To laughter

The Mistress looked both serine and severe, her firm, almost-entirely-exposed breasts proudly presented by the tendrils of her corset. She stood with impossible balance despite her perfect legs being so close together. Her Venician area was so smooth and immaculate, one couldn't help but imagine carnal treasure hidden by that small patch of rigid leather. In the days that followed Liz told herself it was the demonic beauty that held her transfixed as her predator approached. But fear was the actual chain that held her thoughts immobile as The Mistress advanced tutting her disapproval.

The trembling back-steps Liz made as her arms attempted to conserve her modesty were far incapable of maintaining the distance between her and the advancing threat. Mere moments after realizing her exposure, the pirate was in range of her foe's whip. The Mistress's lash snapped violently to the arm acting as Liz's brazier, but the whippee cared little for the nibbles of pain that pierced her sleeve, for the leather blade had coiled itself around her arm.

Villainously, the mistress paused for taunt. "Now, now, my rapscallion. Modesty is not your color." And then, with a might invisible behind impossible deftness, she twisted and tugged. Liz's arm was wretched from its post, and her bonny bosom was once again bared.

The shamed pirate was left mouth agape struggling to recover her shredded dignity. Luckily, the shock of her renewed exposure finally blasted Liz into action. She ran, forward mostly, just content to be fleeing her tormentor. The limitation of options, however, was apparent to her; A stone of dread collected within her. Liz felt trapped, like a rat thrown into a hound's kennel. There was nothing she could do that had the possibility of permanently improving her predicament.

Bleak, her fate loomed above her like the brick walls that imprisoned her in this sand pit. How long was she to be left here to be punished? to be spanked and exposed for the amusement of these voyeurs? And what would be next? Our beleaguered pirate continued forward, but the other side of the arena was approaching at a fair clip. On her yesterday, she'd captained her own ship, commanded respect, and now all had been ripped away. Was her new existence to be only unyielding bricks and coarse sand, without the tender caress of a lover? The Mistress's whip cracked close enough that Liz felt the disturbance of the air on her neck. And yet the wall remained, ignorant to the plight of the woman facing it. The defeated pirate turned arse-ward, preparing to zip past her pursuer. Ever nimble, the rogue dipped as if to slip right, but skipped left in the last instant.

The ruse worked, after a fashion. That whip-wielding Jezebel swung her weapon into Liz's falsified path. Unfortunately, the equestrian femme pulling the chariot was not quite hoodwinked (or perhaps she also wished to distance herself from her mistress's lash) and thuss turned into the pirate's path. Liz's shoulder brushed the pony's, and her foot caught on the chariot puller's calf. Only for the briefest of moments, but 'twas enough to stumble the pirate such that she plowed dairy first into the other woman's arm. For Liz, a fair tumble followed, then a proper spill, and finally, the pirate found herself skidding across the sand on her bare arse for a good foot.

The crowd, the devilish lookie-loos that they were, laughed their sides halfway to splitting. The laughter of so many combined into an overwhelming roar. Teats bared and now humiliated as a clumsy tart, the daunted pirate froze. Every part of Liz's mind clambered to take control of the situation, forming an immobilizing tumult. A significant part just wanted her to bury her head in the sand, even knowing this would expose her bare arse to a tanning at The Mistress's merciless hand. Liz made a floundering attempt to stand. An attempt that only succeeded in jiggling her bosom for the further amusement of the crowd.

But a thread of thought tugged her mind in another direction, like a salty aroma beckoning her attention. The accidental caress that lead to her embarrassing tumble replayed in the back of her mind: the soft press of their shoulders, the supple squeak as Liz's leather licked the purple surface of whatever encased the intriguing woman. The comely shape of her slender form had left quite the impact as well, and all of a sudden Liz joined the crowd in laughter. As evident by her titillating stir with the chariot's locomotion, there would likely be a great many lustful encounters to find in this place. Her afterlife was not as barren as this colosseum's bricks would suggest. This was a place of jokes and jibes. Aye, Liz was currently on the butt end of such nefarious joy, but the tables could turn easily enough.

So it be, The Mistress herself was wearing only a tad more than her corset with not but a scant few fingers of leather to keep her from being more exposed than Liz. To be clear Liz still didn't like being the one most exposed, as one can consent to the game, but wriggle at the losing. The domineering woman in question had paused her pursuit to briefly check that her steed had suffered no consequences from the collision, but now she turned her scalding gaze back to the laughing pirate. "I'm glad you find your clumsiness so amusing," she mocked with icy sarcasm, but a twinkle in her eye said a part of her was glad her rapscallion was enjoying herself.

