Bellisima the Slave - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 - The Senator and The Cross

My Master, the Captain of Orcs, is an ambitious man. His immediate goals are to ensure proper supply of equipment and fresh warriors to his brigade. But he also had higher ambitions for himself in the hierarchy of the military.

He had always planned to use me to curry favour with influential members of the Senate to better enable these ambitions. There were many Senators, and no few Senators wives, who might be swayed by a capable pleasure slave. Many could, of course, afford the best pleasure slaves themselves, but novelty was a desirable quest. So it was that at times my litter was sent to a fine house in the city or in a villa outside of the city, to sway one of the leaders of the Empire.

In this case I was brought to a large villa beyond the walls of the Imperial City. It was clearly the home of a very wealthy and powerful patron. I knew him when I saw him, it was the Senator who I had seen my Master entertain at the barracks one evening. He was tall and lean with a short white beard and white balding hair.

He looked at me with the complete authority bestowed by the surety of ownership. I was to be his for that day, to do with as he wished. As he knew I was also, in his words, an apprentice of the sorcerer Maladan, he knew that he owed my Master no consideration for the well-being of his property. He could do whatever he wished with me.

As soon as I was in his presence, I went to my knees to take a position suitable to an obedient slave, naked and exposed for display. My face was raised so he could enjoy the sight of me, but my eyes were cast down in submission. He stood over me, and lifted up my chin. He looked into my eyes, and I looked into his, and we both knew that I was his plaything, and that he had total power over me.

“When we first met, I asked you if you had ever been humiliated.”

“I remember, Sir.”

“You said something to me then that I found very intriguing. Do you remember what it was.”

“An ego was a burden for a slave, Sir. The occasional humiliation helps remove that burden. So I was taught by Master Matheus.”

“He is a wise man, Kaltan, like you and your mother, I believe. I think in old Kaltan stories, there is a tradition that ego leads to folly, which leads to demise. There is a goddess involved. I seem to recall.”

“Yes, Sir. Morigan the Raven.”

“Yes, that’s it. Well today, I am going to help cleanse you of that burden.”

In his hand was a slave’s collar and a leash, and at a gesture from him I knew that I must lift up my hair and bare my neck to accept his collar.

“Stand up!” he commanded. “And carry this beam.”

He place a heavy wooden beam along my shoulders and beyond the reach of my outstretched hands. My blood ran cold, for I knew what this meant. He intended to crucify me.

Rough hemp rope was wound around my wrists and arms so that the beam was bound securely to me. He then took a long sinuous whip in one hand, and the end of my leash in the other. For a while he amused himself whipping at my thighs and legs, as I hopped and danced at the lash. I could not get away from him as the leash held me fast within reach of his whip.

When he was sufficiently amused. He tugged on my leash and led me into the grounds. In other circumstances I might have admired their beauty, but the beam was heavy, and I was already in pain from his whipping of my legs. After some time of him leading my bound naked body through the heat, he came to a small pavilion for the entertainment of guests. Standing within it was an upright post.

I was led to the post, and he ordered me to face it. He then looped the leash around the post so I could not move. I sensed him take a few steps behind me, and I braced for what was next.

As I stood there bound to the cross-beam, my leash fixed to the post, he whipped me. The lash scorched across my back and buttocks like a hot iron, curling around my waist and limbs like a scalding hot snake. I cried and wept at the punishment, but knew that begging for mercy would do me no good.

Finally he was satisfied, for now. He took the leash and turned me around, then looped a rope over the vertical post. This should be work for slaves, but he relished torturing me himself, as he hoisted the cross beam up, and lifted me into position.

He now tied my legs and ankles to each side, so that my legs were wide apart presenting my sex for his amusement. Then he stood back to enjoy his handiwork. But he was far from finished. He reached for a hammer and nails. I trembled with fear, for I had hoped he would not go that far.

