising after all I’ve been through, but everyone keeps telling me I’ve proved I’m no coward, ‘Ye didna hae ta wun til fifty to pruive ye werena skuilin, forty-three wis mair nor eneuch,”[2] says Dad, I know he’s right. Like the Rug, it’s no a question of winning, just giving them a good run, putting up a good fight.
I see Dr Anderson, she gives me a thorough check-over, confirms I’ve come through the ruggin and the laldie with no more than surface cuts and bruises that will soon heal. There’s something else I get her to check, too – as I was lying in bed on Sunday morning after my whipping, it occurred to me, there’s one bit that hasn’t been bleeding ...
I tell Sandy when we’re walking together in the woods, first time back there since he’d takken me, I want to visit that place again but it’s too far, too much of a climb, I’m still stiff and aching, so we just stroll up by the Collie Water.
At once he hugs me, delighted at my news – but anxious, as I was when Dr Anderson told me. “Well,” she’d said, “Being whipped like that isn’t what I’d recommend for any of my patients, but, as I said, you’ve come through it well, there’s no sign of any internal damage down there – at this early stage, it’s unlikely to have done any harm.”
“Och weel,” he says, “A ken what a hae ta dae…” “Och nae ye dinna – ye dinna hae ta tak ony responsibility.” He shakes his head, “A ken, but it’s what a want, honest, Lulie…” “Sae ye’re ettlin fer us ta tak up linkie-breedin,[3] same as ma Dad?” I ask with a laugh, “Weel, a’ll hae ta think aboot it, mind, bit thanks Sandy – a dae luive you!” And with that I fling myself on him and we kiss and kiss.
[1] I chickened out, didn’t I? I didn’t get to fifty.
[2] You didn’t have to get to fifty to prove you weren’t being cowardly, forty-three was more than enough.
[3] So you’re planning for us to take up linkie-breeding?
Everything goes dark and silent for a space, next thing I’m aware of I’m on my knees, clutching at my pained and bleeding tits and girl-parts, still sobbing, McRae and his companions leering over me, I sink, involuntarily prostrating myself before my conquerors, cursing myself for a coward, McRae spits on me…
I hear the Baillie speaking into the microphone. “The linkie has called ‘no more!’ for a third time, so her whipping is terminated. She took forty-three lashes…” there’s commotion in the crowd, lots of yelling, I can’t make out much of what’s being said, the Baillie struggles to be heard, ”Order! Order, please! May I remind everyone that linkie Lulie MacAlister volunteered to take this whipping to show that she’s not a coward…” more shouting, “I repeat, she took forty-three… it is for you to judge… now, please disperse quietly…”
My body’s shaking, seized with spasms, I’m still on my knees at the feet of my tormentors, they’re still grinnng, sneering. I must get my clothes, my mind tells me, I turn myself round, try to drag myself across the platform to where my things are lying in the far corner, but all goes dark again…
I seem to be swimming in a dark whirlpool of pain, I’m being touched, pressed, handled, held, carried, I feel a cold yet sharply burning stuff, oily, creamy, spreading on my hurt parts….
“She’s okay, she’ll be fine,” I hear an elderly man saying. I open my eyes, glance around, paramedics – one man, one woman, Mam and Sandy looking anxious, a tall, gentle, grey-haired man examining me. Must be in the ambulance, he must be a doctor…
“Lulie?” he says, I open my eyes again, “How are ye, lassie?” I sigh, tears are welling. “Wh-what happened?” I whisper, “I skuiled, didn’a? A didna mek fufty…”[1] “You did fine, young lady.” I start to cry like a baby, he strokes my hair gently, “Look, Lulie, I ken what I’m talking aboot – I’m a doctor, retired now, but I was oot in the Gulf for nigh on thirty years. I saw plenty of men being whipped, and a lot too many women as well. You’ve taken a worse flogging than most men could bear. You’re no coward.”
I choke back my tears, give him a faint smile. “We don’t think you need go to the hospital, Lulie,” he glances at the paramedics, they nod, “Your Dad’s fetching the car to take you home. Just have a good rest –“ he turns to Mam, “If there’s any cause for concern, ye’ll ken what to do.” She nods. “Otherwise, see your own doctor next week for a check-up, I’ve given your Mam a note.” I smile again, say “Thanks,” and sink back into unconsciousness.
I do as the old doctor advises, rest. I’m tearful, not surprising after all I’ve been through, but everyone keeps telling me I’ve proved I’m no coward, ‘Ye didna hae ta wun til fifty to pruive ye werena skuilin, forty-three wis mair nor eneuch,”[2] says Dad, I know he’s right. Like the Rug, it’s no a question of winning, just giving them a good run, putting up a good fight.
I see Dr Anderson, she gives me a thorough check-over, confirms I’ve come through the ruggin and the laldie with no more than surface cuts and bruises that will soon heal. There’s something else I get her to check, too – as I was lying in bed on Sunday morning after my whipping, it occurred to me, there’s one bit that hasn’t been bleeding ...
I tell Sandy when we’re walking together in the woods, first time back there since he’d takken me, I want to visit that place again but it’s too far, too much of a climb, I’m still stiff and aching, so we just stroll up by the Collie Water.
At once he hugs me, delighted at my news – but anxious, as I was when Dr Anderson told me. “Well,” she’d said, “Being whipped like that isn’t what I’d recommend for any of my patients, but, as I said, you’ve come through it well, there’s no sign of any internal damage down there – at this early stage, it’s unlikely to have done any harm.”
“Och weel,” he says, “A ken what a hae ta dae…” “Och nae ye dinna – ye dinna hae ta tak ony responsibility.” He shakes his head, “A ken, but it’s what a want, honest, Lulie…” “Sae ye’re ettlin fer us ta tak up linkie-breedin,[3] same as ma Dad?” I ask with a laugh, “Weel, a’ll hae ta think aboot it, mind, bit thanks Sandy – a dae luive you!” And with that I fling myself on him and we kiss and kiss.
[1] I chickened out, didn’t I? I didn’t get to fifty.
[2] You didn’t have to get to fifty to prove you weren’t being cowardly, forty-three was more than enough.
[3] So you’re planning for us to take up linkie-breeding?
Quiet Paul
Tribune
You deserve the thanks, Eul. This was such a gripping, thrilling piece of writing. Your descriptions in the last sections of the lead-up to the whipping, your experience of its pain, and the aftermath were tremendous. ThankSo, happy ending!
Thanks again for all the encouraging comments and 'likes',
it was quite a taxing exercise, but once I got into the story,
and found people here were understanding and enjoying it,
I really enjoyed doing it!
You again. QP
Epic story, Eul, good luck with your first born linkie...
Tree
Tree
P
Pia
Guest
I don't want this story to end.... it is soaking me!
Unfortunately that is the only frame Dolcett did of this...That's great Madiosi, I so love these Dolcett fantasies,
and it's great to see the good old Scottish sport of lassie-hunting
is being maintained and even enjoying a revival across the Atlantic
(see Tree's Hunt story)
Yes, i have not more Hunting-Girls-Drawings from dolcett.
