The Amazon Queen

The Amazon Queen

by RiverOtter

Warning! Adult Content!

This story contains strong sexual content and is intended for mature audiences and is not suitable for minors.

This story is copyrighted © 2007 by RiverOtter. This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, is unintended and purely coincidental. It may not be sold or redistributed for profit in any form. Archiving and posting online is permitted if the story is kept intact in its original form, and proper credit is given.

Sincere comments, feedback and criticism are welcome.

Characters are listed at the beginning of chapter 1.

* * *

Chapter 12: The New Slave

Lydia knelt on the floor in front of the comforting glow of the fireplace. The evening was cooling and she was glad for the warmth. She kept her hands behind her neck and her knees apart so that her Mistress could have a good look at her. She had a healthy, slender figure with perky breasts and long, silky legs. Her face was conventionally pretty; it was oval shaped with deep hazel eyes and inviting lips that were wider than Amber's. Her dimples went deep when she smiled and her face had an earnestness that Keira found endearing. Her long, straight black hair went a ways past her shoulders, framing her expressive face.

“I've decided to keep you, so this will be your new home,” said her new Amazon owner.

“Thank you, Mistress Keira.” Her voice was higher than Keira's, and a touch more feminine.

“Go upstairs and sit next to Amber; I'll come and begin your training in a moment.”

Lydia went up to the bedchamber and found Amber sitting on her knees, legs apart, her hands resting on her legs. To Lydia she looked impossibly beautiful.

“Hello,” said Lydia quietly, with a friendly smile.

Amber looked at her neutrally. “We shouldn't speak,” said the blonde haired slave.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Lydia softly. “I just wanted to meet you.” She introduced herself, and Amber gave her own name. She did not make eye contact with the new slave girl. She noted that Lydia had two small brands on the back of her shoulder. She must have belonged to another Amazon before coming here, Amber thought.

Presently Keira came upstairs. The young women heard the sound of her boots against the wooden stairs and fell silent. Keira smiled casually at her two nude, kneeling slaves and stripped down to her halter top, with only her sash around her waist. She took Lydia by the arm and stood her up, leading her over to an X frame against the wall. There were two such frames now; one for each slave girl. She turned the brunette around so her back was against it, and raised her arms over her head. She clipped Lydia's wrist restraints to the upper ends, outstretching her arms, and her ankles to the two lower ends. The slave was spread eagled now, her body totally exposed.

As Amber watched Lydia's training begin she felt a twinge of jealousy. She did not want another slave competing for her Mistress's time and attention. She saw Keira take a flogger from her shelf and begin whipping Lydia's torso repeatedly, not very hard but enough to make her moan and yelp occasionally. Keira struck the whip across Lydia's stomach and legs, and then her breasts, which drew a small cry from the chained girl. The Amazon caressed her body, tracing the soft curve of Lydia's hips, and felt down to her sex. She was a little moist. Keira smiled.

“Stick your pussy out,” she ordered.

Lydia arched her back against the wall and lowered herself as much as she could, thrusting her pelvis forward. Keira swung the flogger in a pinwheel motion, striking Lydia's sex again and again. The captive brunette winced and moaned nervously. Amber saw that, through all of this, Lydia looked terrified. Why, she wondered? Keira was only trying to get her aroused; she wasn't hitting her very hard. Had Amber been in Lydia's place she would have been smiling. With another jealous twinge she realized she very much wanted to be in Lydia's place.

“Amber, come here and give Lydia some attention,” Keira ordered. Amber obeyed and went over to where Lydia stood chained, and knelt in front of her. She licked her hands and rubbed Lydia's pussy vigorously. There was only a small patch of hair above Lydia's pubis. Amber put her mouth to the other slave's sex and pressed her tongue firmly against the moist folds of her labia, tasting the smooth, bare skin. She began to lick her more vigorously, and Lydia reacted by bucking her hips and sighing heavily, very aroused now. As she did so, Keira flogged Lydia's breasts again, harder this time. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, moaning in pleasure and pain at the same time. She still seemed nervous, but Amber's attentions appeared to calm her a bit. The flogger made a thick slapping sound as the ends collided against Lydia's bare skin. The chained slave sighed and stuck out her hips as far as she could, pressing against Amber's mouth. Amber sucked on the folds of Lydia's soft nether lips, and felt the girl's clit with her tongue. She sucked the button as far into her mouth as she could and released it, letting pass over tongue, lips and gently over her teeth. Lydia squealed in pleasure as the tingling sensation brushed over her clit. Keira paused occasionally to suck at the slave's nipple.

