PERSONAL NARRATIVE OF LEO, EX-WARRIOR OF CIPRI GIVEN AS SLAVE TO KARENA, DAUGHTER OF THE LADY HELVETIA
I am always more nervous when Miss Zena comes to the apartments of my Mistress, Miss Karena. They are both young but Miss Zena is, in fact, six months Older. She is, therefore, that much more experienced. She is also more vicious and seems to be constantly egging my Mistress on to excess cruelties.
It was so from the very start.
I remembered the first day of my arrival. The day when I was given to this girl as her personal male slave. Can you imagine what it is like to be the possession of a cruel, quick-tempered girl ten years your junior? It is, I assure you, the most terrible thing in the world! It was that day that Miss Zena produced the heavy iron ring I have to wear about my penis. So that I am always ‘under control’, as she put it. Certainly I am rendered as useless as a eunuch with it on. And the pain, if l am ever stimulated, is agonising. They know it and are constantly trying to rouse me, whilst pretending they are not.
That afternoon was a good example. When Miss Zena had arrived... and I had prostrated myself before her... she at once suggested to my Mistress that, since it was quite warm, they remove their tunic-style dresses. She agreed. Well, it was obvious that those thin, short white dresses are as cool as cool... so it was simply a way of flaunting themselves before me. Taunting me beyond endurance. In an abandoned fashion they sprawled together on a big couch whilst I was constantly summoned to them to serve drinks and sweetmeats.
Think of what that meant to a healthy, virile man in his twenties! Oh those ripe young charms!
Yet they spurned and derided me with their eyes and with their gestures. I was a ‘thing’ for their use. Nothing more. And a sly little smile would come over their lips if ever a gasp came from me. A gasp of pain... caused by perfectly natural swelling of my penis under the circumstances. Fortunately, in a way, the pain was always so intense that I was quickly subdued again.
Until the next time.
They chattered on, whilst I stood in the background, ready on the instant to hurry to do the bidding of either. Usually I tried to shut out this chatter from my mind, but that afternoon I suddenly became very interested.
“I can’t believe it,” said Miss Karena, “A State as powerful as Barbaria? It just doesn’t seem possible. “
“I know how you feel,“ replied Miss Zena. “But rumour says it is so. What’s more, it’s ruled by a woman, like Barbaria.“
“But Captain Varian’s expedition should deal with it. And her!”
“I sincerely hope so,” answered Miss Karena. “Can you imagine what it would be like if we were conquered? Why... we would be made slaves!”
“I know, “ said Miss Zena quietly.
My heart was pounding. Could it be possible that I was hearing correctly? That the vile State of Barbaria was being challenged by another? How incredible! How wonderful? For, if Barbaria were overthrown, and the hierarchy slaughtered or enslaved, that could mean my freedom!
My dejected spirits suddenly soared.
My imagination began to run riot.
It could also mean that these two would become slave-girls. They would be flogged like their own slave-girls were now. They would be humiliated and degraded. ****d!
I suddenly felt like shouting with joy. Absurd really. After all, what they had said was only rumour. Barbaria had by no means been defeated. It was just something vaguely there, in the possible future. But, when you have been brought so low as I had... when one has been without hope for so long... one clutches at any straws of possible escape.
Miss Karena’s sharp word woke me from my happy reverie. I hurried forward, bowing as I came before them. My Mistress had her knees drawn up and her thighs were parted. She was fully exposed to me ... but seemed quite indifferent of that. I didn’t count. What I saw didn’t matter. I was just a slave. Repeatedly that bitter message was rammed home to me.
“Fill these glasses with something stronger... “
“Yes, Mistress. At once.”
“Sparkling white wine,” said Miss Zena.
“Yes, Miss. “
No doubt they needed something to fortify themselves with after Miss Zena’s news. Good. I hoped the trepidation in their hearts would increase. I entered the Wine Dispensary and made for the ice-box where a selection of white wines was laid out. There were six bottles there... but no sparkling wine. However, there some bottles of it in the rack alongside. Miralda’s fault. She was Miss Karena’s personal slave-girl. She must have forgotten to place some of the bottles on the ice. For a moment I hesitated. Should I risk serving them unchilled wine? That would get Miralda off the hook ... but it might earn me a hiding. Much as I sympathised with Miralda, I took the coward’s way out and hurried back to Miss Karena.
“I beg pardon, Mistress,” I said, bowing low, “but there is no sparkling wine on the ice. “
Her dark eyes flashed angrily. Such simple mistakes often seemed to upset her quite unreasonably.
“By the gods, “ she snapped, “that girl seems to get slacker every day!”
It was ridiculous for Miss Karena to refer to Miralda as a ‘girl’, which she always did, for she was ten years older than my Mistress. She was a beautiful and mature woman, aristocratic still in appearance and, indeed, had once been the wife of a Lord of some conquered domain. For her, slavery must have been cruelly bitter indeed. Especially to be the slave of a chit of a girl. One could see that in her eyes, of course.
“I should give her a good hiding,” advised Miss Zena. So typically!
“Don’t worry, I intend to,“ replied my Mistress. “Leo, you will serve some still wine. And tell Miralda to come here at once.”
“Yes, Mistress.” I bowed again and left, feeling rather ungallant. If I had taken a risk with the wine, Miralda wouldn’t have been in this trouble. Ah well, some day it might be the other way around.
I found Miralda in the bathing chamber. She was on her hands and knees polishing the tiles alongside our Mistress’s plunge-pool. I had an excellent, uninterrupted view of her maturely fulsome hindquarters... And else besides... and felt that familiar tingle in my loins. On several occasions, Miralda and I had been made to couple before my Mistress and Miss Zena. For their amusement. I am sure I enjoyed that more than poor Miralda did! For a few moments I stood watching her kneeling figure, her arm working assiduously, her breasts swinging beneath her. What a fate for an aristocrat, I reflected.
She started, turning quickly. “What is it?” she asked. There was a flash of fear in her eyes.
“The Mistress wants you. At once. “
Miralda got up quickly. I feasted my eyes on her as she moved with natural grace... and she sensed it, hating me for it. I think she hated me for fucking her, too, though that can scarcely be said to be my fault.
“What is it?” she asked nervously.
“Something to do with the wine, “ I answered evasively.
She bit her lips, obviously trying to recall some error she might have committed. I followed her from the bathing chamber, admiring the proud column of her white neck, the straightness of her smooth back, the sinuous undulating swing of her bottom. For once, that was unmarked. Bur not for much longer, I thought. Feeling the pain intensifying in my swelling organ, I turned aside and tore my thoughts away. For a few moments I was bent double, gritting my teeth as I endured the awful pain. The kind of pain my Mistress made me endure repeatedly during the day. And night.
Back in the Wine Dispensary, I put a bottle of white wine on a tray with two glasses. Carefully I carried them into my Mistress’s apartment. She was on her feet, flexing what she liked to term her ‘boudoir switch’. This was a painful instrument indeed and I knew it well. It was a slim rod, four feet six inches long, made of ivory-hard whalebone, and it ended in a sliver of white leather six inches long, this being knotted at one-inch intervals. Not surprisingly, Miralda was on her hands and knees, nose to the floor, her magnificent bottom raised high. Poor girl, I knew just how she felt!
“What are you, Miralda?” my Mistress rasped as I put the wine down and began to pour into heavy cut-glass goblets.
“A careless slut, Mistress,” came the immediate answer. It was a shade muffled on account of the closeness of Miralda’s mouth to the carpeted floor.
“A... a slack bitch, Mistress.”
“And... and a l-lazy cow, Mistress.”
Alas, poor aristocrat!
“And what happens to a slave with such characteristics?” asked my Mistress.
“She is... is punished, Mistress.” There was a brief pause. “Deservedly. “ The voice was little more than a whisper.
“Correct, slave. So punished you will be. Deservedly.” Miss Karena picked up her goblet and drank. “Have you anything else to say, slave?”
Another brief pause. “Th-Thank you, M-Mistress,” said Miralda in a choking voice... and I saw the little smile of cruel pleasure which flickered over my Mistress’s lips. This, I may say, was typical of the kind of Catechism our Mistress was wont to put us through prior to some punishment.
Stretching the nerves.
Drawing out the agony.
“I am giving you a dozen, my girl. You will count the strokes.”
Miralda’s nates gave a sudden, convulsive clench. And I didn’t blame them!
“Is that all?” drawled Miss Zena from her place on the couch.
ALL! Did that vicious young woman have any idea what twelve from that whippy ‘boudoir switch’ was like? It was so hard yet so supple. It bit so deep and fierily. And that knotted leather end to it was an agony in the flank.
saw Miss Karena favour her friend with a wicked smile... and guessed she had something up her sleeve. A metaphorical sleeve at that moment, since she was still stark naked.
