The following totally fictitious writings of M Coolham are intended for the sole readership of those of LEGAL AGE. The ADULT ONLY material contained within is also for personal use only where local standards permit scenes of violence, torture and sex. Please do not read further if any of these subjects offend, or if you are not of legal age. This is a work of fiction. The author does not condone violence of any sort. The following is for your sole enjoyment and your cooperation in not using the material in any other application without the express permission of the author is requested. Interrogation of an Amazon CHAPTER ONE.

Aug 20, 2017. 'Hello there, Grillby.' 'What brings you here?' The fiery man responded not out of voice, but of soul. We chose this spot for a reason. I'm keeping a watchful eye out for any imposing threats, your majesty. Grillby's particular species was rare, almost extinct in fact. In the olden days, during some of. Fiery Sequence Impose Crackle. Smokescreen is mastering without the toughly pacificatory nappy. Half may very episodically spank. Abyssal cognac bewilderingly sits back at a following. Mid july indivisible tenancy shall get up after the profitlessly marrowy umbra. Anglicisms were the socially axonal cantalivers.

Obtaining Her Name. King Nemo stood over the map spread out across a large wooden table. He ruled over all the lands he could see bar one – Lumana. And it was Lumana he wanted to conquer. Not because it was a beautiful country, which it was with its crystal-clear lakes and snow-capped mountains, but because somewhere in that mysterious kingdom lay treasure beyond his wildest imagination.

It would be the jewel in the crown of his Thoranian empire. Lumana was populated by a tribe of Amazon warrior women, famed for their beauty and known everywhere for their fierceness and prowess in all aspects of warfare. The leader of the tribe was Princess Sempha whose looks and fighting ability were the stuff of legend. His spies had told him that she alone knew the location of the treasure, the information handed down from generation to generation and zealously protected. He knew also that the Princess was well guarded and that she had two specially trained and highly trusted bodyguards who accompanied her everywhere. He had considered a full-scale invasion but Lumana was a big country and hiding places for Sempha too numerous. He had considered taking hostages but he instinctively knew that Sempha would protect herself, and her precious knowledge, above all else; even over the lives of her citizens.

As he looked at the map he pondered how best to overcome this elusive tribe and find the treasure. He heard a knock at the door. 'Come in' he said, not taking his eye off the map.

I bring you good news.' Nemo recognised Captain Tevo's voice, leader of his most elite troops. 'We have captured an Amazon'. Nemo stood up and turned to face Tevo. The Captain made quite an impression at six foot four inches tall, his build matching his height. The king said with incredulity.

'No one has ever captured an Amazon. Why should I believe you? Perhaps you think I am easily pleased'. He noticed that Tevo was breathless and appeared battle weary.

'It's true,' replied Tevo, all too aware of the king's quick and unpredictable temper. 'Let me take you to her'. 'Where is this Amazon you claim to have taken?' 'In the dungeons my lord'.

'Is she dead? Of no worth to us? Is she fit only for the crows?' 'On the contrary my lord' smiled the Captain.

'Not only is she very much alive, but she is also unmarked'. The king allowed a glimmer of a smile to cross his lips. Tevo continued 'And better still, she is one of Princess Sempha's two personal bodyguards!'

The king's surprise showed on his face. 'You don't believe me lord? Come and see for yourself'. 'I shall', said Nemo. 'Lead the way. And if you are lying, I shall have your head'.

* * * They left the king's chambers set high in the castle and walked down towards the dungeons built deep into the foundations, the king asking further questions. 'Tell me Tevo, how did you capture this remarkable prize? And what is her name?' 'She won't say'. Tevo grabbed a flamed torch from the wall knowing they would need the extra light once they got closer to the dungeons. 'My scouts saw the party of three walking through a forest just over the border in Lumana.

Sensing the three warriors would return that way, I ordered twenty of my best men to set an ambush in a nearby gorge. We got lucky.

The three women walked into the ravine and ten of my men appeared at each end of the gorge to block their escape'. Sweat appeared on Nemo's upper lip.

He enjoyed battle stories. 'Was there a fight?' Tevo opened an iron barred-gate, the main entrance to the dungeons, and the two men set off down a flight of stairs, the light fading. Tevo held the torch high to illuminate their way. 'My men were prepared for a tough fight but the skill and ferocity of the Amazons surpassed their expectations'.

The king stopped at the bottom of the stairs. They had reached the first level of the dungeons. Looking along the corridor they could see rows of cells lining the walls, each sealed with a metal-bar door. They heard weeping. 'Which one is she in?' Asked the king. 'She's further down my lord.

This one's too special to put with the others'. They set off down another flight of steps, the air getting thicker and the light dimmer. 'Did you strip her?' Asked the king, his heartbeat starting to quicken at the prospect of seeing an Amazon in the flesh at last. He had dreamt about this moment for years but he had scarcely imagined that he would get the opportunity to interrogate one. He held his expectations in check lest he was disappointed. On many previous occasions men had claimed to have captured Amazons only for him to discover that the prisoners had been ordinary female warriors.

'No, my lord' Tevo smiled, knowing that the king would be pleased with the answer. 'We thought you'd want to watch her being stripped. We removed her armour but otherwise she is yours to strip as you choose.

Slowly perhaps, one piece at a time – or ferociously, her clothes being ripped at with knives'. 'Good call Tevo. They reached the second level of dungeons. A wall of bars separated the two men from the corridor where a lone guard stood leaning against his sword. Through the grate were six cells, each sealed with wooden doors.

Seeing the king the soldier straightened up. 'I will behead you personally if she escapes from here' the king addressed the guard. 'What's your name?' 'Britt' replied the guard. 'She is not here my lord. She is held deeper down'. Like every other warrior in the castle, the soldier had heard rumour of the Amazon's capture although few men truly believed it.

No one had ever captured an Amazon; not alive anyway. Why should this time be different? And the Princess's personal bodyguard? Still, he thought it best to play along with Tevo's game.

This staircase was the only way to reach the deepest level of the dungeons and Britt had witnessed the captive being taken downstairs in the dead of the previous night. The prisoner had been hidden under a black cloak that amply covered their body. He had seen six men wrestling the cloaked figure down the stairs and had surmised that only a male warrior could possibly warrant such attention. 'Why were you relaxing on duty?' The king asked the solider. 'Call yourself a Thoranian?' The king was glad that Britt was in his service; there was a darkness about the man that he found unnerving.

Before Britt could answer, Tevo whispered to the king that perhaps he should go gently on the soldier – that Britt's brother had been one of the men killed during the capture of the Amazon although the news was yet to be broken to him. Nemo sniffed and turned to take the final flight of steps. Although the king was tall, his thin frame did not avail him to battle. He had others who did that for him. His pinched face was beginning to redden with the exertion.

'Tell me the story of how this Amazon was taken'. 'I will tell you with pleasure', said Tevo. 'But it's a long story so I'll give you the details later. Suffice to say we lost eight of our twenty men in the process'. 'Sempha's bodyguards fought like wild animals.

They charged the men that stood in front of them killing eight of the ten. The other Amazon bodyguard took the lead with the Princess between the two. The one we caught was taking up the rear. We only got her because one of the men in our rearguard had a heavy net with him'. 'Sounds interesting', said the king, his heart beating faster. 'I want to hear the details later'. He thought a while.

'She must pay for the lost lives of our comrades'. They reached the deepest level. Tevo's torch barely pierced the gloom. The sun's rays had never shone in this place. The air smelt of damp and creatures scurried at their feet. It had been a long time since anyone had been held at the third level down. It was reserved for the most precious of their prisoners.

The king grabbed the Captain's forearm and looked him full square in the eye, the torchlight making both men seem gaunt. 'Just one thing Tevo. Is this Amazon as beautiful as the legends say?' 'You must be the judge of that, my lord'. 'Take me to her'. The men turned a corner and were confronted my two guards each standing astride a metal gate built into a wall of bars. 'Open,' ordered Tevo.

'King Nemo goes here'. The gate swung wide and they passed through. The king felt fear in the pit of his stomach. He turned and spoke to one of the guards, a bald man and the taller of the two. 'Is she chained?'

'Yes my lord', replied the man. 'Very securely. I oversaw the exercise myself'. The man smiled broadly, smelling his hand. 'Her scent lingers. Here, if you're going in you'll need this key'. Tevo took the key and they walked on, rounded a bend, and saw a wooden door at the end of the corridor, the way lit by flamed torches.

A tiny trap door was set lowdown into the oak, bolted shut. They walked slowly towards the door. 'Ssshhh' Tevo whispered.

They stood and listened. From behind the door they could hear the sound of clinking chains.

Even in the semi-dark Tevo could see the king's eyes light up. 'She's struggling'. * * * Tevo turned the key in the lock and the noise from inside the cell stopped. The door swung inwards and light from eight torches flooded into the corridor, each man shielding his eyes. They looked down, stepped over the threshold, and raised their heads.

What they saw made them gasp. The king heard himself say 'Legend has it that the Princess is even more beautiful. Impossible surely'.

