The whip slapped again across her bare sweating shoulders and Shade dug her feet
harder into the sun-baked ground, pulling the rickshaw against the restraining gradient of
the hill. The whip lash had not been struck in order to exhort the girl to more determined
action, but had been dealt rather as a pastime, a diversion, from the long slow journey
across the town.
Shade gasped in the torrid heat of this hot desiccated land. It had not rained for
fully three months now and rain did not seem imminent, perhaps for weeks.
With her wrists strapped to the shafts of the rickshaw, there was no need for her to
grip the shafts in order to bear the weight; the bulk of the work was merely drawing her
rather cumbersome, tiresome load. The whip slapped and stung her again, first her right
shoulder, then her left. The whip wrapped around her arms, slapping and welting her chest
and tits. It was not a brutal instrument, with a thin, handle some four feet long; its
lash was another four feet of thin, light whipcord and leather, long and flexible in order
to lick and slap a girl’s front as well as her back. In fact, the only concession to
severity was at the whip’s very tip, which was loaded with a small iron pellet or a flat
piece of copper, to give the lash weight. It was not intended to brutalise the draught
girl, merely to keep her interested. It certainly worked with Shade.
It was a common sight in the town, not just of Bashira but of any other Talasian
town, to see half-naked, sweating slave girls, drawing rickshaws about the town. Their
wealthy and usually male passengers, too tired or too hot to walk to their destination,
would take a ride instead. Every one of these conveyances had its own light, long whip and
to the vast majority of passengers it was second nature constantly and continually to flog
and drive his sweating, bare-backed draught girl throughout the journey. He would neither
shout nor compel the girl to walk any faster, but still he would beat his helpless slave,
almost as entertainment, throughout the hot, sun-drenched trek to wherever.
Shade’s passenger was not quite as unkind as most, for he only flogged her
occasionally, seemingly when he thought it appropriate to do so. Shade had drawn rickshaws
about this town for over two years and she knew that the sharp slap of the whip was not an
unspoken command to work any harder. If passengers thought the slave girl was slacking,
they would beat her more sternly and underline their contempt with a shout for more
effort. The strokes this man gave her were neither particularly hard nor unduly frequent
and Shade plodded on.
She had noticed the man as he approached her rickshaw to board it. Tall, swarthy and
brooding, his dark face hid an unspoken secret. His firm, square jaw gave him a chiselled,
handsome look and Shade had noticed him immediately. As she drew him full across the town,
she thought of his brooding, impassive face and was sorely tempted to turn and look at him
again, but knew that to do so would be tantamount to insolence and could bring terrible
retribution about her head. Shade was far too experienced a slave to do such a foolhardy
thing. She was there to convey this man to where he wanted to go. That was all she was, a
common draught slave, there for the convenience of others.
Her passenger flicked and swatted the broad, sweating bare back that confronted him.
The muscles in the pretty girl’s torso were firm with constant vigorous exercise and
appeared tireless, drawing his weight and that of the rickshaw, seemingly with
well-practised ease. He idly lashed the girl again, lower this time, about the middle of
her back, letting the loaded metal tip of the whip wrap itself around her body, taking
pleasure from the flat slapping sound it made as it contacted her stomach. She was a
pretty girl, well built, with fat, heavy tits that swayed with pendulous motion as she
walked and her broad red nipples stood out proudly. She had shoulder-length brown curly
hair and hard slavery and endless drudgery had not stolen anything from the twenty-three
year old girl’s looks, either facially or physically. He stared at her broad strong back
covered with whip weals, many but not all of which he had put there. She wore baggy white
zouave pants as did all the slave girls of this particular rickshaw operator and they hung
on her extravagant hips and swayed seductively as she moved, accentuating her movements.
Beneath the pants, it was easy to see that she had shapely well-weighted buttocks.
They meandered on through the often narrow winding streets of Bashira and passed the
houses of the distinguished and the town sites of justice and punishment. They passed the
opulent residence of the holy mullah, past the courts and the town gaol. Just beyond, past
the temple steps, within earshot of those within, were the terrible stone whipping posts.
It was early afternoon and any miscreants whipped there that day, had, by then, been
released. Shade considered how sore and sorry the bare-backed bitches, who had howled
their lot that morning, would still be. Still Shade trudged on. Still occasionally,
without prior warning, the whip would slice and chop at her sweaty nakedness until, at
length, they reached the appointed destination, fully the other side of the town. Shade
stopped and, detecting no movement within the rickshaw, turned to her driver.
“We have arrived, master! This is where you wanted, isn’t it?” The man sat sullenly,
not speaking for a while and then suddenly he raised his whip and lashed Shade twice, very
hard. Shade winced. “Ouch!” she involuntarily uttered.
“Carry on!” ordered the passenger. “On up to the old town!” Shade nearly groaned.
The old town was further on, but worse, it was up a steady, unremitting incline fully a
mile long or slightly more. It was hot and the sun beat down relentlessly. Shade was
already tired from the across-town trek, Bashira was not a small town and she did not
relish the prospect of a long, arduous adjunct to it. She risked the lash by daring to
say: “Please master, it will require an additional fee.”
“You’ll get your money, don’t worry, it’s not me that cheats honest people from
their just dues,” and he dropped some coins into the bag hanging from the shaft, there for
just such an eventuality, and with that the whip snaked out. Again and again it found its
soft, smooth, sweaty target that was Shade’s gorgeous curves. She put her head down and
reluctantly pressed on; eventually reaching the foot of the hill. She looked up the
glaring white stone track, shimmering in the heat haze of the blazing afternoon sun.
