PITYUS BETRAYED | service women bdsm stories

Claudia resumed her former life, as wife and mother, a member of a privileged social elite, waited on by servants, and observing the life of the city. From time to time rumours, and some more definite reports, reached them of the doings of the Sisters of Isis.

It had started as a mere curiosity, the resurrection of an ancient custom, and sanctified as such. All women must have a master, husband, father, brother, son, or some other male relative, failing that a guardian appointed by the state. By an ancient custom, long disused but never actually abolished, women who devoted themselves to the Goddess Isis might apply to place themselves under the guardianship of her priests. These were eunuchs, but still, in the eyes of the law at least, male.

For some time dissident women, whose crossed natures made them unnaturally antipathetic to men, had revived the practice. The authorities indulged them so long as they performed their service and caused no trouble. They soon established an ascendancy over their emasculated guardians, and their activities within the seclusion of Isis's shrine were more directed at Sappho than the Egyptian Deity - and not the sweet natured poetess who finally gave her unrequited love to a shepherd boy, but a vindictive fanatically man-hating distortion of the Greek maiden.

The cousins were not alone now. Many young women, particularly those from privileged backgrounds, opted for the temple to be appointed their guardian, with its relaxed discipline and seductive subversion, and ideas imported from the decadent and falling Empire without. Though the authorities had been swift to act within the confines of the state service, the families of these girls misguidedly opposed any attempts to curb their excesses, their selfish demands to avoid their proper duty to the state, their talk of empowerment and the rights of women.

Wiser heads predicted dire consequences, but too many of those in power merely laughed and asked what a bunch of girls cold do to harm the state.

The answer to that question was given all too soon. With the regularity of the seasons, or the quarters of the moon, the time for Claudia's service came round again. She viewed it with a certain amount of apprehension. She would have to bear the hot irons on her vulva again, and the sharp pain of the needle penetrating the lips of her vaginal entrance, but it was a passing pain, soon overcome and a necessary protection while she did her duty, naked, in the service of the community.

The shaving of her head was as difficult to bear as any pain in her groin, but she would contribute her hair for the better defence of them all. That spring she reported to the line when her time came, and stood, naked, while the ritual was performed on her body, trying to set an example to the younger women, some of whom were attending for the first time; these were fearful of the searing of their girlish pudenda, the repeated stabbing of the sealing needle and the distress of losing the lovely locks of which they were so proud.

It was to these sore and unhappy women, apprehensive of the months of naked toil under chain and lash, that the harpies from Isis made their appeal.

They had learned their lesson well as they screamed on the whipping post the last time they had raised the banner of rebellion. Then they had been almost alone, and the authorities had acted swiftly to cut out the cancer. Moreover they had left their move too late, when the women had become reconciled to their lot, proud of the contributions they were making, and with the end of their service in sight.

This time, they had laid their plans well. In the two years passed they had recruited widely, being held up as martyrs who had suffered for the cause.

Moreover, they had worked carefully on the clerks at the enrolment stations to ensure that their members were distributed, so that practically every gang contained a woman dedicated to insurrection and subversion.

They began to spread dissent and dissatisfaction among the women called to service, whispering half-truths about the inequity of women doing the heavy labour, forgetting it was only for six months in every two years, and the indulgence they received in between while the men served at least half their lives in constant danger and discomfort and, many of them, nearly always on duty to defend the women.

In a preconcerted move, each called upon her sore and saddened sisters to reject male authority, to refuse to act as beasts of burden, as being beneath the dignity of women and only fit for men, to act in solidarity with each other, by which they meant behave as a flock of sheep, though they dignified it in other language, and to cast off the yolk of the oppressors.

The Commandant knew what had to be done, and he set out to do it instantly. But no sooner had he given orders for the women to be seized, gang by gang, and flogged in fives, starting with whichever ringleaders could be identified, than orders countermanding his measures came from outside. The evil followers of Isis, with their perverted views of women's right to be placed on pedestals, had arranged for a host of misguided supporters, male and female, with attitudes ranging from 'poor little dears. they're harmless really, and we shouldn't be too hard on them', to 'my brute of a husband is a pig, so all men are pigs and women angels and you shan't touch one of them'.

This outside attack had been carefully organised to synchronise with the events within the compound where the spring intake was assembled, and they made the Governor's ears ring until he sent order that no action was to be taken against the women for the time being.

Unfortunately weaker men in the counsels of the state urged that concessions should be made, little easings of the strictness of the discipline, etc, saying it would have no material effect, but would appease the malcontents.

Of course it did nothing of the sort, merely strengthening their hand with their innocent sisters, who were easily persuaded now that they only had to made a fuss, and the men would give them whatever they wished. Such attitudes had been the downfall of families, dynasties, and states, throughout history.