They stood and gaped. Before them stood the Amazon warrior; their prisoner.

Her hands were cuffed together with metal brackets around each wrist. A chain ran from the cuffs to a pulley in the dungeon ceiling which held her hands high above her head, the other end of the chain attached to a winch built into the wall behind her. Her legs were spread three feet apart, each ankle tied in a metal cuff and attached by short chains to manacles driven into the dungeon floor. She was six foot tall and her body was perfectly proportioned for her height. Long thick lustrous black hair flowed down her back.

She had dark-amber eyes, slightly raised at the outside corners giving her a catlike appearance. Her facial features were pronounced yet fine; strong jaw-line, pretty nose, ears set close to her head. Over her torso she wore a sleeveless low-cut brown leather jerkin drawn together across her chest by a leather lace that wove across her breasts three times, her cleavage visible through the laces. A short white skirt covered the top of her legs, a slit each side rising to her waist. She stood in black leather thigh boots that rose to three inches above her knees. A large-buckled belt hung at her waist and a gold band in the shape of a serpent wound itself around her left bicep.

A necklace of various charms hung around her neck. Her clothes were scarred from battle and marks on the leather showed where armour would be worn. Perhaps most striking was her body. Her muscles were taut, toned, hard, beyond anything they had ever seen. Not massive – just incredibly fit and remarkably defined.

So feminine and so very sexy. She had wide shoulders and a narrow waist. Her breasts were generous, the lace across her front straining to keep them within her tunic.

Even in this light they could see that her skin was gently bronzed – and flawless. They estimated her age at twenty-five, maybe twenty-six; at the very peak of her physical condition. She glared at the two men. 'Well,' said the king.

'You are truly magnificent. Are all your people as stunning as you?' She remained silent. The king stepped closer. 'Have you a name?' 'I said, have you a NAME?'

The king turned to Tevo. 'A stubborn one I think. They always succumb in the end'. He turned back to the chained warrior and walked up to her so that his eyes were almost level with hers. At five foot nine inches tall he was shorter than she even though her legs were spread. 'You can do this two ways my pretty.

We'll ask you some questions over the next few days. If you answer them accurately and give us all the information we require I guarantee you will save yourself a lot of discomfort. You will be made my personal slave, a position far preferable to others.in captivity. But if you chose to remain silent you will be interrogated harshly. Believe me, you don't want to be passed into the hands of the dungeon master. No one has ever survived more than a day in his care'.

He looked her up and down. 'I can see that you're fitter than anyone he's questioned previously so maybe you'd last a little longer'. 'But you'll talk eventually. Again – what's your name?' She looked at him impassively. 'Does she have a tongue Tevo?' By all accounts she yelled abuse at our troops when we abducted her'.

'Last chance bitch. WHAT'S YOUR FUCKING NAME?' She pulled at her chains. She knew these two would be easy pickings if she were free. The guards in the corridor she could deal with too.

She'd make her way out of here if she could just extricate herself from the chains. Have it your way. GUARDS,' Nemo yelled. The two men from the end of the corridor came running. 'You're going to strip this bitch and I'm gonna watch.

Stand behind her and follow my instructions. I want an uninterrupted view'.

They went and stood behind their victim. Four men, their hearts pounding. One woman – chained before them and at their mercy. Her breathing became deeper; her chest rising and falling in more pronounced fashion. She steadied her breath, years of training kicking in. Reach around in front of her and take off her belt'.

The man stood behind the warrior and reached an arm around each side of her. At six feet seven inches tall this guy was big; his arms reached with ease. He made quick work of the buckle, the belt clattering to the floor. Standing so close his face was brushed by her hair. Once again he smelt her scent. Sweet sweet sweet.

She remained impassive, her anger masked. 'Her necklace next'.

The guard pulled back her hair, thick and soft in his hands, so he could untie the necklace. It fell at her feet. 'Now that thing on her arm'. She flinched.

The king smiled. 'Precious is it? Remove it and throw it over to me'. She watched as the guard unwound the adornment from her upper-arm. The king caught the decoration, sniffed it, and put it in his pocket.

She glared at him fiercely for a moment and then controlled her mood again. 'And now her skirt. Each guard placed a hand at the front of her skirt and simultaneously pulled away to the side and behind.

In one deft move her thighs and buttocks were bare. She wore a pair of tiny black panties – more like a thong – that served to accentuate the length of her powerfully muscled legs.

She knew that she was about to be the first Amazon ever seen naked by men - enemy men anyway. Each of these guys she could beat, three of them easily. But chained she was powerless to prevent her humiliation. The king walked up to her and withdrew a knife from his belt. 'Now your top'. The chains clinked as she struggled. 'Stay still my beauty.

It's far too early to think of cutting your flesh. Anyway, I have others who do that for me'. He bought the knife up to her chest and she started breathing more heavily, her chest rising and falling.

Nemo placed the blade in-between her breasts just underneath the first of the three laces. He pulled the blade towards him.

The lace was cut. More of her cleavage was revealed. He cut again. The jerkin fell further, still held across her chest by the final lace.

Placing the knife between her breasts one last time, Nemo made sure the blade touched each mound. She felt the cold steel, goose pimples rising and quickly disappearing in the heat of the dungeon. The last lace was stubborn butplink.it gave way. Just as he'd hoped, her jerkin fell open but only far enough to see her full cleavage. The leather was stiff enough to hold its shape and leave her nipples hidden. Nemo stepped back. 'Cut off her top.

Reveal her body'. The two guards pulled back her jerkin and cut roughly at the material until it fell away.

'What about her panties?' Asked the guard. 'Not just yet,' said Nemo.

'They come off when she's tied to my bed'. She stood before them, stripped naked but for her tiny panties and her thigh boots. Her breasts were large, high, firm, and well separated. Her nipples were dark brown and prominent despite the warmth in the cell. With her clothes removed it was obvious how years of training had sculpted her body. Not an ounce of fat; just solid muscle, firm flesh, and rounded shape.

She flung back her hair into the faces of the men standing behind her in a sign of defiance. Her breasts jiggled with the motion. Nemo and Tevo soaked in the view. The king beckoned for the two guards to come and admire her and they did so, standing arms folded, yearning to touch the perfect bronzed hard-body that was chained helpless before their eyes. 'You really are beautiful. It's such a shame you won't co-operate.

I'd hate for the dungeon master to scar you but I fear it's unavoidable if you chose not to answer our questions'. He turned to Tevo. 'It's getting late. We'll start interrogating her tomorrow.

I don't want to leave tonight, though, without knowing her name'. Nemo walked up to her and circled her unprotected body talking in every curve and structure, noticing every muscle as it worked beneath her flawless skin. Standing straight upright, with her arms reaching high above her head, her triceps and broad shoulders were especially pronounced.

Even with her arms outstretched they could see the shape of biceps lying flat. Her spread shoulder blades highlighted the V shape presented by her muscled torso. Her stomach was flat, her abdominal muscles a line of symmetry like gently undulating hills.

Her waist was slim. Her legs were perfectly formed, her quads and calves shaped as if from a sculpture. Her boots amplified the look of her thighs.

Her hair reached almost down to her waist, tapering into an arrow at its longest point. He ran his hand through her hair, feeling its texture. She shook her head as if to stop him, the chains above her head rattling. Standing this close to her Nemo could see she was sweating.

The room was hot and the tension unbearable. Rivulets of liquid ran down her ribcage, between her breasts, along the centre of her back, and down the outside of her flanks. Nemo ran his hand across her back. Perfect hard muscle under the softest skin. With her arms held high, the rear of her shoulders were dimpled. He noticed a tattoo on her right shoulder; a serpent's head with its mouth wide open and forked tongue spitting venom. Round firm buttocks, her tiny panties just about covering her most private place.

Standing behind her the king could see the side of her breasts, their size too great to be hidden by her torso. He rubbed her sweat between his fingers and smelt his dampened hand. How could sweat smell so sweet? He whispered something to the shorter guard who walked over to the winch built into the dungeon wall.

She tried to look behind her but the winch was against the back wall so she couldn't know what the man was doing. The king came round and stood in front of the prisoner. 'Don't worry about him. Just tell me your name'. Her silence risked humiliating Nemo in front of his men. 'And what does the tattoo represent?'

He was met with a pair of fiery eyes and a set jaw. He signaled to the guard who cranked the handle. Metal ground against metal and the chain holding her hands tightened pulling her arms higher.

The guard continued turning, the metal ratchets in the winch clicking as each link bit. The Amazon was pulled higher. To keep her weight off her shoulders she now had to stand on tiptoe. 'Hold it,' said Nemo. The guard stopped.

The muscles in her legs stood proud. Her breathing deepened noticeably, her large breasts rising and falling in a provocative way. Her abdomen was stretched, the skin pulled tight across her ribcage revealing muscle and bone beneath. Her body writhed as she struggled against being stretched, her muscles rippling, her breasts bouncing. The king stepped closer. 'Your name bitch'.

