Quintus looks as though his head will explode at any moment, his face is crimson and enlarged veins stand out on his forehead and neck. He glares at you angrily and with a visibly great effort manages to rein in his temper. His gaze sweeps round the assembled Britons. They stand in complete silence now, their faces stony and unforgiving. The Iceni are more ominous now than when they were shouting and jostling with the legionaires, the initial hot rage of the moment cooled to a simmering hatred.
"In it's benevolent compassion, Rome sees fit to pardon these two headstrong girls." Quintus proclaims, though it clearly pains him to say it. "However their foolhardy and treacherous assault on Roman soldiers cannot go unpunished. Neither can Rome let it's dignity be diminished by the ill thought offense on it's honour committed by your late king's wife."
Not a sound comes from the crowd, under the stern gaze of Boudicca they hold to her command not to provoke reprisal from these Romans.
"Take them to that tree." Quintus commands the legionaries holding the three Iceni womenfolk. "String these troublesome sluts up by their wrists."
At the edge of the settlement's central space an ancient oak stands. By the base of it's trunk offerings of fruit, grain and cups of wine mark it as a living shrine of the Iceni gods. You know what's coming next and are shocked to find that your revulsion at what you are about to witness is mingled with arousal. Already your cock is semi erect in the loose kneelength pants common to Roman troops serving in the north of europa. The legionaries drag the women to the tree. The young sisters dig their heels into the ground stubbornly fighting every inch of the way their heads whipping around as they try to sink their teeth into the Romans hands and arms.
"Be strong my daughters." Boudicca calls out. "Whatever happens remember you are and always will be queens of the Iceni."
Boudicca herself stands tall and walks steadily towards the tree ignoring the legionaires hands that hold her. All three are lined up beneath a thick branch that protudes from the gnarled old trunk some three feet above their heads.
"All those injured by these women step forward." Quintus commands. "Those whose honour was assaulted shall inflict justice."
Around ten legionaires step forward already smirking in anticipation, among them you spot the soldier whose nose was broken, his mouth and chin coated in snotty blood. Beside him hobbles the legionaire with crushed toes glowering at the redhead with an evil grin on his stubbled face. Leather cords are bound about the women's wrists and a rope passed around this and firmly knotted, then the loose end of the rope is tossed up and over the branch of the sacred oak. Legionaires eagerly haul on the ropes, hoisting the Iceni wenches arms upward until they're stretched high above their heads. The snot faced legionaire maliciously gives the slim ginger girl's rope an extra tug after his fellows are satisfied that leaves her standing on only the tips of her toes.
"Strip them." The legate barks once the ropes are tied off and secure.
Legionaires step forward and rip the clothing from the women's bodies. Tattered shreds are all that remains cling to their slim arms and legs. You swallow as you look at the three nubile bodies fully displayed, their forms totally bared barring leather sandals on their feet and golden torcs around their slender necks. Boudicca has the lushest body, womenly and ripe with wide hips and large full breasts tipped by thick brown nipples, her pubic delta is a densely forested triangle of gingery blonde curls. Her blonde daughter is a younger version of her mother, her breasts firmer than her mothers and yet to swell from childbirth, her pubic bush is sparser and of a much lighter shade than her mother's. The redhead's physique is gamine and boyish, her breasts a meagre size but with long stiff nipples of a deep red hue. Her pudenda has only a light dusting of pale ginger hair that fails to conceal her fleshy, cherry red pussylips.
Quintus has dismounted and he stalks forward to feast his eyes on his humiliated captives. At Boudicca he barely glances despite her body being the ripest on display. He lingers longer in front of the blonde, drinking in the sight of her slim body and walking around her to study her from all angles. To the redhead he gives the most attention, seemingly fascinated by her boyish physique and small breasts. He wets his thin lips, his tongue pale and insipid as it emerges. He circles her and his fingers grope her small hard buttocks.
"Cut some hazel switches." The legate commands.
Legionaires scurry to obey, stripping the thin rods in front of the prisoners so that they can look on in mounting trepidation as they prepare the whiplike switches for use on their helpless body. Thin and flexible, the rods swish noisily through the air as the Roman soldiers test them once the bark has been peeled and the rods cut to length. A soldier positions himself to the rear of each of woman, idly slapping the rods into their palms as they look eagerly to Quintus for the command to begin.
"Flog the bitches." Quintus orders with obvious relish.
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