by Rue Chapman
The first slaves were led out, stripped naked for the ordeal ahead, trembling and nervous. Aliera watched, tense, from her cushioned seat above the arena, shaded by coloured silks and screened by fine gauze curtains. Her future would be decided today.
Down in the arena the women were urged into a line by the guards, then a roar went up from the crowd as the candidates strode out into the bright sunshine. Aliera leaned forward to catch a glimpse of Kevan; there he was, so handsome, his hair golden in the sunlight. Kevan who whispered sweet words to her, who kissed her hand, who promised he'd be the one chosen for her ceremony. He just had to win today.
The men lined up, stripped to the waist, flexing muscles and limbering up for the trials. Aliera counted twenty, the best of the best, every man sure he'd be the one. The huge form of a town blacksmith; a wiry miner from the mountains, one of those ageless little old men who are stronger than they look; soldiers of fortune trying for their big chance; solid burghers from the town; a few priests, hard-eyed and dedicated; half a dozen young lords, patrician and superior; two wild-eyed tribesmen from the plains. And Goran, the Commander of the Palace Guard. Aliera shivered. Goran, so arrogant, so sure of himself, always there whenever she wanted to do anything with his, "The Princess is mistaken, she will not be doing this today... My lady, this is not how a Princess behaves... I am sure His Majesty would not approve." His dark eyes sweeping over her without the awe and respect she received from the rest of the palace staff. Arrogant pig! He looked so huge and uncouth beside her lovely Kevan.
It began. Each of the contestants reached for a slave, then dragged her towards a line of seats. The men sat down, depositing their reluctant assistants over their knees. Twenty pale rumps pointed to the sky.
Twenty hands raised, waited for the signal. Whimpers from the miserable slaves sounded loud in the sudden silence. The High Priestess, Tiarna, stepped forward and looked down into the arena. At her gesture a gong sounded and twenty hands descended. The spanking began.
Aliera watched, knowing that the winner of the contest would soon be spanking her the same way. She noticed several different techniques: some hit slow and hard, some fast and light, some concentrated several strokes on one spot before moving to another, some seemed to strike at random following no pattern at all. Yelps, squeals and wails rose louder as twenty bottoms reddened. Legs kicked, hands beat on the ground. The sounds of determined slapping went on. The sand ran through the timer. Aliera began to suspect that ten minutes could seem like quite a long time.
Aliera wriggled on her cushioned seat. She had never been spanked, never felt an angry touch. As the King's eldest, and only, daughter she had been destined from birth to be offered to the Goddess, to become High Priestess. The winner of the contest would initiate her and become her consort. Darling Kevan, it had to be him. He'd talked about how she'd tingle...but the slaves in the arena seemed to be doing more than tingling. Bottoms were bright red now, they looked - more than tingly. Maybe even stinging a little. The slaves were making a fuss, but then peasants lacked the control of the higher orders. She would have more dignity. Of course.
After ten minutes the gong sounded again and the spanking ceased. The contestants lifted the slaves to their feet and then stood up, stretching and laughing. The slaves were made to bend and put their hands on the seats, red bottoms high. Aliera watched Kevan, soon she would be bent over like that, for him. She watched as he nudged the girls' feet wide apart, then she gasped as he adjusted his breeches and for the first time she saw - well, she knew men were different from women. Glancing along the row she saw twenty fine examples of manhood. Interesting variety in length and girth, she hadn't realised there were different sizes. Kevan's seemed a fine example. Few were larger than his, but - she gasped as she saw Goran approaching his spanking subject. He was - surely that couldn't be real, it was much too large to fit a woman's secret place. The slave seemed to agree, her shrill squeal echoed through the arena as he slowly thrust into her. Aliera grimaced, she almost felt sorry for the girl, even if she was a slave. Other squeals and moans were heard as each man entered his partner. They were all riding the girls now, this would be the moment when darling Kevan took her for the first time, made her a woman.