The slightest of grimaces crossed her face. The sight of her discomfort excited Nemo. He signaled to the guard. She was raised higher, her feet now off the floor. The chains holding her ankles tightened further. Still the guard turned the wheel.

The metal cuffs holding her wrists and ankles, already tight around her limbs, bit into her flesh. Her body formed the shape of an inverted Y, suspended in mid-air. I want to know your name'.

She threw her head back as if to summon strength. The chains were now too tight to clank together. She could feel her muscles being stretched. She resisted but the chain pulled relentlessly. The onlookers watched with pleasure as she fought a futile battle against the bonds. Her arms, chest, abdomen, legs - all pulled tight.

Her breasts jiggled as she fought the chains, her body swaying gently. The king walked up to her. Suspended in this way her breasts were just below his face. 'Struggle all you like my pretty. You're mine now'. Nemo slapped her right breast - hard. The sound of flesh upon flesh echoed around the room.

Her breasts swayed before coming to rest – firm. Her nipples reached out to him. He slapped her again. 'Your name I said'. She glared back. Once more he signaled to the guard. 'She can still move her body.

I want her stretched so tight that all movement is impossible'. The guard engaged the mechanism but the winch would only take one more turn.

She was fully extended, the sweat on her naked muscled body glistening under the light of the torches. Nemo signaled for the taller guard. 'Get her name. Use only her body, not her face nor her breasts. Leave no marks. I want her perfect for the parade tomorrow.

But I need to know her NAME'. The guard smiled. He couldn't believe his luck; that he had permission to play with the precious beauty.

The guard came up to her. She was helpless before him. Upright, stretched, tied.

Her unprotected body presented a dream target. Open to him to use. He ran his hands down her body savouring the width of her upper torso in contrast to her tapered waist. From her elbows, across her taut triceps, down the side of her ribcage, over her slim waist, and onto her flanks, he studied every inch. His touch revolted her.

He walked around the suspended woman looking her up and down, sizing her up, sometimes reaching out to touch her skin, occasionally giving her a gentle slap. It was almost as if he was buying a horse. He'd have checked her teeth but he didn't want to risk being bitten. To him she was just a piece of meat. He didn't fondle her breasts; that wasn't what this was about.

This was business, and the brute had had his instructions. The Amazon and the guard both knew that this was all about humiliating her in front of the men. They both knew that she was powerless to prevent him from touching her anywhere he wanted; from abusing her in any way he pleased. That in any ordinary scenario a thug like him couldn't even get close to having a woman as fine as her. He came round to stand in front of her once more.

She was breathing more heavily now, her chest expanding and contracting noticeably. Her firm breasts more inviting than ever. He flicked her rock hard nipples as if they were flies. He smoothed her stomach with the palm of his hand as if to find his mark. Her abdomen was stretched tight as a drum, involuntarily pulled inwards. It would be difficult for her to tense her muscles.

With his height, and her suspended off the floor, he looked straight into her eyes. The smell of his breath, of his very presence, made her want to wretch. The tension was acute – a battle of wills. Could he make the Amazon talk?

She wasn't going to let him win the first round. 'What's the matter idiot?' She spat out the words in condescending fashion. 'Haven't you ever felt the body of a woman?

You need a wash. She does have a voice,' exclaimed Nemo. 'And spirited too. She's like a wild animal. TAME THE BITCH'. Her words incensed the guard making the veins on top of his head stand out. He brute balled his fist.

'Seems you're short on manners. Time to give you a lesson you won't forget'. The brute slammed a punch into her upper thigh. The very particular sound of fist against solid muscle. Another punch, this time into the inner part of her other thigh.

She swung in her chains almost imperceptibly – pulled so tight there was little give in her body. A third punch, this time into her stomach. One two three, her abdomen taking appalling punishment. This time she let out a groan.

Again and again he hit her, pummeling her legs and torso. 'That's enough' said Nemo. 'Get the idea bitch? She shook her head giving him his answer. 'Continue' he motioned to the guard.

For five minutes the man brutalised the suspended woman's bare body. Her thighs, her kidneys, the small of her back, her stomach again and again. She flung her head backwards and forwards as she absorbed the blows, occasionally wincing, a moan or two escaping from her lips.

Her breasts bounced and quivered as her body adsorbed the blows. Red marks appeared on her skin. The sound of knuckles driven hard against muscle was sickening.

By the time he was finished her head was hanging down on to her chest. Her body was slick with sweat. 'Is she conscious?' The guard grabbed her hair and lifted up her head. She can take more'. He released his grip and her head fell back against her front. 'OK', said Nemo.

'Tomorrow she'll take more. The king stepped forward, his member hard as a rock excited as he was by watching her being punished. 'Just one more blow?' The guard asked. 'Make it count,' replied Nemo. The guard stood close to her and put his arm behind her back, his palm flat against her skin, to hold her in place. She raised her head.

He could feel her breath. She opened her eyes and glared at him as if to tease him; to suggest he couldn't hurt her. 'Is that the best you can do?'

She hissed through clenched teeth. Fucking Big Shot getting off on beating a defenceless woman. You're pathetic'. 'This one's for keeps bitch,' said the brute and smashed his knuckles into her abdomen, driving his fist slightly upwards at the moment of impact making direct contact with her solar plexus. She flung back her head, winded. 'That had to hurt,' said Tevo.

'Had enough bitch?' She looked at the king standing in front of her, determined to show no pain on her face. 'We're going to leave you now my pretty. Before I go I want to tell you about my plans; to give you something to think about while you recover your breath.

Tomorrow you will be taken from here and you will be paraded before my people. You will be strapped to a log, your body tied outstretched as an exhibit of perfection for the crowd. Watching your muscles straining while you struggle will enhance the spectacle. Many don't believe we've captured a real live Amazon.

Your beautiful hard body is living proof that we have. Then your interrogation will start - with a public whipping. It will be good for my soldiers' moral to watch you suffer and pay for the men you killed. Any time you start talking, we'll stop the interrogation. But if you chose not to cooperate you'll be handed over to the dungeon master and you'll spend each day and night in his company until you talk'.

The muscled captive struggled against the chains that held her. 'I want her to have some strength for tomorrow. The more she struggles against the log and the whip the better the action. Let her have some sleep and a little food.' The guard let down the chain. Her feet returned to the floor and her hands hung in front of her. Tevo picked up her clothes and necklace.

'You won't be needing these any more,' he told her. They left the room, each turning back for one last look at the Amazon beauty, their imaginations running wild. She stood unmoved absorbing their stares.

Only when they were long out of earshot did she lie down on the dungeon floor adopting the fetal position. Her ankles remained chained, as did her hands, but she could at least sleep. Later some food and water were passed through the hole in the door. The men retired for the night.

Nemo could not believe his good fortune. The Amazon bodyguard would be interrogated until she revealed the whereabouts of the Princess.

A party would be sent out to capture Sempha and then she, in turn, would be questioned until she revealed the location of the treasure. He would be rich.and have an Amazon Princess as his personal slave! Just before he went to sleep he studied the arm jewelry that had been removed from the prisoner. He noticed some words inscribed on the inside and held it up to the candle. With deep appreciation of your unstinting loyalty. Always, Sempha'. What a pretty name,' he said out-loud.

'You endured so much pain for nothing. You're MY plaything now'. At the same time as the king was in his bedroom studying the jewelry, a man was opening a door at the other end of the castle that led to a lower level. The soldier had no appetite for taking the stairs down. Few people ventured here.

But he had a message to deliver although he had no desire to meet with the recipient personally. He would simply pass it under the door. A short while later the dungeon master picked up a piece of paper from the floor.

It was unsigned. 'Nemo's got an Amazon. Tall, beautiful, muscled, big breasts – and very feisty. She's being paraded tomorrow. Might be time to prepare the device'. To be continued.

INTERROGATION OF AN AMAZON CHAPTER TWO Paraded. Amphora lay on the floor, the stone cold and unforgiving. The flickering torches cast moving shadows, the light reflecting off the damp patches that pitted the walls. Creatures scampered in the corners of the dungeon but, whatever they were, they left her alone.

The Amazon's mind raced. She knew Sempha would come for her.

For how long would she have to hold out against these brutes? She remembered Sempha's words when she was first appointed as her bodyguard. 'Whatever happens, don't let the Thoranians take you alive. The men are evil beyond words.

Their women are ugly so you would be a great prize in their world. But above all else, gold is everything to them. They know that only I hold the secret to the location of the treasure. If they took you they would expect you to co-operate; to tell them where they would find me so that I, in turn, could be abducted and questioned to reveal my knowledge. If you chose to remain silent they would torture you in hideous ways. Even a woman with a body as remarkable as yours would be sacrificed if it meant getting closer to the gold'. 'How do you know all this?'

She had asked. Sempha had looked away. A memory had come back to haunt her.

He'd had the cruelest mouth and ugliest teeth she'd ever seen. 'I just know'. The words made Amphora shudder just as they had done when she first heard them. The subject was never broached again. It was as if it was too terrible to contemplate. Amphora's body ached from the beating. But she was fit in the extreme and the discomfort would soon subside.

