Read Online Condemned to Slavery by Bruce McLachlan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bruce McLachlan
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energetic wriggling toppling her balance so that she landed heavily on her front. A booted toe dug under her chest and flipped her onto her back, trapping her limbs beneath her torso, leaving her arched upward and eager to accept the bite of the poised weapon.
Lydia’s words rose to a defiant cry as the crop lifted high into the air and paused to bring dread before descending with a whistling hiss, turning the cry into a wail of pain as a searing line was laid upon her thigh. The blow had Lydia jerk and squirm upon the floor, hauling at the defiant cuffs.
Another hack ate into her inner thigh, the sensitive skin bringing an even sterner wash of suffering, the mordant stripe it laid making her shriek and buck, trying to flip over and shield the delicate regions currently under attack. Her plan was foiled as the Warden’s gleaming boot stepped onto her stomach, the weight resting upon it forcing her to the floor. Her arms and legs were squeezed between floor and foot, her joints starting to churn with internal mayhem as the pressure was increased, the Warden leaning over and letting her body pin down the prisoner before her.
With her victim secured she commenced the beating with added speed and strength, lashing into Lydia’s cleavage and thighs, laying down a plexus of flushed purple welts that throbbed with a residual pulse for many minutes after their birth. Contused lines were continually drawn across her by the sanguinary frenzy that ruled her persecutor. The Warden was goaded into increased ferocity at the sight of Lydia squirming beneath her boot, her flesh rippling as the looped tip of the crop slammed to it or skimmed briefly across the tip of a striped breast. The sound of her imploring desperate yowls gave the woman malevolent pleasure, the Warden delighting in her work.
Gasping for air as she screamed in response to the crop, Lydia could only strain against her shackles, her mind thumping with her racing heartbeat and the animal panic that called only for her to evade the blows. Suddenly the deluge abruptly ended and the Warden addressed her while steadying her panting breath.
“You are no longer a person. You are a piece of property owned by Guenerros. You no longer have a name. You have a code number. You will know this number. It will be used to refer to you, call to you, you will answer to it, and you will forget your name. If you use your name, you will be severely reprimanded. Do you understand?”
Lydia said nothing, still lost in her daze of pain, twitching in continual fits. The crop flashed down and restored her will to shriek.
“Say, yes, Warden Folter, if you understand?” she growled, and once more applied her switch with equal verve.
“Yes, Warden Folter, I understand!” Lydia howled, the pain bestowing ample volume.
“What is your name?” the woman asked.
“Ly—” she started and then paused suddenly, realizing the slip of her tongue. Before she could apologize or correct her error, the crop was once more streaking through the air and applying half a dozen fierce strokes across her thighs, crisscrossing the previous marks and restoring their old intensity. The beating stopped and the Warden leant more heavily onto her squirming captive.
“What is your name?” the Warden repeated.
“I have no name, I am property, Warden Folter,” Lydia wheezed, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to trickle into her hair.
“What is your designated code number?” she hissed.
“I…I…don’t know, they said it in another language,” Lydia whimpered.
“Hmmph,” vented the Warden, stepping away and throwing an underarm flick into Lydia’s lewdly presented pussy. The heinous stroke made her arch up and yowl, her body thrashing madly as the woman deserted her to recovery from the swat.
Turning the folder round to face her with the hooped tip of the crop, the woman ran the end of the weapon down the cover.
“You are six one nine two,” she declared, and began to saunter back
Lydia’s words rose to a defiant cry as the crop lifted high into the air and paused to bring dread before descending with a whistling hiss, turning the cry into a wail of pain as a searing line was laid upon her thigh. The blow had Lydia jerk and squirm upon the floor, hauling at the defiant cuffs.
Another hack ate into her inner thigh, the sensitive skin bringing an even sterner wash of suffering, the mordant stripe it laid making her shriek and buck, trying to flip over and shield the delicate regions currently under attack. Her plan was foiled as the Warden’s gleaming boot stepped onto her stomach, the weight resting upon it forcing her to the floor. Her arms and legs were squeezed between floor and foot, her joints starting to churn with internal mayhem as the pressure was increased, the Warden leaning over and letting her body pin down the prisoner before her.
With her victim secured she commenced the beating with added speed and strength, lashing into Lydia’s cleavage and thighs, laying down a plexus of flushed purple welts that throbbed with a residual pulse for many minutes after their birth. Contused lines were continually drawn across her by the sanguinary frenzy that ruled her persecutor. The Warden was goaded into increased ferocity at the sight of Lydia squirming beneath her boot, her flesh rippling as the looped tip of the crop slammed to it or skimmed briefly across the tip of a striped breast. The sound of her imploring desperate yowls gave the woman malevolent pleasure, the Warden delighting in her work.
Gasping for air as she screamed in response to the crop, Lydia could only strain against her shackles, her mind thumping with her racing heartbeat and the animal panic that called only for her to evade the blows. Suddenly the deluge abruptly ended and the Warden addressed her while steadying her panting breath.
“You are no longer a person. You are a piece of property owned by Guenerros. You no longer have a name. You have a code number. You will know this number. It will be used to refer to you, call to you, you will answer to it, and you will forget your name. If you use your name, you will be severely reprimanded. Do you understand?”
Lydia said nothing, still lost in her daze of pain, twitching in continual fits. The crop flashed down and restored her will to shriek.
“Say, yes, Warden Folter, if you understand?” she growled, and once more applied her switch with equal verve.
“Yes, Warden Folter, I understand!” Lydia howled, the pain bestowing ample volume.
“What is your name?” the woman asked.
“Ly—” she started and then paused suddenly, realizing the slip of her tongue. Before she could apologize or correct her error, the crop was once more streaking through the air and applying half a dozen fierce strokes across her thighs, crisscrossing the previous marks and restoring their old intensity. The beating stopped and the Warden leant more heavily onto her squirming captive.
“What is your name?” the Warden repeated.
“I have no name, I am property, Warden Folter,” Lydia wheezed, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes to trickle into her hair.
“What is your designated code number?” she hissed.
“I…I…don’t know, they said it in another language,” Lydia whimpered.
“Hmmph,” vented the Warden, stepping away and throwing an underarm flick into Lydia’s lewdly presented pussy. The heinous stroke made her arch up and yowl, her body thrashing madly as the woman deserted her to recovery from the swat.
Turning the folder round to face her with the hooped tip of the crop, the woman ran the end of the weapon down the cover.
“You are six one nine two,” she declared, and began to saunter back
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