Moans and grunts echoed in the arena, most of the girls seemed to be moaning in pleasure rather than pain, how she longed to feel Kevan taking her like that. The crowd were silent (and many seemed preoccupied), long minutes passed, and passed... until each man had given a final groan and stepped back. Kevan, Goran and the blacksmith were the last to finish.
The High Priestess, on her carved silver ceremonial seat, was carried down the stairs to the arena. With her attendants she slowly walked along the row, inspecting the spanked bottoms. She nodded approvingly, then spoke to her attendants and returned to her seat to be carried back to her viewing position above the action. The attendants moved along the row speaking to the contestants. Seven of them stood and walked out of the arena, looking disappointed. Aliera sighed in relief, Kevan was still there. The blacksmith, the priests, most of the young lords, the miner, she checked along the row... Goran was still there too. A tiny shiver rippled down her spine, but she glanced at the High Priestess, seated nearby. Great-Aunt Tiarna knew, she'd make sure Kevan was the one, she had to.
Attendants brought refreshments to the men in the arena, as servants bustled around the Royal Enclosure with silver trays offering fine crystal glasses of cooled wine and sweet cordials. Aliera was impatient for the trials to continue, she wanted this all safely settled.
Soon there was a stir in the arena, and an answering cheer from the spectators. The crowd watched as more slaves were brought out, and the arena staff busied themselves preparing for the next round. The new batch of girls whimpered and clutched each others' hands for courage. The crowd was in a fine mood, this was prime entertainment, not seen for a generation. The king's first daughter was always Offered to the Goddess, but Aliera's father had no sisters, the current High Priestess was the king's aunt. A generation had missed the Offering ceremony, and Aliera's turn was eagerly awaited.
In the arena the contestants had finished their short rest break, and the next round was about to begin. The contestants took their new partners to a row of benches, bending the girls over them. Wrists and ankles were strapped down securely, then each contestant was handed a sturdy wooden paddle; from this distance they looked like toys. Great-Aunt Tiarna gave the signal, the gong sounded and the paddles bit down hard on the upturned buttocks. Aliera watched large red patches begin to glow on the slaves' skin. Kevan had told her how he'd sting her with the paddle. It seemed to be stinging now, shrill shrieks rose in the morning heat. Slave girls had no discipline, no sense of dignity, they made so much fuss and bother about things. Aliera watched the paddles fall across the helpless bottoms. She'd behave much better as darling Kevan stung her with that - rather large - paddle.
Aliera had been groomed from birth for her role, she must be pure and unblemished for the Offering. Not just a virgin, she had also never been spanked, barely disciplined in any way. She had been pampered and cherished, shaped for her destiny. She always knew it was coming but the Offering had seemed such a long time in the future. Her great-aunt had watched her grow and blossom. Long white-blonde hair, green eyes, body ripening into womanhood with full pink-tipped breasts and a pert, firm bottom. She was just turned eighteen, and Great-Aunt Tiarna had persuaded the king that Aliera was ready for the ceremony. The king issued commands, and suitable slave-girls were collected at the arena for the trials. Many were nervous, but it was the custom that all girls used in the trials would be given their freedom and a small dowry, so there was excitement and even eagerness mixed with their trepidation.
The morning sun was growing hotter, the bright red bottoms in the arena hotter still. This one was a count, not timed, so as each contestant reached one hundred they stopped. Goran was the last to finish, he spanked slowly, each stroke hard and carefully placed. Aliera could see the even crimson he had produced, he'd covered everywhere from the top of the crack to mid-thigh.
This time the slaves were untied and pushed to their knees, then those eager male members were unveiled once more as mouths opened obediently. Aliera watched the bobbing heads, well that didn't seem too bad. Probably. Maybe.
Once again Kevan, the blacksmith and Goran were the last to finish, the old miner lasting almost as long.
The High Priestess was carried down to the arena again, inspected the red bottoms, stroked them to check the heat. As she was carried back to her viewing position, the assistants sent five contestants to the exit gates. Nine left, thank the Goddess Kevan was still there. And the blacksmith, two townsmen, one young lord, two priests, the miner and Goran.
