Hark! The warrior is coming with leather and lash to punish all the naughty little peasants and slaves and evildoers who roam the land of Lesbia.

*****

Kira stretched, her muscles aching in protest as her powerful limbs moved this way and that. She was tall and broad with the hard cheekbones and narrowed eyes of one who has seen too much bloodshed. Her dark hair was plaited in its customary style, wound and pinned about her head so as to keep it out of her eyes, face and weapons.

She was a handsome woman. The multitude of scars and scrapes on her body did not diminish her attractiveness in any way, instead they added to it, explained the hard look which was perpetually present in her dark eyes. Kira’s was a face of character and of beauty tempered like steel to something more than mere attractiveness.

Dressed in leather and toughened hide, she was well equipped with all the tools of her trade. Steel gleamed from a dozen sheaths, knives and swords festooning her broad and ample frame. She scratched her nose, making the muscles in her arm ripple as she watched the bushes down below move back and forth.

The foliage parted and a runner came dashing up the hill, slim limbs pumping. Kira placed her hands on her hips and watched as the young woman came to a panting halt before her on one knee. Unlike Kira, the young woman was dressed in a simple green shirt and skirt matched with long leather boots. Useless attire for a warrior. Perfect clothing for a scout.

“What do you have for me, Sylvie?”

“I’ve got a whole lotta bad news.” Sylvie pushed thick strands of yellow hair out of her blueberry eyes. She pushed up to stand doubled over for a minute, panting toward her mud covered boots. “We’ve got a whole city of bandits up on that ridge.”

“A city?” Kira’s thick brow rose askance.

“A city,” Sylvie confirmed. “They’ve got a wall, they’ve got guards. They’ve got at least three hundred people living inside.”

“You’re not really brigands anymore, when you have a city, are you?”

Sylvie scratched her nose. “I mean, they still… brig? Brug? Whatever the word is, they still do it. They send out raiding parties. Those little ones we’ve been running into.”

“And now we’ve tracked the itty bitty biting ants back to their nasty nest,” Kira said. “I don’t suppose one warrior can take down an entire city.”

“One warrior and her scout,” Sylvie reminded her.

“One warrior and her slave,” Kira corrected Sylvie in turn.

“I’m not a slave,” Sylvie said. “I don’t wear chains.”

“I own you and you do as you’re told. That makes you a slave. It also makes you someone too valuable to throw against a city of bandits.” Kira reached down and tweaked Sylvie’s nose.

“I’m not a slave,” Sylvie muttered.

“I paid five hundred gold pieces for you,” Kira said. “From a woman who had you shackled in the back of her cart. What does that make you?”

“That just means I like to travel in style,” Sylvie argued.

“In the style of a slave.”

“Ugh.” Sylvie slumped down on the ground.

Kira ignored the fit of temper and instead focused on the problem at hand. A city of brigands. That meant they were organizing. That meant there was someone who had managed to bring hundreds of lawless renegades under control. Kira wanted to meet that person. Badly.

“I’m going to pay the city a visit,” Kira said. “You stay here and guard the fire.”

“You mean stay out of the way,” Sylvie grumped.

“I have never met a slave so very keen on getting herself killed,” Kira observed dryly. Really, the little wretch still sitting at her feet should have known better. A slave all her life, Sylvie had been traded back and forth between owners, each of whom had chosen her for her beauty and sold her for her temper. She was a hot blooded little wretch at the best of times, completely without common sense or fear. Only the lash kept her in any form of order, and it had been too long since she last felt its touch. That was a problem soon remedied.

Kira reached for the leather looped at her waist and uncoiled it with a whip-like crack.

Sylvie perked up at the sound. Her pretty blue eyes got the look they always did, a little bit excited, a little bit scared. Sylvie loved the lash as much as she loathed it, blossomed under it as much as she cried when it cut against her skin.

Kira didn’t waste time giving orders. Using the tip of her boot, she pushed Sylvie over onto her stomach. The leather skirt flipped up with a quick, well-placed lash and then her bare bottom was exposed, two round globes of misbehaved flesh quivering in the afternoon glow. Kira took the precaution of resting her foot on Sylvie’s shoulders. She did not put enough weight through the limb to truly pin her slave, but more than enough to let Sylvie know that she could be pinned should she not comply. She noted the way her slave arched up, presenting her bottom. Part of that was training. Part of it was desire. Sylvie did it every time she was about to be punished.

“You’re going to stay here,” Kira said, cutting the leather down so it made a pretty hot mark across both Sylvie’s cheeks as if a red ribbon had been placed across them. “Because this is a safe spot, and should I run into trouble,” she continued laying the lash down three more times in equally well placed cuts that bought pink stripes flashing across her slave’s bottom, “you will not find yourself slave to brigands who will not be so kind as I.”

Sylvie didn’t say anything. She knew well enough not to speak when she was being disciplined. Again, it was part of her training. Kira was well aware the woman would be brimming with back talk, but in spite of her naturally rebellious nature Sylvie had absorbed some of the lessons in her past.

Kira also noted the way Sylvie’s thighs were parting, and how her lower lips were dewy. It had nothing to do with the dampness of the grass upon which she was splayed and everything to do with her carnal reaction to discipline. Kira stilled the leather, preferring to stare down between her slave’s thighs and watch the unfolding of that most precious flower which was quickly flooding with nectar.

It was tempting to toy with her slave, but Kira had taken a vow of chastity. That, and Sylvie had been subject to sexual service throughout her adult life. It was Kira’s way of caring to keep her slave relatively untouched.

“Ae you prepared to do my bidding?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sylvie replied.

“Good.” Kira cut one last hard lash across Sylvie’s bottom, catching her nice and low just above the spot where wetness welled between quivering lips. The sight filled Kira with all sorts of lustful thoughts and desires, the temptation to touch that softness, to run her fingertips over the downy mound… she contented herself by letting the leather dangle gently across Sylvie’s womanhood, swinging the thick tongue of the lash gently back and forth against the apex of her slave’s thighs where it kissed Sylvie’s clit and caressed her lips until the horny slave could take it no more and cried out softly in muted orgasm.