“That's enough for now,” she said after Lydia's breathing reached a high, fevered pitch. Amber drew back and cast her eyes to the floor again, waiting obediently. Lydia was sweating and panting heavily. Her fear only heightened the pleasure she had received from the other two women. She looked at Keira with nervous anticipation. Keira unchained her wrists and ankles and turned her to face the wall, then chained her again as before. She began to flog Lydia's backside now. The brunette closed her eyes and tensed, not knowing when the next blow would strike. Keira casually whipped her back, bottom and legs. Lydia was still wet with craving; Amber could see the moisture glistening between her legs. Keira swung the flogger upward to lick the cleft of Lydia's pussy. The helpless slave shuddered and moaned in response. Amber very much wanted to take her place.

“Come here again, Amber,” said her Mistress. Amber rose and walked over to Keira. The Amazon motioned for her to duck down under Lydia's arms and stand between the chained slave and the wall. “Show your affection to your fellow slave.” Amber gazed at Lydia. Her lips were eminently kissable, she thought. She put her arms around the brunette's neck and put her mouth to hers, pushing her tongue across Lydia's lips. She moved her hands down and caressed Lydia's inviting breasts, cupping them in her hands and gently squeezing the nipples.

As Amber did this Keira continued to flog Lydia from behind. Lydia kept her eyes shut tight and kissed Amber's neck, burying her head in Amber's long golden hair. She arched her head back as Amber knelt a little and suckled her breasts greedily. Keira slapped the flogger languidly, not really trying to inflict serious pain. Lydia was very much aroused now; Amber could feel her swollen sex and the moisture coming from it. She knelt and kissed the girl's labia again, tonguing the tip of her clit. Lydia bowed her head forward, bit her lip and began to moan with excitement.

Once again, her breathing reached a high pitch and Keira told Amber to stop. The Mistress then took her blonde slave girl and turned her to face an X frame on the wall next to Lydia, her arms raised over her head against the wall and feet spread apart. Keira then chained Amber just as she had chained Lydia. The two girls stood side by side, arms and legs spread apart. Keira gave Amber's backside a few hard strokes of her flogger. The blonde slave gasped each time, feeling her sex throbbing and becoming more moist. Keira whipped both girls alternately, much harder this time than before. Amber turned her head and could see that Lydia was frightened again. The brunette gasped and squealed nervously each time she was hit. She leaned her head against the wall and shut her eyes.

Keira flogged both girls mercilessly now, and Amber cried out in pain. Large red welts formed on her bottom and back. Lydia's eyes began to well with tears. Each time the girls were hit, their hips swung forward, and Keira had to order them to stick their asses out as far as they could. Neither girl dared to disobey. Amber felt the whips lick her sex, caused a stinging pain but also arousing the desire inside her. She pushed her hindquarters back further, as if to invite more. Finally the torment stopped. Lydia sobbed pitifully, and Keira stroked her hair and kissed her cheek to comfort her. She released the two girls and ordered them to sit facing each other on the floor.

“I want you two to press against each other, at the waist,” the Amazon said. Amber understood; she put her sore bottom on the floor and Lydia did the same. Amber spread her legs and intertwined them with Lydia's, in a scissors-like motion, and pressed her sex against her fellow slave's. Like her own, Lydia's pussy was wet and sensitive, and the rubbing motion against Amber's caused both girls to sigh with pleasure.

“That's it,” said Keira. “You may show your appreciation for one another.” Lydia cupped Amber's breast in one hand and steadied herself with the other, tilting her head back and breathing heavily, her bosom rising and falling quickly. Keira put away the flogger and got out a short whip. Amber knew it would sting badly. Circling the two slaves like a bird of prey, Keira began to apply strokes to their backs.

“Oww,” yelped Amber as the hated instrument bit her skin. Keira then did the same to Lydia. The whip licked Amber's breast next, and the blonde let out a soft, pitiful moan. Keira continued to circle them, keeping them guessing as to where she would strike next. Amber felt the sting on her shoulder and lower back; Lydia was given the same treatment. The sharp pains of the whip only seemed to intensify the sensations of pleasure that tingled between the girls' legs. Amber felt the little waves resonate through her body, sending shivers up her spine, each time Lydia ground her sex against hers. As Keira continued to lash them, both girls closed their eyes and winced, their heads tossed back, their mouths open as they gasped deeply.

