Silvana's Quest

by Caroline Swift

  The slave mistress nodded towards the lavish array of implements of sex torture and flagellation, many of which were only too familiar to Silvana. "Choose a fairly heavy quirt, pet, for this second lesson. It's the breasts this time, something you're going to love."

  The one being educated was about to say that she had already had a couple of bodies to practice on in Damiana's presence but hesitated, unwilling to displease Saroya. In any case, the figure before her, not unlike Carmela's, certainly tempted her and almost sexually. Although the arms were aloft, the well-nippled breasts remained heavy, protruding invitingly.

  "This ripe length of whore-meat," the equally ripe overseer announced, bringing the candle nearer, "apparently caused endless trouble to Hephaistos on the way up to the palace, and the Elders want her to be given a real lesson. So, pending worse, Silvana, just go ahead."

  Remembering Britta and Kitana, the blonde felt a certain sympathy for the poor slut but as such emotions were clearly not shared by the slave mistress, she chose a fairly normal quirt. Again the three almost overlapping tongues of leather splayed out from a ribbed haft shaped like a phallus, reminding her of the one Mila had used on her own breasts one terrible night in the Chamber of Gratification, when, far from hardened, she believed she was about to lose her teats. The broad blades of what she selected were split at the ends to ensure real pain on the sides of the mounds. Silvana decided to flog back and forth, from the front.

  Suddenly, as the candle flared, she noticed the slave had been gagged. That took her aback but she presumed the wretch required it. All to the good, for screams still unnerved her.

  As she prepared to whip the unblemished dugs, she noticed Saroya gazing admiringly at her. What, in fact, the overseer was thinking amounted to a compliment; in their years of service as servants of the palace, neither she nor Damiana had come across a female so physically fitted to become a slave mistress and, yet not fully trained, so gifted with a whip. But what, once again, surprised them more was how the girl's basic passive proclivity as a submissive had changed into eager aggressiveness. Not only had she proved herself a juicy slave ready to be passed from one courtier to another for use but now seemed quite at ease as a dominatrix.

  "Yes," Saroya agreed, "that quirt will do fine to use on a body that happens, for once, to merit rough treatment." Silvana replied that she would do her best.

  "You'd better, my dear," the older woman smiled. "Otherwise you'll take her place with me doing the beating - which, believe me, I wouldn't mind, precious." She received a smile as Silvana's quirt slammed into the udders crosswise, sending the creamy loads of flesh to splurge into the armpits that had been shaved only a moment before. To judge by the frenzied writhings and flailing legs, quite clearly the newcomer had never imagined being breast whipped before, Silvana recalling that the slave masters, scouring the villages for suitable material, normally confined themselves to the rump as testing ground. Indeed this one's purple buttocks appeared to have been well vetted. The welts stood out like fuchsias.

  The contortions under the slap of the quirt, together with the welts welling and turning violet, only drove Silvana to thrash harder, aiming now and then at the teats and areoles. The slave began to sag, the stopple stifling the choked howls; the fledgling had much to learn. As Saroya watched, she considered that if the palace sought an exemplary breast flogger, the authorities did not need to look further. The blonde charmer was lethal.

  Quite suddenly, the traumatized body gave up the fight, the head falling forward, whereupon Saroya brought the edifying séance to a close. There was little she could offer by way of advice, except that one should 'beat the nipples and teat-rings well into the areoles'.

  "That will do, Silvana dear. We have to leave something for the others to punish. Otherwise, they become tetchy. Wipe off your quirt and help me to lower the slut. The Elders want her to remain here for them to decide on her fate."

  Together, the two women cranked down the over-fleshed body by means of the ratchet at the rear of the precinct - another task the blossoming slave mistress had to master.

  In tears, the load of slave meat sprawled on the flagstones, the freed hands hugging the welted, vermilion-striped bulges, with a strange look of anguish mingled with elation.

  "I've really marked her, haven't I?" Silvana said. "She's like a red harvest moon."