Servants offered sweet delicacies and cooling drinks to the men in the arena, as refreshment sellers moved among the watching crowd. Aliera waved her handmaidens away, she didn't think she could swallow anything right now. A special drink, some herbal mixture, was offered to the men in the arena, apparently men needed help and relaxation breaks for this kind of activity. Aliera just wished they'd hurry up and get it all over with.
The next slaves, a smaller group now, were quickly moved to the benches. The contestants, obviously told the plan beforehand, each placed a girl on her back on a bench, then lifted her feet and secured them to shackles near her shoulders. Aliera gasped, the position was so - so exposed. She was going to be shown like that, she blushed at the thought. Then servants brought out the next implements - thick leather straps riveted to wooden handles, allowing a good solid grip and a wide swing. The straps would fall on such an exposed area, this was worrying. Aliera strained to see, then sat back as she caught the amused glances of the servants around her.
The gong signalled the start, the straps lashed down, the slaves began to shriek and wail. This would be another count to one hundred, a long count for the slaves below. Of course she'd do better, but how could anyone maintain dignity like - that? An extra-shrill scream echoed whenever a strap found a particularly tender spot.
Aliera was fidgeting as some unwelcome thoughts began to surface. The slaves were rough peasants of course, but they were also much more accustomed to such discipline. She had spent her whole life being prepared for this. Every day she bathed in asses' milk, then was massaged by eunuchs until her skin was soft and smooth. Her clothes were whispering silks, she sat on soft cushions, she was the perfect offering. But if the slaves were so rough and crude, and the spanking still made them wail so loudly...and she was so soft and sensitive... Aliera was beginning to suspect that this might hurt more than the tingle, the teasing sting Kevan promised. The straps sounded so forceful as they fell in searing strokes across buttocks, thighs, the soft skin between the cheeks, even the shrinking pink lips of defenceless, most secret places. The slave-girls sobbed, wailed, begged, shrieked.
And these girls were only serving for one session each. She would do them all.
Aliera began to worry, a cold chill whispering down her spine.
One hundred seemed to take a long time.
After the final strokes fell the men dropped the straps. Each man stepped to the end of his table, near the blazing bottom he'd just roasted. Attendants offered some kind of special lotions for each man to apply to his... anatomy. The girls weren't untied this time, and Aliera watched as the men prepared to enter their partners. Then she paled as she realised their targets. Surely they couldn't - that hole was much too small to accommodate the erect members - but the men advanced purposefully. Aliera was pale now, the slaves squealed as the men entered them. Several shrieked loudly, Goran's partner the loudest of all. Aliera felt cold despite the bright sun. Surely the Goddess would not demand that a Princess made such a sacrifice.
It seemed to be an eternity before the last men - Goran and the miner - stepped away from the benches.
Great-Aunt Tiarna inspected each subject carefully, feeling the welts, tapping swollen buttocks as if she was buying melons at the market. By the time she was back beside Aliera, five more contestants were leaving. Now there was only - the miner, the blacksmith, darling Kevan and Goran.
Aliera turned worried eyes on her great-aunt, who smiled reassuringly. Tiarna remembered her own Offering ceremony. Serving the Goddess wasn't always easy, but it had its rewards.
The next refreshment break seemed interminable.
The new slaves were brought out, reluctant and tremulous. This time they were taken to a device that looked like a thin rail, supported at about hip height by a pair of legs at each end. Aliera swallowed, her mouth dry. No doubt they'd put a cushion on it for her. You wouldn't want a princess to be uncomfortable while she was having her bottom roasted.
Each slave was bent right over a rail, wrists and ankles secured to the base. Four bottoms rose like pale moons, their owners trying to wriggle, whimpering as they waited. Aliera looked to see what the attendants were distributing to the remaining contestants. She saw the blacksmith smile as he swished something through the air. The cane was over three feet long, and seemed very flexible.
