Per-funct-or-y

originally posted March 16, 2006

It was largely perfunctory, the beating. Three strokes of the belt; one across her calves, one across the back of her legs, and one that scored a hot, pink line across her backside. It was quickly done. I did not command her to position or instruct her to straddle the wheel of a wagon. I did not even strip her. The hem of her yellow, wrinkled garment is short enough, pleasantly so, that she might wear it during the discipline. I simply lifted her from the dirt by her elbow, interrupting her briefly as she did her part to ready our party for its place in the caravan, and delivered the blows smartly. She wept as the stinging set in and made herself low at my feet when it was over; caught unaware when it ended as abruptly as it began. I instructed her to continue her work without further word. She was insolent the previous evening. There are days I expect adult women to act as adult women; slaves, strumpets and whores they may be. I had a headache, nothing so debilitating that an ahn or so by the fire wouldn't cure with my arms about an auburn-maned slave. Maybe a glass of wine, warmed a bit so it went down smoothly. Yes. That is what I envisioned. That is what I endeavored.The commotion at the Slaver's wagon the next camp over made it a little hard, but I was managing. 'A slave from Ar!' 'He brought her!' 'What will she fetch?' 'What does she look like?' Many things called out as people, slave and free alike, gathered about the blue and yellow wagon to watch the transaction occur. I tuned it out, even waved off the girl, She, when I could see she was eager to have a peek at the excitement. "Stay within sight," I told her. Other than that, I wanted a bit of peace. I dismissed her. When I lost sight of the yellow hem of her silk, the pale flesh of the back of her thighs, I sent Tasta to fetch her. She had not stayed plainly within my line of sight. Her indulgence was at an end. The beast did as bid, putting her to the dirt before me and keeping her there. 'Master! Master!' she cried. Excited. Apparently, the Slaver in the wagon had Talena, my Ubar's disowned daughter or maybe the oft sung of Vella of Gor, said to be once of Earth and once, though slave, a servant of Priest Kings. The girl looked ready to pee herself, so it had to have been something she judged amazing in the girlcages of the Slaver. The girl, She, however, like a certain silver-haired woman I contracted companionship with, finds rocks at the side of the road amazing. I will admit that some of the rocks she picks up have a certain beauty to them, but I have yet to be amazed or even mildly fascinated by one of them. When I quieted her, she stormed off into her tent to sulk. Insolent. Mildly so. It was petulant enough to earn three perfunctory strokes. If it continues, I can always lower her rations that she conserve her energies for something other than needless tantrum.
It is the first day of the Waiting Hand. I wonder if her insolence might not have been more thoroughly answered on another day. Still, it was only the tantrum of a girl.