Gritting her teeth and blinking the sweat from her eyes, she drew hard on the shafts and
began to drag the rickshaw up the hill. The whip cracked several times across her, harder
this time, urging her to work more, but she was at her limit. The hill was fighting to
stop her and she trudged wearily on, unable to increase her laborious pace.
She wondered why he had sent her up to the old town. There was no one there any
longer, just the remains of a large residence and the land around it that had once
belonged to a wealthy farm owner. He had owned many slave girls, both to wait in his house
and to work his large estate, but there was nothing of that former wealth there now, and
being ordered to draw her ponderous load up the stiff, long hill was an odd demand. This
was a trip Shade had made probably only twice since she had been a draught girl.
The slap of the whip under her left arm, cutting generously across her left, fat,
wet tit, snapped her back to reality. Realising how long they had been on the climb, she
awaited the next whip stroke onto her right side and it came. Gasping and sweating, she
looked up the hill, still barely halfway up.
“Move girl, pull harder, go faster, we will be here all day at this rate!” ordered
her passenger, his deep voice compelling her as surely as any whiplash.
“I am trying master, please. It is the hill, it is so steep!” Shade gasped
breathlessly and urged herself to pull harder, but she could not. No sooner had she
lengthened her stride, than leaden limbs and shortened breath forced her to return to her
former pace. “I am sure we will be there in a very short while,” she assured him.
It had taken over half an hour to reach the top of the tortuous climb, longer than
it was steep, and it was still very much a rickshaw girl`s enemy. The man instructed her
to guide the rickshaw between four tumble-down walls, their white stone crumbling under a
baking sun. Coarse grass and strange shrubs grew between the parched bricks, managing
barely to gain a foothold in the desiccated masonry. They entered the remains of a room
that must have been an enormous one in its day and Shade looked around and tried to
imagine how it must have appeared then. The man alighted from the rickshaw and Shade
sighed as the load was released.
“May I proceed now, master?”
The man, seemingly preoccupied, glanced at her, then advanced and stood very close
to her, staring her in the face. She suddenly became very aroused. This strong, handsome
Adonis was standing so near, invading all her senses, she so worthless, hardly fit to
clean his boots, yet he deigned to look upon her. He said nothing. Her aroma was rising
hotly from her gorgeous body; Shade saw his nostrils flare like some raging stallion. He
walked round the rickshaw and took up the whip and stood before her again, but back,
giving himself room. Shade said nothing, but looked steadily at him, waiting for him to
raise the lash. She did not wait long, as he sent two swinging, stinging, heavy strokes to
Shade’s left and right, the loaded whip end wrapping around Shade’s generous curves,
slapping her shoulder blades. He let her feel his strength. She threw her head back and,
closing her eyes, grimaced with the pain but made no sound. With that, the powerful man
tossed the whip aside and suddenly and without warning grabbed a handful of Shade’s curly,
bubbly hair, wrenched her head back and kissed her fully on the mouth. To his utter
astonishment, she returned his embrace, forcing him suddenly to retract, looking at her in
surprise as he did so. He momentarily considered retrieving the whip when he saw the
mischievous half-grin that played on Shade’s face, lighting up her features and making her
look magnificent, but instead he thrust his hand inside her trousers, with no attempt at
finesse. He plunged his hand below her waistband and quickly found her bushy mound.
Carelessly, mindful of her low slave status; he played with her slit and was even more
surprised to find her wet, lubricated and receptive. Was it just her sweat? He quickly
withdrew his hand and smelt his fingers as he stared in her face. She wore the same
sardonic grin. “Does master like what he samples?”
“It captures all my senses, I’ll say that!” And without delay he was frantically
releasing Shade’s wrists from the straps that fixed her to the shafts of the rickshaw. No
sooner had he released her right hand than she was busily divesting him of his clothing,
singular in her desire of what she wanted next. When he had released her, he pushed her
back to the seat of the rickshaw, grabbed the waistband of her low-slung zouave pants and
tugged them down to her ankles. Perching on the edge of the seat, she had already lowered
his trousers and released his iron-hard erection and was pumping his prick in breathless
readiness. Without delay or foreplay, he thrust his rampant length into Shade’s hot,
willing cunt. It slid in, taking Shade’s breath away. She was as desperate as he. Contrary
to popular myth, rickshaw girls did not shag quite so often as was rumoured and it had
been a long time since Shade had last had sex. Even longer since she had last been a
willing partner. She was certainly that now and she feasted her sopping, gaping fanny on
the iron-hard cock she now accommodated.
They fucked with short, brutal, firm thrusts and the whole procedure took no more
than a couple of minutes before both were gasping, moaning and grunting, as their
transports of orgasm took both of them over. Shade was writhing desperately on his stiff
cock and passion made her head spin as she felt him swell inside her before exploding and,
in a series of short, hard lunges, he rid his seed deep within her.
Breathless, spent, Shade doused with sweat, they both collapsed in the rickshaw,
silently regaining their composure as the man cradled Shade on the cramped seat. Shade’s
pants were still around her ankles and he had made no attempt at dressing. Both lay
recumbent and a little surprised at how suddenly and completely passion had ruled the
moment.
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