I looked in horror at the nails, and was surprised to see that they were made of fine polished steel, like a long narrow dagger of high quality, and the sun glinted from them. The nail was so shiny, the head polished into facets like a jewel. They were not the brutish implements associated with the ultimate degradation of criminals, but seemed erotic and sensual, the sharpness of the point more arousing than horrifying.

The senator looked in my face and smiled, seeing the horror now mixed with confusion and possibly arousal in my look. The nail felt like a needle as it pressed against my palm, and the senator raised the mallet, and struck.

The pain was excruciating.

I had been trained to feel the sensual nature of pain, for many Masters gain pleasure from their slaves in this way. It is best to be able to tolerate it, and even find pleasure in it. This was like no other pain I had felt, but I strived to find a way of accepting it.

The senator did not smile with vicious cruelty, but was careful to not cause more pain than necessary. The ropes at least kept me firmly in position, so it stopped me from pulling at the nails.

Finally he was done, with the polished nails piercing my feet and hands.

He was right. The nails are another level of subjugation and humiliation. I do not think in a century of hanging there that I would have the will to rip my hands from their bonds. Even metal shackles have a catch.

It felt like I was nailed there forever, exposed to his attentions.

“I find the nails to be the sweetest adornment to a beautiful slave,” he said. “To me, you will never look more beautiful than you do right now.”

His hand reached up and caressed my breast, fondling it and gently pulling at my nipple. The arousal was welcome, and helped me accept the pain. His other hand went to my exposed pussy, and he gently stroked his finger between my labia. Normally I would writhe to feel such pleasure, but I stayed very still to not pull on the nails.

I had looked away, but for some reason I then looked at his face. It was an expression of reverence as he looked at my face and pleasured me.

“The Lady of Nails,” I said quietly.

He looked at me, amazement on his face. “You know of her?”

“She is your Goddess of Mercy, a Haladdan goddess. She took the place of an innocent, condemned to the cross.”

“Yes. Right now, I feel close to her.” He looked up at me, amazed that I had discerned the true meaning of his apparently cruel desires.

I wanted to talk more about this, but I then heard people approach.

“Ahh! I am expecting guests! I thought you would be a beautiful exhibition while we eat!”

His guests started to arrive. They were all like him for the most part, tall and lean. Haladdan Patricians of the Empire with their pleasure slaves in train. The slaves all trembled to see me there, afraid it might also be their fate.

“This is a pretty one to ruin, my friend! What did she do to displease you?” the guest Patrician looked around me, his hand running across my breasts, down my stomach and down to my sex.

“Oh I just thought she would amuse my guests!” said the Senator.

Inwardly I smiled, for I knew that it was not so.

“Commendable!”

They stood around eating and drinking for some time. Occasionally one or two would come over and finger me, and one sent his pleasure slave over to lick my sex while they all laughed at my painful writhing. The Senator did not laugh, but watched, his face in adoration.

Finally the guests all left, and the Senator came to me after he saw them out.

“So how is the ego now?” he said quietly to me.

I replied haltingly. “I believe... that I will have no reason... to fear the Raven... Sir.”

“Haha!” He laughed. “You are welcome. Yes, power is hard to give up when you have a lot. I am sure your goddess is watching me. May my goddess have mercy on me. Your orc friend will fetch you.”

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Indeed Arack was soon by my side. He did not look happy at the sight of the nails, but he pulled them out quite easily. It seems that the wood was actually soft. My bonds untied, I fell into his arms, and he carried me to the litter, and laid me in it.

They took me to the sorcerer Maladan, who lay me in the sacred Pool of Souls. The pain ebbed, and left, but the unease remained.

“He crucified you?” said Maladan, his face dour.

“Yes. But strangely it was not so bad.”

“Here, take this.” He put a small painted figure in my hand of a very angry looking woman with black wings. “It is Morigan. Our people pray to her to give them vengeance.”

I smiled. “May I keep her?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Thank you, but I do not feel a need for retribution. She reminds me that her corbies have never pecked out the eyes of a slave. It’s the rest of you that need worry!”

To Be Continued?

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