“Also, throughout, you will keep your backside up high. And well positioned. Understood?”
“Y-Yes... Mistress...” Again the voice almost a whisper.
“lf you do not, you will get extra. Clear?” Miss Karena winked at her friend. Both girls knew, as did I, that it would be virtually impossible for Miralda, despite all her experience, to obey such an order.
“Y-Yes, Mistress...” Another whisper. Miralda knew it, too.
“As to how many, I shall let Miss Zena decide!” The rod tapped Miralda’s bottom lightly... and again the nates clenched convulsively. Twice this time. Oh how these wicked creatures loved to play with their helpless victims!
The arcing rod went up and became a blur as it descended: Ssswwweee... cccrrraaaccckkk!
As if she had been hit by a jet of icy water, Miralda gasped and gasped breathlessly... higher and higher, head thrown back, bottom squirming. But still thrust high.
Oh I knew how that felt!
How it hurt!
What a mind-bending effort it was to keep one’s hindquarters presented!
“One...” choked Miralda when she had got her breath back. Her nose went down to the carpet again. A slim, bright red stripe completely encircled both buttock-cheeks, jumping the cleft between them.
“Oh, one more thing, slave,” said Miss Karena coolly. “After you have counted each stroke, you will thank me for it.”
Oh how devilish!
“Th-Thank you... M-Mistress,” whispered Miralda.
“Louder than that, slave! what’s the matter with you? Are you asking for the whip?”
“N-No... oh... no... Mistress.” The cracked voice was louder now. “Thank you... Mistress ...”
Up went the rod, down it flashed. Ssswwweee... cccrrraaaccckkk!
“Ah... aahh... aaahhh... AAAHHHH!” Again those breathless high-pitched cries. Again the juddering squirming of that thrusting bottom. Another thin weal encircling the buttock-cheeks. Parallel and about half an inch from the first. Miss Karena was an expert with that rod. It seemed that she could lay it on within a millimetre.
“T-Two... aaahhh... two, Mistress... aahh... thank you... M-Mistress... “
Miss Karena smiled benevolently, as if she were doing poor Miralda some good turn. The third stroke whistled down.
“Aahh... aaahhh... aaaahhhh... AAAAAHHHHH!” Miralda’s head was thrown right back, her mouth was wide as were her starting eyes. Miss Karena had laid that stroke precisely between the first two! No wonder that fulsome bottom twisted and writhed so agonisedly.
“Aahhh... oh no...” half sobbed Miralda, head drooping. I knew she was wondering how she could possibly endure nine more like that. Yet, if she did not, she would suffer even greater pain.
“Three... eeee... Mistress... “ she gasped out, rallying herself a little. “Thank... ahh... thank you... M-Mistress...”
This is all my doing, I thought, as the fourth stroke lashed across Miralda’s wildly clenching nates. I could have saved her this; even if at some risk to myself. However, I must confess, I felt little remorse. A slave had scant time for such worthy emotions.
The writhing bottom, flesh all a judder, was, amazingly, still presented. I could not help admiring her. Miralda, as befits an aristocrat, had courage. And will. And, of course, experience.
Just half an inch below the second weal, the fourth weal encircled the white flesh.
“F-F-Four... Mistress...” gasped Miralda. “Th-Thank... you... uuhhh... thank you... M-Mistress.”
On the couch, Miss Zena was smiling happily. Enjoying it all no end. Wondering when this poor wretch would break, no doubt. She kept firming her breasts and I saw her rose-pink nipples hard and strong. Ssswwweee ... cccrrraaaccckkk!
“AAAHHH... AAAAHHHH... AAAAHHH... A-A-Ahhhh... OOOO...”
She is beginning to crack, I thought. And not surprisingly. Miss Karena was laying on with all the f***e at her command and placing the strokes so close together. The knotted leather end was biting into the flank in almost the same place every time. Oh how she was making her victim squirm! And oh how that cruel young vixen must be loving the spectacle! Ssswwweee... cccrrraaaccckkk!
“YYYEEE... AAAAHHH... A-A-AAAAHHHHH... OH... NO... OOOOO... M-MERCEEEEE!”
With remarkable skill, my Mistress had placed the sixth stroke precisely between the fourth and fifth, into the half-inch wide gap. Little wonder it brought forth Miralda’s first agonised plea as she twisted and turned so violently that she momentarily lost her upthrust posture. But quickly she resumed it.