  "And, pray, why not? The Elders will probably welcome it, as a start. For they, most likely, have stronger measures in store for her. At least, you didn't make her teats spurt. That Their Holinesses take exception to. They dislike it. Now that you've learned the ropes," - again Silvana found the reference to ropes rather appropriate - "put your quirt back where it belongs. Tomorrow I'll show you how to draw a torture hood over a slave's head and how to gag a mouth. Meanwhile, until your master is back, I'll look after you for a while. You'd like a nice soft bed after all that, wouldn't you?"

  Silvana supposed she would and did not dare refuse. And anyway, she was dying for sex, in whatever form and the mention of her owner disturbed and grieved her, increasing the distress she felt at his absence.

  In the evening of the day after his return to the citadel Thanon was summoned into the presence of the Elders. He believed the call involved the usual report on the number and condition of slaves he and Hephaistos had succeeded in mustering in the further descent into the forlorn villages. He was well aware that more flesh was sorely needed to appease the courtiers. Not only had he requisitioned the promising blonde creature but, further, two of the last lot had proved below standard, one of them, quite apart from the harlot, Mila, suspended in chains after having been whipped by his mistress. Moreover, the Elders, without consulting him, had sent the weary Odile, now turned thirty, to the prisons where she would have meagre chance of survival and little chance of return. And she, Thanon knew, was one his Silvana really liked. It was good for her to have friends, even if they were chained up to walls.

  Thanon's interview with the Elders, however, turned out to be of a very different nature from that he had anticipated.

  Alone in her master's residence, Silvana sensed that something strange was afoot and for once she began to pray to the deities who were allowing her such incredible good fortune. And yet, she barely trusted them, love being more potent than faith. She trusted Thanon and was certain he would never let her down, there in the mystic euphoria she was enjoying.

  Without him, the tower's silence hung heavily upon her.

  The Petition

  "Please be seated, noble Thanon," Vasca, the Chief Elder, began. The wizened priest had known better days and health and the Master of Slaves appreciated being offered a chair facing the six gaunt prelates. "We understand you wish to abdicate your post and assume responsibility for our outpost of pleasure and relaxation down at Zahra." Thanon nodded, curious as to what would follow. "Your dutiful service here in the palace has been flawless and we have no objection to your early retirement. Hephaistos is quite competent, thanks to your schooling, and handles slaves with authority and a fine whip-hand. He will take your place admirably, although we regret your decision." He then broached the reason for the meeting. "We further gather that you consider taking with you a certain female, a former slave girl, as your concubine and flogging flesh. This is entirely acceptable, in view of your rank, even if it unfortunately depletes the complement of slave bodies available to our distinguished courtiers and their guests. That probably can be remedied in due course by seeking more incumbents in the outlying villages, where the inhabitants breed like rabbits."

  "Hence," added another Elder, one dedicated to serving the goddess Locrana, "we agree to her replacing Rasetha as overseer down at Zahra. Indeed, that woman seems to have become shiftless and incompetent. She will return to the palace and be given other duties."

  Thanon called to mind the old bitch, Rasetha. She had run the brothel and the handful of whores and male slaves adequately enoug
h in the past; however, vacationing nobles had begun to complain of conditions down at Zahra. The inmates, naturally of lower standing compared with those available at the palace, had become lethargic and even unresponsive. Kept stark-naked in chains for brothel use, flagellation and sex torture, the bodies had deteriorated gravely. Moreover, the two scullions, middle-aged women responsible for preparing meals and keeping the place clean, had been left to their own devices and required far stricter supervision - if necessary, the whip. All in all, the place needed renovating. Thanon had Silvana in mind for that, as brothel-keeper in residence, in addition to being his mistress. He himself would live in one of the nicer lodgings on the beach, among those reserved for visitors.

  "The villeggiatura must be improved, Thanon," the Elder added, "and you, we are sure, will see to it. Whatever you or your slave whore - pardon me, your paramour - require to embellish the place, will be provided by the palace. You only have to ask."

  The Slave Master bowed in his chair, wondering what was brewing. The evening was sultry, the meeting's atmosphere strangely oppressive. Then came the shock.