“All right, that's enough for now,” said Keira. The girls were desperate for a climax, to satisfy that all-powerful urge they felt, but Keira forcibly separated them before they could. They sat on their knees again, side by side, legs apart, hands behind their necks this time.

“Now, what must a slave do before she climaxes?” asked Keira.

“Please Mistress, may I come?” asked Amber. She felt little shame when abasing herself before Keira. The hunger between her legs was all that mattered now. Keira looked at Lydia pointedly, and the new slave asked the same thing, in a more subdued tone.

“Bend over,” ordered Keira. “Touch your heads to the floor. Keep your hands behind your necks.” Amber obeyed, feeling the uncomfortable wooden floor against the tips of her breasts and forehead. She remained still and heard Keira hang her whip on a hook on the opposite wall, and pick something else up from her shelf. She felt something long, hard and thin against her bottom, and knew it was a cane. Lydia whimpered a little before she was even struck. The cane was long enough to hit them both with a sharp sting. Amber moaned and shuddered as the hot pain seared her skin; this was probably the implement she liked least of all. She imagined a long red stripe on her bottom. Keira struck them a few more times. The girls started and struggled to maintain their poise. Lydia's tears hit the floor soon after they welled from her eyes. She was trying not to cry out as the vicious rod struck her bottom; instead she let out a squealing, strangled sound each time. Amber winced as the she felt another merciless stroke. Lydia was hit again and began to sob quietly. The cane struck her hip, leaving a bright red stripe. Keira struck a few more times and paused to review her handiwork, and decided it was sufficient.

“You can get up now,” she told her slaves.

Teary eyed, the girls resumed their earlier kneeling position, hands behind their necks.

“Would you like to climax with each other now?” their Mistress asked. Both girls answered “Yes, Mistress” in unison. Keira gave her permission, and Amber shifted herself to rub against Lydia as before. The unyielding floor pressed against the welts on her bottom, and Amber winced in discomfort, but she was grateful to Keira. She held Lydia's shoulder and pressed her moist pussy against the other girl's. It didn't take long to feel the pressure building again, the warm tingling that hastened her breathing and made her break out in sweat. Lydia fondled Amber's breasts, rubbing the nipple between her fingers. Amber wondered that so much sensation could originate from such a small spot. Finally, Amber felt the blessed relief of her orgasm wash through her, and Lydia felt the same soon afterwards. Panting, the girls leaned forward and braced each other out of weariness.

“Not bad,” said Keira, who began to prepare for bed. “We'll continue your training tomorrow.”

The single object of all these exercises was for the slave girls to associate pleasure and pain together. Amber had already learned to do this, and Keira thought Lydia had much promise.

The next morning, Amber showed Lydia where all the ceramic plates and cooking where was kept, and how to make breakfast. After they had served Keira, they were given their own plates on the floor to eat from, and did so gratefully. After Keira left for her day's work, Amber got out a pair of large brushes and showed Lydia how to clean the floor. They swept upstairs and downstairs for the rest of the morning. When a Mistress said she wanted a floor clean enough to eat off of, she meant it literally; slave girls sometimes had to eat food directly from the same surface they washed.

“Were you owned by someone else before coming here?” Amber asked her.

“Yes,” said Lydia. “But my Mistress had to sell me.” She was saddened and a little distressed to speak of her former owner, so Amber did not question her further about it.

“You can't...go back?” Amber asked.

“My first Mistress, well...” Lydia shuddered and changed the subject. “I come from Greymoon; you probably haven't heard of it; it's a small city-state far to the west. I'm here as a tribute.”

“My home is—was—Avalonia,” said Amber. “I was handmaiden to a princess.”

“Oh, that must be so glamorous. Are you happy here?” Lydia asked her.

“I like Mistress Keira very much,” said Amber. “I miss my mother, I suppose, but I try not to think of home much.”

“I'm glad to hear you like her,” said Lydia.

“You seem frightened when Keira trains you,” said Amber. “You needn't worry, you can trust her.”

“Yes, it didn't hurt so badly,” said Lydia. “It's just...hard to trust again.”

