Free A Cruel Passing of Innocence by J.D. Jensen Page A

her naked back, causing sweat to glisten on her skin, and her thoughts came back to the present.
    The tall headman in blue robes and gold-embroidered red cap approached the front of the assembly. Hovering behind him was two of the muscular guards, silent and menacing. If any slave held any remaining intentions of resistance, then these figures surely extinguished such notions.
    Ahmood and the other whip-boys bowed to him respectfully. Nodding, as if in approval, he studied the slaves, then began to walk slowly behind them. Starting with the young men he stopped behind every one of them in turn, looking down on their prostrated bodies, studying them briefly, bending to observe a profile of a face, stooping to peer beneath the buttocks or between legs. Occasionally he would signal to Ahmood, who in turn would gesture to one of the whip-boys, who would beckon the slave to follow.
    The first selected male slave hurried to get up, but as he rose the whip-boy lashed out with his whip across his shoulders, cowering him to the ground again. The whip-boy, his eyes boring fiercely into the confused face of the slave, beckoned him again, but this time he yanked roughly at the slave’s straggly hair, pulling him forward. Understanding dawned swiftly on the slave, and crawling on all fours he quickly followed the whip-boy into the unknown precincts of the palace.
    Nassara wondered where he was being taken, immediately fearing for Zheeno, her heart sinking at the thought of him being taken from her. The headman picked out two more male slaves, and they scuttled away to join the first, chaperoned as before by one of the whip-boys, and then the headman stopped behind Zheeno.
    Nassara held her breath, willing him to pass by. Zheeno remained as still as any statue, his knees apart and his lean buttocks taut, then after a moment or two the headman passed on to the next straining form, and Nassara breathed a sigh of relief.
    Soon only a handful of male slaves remained kneeling, and the headman moved to the slave girls. The first to be picked was the unfortunate girl who had received the worst of the thrashings, and clearly frightened at leaving her companions, she cast desperate glances in their direction before scuttling away on all fours, her ravaged buttocks rolling from side to side as she went.
    The headman stopped behind Belithza, who was beside Nassara. He squatted down, and placing a hand on each buttock he pressed them yet further apart, opening the valley further so he could study the puckered entrance of her anal passage. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he stood up and grunted before moving on to Nassara.
    Keeping her forehead to the ground and looking back between her knees, she could see his gold-buckled satin slippers, tensing under his silent scrutiny.
    The headman stooped slowly down and Nassara was aware of him studying her intimately, and fearing that her gaze might meet with his in the course of his inspection, she closed them tight.
    Feeling again the tremor of fear in her aching muscles, she forced herself to dip her spine yet more and to thrust herself out more, as though to facilitate the headman’s inquisitive inspection of her, despite willing him to move on.
    Eventually he did and stood behind the black girl beside her, Ugimba. He grumbled something to Ahmood, who hovered silently behind his master, ready for his bidding, and he growled at Ugimba, tapping her on the legs with his black whip.
    â€˜Arribaja! Arribaja!’
    Knowing his command, Ugimba scrambled to her feet, trembling under the man’s gaze, her eyes wide with fear, in her anxiety forgetting the lessons of posture. Her head was too high, not downcast in servility, and before she realised it Ahmood flicked his switch against her tummy and with his free hand yanked her head down by the hair. She squealed with shock and pain, but hastened to adopt the position required and stood trembling, her breasts quivering in the trauma of her fearful