A STATE OF SERVITUDE 19, tied girls stories

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When he entered her again she had a new fear to face. In her mouth and her bowels, at least she was safe from impregnation, however degrading and painful the act. Now he was attacking her vulnerable womb. She knew she was fertile, her menses had come and gone half a moon since. Ordinarily she would not have feared, using a slip of oil soaked sponge across the mouth of her womb to keep out the marauding seed, or washing it away with goatskin bag and nozzle as soon as planted, but now there would be no protective sponges, no cleansing nozzles. This virile stallion might leave her in foal before tonight`s business was finished.
As the night wore on, her terrors grew no less, for he seemed insatiable and, once his mastery over her body had been established by having her bow to his will and submit to the rape of mouth and anus, he appeared content to use only her sheath for his pleasure, flooding her womb again and again with thick hot gouts of his virile semen. By morning, sore and dripping between her thighs, she despaired of escaping the swollen belly she dreaded so much.
She didn`t want to be pregnant again at her age, but that wasn`t the true reason for her fear. There was no guarantee she`d be accepted back into society in any case after she`d been taken by barbarians. There would be the certainty in everyone`s mind that she had been violated. But if she had a barbarian`s child in her belly... then she would be rejected indeed, either forced to kill herself or turned out into the wilderness to fend for herself - which amounted to about the same thing.
Even if they gave her a chance she would have to get rid of any foetus and, the way these things were done out here, that was only marginally better than death. There had been terrible tales rumoured among her friends about the ways of the Syrian midwives, whose secret methods were effective, but who believed the loss of the child should bring suffering to punish the woman for her sin. Even if she had been raped. There had been no proof of the rumours, but more than one woman had come back from the Syrian quarter of the city with her belly flattened, but stricken by fear at the mere sight of their characteristic black and white striped garb, cringing into the wall as they went by, eyes glazed in terror from their experiences at the dark skinned women`s hands, though they were unable to talk of what had happened, however pressed.
One thing was known. The Syrians marked their patients with two diagonal bars on their belies, just below the navel. They were as thick and as long as a woman`s little finger, and burnt deep with a hot iron. It was assumed that this was so that a return visit could be made even more excruciating than the first, since that had failed to discourage her from risking her womb a second time. There were several of the regulars at the baths who always seemed to have a modest hand lying on their bellies as they entered and left the water, though they flaunted their naked breasts.
Each time she felt his seed spurting into her, the fear rose in Lavinia anew, sending shudders through her body that resembled those of passion, but had an even deeper and more unsettling cause. She had no wish to bear those deeply puckered bars in her own belly.

He disturbed her by rising at dawn. She was still secured to the bar, which cut painfully into her thighs. Her back was aching, her arms in agony from their long binding behind her back, her vagina and anus sore and oozing slime. Sweat and mucous streaked her face. Her hair was matted and tangled. Despite her pain, and the awkwardness of her position, sheer exhaustion soon overcame her again, and once more she dozed fitfully on her perch.
Later the same servant returned, to give her yoghurt made from mare`s milk and more of the flat unleavened bread. He released her from the bar, but left her hands secured behind her, and led her out of the tent on stiff and trembling legs which could barely support her. Outside, he allowed her to squat in the grass and relieve herself. He looked on impassively as she groaned and strained, her bladder and rectum protesting at their treatment, her mind at the humiliation of having to perform her natural functions before a man. There was no sponge on a stick as she had been used to, to wipe herself with, nor could she have used it, if she had one, with her tied hands, and she felt the additional humiliation of her soiled anus and wet labia.

They found the chieftain down by the horse lines.
"A fine night`s gallop," he commented, as she drew near, "though, like all your sex, you went better for a touch of whip and spur. Did you enjoy the ride?"
"You bastard," she cried, "I`ll make you so sore you`ll not take another ride in a hurry." Heedless of the futility of the gesture, and the certainty of punishment if she connected, she kicked out for his groin.
He laughed as he caught her foot in mid-air, and held it as she hopped helplessly on the other.
"The mare seems to have cast a shoe!" he remarked, caressing the bare sole, "we shall have to see to it." He murmured to one of his aides, who grinned broadly, then he called for the slave clerk, who had identified her the previous day.
"Get your inks and parchment, you have a letter to write for me to His Excellency. The Lady Lavinia will be returned to her people today, and she will need to take some explanation of her absence with her."
As she was led away she thought it was to the horse lines, to be mounted for the journey, though she was still naked, and her hands were still tied, but the men led her past the saddled beasts to where the farrier was working at his forge, beating iron on the anvil.
"Good day, Hannag," her escort addressed the muscular smith, "we`ve brought you a mare for shoeing."
She panicked then, as the full awfulness of the retribution she was to suffer for her rash and futile attempt to kick the Chieftain sank in, but the men easily suppressed her useless struggles. He threw her on her face. and held her ankles. While she cried out in terror, they pulled her right foot over the anvil. She felt the cold of metal on the sole, a slight scratching as the nail was placed in the hole prepared for it, then agony as an iron nail was driven through her flesh. Another nail, another scream of anguish, and her foot was allowed to drop, then she struggled again, as remorseless hands pulled her left foot to the anvil. Two more nails, two more screams, and she was shod.
They hoisted her up, forcing her to put her feet under her. The pain was hideous. The weight on her feet made little difference, but when she moved it was renewed agony. They would not let her rest until she had been half dragged half carried back to Talla and his scribe. The letter was ready, and the clerk tied it into her back hair.
"Thank you again for the ride," Talla said mockingly. "I hope my gift pleases you."

The journey back to the fort, slung across the aide`s saddle bow like a sack of wheat, was not the most comfortable ride Lavinia had had, but any way of progress towards safety was bearable. Just out of sight of the fort, where the track lay in a little hollow before crossing a rocky plateau devoid of vegetation, the aide dropped her to the ground. She landed on her wounded feet, with a cry of pain.
As he turned to ride away, she called after him.
"I can`t move like this," she pleaded. "At least cut my hands lose, so that I can crawl."
The Barbarian leant down from his saddle to where she knelt up on the stones of the track and raised his scimitar. For a moment she thought the Chieftain had given orders for her to be killed just outside the fort, and left for the men to find with the letter still tied into the hair of her severed head. But no, it seemed that her return, violated and abused, was a more satisfying gesture, for the man deftly slid the blade down her back and parted the leathers joining her wrists, then galloped off into the wasteland again, leaving her to make her way as best she could.

The sentry gazed idly down from his post above the gate house, scanning the sunlit road, where it wound, hot and dusty, across the small rocky plateau below the fort. He was bored and sweaty, but one did not neglect one`s duty in a place like this. If one didn`t believe the tales of barbarians in the district, and there was talk enough of women seized and raped, men killed or sold into slavery, then there was always the ever present threat of whip or worse for those who had fallen below the tight standards of discipline enforced in these vital frontier posts.


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