She didn't seem to want to elaborate, so Amber didn't press Lydia further about her past.

Finally, they finished sweeping and polishing the floors. They put the brooms and brushes away, and Amber led Lydia outside.

“Where are we going?” asked the brunette.

“We have to clean up after the festival,” said Amber. “The others are probably there already.”

There were dishes and empty wine jars everywhere. Various slave girls dutifully carried away the tables and gathered all the leftovers from the Solstice festival. They chatted in low voices when no one else was around to hear them. It was already noon when Amber and Lydia arrived, and there was still a good deal of work to do. They met Natalie, who helped the girls carry a heavy casket of ale.

“Welcome to Timberwood,” said Natalie to the new arrival. “We have the fiercest warriors and the prettiest slave girls, as you can see for yourself.” She winked at Amber, who laughed politely.

“Wasn't last night marvelous?” Natalie asked.

Amber remembered the activities of the previous night and could only blush deeply.

“You were quite wonderful,” said Natalie, and Amber looked away shyly. “There's no need to be ashamed,” she said. “You seemed to enjoy yourself thoroughly.”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” said Amber quietly. “I've never done anything quite like that before.”

They put away the cask and Natalie saw a wine jar that was almost but not quite empty. Her eyes darted around to see if anyone else was watching and she gulped down the remainder of the wine in the jar, licking her lips in satisfaction.

“I...I don't think we're supposed to do that,” said Lydia nervously.

Natalie flashed her a perfectly innocent smile.

“It would be a shame to let it go to waste, wouldn't it?” said the mischievous slave girl.

Lydia looked at Amber, who merely shrugged.

“Well, I wouldn't risk it,” said Lydia.

“My Mistress thinks Amber's a good influence on me,” said Natalie to Lydia with a smile. “'Oh, why can't you be more like her? She's so obedient,' she says.”

Amber blushed even redder. “I just try not to get into trouble,” she said.

She gathered up several wine jars, some not yet empty, and carried them over to a wheelbarrow. Next to it rested the Matriarch's carriage; Sheila's twin slave girls were unhitched and helping with the cleanup as well. The twins carried a stack of glass planes—windows, Lydia saw—and laid them carefully in the carriage seat.

Lydia gathered as much as she could, and Amber went her own way. There were so many jars, mostly empty; these Amazons could drink anyone under the table, she thought. The slave girls sometimes chatted in low voices, but kept quiet around any Amazons who were supervising them. Amber avoided Lydia, who wondered if the blonde slave was angry at her for some reason. Wanting to please the local Amazons with her work ethic, Lydia gathered as many of the heavy jars as she could and moved quickly, only to lose her balance...

Suddenly there was a slip and a shattering sound.

“Oh no--” Lydia gasped and raised her hands to her mouth in horror. Amber heard it and turned her head to see what had happened. Several wine jars, some not empty, had fallen onto the leather carriage seat, and onto the stacked glass squares. The Matron had purchased the new windows for her home. Amber felt sorry for the new slave girl; the Matron would be very angry with her. Glass was hard to make, requiring the work of skilled artisans, and it was not cheap or easy to come by. She set down the vessels she carried into the wheelbarrow and walked to Lydia, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“It's all right,” she said softly her. “She'll be mad, but it's not fatal.”

“Oh...I think it is,” said Lydia, as tears welled up in her eyes. “She's going to kill me.”

“She can't do that,” said Amber. “No matter how angry--”

“You don't understand,” said Lydia in an anguished whisper. “She's really going to kill me. This was my last chance, and she'll think I did it on purpose, to rebel.” Lydia's eyes pleaded desperately with Amber as tears streaked her lovely face. Amber heard someone coming behind her. Several slave girls turned their heads to see what had happened, but they kept working lest the Matron scold them as she approached. Amber saw that Lydia was truly terrified, whether such fear was justified or not. She seemed ready to try and run away. Before the frightened slave girl could do anything rash, Amber walked over to the Matron, who stopped to look at her warily, and knelt down.

“I'm sorry, Matron, I broke the windows that were in your carriage,” she said in the most humblest, most apologetic voice she could muster. “It was an accident; it won't happen again.”

For a brief moment, a storm cloud of anger darkened the Matron's face. She was not given to bursts of rage, however, and composed herself quickly. Her cold stare sent chills down Amber's spine.

