The morning after her whipping

I woke early, as usual. Haron was still sound asleep, curled up next to me.

I couldn’t resist: who could? My hands wandered, reaching to rub her bottom. Sore, clearly, from last night’s whipping with the crop – she winced, murmured, wriggled away, shuffled back closer.

Inspired, I whispered into her ear. I’d been kind, I explained, to take her in the night before: I’d watched her flogging in the market place that morning, noticed her wandering from door to door during the day. I understood that her landlord would have thrown her out of her lodgings – and that no-one else in the town would take in a criminal who’d been publicly whipped.

But I was a kind gentleman. I’d seen her standing, disconsolate, in the market square as darkness fell, her few belongings in a small bag at her feet. I’d taken pity on her: brought her back to my house. And she couldn’t object now if I woke her by running my fingers over her weals…

One thought on “The morning after her whipping

  • 10 March, 2010 at 7:14 am
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    Oh, that is a delightful and charming story! What a kind gentleman. I hope you kept her on, too, and rehabilitated her! Maybe ended up by marrying her?

    Reply

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