  "As this would mean a former slave girl being permitted to leave the palace confines for external duties, the risk of her absconding has to be contended with..."

  "But she is my property, gracious ones," Thanon interjected. "She has been reduced to total obedience. She would not dream of escaping. I would be her guarantor with my servant, Haroun, to keep an eye on her, and, if necessary, punish the slightest sign of disobedience."

  "Nevertheless," the wrinkled Vasca went on, frowning at the interruption, for even a lofty Slave Master did not speak out of turn, "although we trust you entirely, we cannot wash our hands of our responsibilities. You, above all, know what must be done to palace slaves when banished from service. Either they are condemned to serve as sex flesh in the prisons below," - the silken arm gestured beyond the polished flagstones - "sold to passing slave dealers or turned out naked and chained into the wilderness, as prey to the wild beasts and, wandering scoundrels that still, alas, haunt our lands. But this you know, of course."

  Thanon tensed under his cloak of golden thread and silk, sensing the drift of the meeting. In fact, it had been he, endorsed by the priesthood, who had ordained that any slave discarded as being of no further use, should be branded with the mark of Saronis.

  "You mean, holinesses, she must be endure the branding iron?"

  "Precisely, mighty Thanon. Remark, we have no objection to her accompanying you," another sacerdotal figure repeated blandly. "But the body must first be graven with the sacred serpent that guards us all from woe and sin. It must bear the sign of the Palace."

  Thanon realized his request had a price. In point of fact, he had watched his Greta burned thus before she left; and the debilitated Odile had suffered likewise before being sent to the prisons as sex meat. And there had been Fulvia, Massia and others, each marked with the black, fanged snake on their pubic mounds - bodies admired far afield for having laboured diligently in the exquisite Bithynian capital. He attempted a final riposte.

  "But, gracious ones, the slaves down at Zahra are not branded..."

  Vasca dismissed the plea. "They are merely whores and cock-slaves, unblessed with the privilege of having served within these sacred confines. In fact, since you mention them, possibly they should be marked as peripheral palace property. But we leave that to you. No, your strumpet - forgive me again, your concubine - must be branded. Otherwise, she remains here. After all, it was you who once remarked that such was a token of distinction." The priests smiled at the bearded one who was cornered. Not only did he risk losing his blonde slut but possibly also his retirement to Zahra lay in jeopardy.

  "So be it, your Holinesses. Where and when will it be done?"

  The High Priest seemed ready for the query. "As to when, the goddess Locrana will give us the full moon three nights hence. That will be propitious. As to where, do you mean on the body or in what setting?"

  Thanon knew it would take place in public in the principal square rather than on the terrace or in the secrecy of a punishment precinct. Therefore, he asked what part of the girl's anatomy would be seared by the hot iron, for the priests' decision varied. His Greta, prior to her unavoidable sale to the northern princedom, had been burned on the left buttock, for no better reason than it was that which had suited the purchaser. Thanon was determined not to lose another concubine. Dismayed, he waited, watching the bats flitting by beyond the casements.

  "On the pubic mound," came the reply. "Since your mistress is generously fleshed, we believe she will mark well there. You will, I am sure, have no objection to that, since there are more sensitive areas, are there not?"

  The Master of Slaves nodded. Only six moons back, he himself had ordered Sefket to scar an atrociously fractious brunette by branding an incandescent circle round both areoles, prior to her being cast out to the jackals. The lower belly was infinitely preferable to that.

  The parley seeming to be over, Thanon rose and bowed. The High Priest, however, leaned towards his neighbour to engage in whispered consultation. "Wait, noble Thanon," he remarked. "My colleagues remind me you should be rewarded for accepting to take over Zahra. Therefore, your woman will be dealt with on the Great Terrace rather than, as usual, out on the square before the rabid mob. We shall compensate the populace by adding another victim for the Moon Festival, possibly a shrew called Ritta or Britta - I did not catch the priest of Locrana's proposal. So, your female will have the privilege of being chained - naked, of course - and flagellated by Mistress Damiana over the loins to ready the pubis for the iron, Yannis attending to the brazier for Sefket's use. I hope this concession will please both you and your companion. That is all, great Thanon. You may depart. Ah, yes, one thing more. As you are to assume responsibility for the villeggiatura, we wish you ride down there and inspect the place. We insist on the brothel being cleaned up to make it fit for our courtiers, their spouses and mistresses. Decide what new fitments are needed, bringing the present inmates to heel and putting one of the older slaves in charge - choose a reliable one, under threat of stringent punishment - pending your full assumption of duties..."

  "Along with your...er, concubine," another silver-maned priest added. "Earlier we had thought of the gentle Damiana for the post but she is now otherwise engaged. You may take your leave, and may the mighty Phranis be with you, for Zahra is not far from the boundary that separates us from our rebellious neighbour, the province of Mestria. Be warned, Thanon."

  Walking back to his quarters, Thanon decided to journey down to Zahra on the very day set for Silvana's ordeal; just as he had shunned the Menthif session, he had no desire to witness the branding. His feelings for his golden-haired partner ran too deep to watch her being tormented - at least by anyone else other than himself.

  Later that night, once freed of her boots and straps, and unaware of her coming fate, Silvana was astonished at the mildness of the beating, for, after such a lull, she could have done with a more stimulating flagellation. But her orgasms were as rewarding as ever.

  When the inauspicious evening came, Thanon had already left on his roan stallion, armed with a scimitar and accompanied by an officer of the guard. Long before nightfall, the hills were behind them, the stars winking slyly as the descent to the moonlit sea began. At least, on the next journey, the golden-haired one, once fit to ride, would be by his side. It would be a voyage into a future which promised rest and contentment. If all went well...

  Cantering through the thorn bushes and hevea, he tried to put the girl and her ordeal out of his mind. As to his replacement, he felt he had chosen wisely, pleased that the Elders had agreed to the handsome Hephaistos replacing him as Master of Slaves, a wearying task.

  The journey proved as fatiguing as ever, even though the way down to the coast had been trodden into an easy track, despite the rocks and scrub. By late afternoon, the two had rea
ched the rise above the bay of Zahra and its crescent of thatched villas overlooking the sea.

  The two men spurred their horses and descended steeply through the dunes to draw up before the largest of the edifices; Thanon knew the building well enough from his many earlier tours of inspection. Its patio, furnished with couches, remained relatively cool, even in the torrid heat of the day, the line of pillars set back from the glare. He himself had ordered chains to be nailed to the summits and upreared, studded phalluses being added at the request of the vacationing nobles; thus the slaves, stretched naked, could be viewed, prior to being selected for use. Whether the bodies were then used there on the patio, within the brothel or in the visitors' residences was not his concern. The dignitaries were free to choose.

  The posts, he noticed, stood unencumbered, not a single slave in sight.

  The silence of the late afternoon slumbered over the building, the last torpor of the day heavy with the scent of amaranthus or love-lies-bleeding, the name Thanon preferred. Dismounting, he entered the whorehouse, to find an atmosphere of lethargy reigning in the interior. The heat was stifling, rife with the odour of unwashed flesh. With a silk kerchief to his nostrils, he passed along the corridor of unhinged doors pierced with rusting lattices, fully aware of what went on in those windowless cells. But the thud and slap of leather on sweating bodies and the muffled cries of earlier times seemed to have long since died away. He strode into the main room of the place, his anger mounting. Conditions had even deteriorated since his previous visit several moons back. The bamboo slave pens lay in decay, the gates adrift, the central table decrepit and littered with whips, dildos and mildewed instruments. Birds flew in and out of the room. The whipping cross he himself had had installed slanted askew, its studded sex-shaft loose and caked with grime. The flyblown place stank of filth and sex.

  Then he saw the slaves. Several dishevelled females and a couple of males sprawled, dormant, on the boards; beyond, he caught sight of Rasetha, the hefty bawd who kept the palace stew, snoring on her bunk in the overseer's cubicle. A kick from the guard's boot brought the obese object struggling to her feet to start bowing in deference and fright.