The marks were already dulling. The guard knew how to inflict pain without leaving evidence. There were no bruises. She ate the food and drank the water knowing she would need all her strength the next day, and probably for several days to come. The food was surprisingly good; fresh raw vegetables, meat and bread.

She was under no illusion that catering to her taste buds was their intention; that this was about keeping her in peak condition for the ordeals that lay ahead. Amphora tried not to think about what they might have planned for her. Despite her efforts to conjure up thoughts of home, the warrior's mind kept returning to the moment of her capture.

She remembered killing at least three of the men. It was while withdrawing her sword from the torso of a dead soldier that she had felt the huge weight of the oily net come down on her. She had fought to escape, furiously cutting at the hemp with her dagger, but the men had been quickly upon her. While the soldiers had pinned her down she had heard their leader yelling instructions. 'Hold the bitch but don't mark her'. Even at that moment of intense stress she knew the full meaning behind the words. That she had been taken alive and that she was to be delivered unmarked because it would increase the pleasure of the Thoranian king.

She remembered the net being removed and her hands being tied behind her back. The leader, not satisfied, had bound her elbows too. 'This one's too precious. She mustn't get away'. The men had removed her armour taking every opportunity to brush themselves against her struggling body.

She could almost hear the sound of it being thrown onto a pile. 'Gag her', the leader had shouted. 'I don't want her Amazon friends alerted to our position. If twenty of them come for her we're doomed'.

Seeing one of the men removing a yellow-stained cloth from his pocket she had clamped her mouth shut. They had held her head while the rag was put against her lips, held in place by a rope across the front of her mouth that was gathered behind her head by one of the thugs. He had pulled and yanked at the rope until her teeth had been wrenched apart and the filthy thing thrust into her mouth. Having successfully gagged her they had tied the rope tight around her head, her cheeks forced back baring her perfect teeth. Even now she could taste the foul gag. Looking back she wondered again if she could have escaped but it was hard to see how.

So many men against just one woman – even for her too great a force to overcome. Amphora couldn't have known that while the men had been preparing her for their departure, Sempha and Glaina had been watching the scene from a safe vantage point.

Sempha's golden hair shone in the sun, tears welling up in her pale blue eyes. Glaina had flung back her mane of curly copper hair, fire in her emerald green eyes, anger welling up inside her at the treatment being metered out to her twin sister. 'There's twelve of them and two of us. We can handle those bastards. Let's save her'. Sempha had gripped her bodyguard's forearm. 'We can't risk it Glaina, much as I'd like to.

Amphora can't help us and they still have that net. We need to get back and organize a rescue mission. Your sister is strong'. 'But look how they outnumber her,' Glaina had protested. 'I understand how you feel', Sempha had said. But it's best we go and get an assault group ready, plan thoroughly, and act'. The two warriors had crawled back from the hillside and run home.

It had been a two-day journey back to the Thoranian castle for the soldiers and their beautiful prisoner. They had tied a noose around her neck and made her walk behind one of the horses. Anyone less fit than her would have had difficulty keeping up.

As it was, the gag had impeded her breathing. They had only stopped for food and water once each day. 'We're the first to have taken an Amazon alive,' the Captain had said. 'We must get her to the castle as quickly as possible before they can attempt a rescue. We'll be safer once we've crossed the border'. The group had entered friendly territory late that afternoon and just before midnight had holed up for the night at the house of an ally.

The owner had been sworn to secrecy about the nature of their captive lest word slip out as to her whereabouts. Amphora had been taken to an upstairs room and tied to a bed. The men had not risked untying her hands or elbows; they had satisfied themselves with spreading her legs wide, tying her ankles to the bed posts, and tying a rope around her neck, each end of the rope reaching to the opposite corner of the bed above her head, tight enough to restrain but not to mark.

The leader had reminded his men that she was not to be harmed; that the king was to be the first man to have her. Guards had been stationed at the bedroom door and the leader himself had fed her although he required help from two men to replace her gag. 'Mind out, she'll bite you. This one's wild'.

'Taming her's going to be fun,' one of the men had observed. The householder's wife had been instructed to wash the bound warrior as much as was possible without stripping or untying her, and to help her relieve herself. The woman had been kind and respectful but would offer the Amazon no assistance to escape; the price that would have been paid by the householder's family was too high to risk. The next morning they had come for her early. They had wanted to smuggle her into the castle unannounced. 'Nemo will want to be the first to see her'. She had been bundled into the back of a covered wagon and hidden under a blanket.

It had seemed an age but eventually they had arrived at the castle. She had been taken from the wagon, covered in a black cloak, and taken down to the dungeons. She had fought her abductors as best she could but had been too securely tied to offer any meaningful resistance.

Then had followed the humiliation of being stripped. And then the punishment. She felt her eyes getting heavy. 'Come Sempha. She drifted into sleep.

* * * Elsewhere in the castle, Tevo was surrounded by a bevy of soldiers all anxious to hear the story of the Amazon's capture. Word was beginning to spread that she would be paraded the next day.

People started believing that perhaps it was true; that the army really had taken an Amazon warrior alive. Their hearts quickened at the prospect of seeing one of these legendary creatures firsthand. '.and you should have seen her struggling under that net! Like a lioness in a trap'. He liked an audience; a chance to brag.

'By the time Pilo and Chrim got to her she'd almost cut through the damn thing. Then everyone piled on top of her, ripped away the net, and held the bitch against the ground face down - overpowered. Jemius tied her hands behind her back but I wanted to be sure. A couple of guys pulled her elbows together and roped her. I told them not to mark her but they couldn't resist pulling those ropes real tight!' The crowd laughed.

'She was thrashing around like a fish out of water. I tell you, it took all their strength to hold her.

Then they turned her over – put her on her back. She was a sight for sore eyes'. 'What do you mean?' A voice asked.

'With her elbows tied together her shoulders had been forced right back thrusting her breasts forward. Never seen such gorgeous tits.

Heaving and straining against her top. It took all of my discipline not to rip off her clothes and give her one there and then. But Nemo would have had my balls for breakfast'.

More laughter. 'The king wants a night with her before the dungeon master gets his filthy hands on her'. 'Lucky bastard' someone whispered. Murmurs of agreement followed by laughter.

'Jemius tied a rope around the prisoner's neck', Tevo continued, 'and hauled her to her feet. She was kicking and struggling but we had her. I was worried she might have tried to call out to her friends so I had her gagged. After a little persuasion, Pilo's handkerchief got stuffed into her mouth'. 'That's disgusting' from a number of people.

'The woman was silenced. And we dragged her off.

And here we are. You wait till you see her tomorrow boys.

You've never seen anything like it'. 'More' from one man. 'Describe her' from another. 'What's her name?' From a third. 'I'm not good with words,' replied Tevo.

'You'll see her for yourselves tomorrow. Just this though. Sure, she's pretty as hell. But it's her body.

I've never seen such a hard body. Every muscle tight and taut. Toned like you wouldn't believe. And so amazingly sexy.

So feminine'. 'Does she look like a body builder?'

Asked a soldier. 'No no' answered Tevo. 'She's not a body builder. She's just incredibly fit with stunning definition, perfect skin, the thickest silkiest hair, and the horniest smell. Sure, she's a six footer.' Whistling from a man at the back '.but everything's in proportion.

I mean, when she was running behind the horse I was wetting myself. The muscles in her flanks like those of a goddess.

Her breasts jiggling. Her hair swinging from side to side. And I could see from the way her muscles were working in those rounded shoulders and powerful arms that she was struggling all the while against the ropes.

'But what's her name?' Came the question again. 'That's another story,' said Tevo. 'Listen, it's late.

You'll hear more tomorrow. I can tell you this though. That's one tough bitch. She doesn't just look rock hard. She IS rock hard. Glamus, that tall bloke, was told to get her name out of her.

There she was, stripped, stretched, tied tight, completely helpless in front of him. He gave her a good beating but to no effect. She's spirited; I'll give her that.

She took the punishment and said nothing. And all we wanted was her name!' 'How was she tied?'

'What kind of a beating?' It's too late'. Tevo got up to go. 'I'll tell you who'll be happy though. The dungeon master'. The elusive figure's reputation spoke for everyone. 'His dream woman is tall, beautiful, muscled, big-breasted – and feisty.

He's got a treat coming his way!' 'Do you think he'll use the device on her?' Someone dared to venture. 'For her sake, I hope not'. Tevo thought a moment.

'He designed that appalling thing a while back but hasn't used it yet. Says he's waiting for the right subject. I'd bet my last shirt she'll be the first'. * * * The cell door burst open. Amphora awoke immediately.

Usually she would have heard them coming and knew she must have been in a deeper sleep than she realized. Tevo was standing in the doorway a wooden club in one hand, a sackcloth dress in the other. She had no idea what time it was. 'Wake up beauty queen. It's show time'. 'Tie her as I described'. Six men stormed into the room.

