The women of the silver masks recoiled, shuddering.
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256
There were exclamations of anger, of horror.
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257
"I am a woman of Tharna," she screamed, "First in Tharna! First!" Then, beside herself with rage, holding the whip in both hands, she lashed madly at me.
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258
"It is the kiss of the whip for you!" she screamed.
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259
Again and again she struck me, yet through it all I managed to stay on my knees, not to fall.
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260
My senses reeled, my body, tortured by the weight of the silver yoke, now wrapped in the flames of the whip, shook with uncontrollable agony.
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Then, when the Tatrix had exhausted herself, by some effort I find it hard to comprehend, I managed to stand on my feet, bloody, wearing the yoke, my flesh in tatters—and look down upon her.
The women of the silver masks recoiled, shuddering.
There were exclamations of anger, of horror.
"I am a woman of Tharna," she screamed, "First in Tharna! First!" Then, beside herself with rage, holding the whip in both hands, she lashed madly at me.
"It is the kiss of the whip for you!" she screamed.
Again and again she struck me, yet through it all I managed to stay on my knees, not to fall.
My senses reeled, my body, tortured by the weight of the silver yoke, now wrapped in the flames of the whip, shook with uncontrollable agony.
Then, when the Tatrix had exhausted herself, by some effort I find it hard to comprehend, I managed to stand on my feet, bloody, wearing the yoke, my flesh in tatters—and look down upon her.
- (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter )