Flail of the Pharoah by Rosanna Challis Page B

another woman’s pain and humiliation was terrifying. She gazed at the victim, bent over the stool in that ignominious way, and her heart went out to her.
    Yet she was fascinated, too, by the woman’s smooth brown buttocks and the dark divide between them. Her body looked as if it were fashioned from polished wood or bronze rather than flesh and skin. She had short black hair that was oiled and curled, her voluptuous breasts bore nipples that were almost black in colour, and her lips were a dark crimson while her tongue was red, making Charmian wonder about the other hidden parts of her body.
    While Kiya seemed to be offering herself up for sacrifice, like a trussed animal, Prince Neshi grew in stature as he took up his position to her rear. Charmian wondered at the way in which he had been apparently transformed from a boy into a man, once he had been given command of the flail. Was there something magical in that implement, something that conferred supreme power upon its bearer? Charmian gave a barely audible sigh. There was so much still to learn about the people of this strange land and their customs.
    There was a pause in the proceedings as Neshi raised the flail high with his right arm. A sharp intake of breath came from Iras, but the queen remained impassive. Charmian looked at Prince Neshi with new eyes, astonished to find that something akin to her old feelings for her betrothed were rising within her. To see the strong sinews of his arms and legs, tautened for the task ahead, and that noble profile with the hawkish eyes focused intently on his target, made her feel quite dizzy with strange longing.
    Then the prince spoke, in a confident tone that echoed powerfully around the room. ‘You Kiya, one of the Pharaoh’s lesser concubines, dependent upon the king’s grace and favour, have grossly insulted the name of his chief wife and eldest son. For this, you will receive just punishment. Hear me, ye gods, and exonerate me from blame. For I am the Son of the Most High and my name, and that of her majesty my mother, has been sullied by this wretched creature who is not worthy to bear the name of woman. Twelve lashes shall she receive from the holy flail of Egypt, in order that she may see the error of her ways.’
    Charmian held her breath, feeling as though her heart had stopped too. She saw the thongs fall with cruel force upon Kiya’s naked buttocks, making a hideous cracking noise. The girl trembled and flexed her buttocks, but did not cry out. Now Charmian knew that her own heart had not stopped after all because it was beating a wild tattoo, like the drums of the desert tribesmen she’d heard on her way through Egypt.
    Prince Neshi struck again, the leather strands slapping against Kiya’s buttocks with a loud thwack, and this time the girl gave a half-suppressed grunt of pain. The young man’s dark eyes glittered with satisfaction as he raised his arm again, and brought it down even more viciously upon the girl’s defenceless flesh. A wail of agony was heard this time, and Charmian glanced at the queen, wondering if she would show mercy and intervene, but her full lips were pressed even more tightly together.
    It was proving too much for Iras though, who broke into a sob and hid her face. Charmian wondered whether she should comfort the servant, but Queen Mira’s forbidding eye rooted her to the spot and she had to witness yet another vicious lashing. By now the dark cheeks of the girl’s bottom were laced with ugly weals and Kiya’s body was trembling and convulsing.
    Neshi struck again and again in quick succession, and soon the rhythmic thrusting of his arm and swaying of his torso held an almost hypnotic fascination for Charmian, who found herself growing immune to the shrieks of pain as she was caught up in the drama. Soon the girl’s agonised cries came to seem like a strange musical accompaniment to the action. Eight strokes… nine… ten… Charmian wondered what it must be like to be