Alternatives For Slavegirls

Here’s a fellow whose writing style seems informed by a few too many John Norman books, but he manages a wry humor that was never seen on Gor:

We wound through several corridors to a small room in the far side of the palace. There, as I had requested, the twins awaited me. My escort apologized for the small size and lack of comforts in the room, but allowed it was the only one with the pillar I had requested.

It was of no moment to me. The pillar in question was admirably decorated at the moment, and other comforts were not required. Surrounding the stone support were the naked bodies of Roxanne and Ariadne.


Their tied hands were raised overhead, and since no hook could be let into the stone, held there by the simple expedient of a rope from one pair of wrists, over a ceiling beam, to the other pair. Around their waists, in a clever addition to the Khitan procedure, was a wide leather belt, holding them both closely to the pillar, and making even more pronounced the thrust of their buttocks where the pillow fit under their bellies.

At my explorations, their complaints had been redoubled. They insisted that their father would avenge them horribly if I did not immediately release them and apologize abjectly for my abuses. There was only one answer for that, and I retrieved the quirt. The one who could see this raised an indignant and somewhat nervous objection, and the other, catching the tone of the complaint, added her voice. Ignoring them, I stepped up to the pillar and lashed the closest girl a hand of times across her inviting buttocks. She had screamed and struggled mightily, but was quite helpless to avoid my effort.

The second girl was rightly apprehensive when I walked around the pillar, and when her bottom also felt the lash, she added to the choir of pained response.

It required four hands apiece before the twins were quelled into sobbing quiet. Both bottoms were well decorated with angry weals, and squirming enthusiastically over the rising agony.

Into this quieter atmosphere, I began to interject some wisdom about the new state of affairs.

For the moment, I should perhaps add that their immediate choice was between my organ up their rump or four hands of vigorous strokes with the quirt. The one who promised most sincerely to please me would receive the first, while the other would have the second.

Again, they protested, but not so loudly.

I suggested that perhaps they were unfamiliar with the sensations between which they were required to choose. To rectify this, I approached one girl and intruded into her bowel with the long middle finger of my left hand. At the same time, I lashed the quirt across her upper thighs a hand of times.

Changing to the other twin, I repeated the procedure. Both girls were crying then, as much with indignation over their helplessness as with distress over the rising pain.

I asked then for a volunteer, and receiving none, resumed their chastisement, walking around the pillar and lashing indiscriminately at their identical bottoms….

And so forth, at entertaining length. If nothing else, this fellow amuses me by being almost as verbose as I am.

From “The Parthian Twins” by Hawkwood.

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