“S-Six... Mistress...” groaned Miralda. “Mmmmfff... ugh... thank mmmff... you... M-M-Mistress...” Now she was sobbing, tears running down her cheeks.
A six-weal band of burning torment, no more than an inch and a half wide, now ran across her buttocks. It was indeed an expert performance from my Mistress but, naturally, it would not have been possible if her victim had not somehow f***ed herself to keep her hindquarters perfectly presented as the rod slashed down each time in a flashing blur.
“You deserve to be punished, don’t you, my girl?” said Miss Karena, lightly tapping the flinching nates.
“Mmmf... uugh... y-yes... mmmmff... M-Mistress... y-yes ... oooohhh... M-Mistress... h-have ... m-m-merceeeeee ... “ I saw the gleeful, sadistic smile. Oh how they loved one to beg! Oh how they loved to turn down one’s pleas! Mercy, I knew, was the last thing my Mistress had in mind. In fact, I half guessed how she was going to proceed... and I felt truly sorry for Miralda. I was still not blaming myself, though. It’s every slave for his or herself in a slave world! A wink to Miss Zena.
Up went the rod...
Down it came...
With an awful shriek, Miralda catapulted up, then twisted over, legs kicking, hands clasping at her squirming bottom. In that instant, she had lost control. All her courage, all her will, could not withstand that cruel cut.
For, as I had anticipated, it overlaid the very first one which had been applied.
And oh the unbelievable agony of that! I knew it. It was an agony, I think, which would have made a rhinoceros jump, let alone a soft-skinned woman.
Scrabbling frantically, Miralda was forcing herself to her knees again. Great sobbing moans were coming from her sagging mouth. Her eyes were blind with tears.
“Well... well...” smiled Miss Zena.
“I warned you, slave!” bellowed Miss Karena.
“M-Merceeee... merceeeee... “ cried the distraught Miralda, raising imploring arms. “I... aaaaahhh... l... c-couldn’t... h-h-help... it... oooohhhhh... h-have... merceeeee...”
“I do not threaten idly,” snapped my young Mistress, eyes flashing. “You were told to keep your backside presented and you disobeyed...”
“I ... ahhh... c-couldn’t... I c-couldn’t... “
“... so you will get the extra you deserve, “ continued Miss Karena, ignoring the interruption.
Poor Miralda was beside herself. I could not remember seeing her in quite such a state before. She seemed to have lost control of her actions and came sliding and grovelling forward, kissing and slobbering on Miss Karena’s bare feet.
“... mmmm... I’ll... do... mmmm... anything... mmm... M-Mistress... anything... but... h-have... mmmm... m-mercy... “
Arbitrarily, she was kicked away. “Of course you’ll do anything,” sneered Miss Karena. “But first you’ll go over a Punishment Block and get the thrashing Miss Zena decrees!”
A terrible despairing cry rose up.
Miralda knew she was defeated. That there was no escape. As, surely, she had often done before.
Miss Zena rose from the couch. She was a little taller than my Mistress and had blue eyes and long blonde hair. That hair had been tied into a pony-tail and held with a ribbon that matched the colour of her eyes, a most fetching little touch, but I do not think either Miralda or I truly appreciated it!
“This slave is not only slack, careless and lazy,” she drawled, “she is also disobedient, it seems. All grievous faults.”
Miralda, broad shoulders heaving, lay sobbing at her feet. She is probably praying for death, I thought. As I had often done. It never came.
“Now, let’s see,” mused Miss Zena, “there doesn’t appear to be a Punishment Block in here at the moment. “
“Leo will fetch one. Leo...”
Miss Zena raised a hand. “Not necessary, Karena,“ smiled Miss Zena, “Leo can act as the Punishment Block himself.“
I felt the hairs on the nape of my neck rise.
That was dread. What mischief was afoot? But I also experienced a tingling of excitement inside at the implication of these words.
“You mean...?” began my Mistress.
“I mean, my dear, “ said Miss Zena easily, “that this brute here will kneel on all fours and Miralda will be secured over him. “
Miss Karena clapped her hands. “What a lovely idea!” she cried. “Why haven’t we done it before?”
“I have, with my slaves,” smiled Miss Zena, “so I can’t claim it as an original idea. I got it from another friend of mine.”
