Tawsed By The King
Here’s a cruel little vignette for those of you who like some extreme power imbalance with your tawsings:
“I gave you an order! Bend over the bed!” he growled.
Elizabeth Luchtau’s eyes were blinded with tears as she stumbled towards the huge, four-postered, canopied bed. Slowly she put her palms forward on the rich satin sheets, and bent her shoulders down towards them, so that her firm round titties dangled like ripe fruits ready for plucking, and her tensing bottomglobes twitchingly and palpitatingly offered themselves to the glittering eyes of Frederick William I.
“Your legs apart more than that,” he snarled, flicking out the tawse lightly so that just the tips stung the edge of her right hip.
“Ohhh, please-please, M-Majesty, don’t-don’t wh-wh-whip me h-hard, I-I’ll be good,” the girl sobbed.
“And bend your face almost down to the sheets, too,” he added as an afterthought, again flicking the edge of her hip with the cruel tips of the tawse.
With a whimpering little sob, the girl obeyed, and now her legs were straddled hugely, her bottom jutting out, in the most lascivious posture imaginable. He could see the soft pink lips of her cunt framed by the dark curls of her bush, and he licked his lips in cruel anticipation. “That’s better,” he growled.
“Now I’m going to thrash you a little, and you’d best not yell too much, or you’ll go out to the public square where you can do all the singing you like with no one to care, you understand me?”
“Why-yes, M-Majesty,” the naked girl whimpered.
Standing in only her stockings, with her legs hugely spread, her bottom thrust out and her titties just brushing the satin sheets of that royal bed, the little seamstress waited for her punishment. It began as the king’s arm flashed downward and the tawse clung over both huddling naked bottomcheeks with an angry Thwack!
“Ami, oh please, it hurts me! I’ll do whatever you wish, but please don’t wh-wh-whip me so hard, please!” she wailed as she turned her tear-stained face towards her sovereign. But even through her tears she could see the protuberance of the royal prick against his lace-embroidered nightshift, and she began to shudder and her teeth to chatter, for she at last realized that her virginity was doomed.
“If it hurts too much, if it warms that big fine white Arsch of yours, girl, stick your fist into your mouth and bite your knuckles,” he told her as he applied a second crashing blow of the leather band over the base of her naked posterior.
And then slowly, while she writhed, danced from foot to foot, screamed and pleaded brokenly with him to spare her, vowing that she would do whatever he wished if only he would spare her that dreadful whip, the King of Prussia, like a common executioner, slavering, his eyes glittering with lust, sent the tawse smacking viciously against her thighs and bottom until at last poor Elizabeth Luchtau crumpled to the floor, rolling onto her side and, holding up her hands in prayer, whimpered, “Take me, do what you will, M-Majesty, I can’t bear it any longer! I’m your slave– but have mercy, only have mercy for the love of heaven!”
From The Torture Of The Tawse by Paul Little aka A. De Granamour.
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