While the politicians argued and delayed, each fearful of being held responsible for any wrong decision made, the sisters pushed home their advantage.

The women refused to leave camp, complaining they had not healed enough to march yet. Foolish men granted them a few day's grace, reinforcing the power of the harpies who led them. By the time authority lost patience it was too late.

The leaders had consolidated their power. The first women to be flogged were hailed as martyrs to the cause. The mule-like stubbornness and refusal to accept logic made them deaf to all pleas on behalf of the security of the state and the dangers from the barbarians if the spring repairs to the mountain roads, essential to the quick passage of supplies and men to the forts, were delayed.

The more the authorities tried to persuade them, the more the secret leaders of the revolt assured the other deluded women that it gave them empowerment, that they should practice self-awareness and seize the moment, prepared to risk all for the cause. With that instinct for self-destruction, that will lead women to destroy family, home, everything in fits of pique when thwarted, they simply ignored the danger to the state.

They still refused to move out to open the roads to the forts and enable them to be resupplied. Claudia knew only too well what conditions might be like up there in the mountains. She remembered the weakened men who had sucked

gratefully on her bountiful teats, the sick and wounded from defending them all from the barbarians. How would they be faring, without the roads being repaired by the women labour gangs, their food and other supplies made good by the straining teams dragging up the commissariats carts?

But the ringleaders would not be moved, even when the first reports of the conditions in the mountains began to filter through. In desperation the authorities diverted the men who would have gone to reinforce the forts, and relieve their garrisons. Instead they were scattered along the winter wrecked roads, to make them passable. Meanwhile the sick and weakened garrisons must fend for themselves.

The winter had been hard, taking more than its usual toll of the defenders but, as if to compensate, it ended as early as it had started. The barbarians began to move even as the men who should have opposed them were dispatched to hew stone and lay roads. Their scouts took in the situation at once, confirming the reports their spies in the city had sent, telling of confusion and disarray caused by the failure to suppress the rebellion of the women against their proper duty and obedience.

Talla struck at once, throwing his Alans against the forts in a series of smashing blows that the weakened and unsupplied defenders could not resist. The garrisons were slaughtered to a man and their comrades, strung out along the unrepaired roads, shared the same fate.

The Alans arrived at the city at the same time as the news of the disaster, and there was no chance of beating them off. Men died in the streets, trying to defend their property and their women, but in vain. The city was filled with blood and fire and the shrieks of raped women in every corner. Only those in the work camp, neatly sealed and packaged on their chains of five, were spared the initial ravaging, and those virgins who could be identified and saved for their value in the slave markets of the east, though many had their maidenheads ripped before their value was realised.

For two days and nights the slaughter, rape and looting went on unchecked, until every cowering female, in cellar or attic, had been hunted down and dragged, screaming, into the street, to be stripped and bent over some convenient wall or fountain and receive a dozen raping penises. At the end of that time Talla called his wolves to heel.

The next day long lines of naked women, some with babes strapped on their backs, for cow and calf fetched good prices in the markets, secured at intervals on the same chains once used to marshal them for branding and sealing at the onset of the service they had now rejected, left the city dragging carts piled high with booty. There were nothing living in the city they left, but not all the women of the destroyed place went with them. The barbarian was far too wise to import into his own tents the virulent female sickness that had brought down the once proud city. The followers of Isis, in their pride, had made it easy for him to root out the infection, for they had each had tattooed, below their left nipple, the ankh, the symbol of the dire female deity.

Very early that morning, at the first light of dawn, those that bore the cursed mark were marched in chains out along the highway that led from the city to the hills, each with her arms strapped to a pole fastened across her shoulders. The line stopped every few yards for a woman to be detached, stripped and laid on ground. Their buttocks were pulled open to reveal their anuses and the long slim poles, with their blunt pointed ends, were thrust home brutally, to shrieks of agony, shrieks renewed and redoubled as, watched by the horrified women awaiting their own impalement, the poles were hoisted upright and planted in the earth at the side of the road.

The women were not tied. Their hands were free, but they could do nothing to lever themselves off their lethal perches. Some clutched their belies, as if to hold in the pain, others gripped their own buttocks, as if they could somehow wrench them apart and release the appalling intruder. One or two clasped their hands behind their backs, holding themselves as still as possible in order not to awaken the sleeping horror in their rectums. It might be argued they were to losers by it, for their stillness meant they endured longer before death finally released them.

When the long procession of chained women and their burdens had passed down the road on their way to perpetual slavery exhaustion overcame those left behind on their poles. The cries slowly subsided, only to be renewed from time

to time as bubbling screams as their bodies stirred on the spikes, forcing the stakes deeper into their guts, searching for some vital organ that would, after long hours of agony, bring them blessed relief in kindly death.

With those cries, torn from the throats of those who had caused her downfall, Pityus finally died.

Prev