The Whore of Babylon

Chapter 3 | part 3 [warning: R rated content]

Author's note: I hope my readers don't find this part of the chapter offensive or gratuitous. It is intended to make for very uncomfortable reading, and to establish the cruelty of Samsu's character against the strength of Eliana's. It's just a first draft and I would, of course, be interested to hear your views in the comments - whether you feel it's too much, or serves its purpose.

I know the situation looks bleak, but things will start to look up for Eliana from the next chapter, promise! :-)

***

‘Kneel,’ he said. He did not need to raise his voice.

She knelt, back upright, hands folded in her lap. A sharp kick connected with her ribs, driving the air out of her.

‘Properly!’ he barked.

She touched her forehead to the ground. His boot had left a smear of dust on her silk, and a bruise on the delicate skin of her ribs.

There was a sneer in his voice as he said ‘look at you, with your face painted like a slut. So you thought to flirt your way out of this? Imagined that you could wriggle away with some pretty words and whore’s tricks?’ he did not require an answer. He gave a harsh laugh, ‘believe me, girl, I have lain with more whores than you’ve had birthdays. I know all their tricks. And so shall you, before I’m finished.’

Eliana’s stomach clenched, all hope of winning gentler treatment with acquiescence gone.

‘You will learn to obey whatever command I give, without question or hesitation.’ He thrust his dusty boot under her face. ‘Lick it clean,’ he  ordered.

She looked at the boot with revulsion, wondering how many proud spirits Samsu had trampled beneath it. She hesitated a moment too long – he brought the foot up to collide with her chin, sending her sprawling backwards. He placed the boot heavily on her chest, shouting, ‘are you deaf, girl? Lick it!’

His voice rang from every surface, every syllable loud and menacing, sending a knife of fear through her artificial calm and into her gut.

Trembling and struggling to draw breath under the crushing weight of his boot, she stuck out her tongue and gave a tentative lick, repressing the urge to gag.

He lifted his foot off her and placed it on the floor, allowing her to pull herself back into her bow and continue the task. Her jaw ached from his kick to her chin, and the dust of the street dried up her saliva, making each stroke more difficult than the last. She closed her eyes and tried to forget where she was – she thought of Kisha, wished for her sister’s arms around her.

By the time she finished, her mouth was arid as the desert and her tongue felt coated in wool.

Finally satisfied, he withdrew his foot. ‘Good,’ he nodded. ‘Now, remove your dress.’

Her cheeks burned with shame and she felt a knot of tears gather at the base of her throat. As if it were not bad enough to undress before Samsu, she felt the interested gazes of the four guards boring into her. She swallowed hard and slid off the shoulder straps, allowing the silk to fall to the floor, standing tall and proud in nothing but her unblemished skin, her eyes as dry as her mouth.

Samsu’s eyes drank her in. ‘Now, prostrate yourself on the floor... no, not the rug, you insolent girl – it’s too good for the likes of you. On the tiles.’

Shivering as her bare skin came into contact with the cold tiles, she lay face down, arms outstretched. She saw his shadow as he bent over her, shuddered as he ran calloused hands down the length of her body – fingertips grazing the edges of her nipples, tracing the dip of her waist, trailing the crack of her buttocks and into the crease between her thighs, all the way down to her feet.