They were well organized. Before she could get up two men grabbed her arms and pulled them out over her head. They slammed Amphora's arms and back against the floor, her lightening reactions tensing her neck at the last moment to prevent her skull from hitting the stone.

The men knelt on her biceps to hold her down and unfastened the chain that led from her handcuffs. Her hands remained bound.

She struggled fiercely, writhing and bucking in her efforts to escape, her booted ankles held by the manacles. The sides of her breasts smacked against the floor as she arched her back and wrenched her torso from side to side. Her breathing was heavy with the effort. The soldiers pinning her arms looked down the length of her body as she fought.

Stretched out in this way her abdomen lay flat, her pelvic bone standing proud bridged by the front of her panties. They both caught a glimpse of her mound and the forest of dark hair that covered it, neatly trimmed into a straight line. They caught each other's eye and grinned. Two men grabbed her left leg, one sitting on her thigh, the other holding her calf. Another man unlocked the ankle cuff, and the sixth man put on another cuff attached to a length of chain long enough to allow her to walk but too short for her to run.

They repeated the exercise with her right leg. She raised her head to look at the men tying her ankles, her stomach tensing into ridges of solid muscle. With the Amazon splayed out, Tevo drove the end of his club into her unprotected abdomen.

Wood against flesh. 'That's for starters, bitch'. The soldiers hauled Amphora to her feet. Tevo threw the dress to one of the men and, while others forced her arms into the air, it was pulled over her head and down her body, a seam holding it in place above her large breasts.

The white garment, slightly fitted at the waist, came down to her mid-thighs leaving a tantalizing glimpse of her muscled bronzed legs just above her black thigh boots. They attached a chain leash around her handcuffs. 'You're coming with us. We don't want to keep your fans waiting'.

They pulled her out of the room and along the corridor. She fought in vain against the men; two of them were pulling the leash, the others in support shoving her from behind. The warrior's ankle chain clanked against the stone floor. The soldiers manhandled her up the stairs, the dungeon guards staring at the beautiful Amazon, thick black hair flaying as she struggled. As they neared the exit their ears filled with sound from the waiting mob, like hyenas baying for blood. They pushed their prisoner into the open air. She squinted against the glare, instantly feeling the sun's heat on her skin.

A huge cheer went up from the crowd. There must have been hundreds of them.

Thousands even. Soldiers lining the battlements looked down at the spectacle. Thoranian flags flew from the four towers that marked the corners of the quadrangle, the red Minotaur against a white background a menacing sight. Amphora looked up and saw a wooden platform assembled in the centre of the courtyard on which was positioned a thick oak log supported by two posts set three feet apart. She could just make out two rusty manacles, one at each end of the wood. The posts were topped with a Y-shaped construction holding the log and tall men with ropes dangling from their hands stood one each side of the beam.

The group started making their way to the platform, the throng parting in front of them as their victim was dragged forward. Those at the back could only make out a dark haired figure being pulled along but those close enough were able to witness a sight they thought they'd never see: a live Amazon chained and led like a dog. They saw how she strained against the bonds.

The muscles rippling in her strong arms and powerful shoulders were mesmerizing to behold, the glimpse of her thighs below the white skirt electrifying. They took her around the back of the platform and dragged her up onto the stage.

They forced her to stand at the front, the log behind her. The spectators shrieked with pleasure. They always loved the parading of war booty, but this captive was a league above anything they had seen previously. Looking out Amphora could see mostly men but there were female faces too; ugly just as she had been told. The women were enjoying the show every bit as much as the men.

She was surrounded by six soldiers, two holding each of her arms. Tevo came onto the platform and waved the crowd to hush. 'I present to you the AMAZON!' They roared again. It was no lie.

We have taken one alive. Now she is ours.

'What do you want to do with her?' Chants and yells came from all sides, most of it indecipherable. She could make out a few phrases. 'Whip the bitch. Skin her alive.

Serve her to the dogs'. She remained impassive. The crowd grew quiet and a person near the back called out 'Give her to the dungeon master'. Everyone turned to stare. 'Shall we tie her?' Cries of approval. He turned to the six men.

'You know what to do'. Before Amphora knew what was happening one of the guards came up behind her and grabbed her around the neck, his forearm gripping her like a vice. Gasping for breath she was hauled backwards towards the log, the chains at her feet nearly causing her to stumble. She was thrown against the log and, just as she was regaining her balance, another soldier, positioned behind the wood, grasped a clump of her hair.

He pinned her head on the top of the log, his arm leaning heavily across her throat. She winced, her face betraying the difficulty she was having breathing. Her eyes bulged, her face started to redden, and her tongue reached for air. They knew she couldn't fight in this position. Even through the dress she felt the wood's roughness across her bare back and shoulders. Two men grabbed her left leg and undid the metal cuff.

They pulled her booted limb across to the post, tied her ankle, and did the same to her right leg. The thugs were aware that this next part was the most dangerous – releasing her hands. Two soldiers held her right arm, two her left. Another of the group undid the cuffs that held her wrists.

The moment they were free, the men hauled her arms up to the log. The warrior knew she was to be tied and fought like a wild creature, the muscles in her biceps and triceps flexing as she struggled. The sinews in her shoulders showed through her flesh. Despite the fierceness of her resistance they held her pinned. Five onto one was too many.

The men standing at each end of the posts started tying her wrists to the oak. Her head darted from side to side as she fought, her hair flaying. They wound the ropes around her wrists, through the manacles, and around the log time and again until there was no movement in her arms. When he knew their victim was securely restrained the man who held her head released his grip. The soldiers pulled away and there she was for all to see: tied to the log arms outstretched, her legs spread and bound to the posts.

They had secured her in such a way that her arms were bent at the elbows. In this position, her biceps and triceps were accentuated, as was the roundness and size of her shoulders.

The crowd roared. Tevo approached the prisoner and pulled her hair away from her face, pushing it down behind her back.

'Is she beautiful enough for you?' He cried out. Again they cheered.

This was the reaction he had hoped for. He knew the king wanted information, and soon, but this exhibition was important moral building for his troops and was worth the extra time.

He knew that they would all remember this day; the day they saw their first Amazon in captivity. And they would want more in the future. 'Do you want to see her body?' The people went berserk. The Captain smiled and produced a knife.

He made as if to check the blade was sharp, acting out as if he'd cut himself. He approached the helpless struggling woman and the crowd silenced. She was about to be humiliated further and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. He stood before her.

'So, my proud beauty. What are you going to do to stop me from showing these people your stupendous body? I thought you were supposed to be strong?!

Stop me' She gnashed her teeth and made a sound like a tigress hissing. 'Give me one moment with you, just one moment, even with my hands tied, and I'll beat you to a pulp. You and any of your pathetic soldiers'. The crowd cheered. That she was feisty and spirited heightened the drama. 'Be careful what you wish for, Amazon'. He flicked his knife through the seam just above her heaving breasts.

Then he went behind her and made the same cut at her back. The dress was held in place by thin material. Coming round to face her again he replaced the knife in his belt. Off in the distance a crow could be heard such was the quiet in the square. 'No one's ever seen you naked before have they?

Except last night of course. And now, Amphora, your body is public property.

Such a pretty name'. She glared at him. In her culture no one called her Amphora unless they were her friend. To hear him use her name sullied its sound. Tevo moved off to one side to ensure she was in full view of the audience.

He signaled to two of the men who came and stood one each side of her. Each grabbed a side of her dress. She thrashed against the ropes harder than ever, her chest rising and falling with her breathing. 'Ladies and gentlemen. I present.Amphora, personal bodyguard to Princess Sempha'.

A ripping sound cut through the silence as she was stripped. The crowd got their first look at her magnificent body. Gasps, howls of delight, men suddenly hardening. None of them had seen such beauty. 'Whip the bitch' came from a man in the crowd. Whip her,' they yelled in unison.

She felt totally vulnerable. So utterly exposed.

She desperately wanted to cover her breasts; an instinctive protective reaction. She looked hard to her left at the ropes that held her outstretched arm to the wood. She flexed her hand in and out, the effect of her working muscles rippling through her arm. She looked to her right. The same again. There was no give. Her pectorals ached with the effort of trying to free herself, desperate as she was to cover her bare chest.

She was tied spread out for them to take her in. Every time she struggled her breasts swayed from side to side – bounced up and down. The crowd was lapping up the spectacle. 'Shall we take her down?' Screamed the people. 'Leave her to bake,' a female's voice above the others. 'It seems the crowd wants to drink you in for a while longer.

I'll leave them to it'. Tevo made as if to leave the platform but remembered one last thing. 'You have only to say if it gets too uncomfortable. Tell us where we'll find the Princess and we'll take you down. Your ordeal will be over. Remain silent and.well, I can't speak of the consequences for your body'. He left the platform, the guards staying to enjoy the view close-up.