Aliera shuddered despite herself. Kevan hadn't mentioned this. No-one would tell her the details of the ceremony, Kevan was the first one to talk to her about it at all. He was kind and funny and sweet, and it wasn't his fault his family had lost all their money. Of course, as her consort, he'd never need to worry about money again. It was so lucky that they'd met and fallen in love instantly. He told her what to say to Great-Aunt Tiarna, to persuade her to choose him for the Ceremony. Aliera glanced at her aunt. She had to choose Kevan, anyone else was unthinkable.
The gong sounded, the canes swished down, four screams rose, four welts burned. Each man took his time, placing the strokes carefully. Kevan was meticulous, his strokes making parallel welts an inch apart down bottom and thighs. The blacksmith concentrated on the lower cheeks, the welts merging to form a wide purple band. The miner didn't work to a plan, his strokes seemed to fall at random. And Goran placed parallel strokes down cheeks and thighs, but his were angled down rather than straight across like Kevan's. Then after the first dozen he moved to the other side of his subject, now the strokes were angled the other way so that they crossed the first set. His subject responded with vigorous shrieks and wails. Aliera shuddered again and glanced pleadingly at the High Priestess. After the second dozen each man stepped back and laid the twenty-fifth, and thankfully last, stroke with even greater force. Each one aimed for the crease between bottom and thighs. Four agonised wails mingled with the cheers of the crowd.
The weeping girls were untied and laid down on their backs the hot sand, each one yelped and wriggled as her sore bottom made contact. Servants held wrists and ankles so that the girls were spread-eagled. Each man dropped his breeches and, naked in the harsh sunlight, knelt between the spread legs of his partner, then moved forward and took her slowly. Aliera could barely breathe, she watched the sweat-glistened muscles moving as the men pumped in and out of the gasping women, heard the moans of pain turn to pleasure. All around the arena the watching crowd laughed, cheered, and in many cases acted out a ceremony of their own. Soon that would be her, she could hear one of the girls begging for more, for her partner to thrust harder, deeper. Aliera wanted to run to the arena and beg Kevan to take her now, and she wanted to run far away and never see another man again. She could barely breathe and felt hot and cold at the same time.
Finally Great-Aunt Tiarna was carried down to the arena yet again. She studied each patterned rump carefully, lost in memories of a day long ago, a man who gave her a truly memorable ceremony, and forty spanking good years after. It was no coincidence that most rituals to the Goddess were conducted standing up. She stroked the welts gently, almost envious.
When she returned to her seat she looked at her anxious niece. Aliera was going to be a very lucky girl. All eyes turned to the High Priestess as she stepped forward to announce her decision.
The High Priestess stepped forward as the crowd hushed. Aliera held her breath, every fibre of her being taut, she must hear Kevan's name.
"The candidates have all done well in this part of the test. There is no clear winner. I will now speak to each in turn before I decide."
Aliera fell back in her seat, this was torment. But...she glanced at the whimpering slave girls leaving the arena... there were different kinds of torment.
This time the candidates were brought up the steps, past the Royal Enclosure to the area reserved for the High Priestess and her attendants. Tiarna withdrew into a screened section at the back, a small withdrawing room to give some privacy for rest or more intimate moments. The attendants lit lamps containing scented oils, a special blend that would cause the contestants to relax and answer with total honesty.
The miner, Brenn, was first. He stepped into the small room, blinking as he came out of the bright sunlight. Tiarna studied him: not tall but neat and well-muscled. He waited patiently for her to speak, enjoying the scented air. "Chief Miner Brenn. You are not a young man, the princess could be your daughter - or grand-daughter. Why did you decide to enter the contest?"
He thought for a moment, looking for the words, "Well my lady it's like this. I never expected I'd win, but I wanted to show that I could do more than just swing a pick. My woman's been gone now nigh on fifteen years, the children have children of their own, and I wanted to do more than dig ore. Just once I could stand in the sunlight and people would see more than an old man who tunnelled in the dark." He stopped, surprised at his own eloquence.
"And what do you think are the most important qualities for the consort of the High Priestess?"