“I expected better from you, Amber,” said the matriarch sternly. “Perhaps we have been too lax in your discipline.” Before Amber could say anything else, the Matron grabbed her wrist firmly and led her away. As they departed, she ordered the nearby girls to clean up the carriage seat as best they could, and sweep away the broken glass lest they step on it. Lydia was speechless. Before she could regain her composure, Amber and Sheila were gone.

Without saying a word the whole time, Sheila walked Amber her past Keira's home, to the Matron's own stone temple. The silence seemed to grow thicker and thicker, until Amber felt strangled by it. She wished Sheila would say something to her—anything, no matter how harsh—to break the awful gloom. She wanted to plead, but forced herself not to; it would probably only get her into more trouble. She felt as though it really was she who had ruined the carriage, and she hung her head a little as they walked, trying not to sob audibly. Some part of her hoped the Matron could at least see how sorry she was. Why had she stood up for Lydia? She regretted doing so almost immediately, and was tempted to blurt out the truth, but Lydia's horrified face remained clear in her memory. Besides, she thought, Sheila wouldn't be too happy to know she had lied directly to her; that was a significant offense in itself. She might as well face the punishment.

The Matron personally dragged her upstairs and pushed her into a small room along the corridor. There was a small cot to rest on and a space where she could relieve herself, and that was all. Sheila clipped Amber's wrist cuffs to her collar so that she could have no pleasure while she languished in the cell. Amber sat on the cot and looked up at the Matron with a pitiful expression; Sheila seemed unmoved.

“I'll come back for you this evening,” she said coldly. She closed the door and bolted it on the outside. Amber put her elbows on her knees, resting her head in her hands. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. What have I done?, she thought.

Amber was laying on her side, half asleep, with dry tear streaks on her face when she heard the creek of the door opening, casting a wide square of warm torchlight into her cell. Chandra entered and grabbed her tightly by the arm. She led her down the ominous corridor to a flight of stairs, then down another, to a floor below the ground. Amber had never been in this area of the temple before. She saw it was a real dungeon, with cold stone walls and strange, frightening looking furniture, all upholstered in black. Rings and chains hung from the walls. There were many candles that made the room glow intermittently, and the shadows of the furniture made frightening shapes in the flickering light.

Amber's wrists were unclipped and Chandra pushed her wordlessly forward, towards the Matron, who sat in a chair at the room's only table, waiting. She was reading some piece of paper. She thanked Chandra, who then left, and went back to reading, ignoring Amber for a moment. The trembling blonde went to her knees and sat on her heels, hands resting on her thighs, head bowed. Whatever the Matron wanted with her, she thought, she would do in her own time; there was no point in speaking out and drawing her anger. Sheila wore a kind of leather jerkin that hugged her torso tightly and left her midriff bare. She kept herself in excellent shape, and her waist and hips were slender and well proportioned. Around her waist was a leather skirt, and her boots came up to her knees. A pair of matching leather gloves were laced up to her elbows. She was quite tall, with the same dark hair as her daughter Chandra. Her face was handsome, with few wrinkles, but her expression was cold. After an interminably long pause, Sheila sighed, folded the paper and put it aside. She put out the candles on her table.

“Such a waste,” she said. “I shall have to pay for more windows, at no small expense. You know, a fine set of ornate stained glass windows is worth more than a naughty slave girl.”

Amber gulped and said nothing. Sheila's voice was calm and deliberate.

“I find it curious,” the Matron continued, “That it should be you who broke my property. I have seen you for a while now, and have never noted you to be clumsy. Indeed, I've always thought you carried yourself with a certain grace that many other slave girls lack. Yet you behave so carelessly now. Are you sure you told me everything that happened? If you have more to add, now is the time.”

The matron stared down at Amber haughtily from where she sat, cross-legged in her chair. Her eyes seemed to pierce her. Amber thought she understood: The Matron knew, or at least strongly suspected, that Amber hadn't shattered the valuable windows. She was giving her an out--at least a partial one. But Amber thought of how terrified Lydia had been, and decided she didn't want the new slave girl to have to come before the Matron like this.

“It was my fault,” she said, “And mine alone, Matron. Please, I'm so, so sorry--”

“Yes, yes, I'm sure you are,” the Matron cut her off. “What's done is done. We'll see to your punishment now.” The Matron rose and took Amber by the wrist. She seemed to tower over the helpless slave girl. The Amazon matriarch's grip was like a vise. Amber was led over to a polished, horizontal wooden beam, supported by a pair of diagonal legs at each end.