My heart was beginning to pound. This wasn’t going to be easy. I would have Miralda’s warm, soft nakedness crushed down upon me... I would have her wriggling and squirming over me while she was thrashed. So I knew what was going to happen...
I knew there was going to be pain…
Awful cutting pain. Coming and going.
But... but would there not be some pleasure, too!
It could not be denied there would!
“Get down, you,” ordered Miss Zena, pointing to the floor before her.
I got down on all fours at once. It was a most familiar and frightening posture. Usually, a preliminary to feeling the rod. This time I would feel something else.
“Mercy... m-mercy...” Miralda was moaning softly. Almost to herself, it seemed. It might as well have been!
“You... UP!” Miss Zena’s voice was harsh and commanding. It brooked no delay. Poor Miralda sobbed louder as she staggered to her feet. “Open your legs, slave,” she ordered, giving me a kick. I opened them. “You... kneel there... between them...”
“Mmmfff... ugh... mmmmmffff... ooooh... h-have... mmm... mercy mmmfff... uuuugghh... mmnffff...”
I braced myself. Tensed.
The weight of Miralda’s softness came down upon me. She was not very heavy and, thus, easy to bear. I felt the warm resilience of her thighs, her belly, her breasts. Delicious. If only the circumstances had been different! If only I hadn’t got that heavy iron ring clamped around my prick!
Miralda sobbed loudly in my ear and I felt the saliva and tears running on to my neck and shoulders.
“That’s it,” said Miss Zena benignly. “Got some long straps, Karena?”
“Of course...” Only too willing to oblige, i thought. There is, I assure you, the greatest pleasure whilst such preparations are going on, in knowing it is not you that is to be flogged!
“First... around their necks,” said Miss Zena. A broad stray went across my throat, then up and around the back of Miralda’s head. It was tightly drawn and I had an unpleasant choking sensation.
“Don’t throttle them,” warned Miss Zena. The strap eased slightly and I could breathe again. However, Miralda’s neck and head were clamped irrevocably to mine. Her sobbing was continuous. As were her moans and whimpering pleas. All quite understandable.
Oh the softness of that lovely mature body!
Foolishly I savoured it... and let my thoughts drift.
Within moments, it seemed, I was gasping with pain... pain which swiftly deflated me again.
“Now the waist.” It was Miss Zena directing operations.
A far broader leather strap went under me, then over and round Miralda’s back. It was tightened until we were almost breathless. Then tightened another notch or two. Miralda groaned despairingly. I told myself that, compared with her, I was having it very easy.
“Good.” said Miss Zena. “it is important to have that strap very tight so she can’t roll off him.”
“Yes... I can see that...”
“Now the thighs. Strap them separately. Right to right and left to left.”
“Yes... I say Zena, this is rather different...”
It was just a game to these two youngsters. But what was it to Miralda? She was still sobbing and moaning.
“O-Ohhh... I can’t endure it... oooh... kill me... kill me...” I heard her gasping out at one point. She was bound to me so securely that we could have been a single body. I tried to shut my mind to that. Not to think of her woman-flesh pressing so tight to mine. But it was difficult. Soon I was swelling again.
“U-uugghh... uugghh...” My groans joined hers.
“Five more of the first punishment still to come, I think,” said Miss Zena in that cruelly casual way she had. One could have imagined it was a matter of no concern.
“No... no... f.. for pity’s sake... “ Miralda began to beg. I could feel her trying to struggle, but, of course, it was quite futile. Just instinctive.
“That’s right, “ agreed Miss Karena, “perhaps you’d like to give them to her, my dear.”
“Very well...” There was the sound of the rod being swished. It even sent shivers through me, so what they did to Miralda beggars imagination.
“Right, you slack bitch, here they come!”
The whistle of the rod... the sound of it biting... her terrible shriek in my ear... the feel of her galvanised but virtually immobile upon me. Then the strokes came fast, obviously no longer being carefully placed, but slashing across the flesh willy-nilly. It was just as if I were about to feel the torment but, of course, it was always poor Miralda who intervened. “By the gods, you deserve it,” yelled my Mistress, as the twelfth stroke fell, above the awful noises Miralda was making in my ear.
“She certainly does,” said Miss Zena. “And now I am going to teach this cow not to be so careless in future!”
“Here, take the rod, Zena...”
“Do you still think you’re a Lady or something? On your damn, piddling little island? Well, I’m going to teach you, once and for all, that you are not! I’m going to give you the thrashing of your life!”