He took a deep breath, and time to think, "Well, lady, I think he should give her the strength she needs. And the discipline. Every woman needs to be protected, sometimes from herself. My woman - ah, she was a woman, raised six children, worked as a weaver, and grew most of our food on land by the house - well she'd get so het up sometimes, so busy with everything, she'd snap at me and yell at the children. Then I'd put her over my knee and warm her backside until she cried it all away, and she'd be free as a bird after. If she thought she needed attention that I wasn't giving her, I'd find her hairbrush on my pillow. Liked a bit of attention she did. And good loving after."
"And did you enjoy the contest?"
"Uh, my lady, it was good enough, and they were very nice girls, thanked me afterwards each one did, and I was pleased to get this far, but - well - " he shuffled his feet uncertainly.
"Yes? You can say anything in here, so long as it is true. There can be no penalty for speaking the truth."
"My lady, they was just - girls. My old woman, she was a fine build of a woman. Wonderful proud form she had, something a man could really get a grip on." Unconsciously his hands cupped the air, "Full-bodied you might say. Those young girls today, a man's afraid he might break them. Nothing to them. I thought today might remind me of our times together, but, well, it was good enough, I'm not criticizing, but - "
"But something was missing? You didn't feel comfortable with them?"
He nodded eagerly, "Exactly right lady, it just didn't seem comfortable."
"Thank you for your honesty. My servants will give you some refreshments while I speak to the other contestants."
Brenn hurried out, relieved it was over, to be replaced by the blacksmith, Jek-Tar. A huge man, young and vigorous, muscles rippled with every move.
Tiarna settled comfortably in her chair as he carefully sat on the seat she indicated, "So young man, why did you decide to enter the contest?"
He spoke slowly and carefully, "My lady, I am the strongest in our village, and I have much experience in giving discipline when it was needed. I knew I could do well, and I thought the Goddess might smile on me. A man must try his best, for the honour of his village."
"And what is it that the consort of the High Priestess must do?"
"He must provide guidance and discipline, do whatever he must do to keep her working properly for the goddess."
"What sort of discipline do you provide?"
"Those who need discipline are brought to me to carry out the sentence of the village elders. I just carry out their orders."
"You punish anyone? Everyone?"
"Most of the men in our village are away fighting the King's wars. When they return they are soldiers, and follow their own forms of discipline. Children are punished by their parents. But women, young and old, especially those whose men are away, they need a firm hand and a strong arm."
"Yours?"
They were brought to the forge by the village constable, he'd announce the sentence and wait to see it carried out. Often a small crowd of supportive friends, or the - less supportive - ones who'd laid the complaint, would come along to witness the punishment. Often a few idle spectators would come along, too. The village was the main centre for the whole region and the blacksmith's work was well known throughout the area, many distant farms and outlying hamlets sent their miscreants to the elders for justice. The day before he left he'd heard the noise outside, even above the ringing of the hammer on the anvil as he pounded the horse-shoe into shape.
The constable was bringing two young women down the road, followed by an interested crowd. Jek-Tar didn't know the girls, they were from a smaller settlement in the hills. One, a tall, willowy brunette, strode along with her head high, attempting to show no emotion. The other, shorter and slighter than the brunette, was fighting the constable every step of the way. Her blonde hair flew in all directions as she scratched, kicked and bit, all the while yelling at the top of her lungs. Just as they drew level with the forge the constable lost his grip on the virago, who lifted her skirts and ran for her life. Many in the crowd gave chase, and for the next half-hour she led them in a riotous game of hide-and-seek around the village, as she tried desperately to escape. Finally cornered, she fought tooth and nail, all the while screaming abuse at her captors. Eventually she was bound and gagged, and carried still struggling to the forge.