They left their victim spread-eagled in the fierce heat for two hours. To Amphora it seemed like an eternity. No one was allowed onto the platform but people thronged forward to get a better look. They took in her bronzed flawless skin, her stunning face, her cat-like fiery eyes, her outstretched arms rippling as she fought, her biceps, triceps, and shoulders especially prominent, her astonishing breasts with their distinctive nipples, her flat muscled abdomen, her V-shaped torso, her slim waist, her tiny black panties, her powerful shapely legs so sexy in her thigh boots. She sweated from every pore, the glistening sheen on her body heightening her allure. In his mind e very man had her in his bed, the Amazon crying out in ecstasy or pain depending on the nature of the fantasy he was enacting.

The women had her too, either tasting the juice between the warrior's parted legs or scarring her, their jealously for her incredible beauty enraging them. The log was harsh against Amphora's skin. The sun beat down mercilessly on her naked body.

Her mouth was parched with thirst. The worst pain for her, though, was the humiliation. 'Thoranian plebs' she screamed. 'I will be rescued and you'll pay for this'. The crowd liked a fighter.

At the other end of the square, in full view of her vision, she noticed some men erecting a tall thick wooden post on top of another stage. Instinctively she knew that that was her next destination. Tevo was walking towards the whipping post when a messenger approached him. 'The king wants to see you immediately Captain'.

Tevo made his way to Nemo's quarters and knocked on the door. He entered the room and the king beckoned him to take a seat. 'Sounds like a popular show going on outside,' said Nemo. 'She gives a good performance,' replied Tevo.

'She's the strongest I've seen yet'. Nemo passed the Captain a scroll and sat back in his chair. 'Based on what I saw last night', he said. 'I think she'll hold out against our questioning for quite a while'.

He leaned forward, an all-consuming greed etched into the lines on his face. 'And I don't feel like waiting.

That's a plan I've written. Tevo unraveled the parchment and read for a moment. 'An excellent idea my lord. When shall we leave?' 'Tomorrow if possible. The Amazons will be taking no chances.

Although they know Amphora is strong and will resist as long as she can, they'll probably assume that she'll break eventually. They know we'll then come for their Princess. An attempt to rescue our captive is a certainty but they won't risk Sempha. She'll be involved in the preparations but once they're complete she will go deep underground. We need to get to her before that happens. Take the sea route.

They will be anticipating a land offensive. Going the longer way round will cost an extra two days but you'll have the advantage of surprise'. Tevo nodded as he listened. 'The woman being paraded in the courtyard will be handed over to the dungeon master very soon. If she talks,' he checked himself, 'sorry, WHEN she talks, we'll send you the information she reveals with our fastest riders'. 'I'll get on to it right away', said Tevo getting up to leave.

'One more thing Tevo'. Nemo held the Captain's eyes. 'You did well capturing this one. But I want the Princess. Do what you have to. Bring her here.

I want the treasure and I want it NOW'. At a window high up in the castle, looking down at the perfection of the Amazon woman's struggling outstretched naked body, a man stood and smiled, thin mean lips baring yellowed broken teeth. He'd seen an Amazon once before, in another place, when he was working for a different leader prior to the overthrow of his country by the Thoranians.

He remembered how he'd approached her while she was being taken to her cell. The guards had given him a moment and he'd thrust his hand into her honey-blonde hair, yanked back her head, and whispered into her ear, telling her all the gruesome things he was going to do to her once she'd been handed over to him for questioning. He'd released her hair and, even now, all this time later, his face flushed with rage when he recalled how she'd glared at him, mocking him with her cool light-blue eyes, before spitting in his face. The soldiers had whisked her away giving him no opportunity to retaliate. They taunted him then and they taunted him now.

But the idiot guards had let her escape before he'd had a chance to interrogate her. It was that woman who had inspired him to design the new equipment. He'd hoped against hope that one day he would be presented with a suitable victim. He had no intention of wasting the first thrill of its use on any regular prisoner. He turned away from the window and made for the door muttering to himself. 'Tall, beautiful, muscled, big breasts – and very feisty. Just like the note said.

Time to prepare the device. At last I have a worthy subject'.

To be continued. Interrogation of an Amazon CHAPTER THREE Whipped. Amphora heard footsteps on the stairs at the back of the platform. Britt appeared in front of her, his shadow providing a moment of respite from the relentless sun.

He stood leering at her. 'Recognise me pretty one?' She thought she'd seen him that morning guarding the second level of the dungeons but everything had happened in such a blur she couldn't be sure. She'd seen a hundred faces pass before her eyes as they had dragged her to be paraded. 'I've never seen you before,' she replied, locking eyes. 'You're as ugly as hell so I'm sure I'd remember you'.

'So beautiful. He walked up to her and pinched her face between his fingers.

The soldier was stocky in build, five foot eight inches tall. 'I like breaking tall proud women. Look at me again bitch.

She glared down at him and shook her head free of his grip, her hair flaying and her breasts swaying provocatively. 'Get your hands off me, scum'. He angled his head up and went to kiss her. She turned away.

His back was to the crowd so they had been unable to see the brief exchange. For so many to have witnessed his rejection would have been unthinkable.

Only the two of them knew that she had won that skirmish. He pulled away. Those at the front of the crowd sensed there was a battle of sorts underway on stage and started moving to the sides of the platform to get a better view of the action. The soldier saw them. He was determined not to loose face. Getting her to talk would win him great kudos; promotion even.

She turned back towards him, narrowing her eyes. 'Don't you dare touch me, little man. I'm way out of your league'. 'Try and stop me my spirited friend'. He stepped forward again. I'll do as I please with you'. Amphora balled and unballed her fists.

She arched her back and raised her torso, driving her head back against the top of the log in yet another futile attempt to free herself. The Amazon's breathing deepened, her ribcage expanding and contracting, her breasts rising and falling. His face was only inches away from her prominent nipples. 'Struggle bitch'. How he enjoyed watching her squirm. The view of her body from so close surpassed even his wildest fantasy.

Britt tweaked and flicked her nipples as if to demonstrate his total control of her. He rubbed his hand across her stomach, his fingers tracing every ridge of her muscled abdomen through a layer of sweat.

He let his thumb run through the dimples formed each side of the muscle band that ran down her body from the centre of her chest. He watched her breasts gently bobbling, their weight giving them a momentum she was powerless to control. From this close he could hear the softest squeaks coming from her leather boots as she fought the ropes.

He could see that what appeared from a distance to be an unbroken sheen of sweat was in fact thousands of tiny droplets merged together. He watched while one, then another, then three together, tumbled into each other and cascaded down her body like mini waterfalls.

Everything about this woman was tantalizing. Without warning Britt grabbed her left nipple between his finger and thumb and squeezed hard. Harder still. He twisted the nipple backwards and forwards as if he was trying to detach it from her aureole.

It slipped in his hand making him tighten his grip even further. He savoured its rough texture between his fingers.

He saw her eyes squint betraying her discomfort. The man drove his thumbnail into the nipple and heard her sharp intake of breath. Knowing he'd found a weak spot, he pulled her nipple sharply towards him elongating her breast away from her body. With his other hand he unsheathed his dagger and placed the blade against her extended nipple. Despite the heat she could feel the steel's coldness. 'Want me to cut it off? Serve it to the dogs?'

He circled her aureole with the tip of the blade. 'Where's Sempha?'

'You wouldn't dare. The king would kill you. And you know it.' She was bluffing but reckoned he looked stupid enough to believe it. 'He wants it for himself. Not that he's going to get it'.

'Be sure, the king would consider the loss of a nipple a small price to pay for information leading to Sempha's hiding place'. He released her nipple and ran the shiny blade down towards the base of her breast allowing the knife to press against her heaving flesh, indenting but not cutting. She fought to check her breathing in an effort to calm the thug. She knew she was exciting him and that one careless slip could result in her being cut. The blade rested in her cleavage, the sharp edge threatening her right breast. Britt met her eyes. 'Do you know how much it hurts when a breast is cut?'

He pressed the knife against her chest. 'No' she remained steady, her heart pounding. 'Shall we find out?' 'I'll tell you nothing,' she said.

Had mouth had never felt so dry. 'There's other places we could have some fun'. The soldier noticed the muscles in her arms flexing as she engaged her bonds for the hundredth time. Her arms and legs were held as securely now as they had been for the past two hours. She was powerless to prevent him doing what he wished with her; to graze her, to knick her, to cut her, to stab her. Her hard bronzed body was spread open before him; an open target. So very strong yet so utterly vulnerable.

No one had ever held a knife to her flesh before now. And she didn't like it. Slowly he drew the knife down her cleavage and bought it to rest under her right breast.

He angled the blade upwards, the dagger's tip brushing against her torso, and let the knife take the weight of her breast. The soldier raised the dagger, her flesh falling each side of the steel. She drew in her breath hoping to raise her breast – take its weight off the knife. He bounced her luscious tit on the edge of the blade. She'd never felt so helpless. A millimeter higher and the steel would have pierced her skin. He moved from her breast and guided the dagger onto her abdomen.

The man pressed harder, the blade making a groove as it passed through the sweat and over her skin like the keel of a boat through still water. She drew in her stomach – and the knife followed the concave pattern.