Miralda was one long, sobbing groan. I was getting hard again and fighting it. It occurred to me that both Miss Karena and Miss Zena were considerably over-wrought - probably on account of the rumours - and that was the reason for these senseless excesses. They took their minds off things. After all, Miralda’s fault was really quite minor. There was no justification whatever for the way she was being treated.
Mind you, an owner never has to justify anything he or she does to a slave. A slave has no rights. It is simply a chattel.
Now the thrashing began again.
Miralda’s shrieks became even more terrible. The pressures of her straining body upon mine became even stronger. On and on it went, the whip-lashing rod falling faster. I could imagine the trellis-pattern of thin stripes it was weaving over Miralda’s curving bottom.
And, fight it as I tried, my partial erection would not subside. Even though the pain was excruciating.
I cursed myself.
I cursed the Fates.
Beneath the shrieking cacophony above me, I sobbed and groaned in awful torment.
My mind was so distraught I do not even know how long that terrible thrashing went on. All I do recall is that, at some time, it ceased. And that Miralda was at last senseless. There were only choking-snorting sounds in my ear.
“That should teach her,” I heard Miss Zena say.
I was clenching my teeth fiercely. Still too swollen.
“By the gods, I should think so,” responded my Mistress. “Would you mind undoing the straps, Karena?”
“Not a bit. Thank you for your help. Sometimes I think I’m too easy with my slaves.”
Then I became aware that Miss Zena was on one knee, looking under me.
“What’s the matter, Zena?”
“Would you believe it! Do you know, that has roused this brute?”
“Yes... really... by the gods... it’s too much!”
The straps had come away. Miralda slid like a sack of potatoes off my back, to lie snorting senseless on the floor. I was shuddering with pain and dread ... aware that my Mistress was now examining me also. Why could I not subside?
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked my Mistress. The dread was clutching at my vitals.
“I am, “ replied Miss Zena. “Take the rod, my dear.”
“You filthy swine... get your backside higher. Get it up... up!” came the crackling voice of Miss Karena.
Oh no... I did not deserve this! These two were mad that afternoon. Mad with cruel lust! Yet, needless to say, I did not delay in obeying my young Mistress’s order.
Grinding my teeth, digging my nails into the carpet, I thrust up my hindquarters. There came the high-pitched whistle of the rod. Then it bit.
And then I had some inkling of the pain Miralda had been enduring.
I gasped breathlessly, as she had done, striving to keep my hindquarters high. What was this for? Simply for my natural reactions! It was cruelty beyond all reason.
Again! Again! Again! I was howling, twisting over on the floor. Already. Worse than Miralda. I just couldn’t stand it. No... I couldn’t.
“This is hopeless,” I heard my Mistress say. “He’ll have to be secured.”
“Of course,” agreed her mentor.
“Follow me, slave... crawl... come on... b**st... move!”
I moved, crawling forward on all fours. What else could I do? If I were slow or disobeyed, things would only be worse. Frankly, I felt near to tears. Oh the hideous injustice of it all!
Out of the room, along a corridor, following the pattering bare feet, seeing the tip of the switch swinging as it trailed at my Mistress’s side. We entered another room.
“Over that Block, slave!”
I raised my head slightly, seeing the curving wood and leathern hump. There were icicles in my heart and belly. The instinct to plead came to me, but somehow I resisted it. I d****d myself over the Block and felt the pinioning straps going about me. A dry sob choked my throat.
“By the gods, I’m going to give it to you,” came my Mistress’s rasping voice from above and behind... followed by a low, approving laugh from Miss Zena.
What an afternoon for them! First Miralda, now me. Mercilessly thrashed for nothing.
The inhumanity of Barbaria was beyond all understanding.
“Yes... give it to this bastard real good,” said Miss Zena.
And, need I tell you, that is precisely what my eighteen-year-old Mistress did. Reducing me, in no time at all, to a blubbering, whining wreck. A pleading, howling hulk. A thing without an atom of Warrior-spirit in him.
Yet not caring any more about that warrior-spirit. Not in the slightest.
Only wanting it to stop.
To STOOOO... OOOPPP!
It HAD to stop! Yet it didn’t...
She went on thrashing and thrashing me until, like Miralda, I ultimately slid into the sanctuary of insensibility.
But it was a sanctuary it took far, far too long to reach!