Untroubled by the drama, the blacksmith had finished the set of horseshoes and banked the fire, ready to perform his other duties. The constable stepped forward, wiped a trickle of blood from a scratch on his face and cleared his throat, "The elders have spoken in this case. These two young women were disturbing the peace, using language unsuitable to their gender and station. They were each sentenced to receive the discipline of the strap, ten strokes." The brunette shuddered slightly. The blacksmith felt a little surprise, ten was a heavy sentence for such an offence, the argument must have been loud, long and lewd. He looked to the constable, who added, "There is some dispute over a young man's affections. He has just been betrothed to this young lady," nodding at the brunette, "but he had previously been - er - friendly with the other." The blonde bundle on the ground wriggled and made furious noises through the gag. They had a discussion in the market-place which became an argument and, well, they both have been sentenced to discipline."
Jek-Tar shrugged, he just carried out the sentences. He gestured to the brunette to follow him to a bench near the front of the forge. The onlookers spread out, jockeying for good viewing positions. The girl was obviously nervous, but trying to be dignified; she walked stiff-legged to the bench. He motioned her to the side facing the audience, they'd see her face as she was punished, but not her private charms. The constable hovered close, ready to hold her down if need be.
"Remove your underthings and raise your skirts."
She paled, but she knew that was coming, and she knew that she couldn't fight it. Fumbling in embarrassment she reached under her skirts to untie the laces of her drawers, soon they were in a heap around her feet. Trembling now, she raised the back of her skirts until he could see the target area. Gently he nudged her over the bench, she bent over and reached out to grip the edges tightly.
Jek-Tar took the punishment strap from its nail on the wall. Two feet long, three inches wide, thick heavy leather on a wooden handle. He didn't want to draw out the waiting for her, so he took up position and raised the strap. The watchers drew breath ready to give the count.
CRACK! The girl gasped as the crowd chanted, "One!"
CRACK! "Two!" She tried to muffle a yelp.
CRACK! "Three!" CRACK! "Four!" The girl was crying out at each blow, her feet stamping the ground.
CRACK! "Five!" CRACK! "Six!" CRACK! "Seven!" Tears rolled down her face, she was yelling out at each stroke, her bottom a mass of thick welts.
CRACK! "Eight!" CRACK! "Nine!" The girl sobbed loudly, but managed to keep her grip on the table, knuckles white.
CRACK!!!!! "TEN!!" The crowd shouted in triumph as the girl lay her head down on the bench and wailed. He gave her a few minutes to compose herself, then nodded to some of the watching women who hurried forward to comfort the girl and help her off the bench. They hustled her away and helped her settle her clothing properly, then wipe her tears away.
The blacksmith turned to the other girl. He reached down to hook her bound hands and drag her upright. The constable bent and untied her feet, and was promptly kicked in the face for his trouble. Jek-Tar wrestled the girl over the bench and pulled her wrists to the end, tying them quickly. She kicked wildly until Jek-Tar and the constable, working together, tied her ankles to the legs of the bench. Much shorter than the brunette, the blonde's feet barely brushed the ground. In the struggle to get her on the bench she'd ended up facing the opposite way to the previous spankee, the audience were going to get a good show.
Jek-Tar lifted the girl's skirts over her back. She squirmed desperately, shook her head and made frantic noises into the gag. He tried to untie the laces on her drawers, then lost patience and tore them away. The crowd were silent for a moment, viewing her plump cheeks and smooth thighs. Her position on the table, legs stretched wide and tied down, also gave the audience a perfect view of the secret places between, her rosy pussy lips and tiny puckered asshole.
The constable stepped back and Jek-Tar picked up the strap and raised it high. The watchers drew as close as they dared, ready to count.
CRACK! "One!" A red welt began to rise.
CRACK! "Two!" CRACK! "Three!" CRACK! "Four!" The girl was squirming, wriggling her cheeks as much as her position would allow.
CRACK! "Five!" CRACK! "Six!" CRACK! "Seven!" She had tears in her eyes, yelling into the gag.
CRACK! "Eight!" CRACK! "Nine!" Tears rolled down her face, still she tried to writhe away from the heavy strap.
CRACK!!!!! "TEN!!" She was crying in earnest now, limp on the table.
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