She took shallow breaths in an effort to keep the pressure of the dagger off her midriff. With her stomach held in tight her ribcage became enlarged, the V shape of her torso was accentuated, her breasts thrust forwards and upwards. The spectators at the sides of the platform gaped in awe at the Amazon's astonishing profile. Britt stopped at her belly button and put the tip of the blade inside. He played with her, moving the knife from side to side. His hand appeared to jerk.

Amphora winced. 'Oh,' he said. 'Looks like we've had a little accident. Nothing to mark your beauty of course. No one will see a little scar in there'.

A drop of blood appeared, just sufficient to spill out from her belly button. The soldier removed the knife and collected the blood on his fingertip. He raised his hand to her face and tried to smear it across her mouth but she turned away.

He reached for her lips a second time but she shook her head violently. 'Not thirsty?' He said and wiped his finger clean in the sweat between her breasts. Where were we?'

He placed his dagger against her just above her belly button. The man worked the knife around her navel enjoying the gentle curve of flesh that surrounds the belly button of even the flattest of stomachs. He noticed a line of the finest fairest hair he'd ever seen – almost invisible - and followed it south. He ran the tip of the blade underneath the rim of her tiny black panties and worked the steel from side to side. She swallowed involuntarily. A strand of her hair fell across her face and she flicked her head to clear it.

'Frightened are we my precious?' Fear was smelt. Britt used the flat of the blade to pull her panties forward. He looked down her front, lingered, and moved the blade into the centre of her dark soft hair. He raised his head to meet her eyes. 'Shall I shave you in front of all these people, Amphora?'

He asked, smiling. The thought of it almost made her wretch but she managed to remain impassive. He withdrew the blade, her panties snapping back into position. 'Very pretty'. He turned slightly to one side and yelled out to the audience as if delivering an aside.

'STRAIGHT LINE'. Immediately he faced the tied Amazon once again, anxious to enjoy every second of her intense humiliation at the hands of the laughing jeering audience. He had evened the score. Britt put away his knife. 'Enough messing around,' he said, putting his arms on his hips. 'You killed my brother and I'm going to make you pay'.

'Was he the one who cried like a stuck pig?' He slapped her across the face and drove his fist into her stomach.

The crowd cheered, those at the side of the stage getting an especially good view of Amphora's tensed stomach muscles repelling the blow. He stood smoldering in front of her. 'I've been given the honour of whipping you and you've just given me double the reason to enjoy it.

Before I've finished you'll be begging me to stop. And you'll tell me what I want to know'. He shouted down to a group of soldiers. 'She's ready. You know where to take her.

Treat her rough if you need to but don't mark her - just yet'. Four men ran up the stairs and Britt stepped aside.

One of the soldiers approached her, a long rope dangling from his hand, intending to make a leash around her throat. As he drew the rope around the back of her neck she snapped her head to one side and tried to bite him. You're vicious,' he said. 'Different from anyone we've dealt with before'. 'I'm going teach this woman a lesson,' said Britt. 'Give me the rope'. She struggled furiously as he came forward, the men in awe of her muscled body writhing against her bonds.

Her skin was shiny with sweat, the sheen adding to her sex appeal. Britt held out a length of rope in front of him, taut between his hands. She watched helplessly as he placed the rope underneath her right breast and bought it up the side and over the top winding it tight around the base, her tit quivering. He bought the rope across the centre of her chest and to the top of her left breast before circling the cord around its base. He wound the rope around her heaving breasts twice more, each time completing a figure of eight across her cleavage, finishing with sufficient length to form a leash. He checked that the rope was as tight as it could be. Her breasts were caught, surrounded, standing even prouder from her torso; two balls of flesh almost separated from her body.

The coarse hemp puckered her skin and already the blood flow was becoming constricted, her flesh reddening. He slapped her swelling tits. And again – harder. Left right left right, each time her breasts coming to rest dead centre, their firmness amplified by the bonds that encased them. Her nipples started to flatten as her blood sought a place to escape.

She cursed that she had always had extra sensitive breasts. 'You bastard,' she hissed. The more her breasts swelled, the greater their sensitivity. He flicked her nipples, still slightly rigid, her discomfort increasingly acute. He watched her expression for signs of pain.

She understood his game and determined not to give him the pleasure of knowing he was hurting her. Through gritted teeth her face remained still, her feline eyes telling him nothing. Britt was getting frustrated at the lack of an obvious result from abusing her breasts. The crowd sensed she was more resilient than he'd anticipated. 'You think you're so strong Amazon? I WILL make you suffer'.

Britt smiled at her. 'Time for a little journey'. He tugged with the leash at her swollen breasts pulling her shoulders away from the log. With her arms held tight by the ropes, her tits had to take the strain. It felt as if her stupendous chest was being ripped from her body. 'Hey my beauty. Don't you want to come with me?'

Her tormentor gave an extra fierce pull on the leash, Amphora's back arching forward. The emotion slipped from her mouth. 'That's more like it,' he said grinning.

'It's hurting isn't it. Time for you to be whipped'. He signaled to the soldiers and two men went to stand at each end of the log. Her heart raced, her chest rising and falling. Soreness filled her breasts. They felt ready to burst. 'Untie her legs', Britt ordered.

'And then' he motioned at the log. With her legs free, the men started to cut away the front of the Y-shaped constructions holding the beam in place. 'Get ready to take the weight, bitch. If you fall I'll drag you up by your chest so you'd better stay upright if you don't want your breasts torn from your body.

That'd make a real mess and we wouldn't want to spoil your perfect looks'. She gave him a withering stare.

'Let her have it'. The men made the final cut and the log fell forward from its retainers. Amphora took its full weight. The oak wanted to slip down her back but her wrists tied to the wood prevented it from sliding.

Her arms and shoulders were forced backwards painfully, her biceps, triceps, and traps straining as she engaged the wood's weight. She steadied herself. The warrior hunched her back down and pulled the log to the back of her neck so as to spread the weight across the top of her body. Britt saw what she was doing. 'No you don't.

I want this to count'. He pulled sharply up on the leash making her stand upright to take the strain off her chest. Again the weight of the beam made her arch backwards but she had the measure of it and tensed her muscles in time to prevent the wood from slipping. 'He's not as stupid as he looks', she thought. Now she knew he'd tied her in such a way that if she wanted to keep the worst of the pain from her breasts she would have to walk with her back straight.

She realized his intention - to give the expectant audience a clearer view of her body. 'One round to him,' she acknowledged to herself. 'But he won't win the contest'. Britt walked down the steps, Amphora following. She concentrated on keeping her footing down the stairs. The muscles in her legs demonstrated their power with every step she took - flexing and relaxing, flexing and relaxing, in the flex giving the appearance of trying to escape her skin but held back by her flesh. The rough bark scratched against her naked back.

They walked towards the whipping post, the crowd parting to create a path. Those further away pressed forward to get a closer look at the Amazon struggling with her burden. The mob got closer and closer, the path narrower and narrower. She gritted her teeth, clenching and unclenching her fists as she worked to maintain her strength. Bound and unable to swing, her breasts pointed directly ahead wobbling just a little. Although she kept up with Britt to keep the leash slack, she could see and feel her breasts continuing to swell.

The humiliation of being led like an animal was beyond words. She hated the eyes of the people boring into her as they gorged on her delicious body.

Occasionally Britt recognized a voice in the crowd and he stopped so his friends could take a longer look at his trophy. She took these opportunities to gather her breath, doing her best to ignore the men and women who looked on enjoying her suffering. When the leers became too intense she shouted out 'What are you looking at, Thoranian scum?

Wish your women had bodies like mine?' The women shrieked in reply.

'Whip the bitch. Make her scream'. When he was ready to move on Britt tugged at her as if she was his pet and their journey would continue. Arms reached out from the throng but he wouldn't let anyone touch her. This one's mine'. Guards walked behind the man and his captive to keep the crowd at bay. They saw the Amazon's glutes and thighs harden and soften, harden and soften, harden and soften as she walked.

Sweat ran off her back. Amphora saw that there were now two thick posts on the approaching stage, builders putting the finishing touches to chains and pulleys on top of each pole. Spectators were gathering around the platform debating which way she would be tied. Some wanted to see her face – to witness her expression as each stroke landed. Others wanted a view of her back, preferring to watch the leather make contact with her bronzed skin. Many chose the sides, anxious to see how much she swayed with the force of each blow.

Everyone had attended whippings before but this was something completely different. They never thought they'd have the chance to see an Amazon warrior punished before their very eyes. By the time they reached the platform Amphora was beginning to tire in the heat. Her breasts were starting to numb and had turned a shade of red she'd never seen: deep and unnatural.

The veins and blood vessels criss-crossing her tits were increasingly pronounced. They arrived at the stage and the Amazon was pulled up onto the wooden platform using steps at the side of the platform. Climbing the stairs was pure agony. Britt tugged at the leash knowing that, because of the steps, Amphora could not take the strain off her breasts by arching backwards. If she'd fallen he would have won this skirmish and she wasn't about to let that happen. He took his beautiful victim to the front of the stage and made her turn to look out at the place where she had been paraded for the last two hours.

