Sonja forces Conan to accept the silks.

"As I recall from our sparring, my speed and agility were an equal match for your raw strength," Sonja retorted. "I am as quick and nimble as ever; you are a mere shadow of your former strength. You should learn not to make threats that you cannot keep. See sense, Conan, we will need the advice of a wizard or priestess to undo this, and I cannot parade you naked through the streets to their doors."

"Then give me your chainmail breechclout and halter so I might look to be a warrior," Conan demanded. "Take the **** silks and wear them yourself."

"Pffft! Take a look at yourself, Conan," Sonja ordered in exasperation. "Even dressed in my gear, nobody would take you as a warrior woman. Preserve your pride and don the silks with your own hand, rather than suffer the indignity of making me dress you by **** like a child."

Conan roared with frustration and rushed toward Red Sonja and striking towards her with a small, delicate fist. In their sparring, knowing that she could not stop the brute **** of Conan's fists, Sonja would have dodged a blow from Conan with a duck or a roll. This was not the Conan from those spars, though. The red-haired warrioress caught Conan's wrist and easily held the feeble blow. Pivotting forward to Conan's side as she manoeuvred the arm and with far superior strength to the transformed Cimmerian and twisted the wrist to pull it into an armlock behind Conan's back.

"Put on the silks," Red Sonja hissed in Conan's ear as she held her tight in her arms. "Or I shall use **** to make you wear them."

"Never!" Conan screeched, wriggling and squirming desperately in the grip of the taller and stronger woman. "I will not suffer such humiliation."

"Very well, Conan," Sonja chuckled. "If it is humiliation you fear, then that shall be the weapon I shall use."

Sonja dropped abruptly to one knee, guiding Conan by the pinioned wrist behind her back so that the Cimmerian fell belly first across the thigh of her other leg. Conan, realising the position she was now in, struggled wildly, thrashing her body and kicking her lithe legs to no avail in Sonja's tight grip.

The flame-haired warrioress brought her free hand down with as much **** as she could muster, the slap of her palm on Conan's buttocks resounding like a whipcrack in the forgotten temple's empty hall. Conan screamed in shock, rage and pain, redoubling her effort to escape this punishment. Sonja held Conan in place with ease and brought her palm down repeatedly upon the twisting and bouncing buttocks presented over her knee. Conan discovered his flesh was no longer the thick, hardened hide of the male warrior. The soft and sensitive flesh on his rump now stung and flared with heat with each slap of Sonja's hand.

"OW, AAAAH, NO!" Conan loudly reacted to each slap on her ass, squealing and crying as shrilly as any other young maiden suffering chastisement. "LET ME GO YOU SLUT! OWWW, OHHH, STOP PLEASE!"

"Wear the silks," Sonja punctuated each word with another slap on the now red, glowing buttocks.

"OW, AGHHH, YES!" Conan screamed out. "I'll wear them, please stop."