The renewed pirate weaned her laughter to an intermittent chuckle. A mischievous smirk brightening her face, the accomplished ne'erdowell silkily rose to her feet gliding her hands to cover her intimates, though this time a seductive intent perverted her supposed modesty. With the devilish shimmying that had pulled many an eye in those row-some tavern she favored, Liz danced her dishy body backwards, cupping her bosom like she was luring a lover to bed. Merrily, the naughty pirate spun round just in time to avoid a lash of The Mistress's whip. Taking but a moment to asses the arena, the naughty pirate turned back to her opponent her eyes alight with a come-hither gaze and a catch-me-if-you-dare smile upon her lips.

In this manner, our heroine dashingly dodged about the chariot, deftly dipping away from a fair many floggings. Her hands slithered over her teats while her legs kicked high or her feet tapped in a rhythmic dance to gayly entice The Mistress. The demonic whip wielder herself artistically twirled, twisted, and otherwise twaddled her weapon about; letting it whistle through the air near Liz's ears or slice the ground beside her. Still it be, that many a strike snapped true. The whiptress's favorite target seemed to be the pirate's jiggling arse; her whip had struck enough to give those hind cheeks a slight blush of red. Other whip-nips left a tickling sting on her tummy, thighs, or even upper arms. 'Twould seem The Mistress was attempting to be as unpredictable as the wild pirate.

The Mistress did appear to be reining in the worst of her assaults, likely content to only encourage her playthings seductive dance. Though, she still expected a modicum of fear from her prey. As example, when Liz got a bit too cocky with her teasing and leaned forward with intent to flash her nipples, it took less than an instant for The Mistress to make her whip nibble a painful line across the tender ring of flesh around each nipple's perk. Even with such skill clearly on display, Liz felt her wild, and sensually distracting movements caused less strikes to land than The Mistress wanted.

It could also be said that, to an extent, Liz found joy in this game of chase. She lead The Mistress about wiggling her hips like that thrilling Spanish lady Liz had enjoyed through and through on a quite memorable stay in port. She'd have been a might more happier without the large crowd eagerly looking on. Their woops of encouragement and a surprisingly well improvised "shake, shake, your moneymaker," chant left her cheeks still rosey. Howbeit, the galavanting pirate was more pleased than not by the cycle of tease and dodge that frustrated The Mistress's maneuverings. 'Twas Jolly fun indeed. But that whip wielding harlot couldn't leave a nice thing be.

Displaying expertise that was unprecedented despite her enviable exposition, the female fiend tangled the tip of her whip into Liz's crotch leather before riding away on her chariot. Quite befuddled, the leashed pirate lost the rhythm of her dance as she was **** to trot behind the chariot. One arm was, as expected, obscuring her breasts which had developed quite a degrading jostle as she tried to keep up with her tugging adversary. And her other hand was trying to free her clothes from the grasp of this whip, but with the encasement of her constrictive sleeves, this task was proving to be difficult. And even in this predicament, that sadistress had found a way to make things worse. Though tangled tight around her miniscule cunny-covering, the whip's tip dangled unhindered by the knot and was easily able to flog and cruelly lick across her smooth down-there as a scathing demon tongue. The whole thing was quite infuriating.

Liz was firmly distracted by the hydra-headed nature of her distress and nearly plowed into the chariot when it abruptly stoped. The Mistress steadied her toy before she fell. "Why, Rapscallion, don't put your own hands down there," chided the vile queen, before gesturing to the large crowd. "Especially with so many others around." Liz's cheeks blazed redder than a naked nun's. Yet whilst she opened her mouth to protest, that clever seductress pulled her into a deep kiss.

Now then, it should be understood that Liz had provoked a book's worth of passionate kisses throughout her time. Yet a very limited amount could compete with the addictive draw of this one. Liz breathed deeply of the temptress's perfume of burned sage and pressed her body into The Mistress. For her part, that conniving woman sent her hands to roam the pirate's flesh, trickling down her body like ambrosia. Then she pulled the pirate in deeper, caressing down her prey's leg and guiding it up to wrap behind her worship-worthy arse. In this manner, they embraced as only the residents of Lesbos know how. Liz felt hellfire roar up her spine as a thigh sculpted to rival Aphrodite herself was pressed into her naked womanhood.

And in an instant, it ended. A flash of blackpowder, and The Mistress slipped away like so much smoke, Liz found herself standing in the arena with only the warm breeze caressing lovestruck naughty, Thereupon, she looked down and saw it laid bare. Liz crossed her legs, mouth agape with shock and hands attempting to cover her nudity. Shock quickly gave way to to raging blush as Liz fixed her ireful gaze onto the chariot riding Jezebel. This horrid harlot, this shipwrecking siren, had exposed the pirate and dazed her with womanly wiles, so she wouldn't notice for a near second. And in front of all these people no less.

A **** soul might have thought of forgiveness as Liz's natural treasures hadn't been on exposé for half a moment, but the fiery pirate ne'er practised mercy for those that violated the sanctity of adultery. And asides, Liz thought devilishly, a spot of turnabout seemed good fun. Her eyes assailed the arena, it's myriad of gates could prove useful. Schemes made to twist themselves together in her mind. Raise colors; the battle was on.