“Have you ever worked with one of these before?” asked the Matron.

“A sawhorse?” asked Amber nervously. “No, Mistress.”

“H'm. I suppose not,” said Sheila. “You don't seem like the type for useful, practical labor, do you? Well, since you had trouble keeping your balance today, we'll work on that first. Put your leg over the bar. Face the doorway.”

Amber complied meekly, raising her leg up to straddle the bar. She felt a faint flush of shame to have to spread her legs so lewdly, but it passed. The bar wedged itself under her crotch and between her buttocks somewhat. Her legs dangled a few inches off the ground. Amber noted a suspended spreader bar over her head; she had seen many of those by now and was not surprised when Sheila took her wrists over her head and locked them to each end of it. The Matron then took a short length of chain and used it to connect Amber's wrist cuffs close together, to prevent her from raising her legs above the bar.

Sheila stepped back, looking the helpless slave girl over, as if to check her handiwork, and gave a satisfied sigh. “I'll be back in a while to check on you,” she said. “You can think about what you did until then.” She walked out of the room and closed the heavy wooden door behind her. Amber heard a bolt shut.

What was the point of this, Amber wondered? Was her punishment simply to wait here, bored, in this eerie room? She had already done that. What did the Matron have in mind for her? Then, it dawned on her. The narrow, wooden beam pressed right against her pelvic bone, between the lips of her sex, and there was no way she could get comfortable. She wiggled and squirmed a bit, trying to shift her weight, without much luck. It was like sitting on a hard surface until your bottom was sore, but much worse. Her crotch began to ache. She could lift herself up a little, for a moment, to try and relieve the pain, but that was all. It hurt even more when she tried to raise her legs.

A long time passed. Amber tried desperately to keep her mind off the throbbing pain of her most tender area. She missed Keira's loving embrace, and would have gladly submitted to one of Keira's training sessions instead of this. This wasn't “training,” Amber realized; the Matron wasn't going to lecture her about how she should take pleasure in this. No, she was going to make this as painful as she could for its own sake.

More time passed... Amber began to grow very bored, in addition to unbearably uncomfortable, and she knew boredom would only make the time pass slower. She silently cursed Lydia, that black haired wretch of a girl whom she barely knew. She wasn't going to take any more punishments on her behalf, that was for certain, and she began to curse herself for even doing it this once.

The aching of her crotch grew more insistent, and after a seemingly short time she didn't think she could take it any more. She raised herself up a little to relieve the pain. She wasn't particularly strong, and soon her arms and back ached as well. She felt droplets of sweat forming on her back. She whimpered, and thought she might break out into sobs soon.

More time passed... Amber felt like she had been here forever; she had no idea how much time had passed. A couple of tears ran down her cheeks. She wished the Matron would return and find some other way to punish her. Anything had to be better than this. She thought again and decided that probably wasn't true, but in her present condition she would be willing to risk it. The ache between her legs screamed at her. A few pitiful sobs could be heard in the dungeon. Amber leaned forward as far as she could, to ease her sore skin somewhat, and bowed her head, resigned to the pain.

Some time later—how much, Amber could only guess—she heard the door open again. The Matron appeared, sipping from a chalice she held as she casually walked in. She put the goblet down on the table and put a hand on her hip, gazing at poor Amber. The slave girl had clearly been crying, and now looked at her tormentor pleadingly.

“Now,” the Matron said imperiously, “How many lashes do you think you deserve before I let you down, hmm?” Sheila's voice was calm, and a touch condescending, but there was an unmistakable tone of authority in it as well.

Amber shook her head. “I don't know, Mistress,” she said quietly, disheartened to learn that she would not be released just yet.

“You want me to choose, then?”

“Whatever you want, Mistress,” said Amber, sobbing a little. Why was the Matron asking her? It seemed to be another way to torment her.

“Very well, then.” Sheila took a short single-tailed whip from a hook on the wall and snapped it in the air. Amber heard the sharp hiss and snap. She knew it wasn't as bad as a full length bull whip, but it would certainly sting. Sheila held up the handle to Amber's mouth and the bound slave understood she was meant to kiss it, and did so. Sheila then stepped back behind her, pacing back and forth casually. Her boots made a heavy, ominous sound against the stone floor.

Snap! “Oww!” Amber cried as the whip licked he back of her shoulder. The only relief was that it diverted her attention from her aching crotch. Two more snaps came down on Amber's hips, at each side, making her squirm and grind her crotch painfully against the wooden beam.

Sheila proceeded to whip Amber's upper and lower backside, hard enough to leave visible stripes each time. Amber cried out in pain, sobbing in earnest now. She counted perhaps ten and then there was a pause as Sheila walked around to the other side of her. The Matron wasn't done with her yet.

Snap! “Aaaahh!” The tip of the cruel whip stung her breast, right on the nipple. The sharp, biting pain lingered a long time. Amber looked pleadingly at Sheila through teary, blurred eyes. A few more strokes landed on her stomach, each leaving a fresh welt on her pale, vulnerable skin. After that Sheila stepped back, hand under her chin, and looked at Amber for a moment. She seemed to pace around Amber casually, with no sense of urgency, as if to torment the helpless slave who was desperate to be released from the sawhorse. Finally, after a few more lashes, Sheila set the whip down and unclipped the chain from the slave girl's ankle cuffs, and then released her wrists from the bar over her. She held amber in her arms as the girl weakly pulled her leg back over the bar. Amber's legs felt like jelly when she stood again, but she was eternally grateful to be released from her torment.

“Straighten you hair out, girl,” said Sheila. “Wipe up your face.” She spoke to Amber like a mother would to a fidgeting daughter. Amber did the best she could. “Now,” said the Matron, “Go bring the cane hanging from the wall over there.”

After having barely enough time to gather herself and stop the flow of tears, Amber meekly complied with the order. She held the cane with both hands, carefully, like it was some dangerous snake.

“Set it on the ground,” said Sheila. Amber did so. “Now, get down, and put your knuckles on it.” Wondering what this new ordeal entailed, Amber knelt put the front of her fingers against the hard leather rod. “Straighten your legs,” ordered Sheila. “Raise your ass in the air...higher...legs together, completely straight. Like that. Now, I'm going to administer some strokes on your backside. If you move your legs down at any time, you will be put back on the sawhorse for another ten minutes. Do you understand?”

Amber whimpered yes. The Matron's voice had such a firm, intimidating tone; she did not think herself capable of refusing. She was completely in the woman's power. In her current position, all her weight was supported by the balls of her feet and her poor knuckles, which were pressed against the cane on the ground. Already her fingers ached as badly as her crotch had on the sawhorse. She bowed her head and braced for the inevitable.

Slap! “Ooohh!” She wailed. She bottom was sore from the horse still, and the whip inflamed the throbbing she already felt there. More lashes licked the back of her legs and thighs—any place she hadn't been whipped while on the wooden beam. Sharp, bright stings assaulted her senses. Tears flowed freely to the ground, where they made audible little splashes.

Smack! “Ooooowwww...” She raised her head, wincing from the pain after a particularly vicious stroke licked her ass.

“Don't you dare move,” the Matron warned.

Amber shook all over. Her fingers were screaming in pain. Her legs felt weak; her knees threatened to buckle. She summoned all her will, all her concentration, to hold her place, but she was afraid her quivering legs would betray her. Her whole backside was on fire. She lost count of how many lashes Sheila had given her.

Smack! “Nnnnhh!” Amber kept her mouth closed, biting her lip, as though to channel the excess of pain somewhere. A couple more strokes followed, but she thought this was the pinnacle; more lashed could prolong the pain but not increase it. She saw her knees shaking involuntarily. She wailed as another cruel sting bit her back sharply. Finally, when Amber thought she couldn't take anymore, and therefore had nothing to lose, she gave in.

“Mercy,” she cried out. There was a pause. Amber became deathly frightened. Would the Matron be angrier at her for trying to beg off her punishment?

“What was that?” asked Sheila. Her voice was quiet, and there was a deadly seriousness to her tone. Amber let herself go, and sobbed uncontrollably. Still, to her credit, she held her position.

“Please, I can't...I can't take anymore,” she said through her tears. “Have mercy.”

Sheila, quite unexpectedly, knelt down next to her. She placed her thigh under Amber's arched belly, supporting the quivering blonde. The Matron stroked her hair, pulling it back from her face.

“Amber,” she said softly, “Do you think you can take two more lashes? That will complete your penance; afterwards you may rest.”

Amber winced and nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Very good.” Sheila didn't move from her position; instead she continued to support Amber's torso with her knee. She raised her right arm and struck Amber's raised bottom with a calculated blow. Amber winced and quivered, but with her stomach resting on Sheila's leg it wasn't quite so bad. The blonde slave straightened herself as best she could to receive the next blow. The cane felt like it was pressing directly against the bone of her fingers, and she cried out. The final stroke of the whip caressed her backside with its cruel bite, and Sheila helped Amber stand again.

“Ooohh...” Amber blew on her poor fingers and tucked them under her armpits in an attempt to ease the throbbing pain. Then, almost reflexively, she knelt down and kissed Sheila's feet. The Matron was staring at her with some fascination. She sat down at the table and ordered Amber to put the cane and the whip back on their hooks. Amber did so and returned to kneel in front of Sheila, eyes cast down respectfully. The Matron wiped Amber's tears away softy, and brushed her hair back.

“I'm going to give you a choice, Amber,” she said. Amber nodded humbly and looked up at the tall, imposing Amazon. “Keira has given you to me until tomorrow, for your punishment. That part is now over. You can have the rest of the evening free to yourself if you wish. Or, you can spend it waiting on me, in my service. It's up to you.” It was that calm, commanding voice again. Amber felt seduced by it.

Amber naturally treasured any free time she was given, but now something deeper stirred inside her. The Matron radiated such power and authority; Amber felt she was somehow meant to serve her. Her presence commanded more respect and fear than Keira or even Chandra. Amber was frightened and drawn to her at the same time.

“I want to serve you tonight, Matron,” said Amber.

“You really wish to?”

“Yes, please, Mistress.” Perhaps Amber was feeling adventurous and wanted to get to know this intriguing woman better; or perhaps she thought, this was simply the way it was meant to be.

“Good, then,” said the Matron. “Come here and bend over on my lap.”

Amber obeyed and Sheila opened some kind of glass jar. Inside was a pale cream. The Matron put some on her hand and rubbed it over the welts and stripes on Amber's backside. The beautiful slave winced and moaned at the cold touch on her sore skin, but it had a soothing quality. Sheila spread the salve over Amber's buttocks and the back of her legs, making sure to apply to every area she had whipped.

“Next time, you'll be more careful about when you're cleaning, h'm?”

“Oh yes, of course, Mistress,” said Amber, grateful for the show of kindness from the Matron.

“And I'm sure Lydia will, too, after I tell her everything I did to you, in the most exquisite detail.” Amber's heart leaped. The Matron must know what had really happened. Was Lydia going to be in trouble, too?

Sheila raised Amber up, and let her turn around to sit on her lap. She put an arm under the blonde slave to support her, and Amber put her head against the Matron's bosom. There was something maternal and comforting about the woman; Amber felt calm despite her recent ordeal.

“Yes, well, I am giving Lydia a reprieve, just this once, on account of what she's already been through. And you have now received your punishment for lying.”

“I understand, Mistress.” Amber wondered what had happened to Lydia that had made her so frightened, even enough for the Matron to show pity on her.

“You know, Lydia should have been more willing to beg for mercy, like you did. That would have saved her a great deal of trouble earlier.”

“I thought you would be angry, Mistress,” said Amber.

“Yes, well, that is a risk you sometimes have to take,” explained Sheila. “I could see you were in obvious pain, of course. And you had born your punishment remarkably well. Not many slaves can take twenty lashes on their knuckles.”

Twenty? Amber thought. Had it really been that many? She had lost count. No wonder her back was so sore.

“My own mother used to make me put my hands on the cane,” said the Matron, “But we were stricter then. I don't use it much, myself, unless I need to drive home an important lesson, such as honesty. A slave must never lie to her Mistress, especially not to take another slave's punishment. It is not your place to do so.”

“I promise, Mistress, I will never, ever lie again,” said Amber sincerely.

Sheila laughed a little in her soft, motherly voice. “I suppose you won't,” she said. “Now let's go; it's time to eat, and you're mine for this evening.”

Both women rose again, and Amber followed her. As much as she feared the Matron, she was under the woman's spell now, and very much wanted to be with her.

* * * *