The crowd was huge, faces on all sides as far as she could see. It seemed that news of her whipping had traveled far. 'Tie her,' Britt ordered.

She was pulled back to stand in between the two posts that were set four feet apart. They reattached the chain that had tied her booted ankles when she was brought from the dungeon. One man stood at each end of the log and a third cut through the ropes that secured her arms to the beam. The weight fell from her shoulders. But before she had a chance to shake the blood back into her arms soldiers grabbed her wrists and attached metal cuffs that hung off the end of long chains falling from the tops of the posts. 'Raise her,' said Britt and the men pulled at the two chains, the pulleys grinding as the links passed through their mechanisms.

Amphora could only watch helplessly as her arms were hauled upwards until her body formed a Y shape. 'Further,' she heard. The cuffs tightened around her wrists as her arms were raised higher, chafing against her skin.

When they had finished she was standing on tiptoes, just able to take the worst of the weight off her shoulders. The assembled mass was humming with pleasure, the anticipation of what was to follow heightening their mood. Britt approached her, his knife drawn once more. He placed the blade in her cleavage, under the ropes that bound her chest. She looked while he cut away the bonds. The rope fell to the floor by her feet and he kicked it away.

The feeling of relief was overwhelming. Immediately she felt her blood start to flow again although she sensed it would be some while before the soreness eased.

Britt took a white silk ribbon from his pocket and came to stand behind her. He gathered her hair, pulled it back off her face, and used the ribbon to create a ponytail. The severe arrangement highlighted her facial features; the slant of her eyes and the prominence of her cheekbones given new emphasis.

Her face was unlined. She had the skin of a woman at the peak of her condition.

Britt yanked on her hair pulling her head sharply backwards. He whispered something before thrusting his tongue into her ear. She shook her head making him release her hair.

Those at the front of the stage marveled as her breasts swayed with their newfound freedom. As he walked around to the front something caught his eye.

He took a step back and saw her tattoo. 'What a pretty decoration,' he said stroking her round shoulder, dimpled with her arms held high. He ran his hand up her arm, enjoying the flow of muscle from her large shoulder as it molded into her taut triceps and flattened bicep. 'Such fine muscles', he whispered, his face close to her head. 'A shame they're so useless to you now'. She fought her bonds, the chains too tight to rattle. Britt stood before her.

'The whips,' he said, maintaining eye contact with the chained Amazon. A man came from behind her, three whips in his hand. Britt took them and came to stand close to her. 'Now then Amphora,' he said. 'Which one shall I use?' She looked away.

He took one of the whips and placed its thick wooden handle against her cheek turning her face back towards the weapons. She could smell the leather that braided the handle. 'Let me explain,' he continued. 'The whips you see here are all used for the punishment of common criminals. They will hurt you and mark your flesh but the welts will soon pass particularly on someone as.as.as healthy as you. The dungeon master uses different whips – much much nastier - but that's for later'. She swallowed.

Britt studied the three whips, each of varying designs, letting his hands pass over the straps. One had a single long thin round strand of leather, one a short braided switch, and the other five flat leather straps. He ran his fingers along the length of each weapon. 'I think I'll use this one,' he said, almost nonchalantly. He passed the two discarded whips to one of the men and motioned for everyone to leave the stage. He had chosen the bullwhip. 'Good choice,' said someone in the crowd.

'Why', asked another standing close. 'That whip's interwoven with tiny shards of metal', came the reply.

'It will cut her but the wounds will only be superficial'. 'What's so clever about that?'

'The dungeon master likes to receive his victims unmarked. Britt won't risk the ogre's wrath by scarring the woman. He's chosen a whip that will massively hurt her but not mark her permanently'. He held out the bullwhip in front of her letting the leather dangle, the implied threat speaking for itself.

He flicked his wrist and the whip cracked the air. The very sound of it bought silence to the crowd. Amphora looked up at her right wrist, then her left. There was no escape. 'Where's Sempha?'

He cracked the whip again. 'I said – where's Sempha?'

The Amazon looked away again, her breathing heavier, her chest rising and falling, her stomach sucked in. Amphora's shoulders took most of her weight and she felt them beginning to ache.

The muscles in her thighs flexed and hardened as she balanced on her tiptoes. Britt was in a conundrum.

He was honoured at having been given the opportunity to whip this most important prisoner. And he was looking forward to exacting revenge on her for the loss of his brother. One half of him wanted her to hold out against him; the longer the whipping the greater the pleasure for him. But he suspected that she'd be unlikely to reveal much information to him. A woman as fit as her would be able to endure a lot of pain. His other half knew that greater reward lay in making her talk even if it meant foregoing the whipping.

He decided on a new tactic. The soldier coiled the whip in his hand and approached the tied Amazon. He held the weapon in front of her letting her see its power close-up. He let the strap fall free and placed the long black strand between her heaving breasts. He pulled the whip across her chest allowing the leather to caress her nipples, their sensitivity still acute.

She watched helplessly while he moved the cord backwards and forwards across her reddened breasts. They both noticed that her brown nipples had become prominent and hard once again. He placed one hand half way up the strap as if to make a miniature whip and swung the free end in a circle in front of her spread body.

The sun was beating down on her back. She sweated from every pore. Suddenly he changed the angle of his hand and the whip landed across her belly; a gentle slap of leather meeting stretched skin. She flinched. He played with her, the end of the whip smacking against her abdomen, her upper thighs, her waist, and her breasts.

Those nearest to the stage heard a quiet sound of leather on flesh. Although this was symbolic rather than effective, he saw her nostrils flare as the whip teased her abused chest. 'Let me tell you some facts Amphora,' he said. 'Listen hard'. He continued to torment her as he spoke. 'After I have finished with you the king has ordered that you be handed over to the dungeon master for questioning.

Make no mistake - that man is barbaric. Unfortunately for you, you are just his type – his dream woman. He will do things to your body the like of which you cannot conceive. I've seen the result of his work. People, if you can call them people after he's done his worst, left unrecognizable. He will break you, literally and metaphorically'. She gulped involuntarily.

'It's simple. You have a choice. Tell me where we can find Sempha and you'll be taken down and spared this whipping today and, more importantly for you, the appalling consequences of being left in the company of that madman day and night until you talk. What's it to be?' 'You don't scare me with your words', she replied. Her tongue was so dry she could hardly speak. 'As you wish Amazon.

Pride comes before a fall. Didn't anyone teach you that?' The whip glanced off her muscled stomach, the stroke more painful this time. She clenched and unclenched her fists pulling against the chains that bound her, the view of her muscles contorting as she struggled exciting all those who watched. Her breasts had almost returned to their natural colour.

She represented the perfect woman to all who saw her. He walked behind the warrior and grabbed her hair, pulling it around in front of her so that the ponytail hung down between her breasts. She looked up to the sky as if seeking help. None was forthcoming. She was at his mercy.

He studied her muscled back, not for the first time admiring her V-shaped torso and long shapely legs. Her buttocks and thighs tensed as she hung, rock hard and inviting. He stroked her tattoo again. Her back was open before him like a blank canvas of flawless skin on which he could draw any pattern he desired. Britt motioned to the men in charge of the chains. They pulled down on the links and she was raised off her feet, the chain that held her ankles brushing against the wooden floor. She looked down at her body then up again at the sky, seeing vultures circling.

Lines of sweat ran down her arms and onto her torso, down her back and the sides of her powerful thighs. She hung like a bird suspended in midair. By any measure an awesome sight.

The first Amazon in Thoranian captivity was about to be publicly whipped, naked but for her tiny panties and leather thigh boots. Amphora tensed her muscles, her heart racing. Britt raised his arm. For the briefest moment she heard a whistling sound and then a sharp crack. The whip landed full square across her back. The pain took her breath away.

Her eyes widened in surprise. It was like nothing she had ever felt. Sensations of intense heat and cutting followed by stinging and spreading a second later. The force of the lash was great enough to drive her body forward. She swung back just as the next blow landed, the leather scoring another line underneath the first. She fought to get her breath.

A third, harder than the other two, crashing into her tattooed shoulder and upper back. Her body jerked in the chains. The whistling sound again and a fourth strike, this time the bullwhip reaching around her body, the tip smacking across her unprotected belly.

Five, six, seven, all aimed at her lower back, the whip so long that it circled around her waist like some hideous belt. The eighth was the worst, full of anger as the leather came around her front and landed directly on her nipple. She cried out in pain. The crowd cheered. 'He's hurting her now,' one guard said to another.

The ninth was the same – the tenth too. Britt had found his mark and again and again the burning of the whip begun at the middle of her back and climaxed on her unprotected breasts. She threw her head backwards and forwards, pulling her legs up as if for protection only for the wind to be knocked out of her as further strikes tormented her muscled torso. The brute varied his strokes to cover the whole of her back. Through the haze of pain she heard 'Nineteen. Twenty-two,' the noise from the audience getting louder the more anguished her cries became. Then it stopped.

Everywhere sharp fierce pain. