Lashed In The Stable

It’s the usual story — falsely accused, sentenced to caning and a lifetime of slavery by an unjust judiciary, then sold to the highest bidder and sent off to be abused by his servants:

Juliette followed the man across the yard and into one of the stables. As they crossed the yard, she noticed a high thick wooden post, erected in the centre and, nearby, another, about a meter high with a round log fixed along the top. Inside the stable, Quinell pushed the girl towards one of the supporting pillars. He pulled her arms up above her head and hooked her manacles over a hook, the chain from the collar hanging down between her breasts. He parted her hair and draped it forward to hang over her upthrust breasts.

“The introduction for a new slave is ten lashes.” Quinell said in her ear. “This is to teach you that, here, you are a slave and what your fate will be if you fail to please those you serve.”

Juliette shook with fear. Her buttocks were still throbbing from the earlier caning and now, for no reason, she was top be beaten again. That her hair had been pulled forward over her breasts warned her that, this time, it was her back that was to suffer. She watched in alarm as the head groom strode across the stable and picked up a bundle of leather reins. As he shook them loose, the girl trembled with terror. As he approached her, she gritted her teeth and screwed her eyes tight shut.

The force of the blow across her back jerked her up onto her toes as her body was thrown against the pillar, separating her breasts. A sheet of fire exploded in her back and shoulders as the leathers burned a path across her flesh. She heard a loud scream, her scream, echo round the stable. Again she was thrown against the post and again she screamed as the pain raged in her back. Eight more times the head groom lashed the leathers across her back, sending sheets of fire through her body. Such a flogging, which she was to learn later was a mere token, on top of the caning she had received that morning was too much for her young body to bear and, although still conscious, she hung limp from her wrists as the final lashes were laid on. Her wrists were released and she slid slowly down the pillar, sobbing and moaning.

From No Justice For Juliette by Mark Stewart.

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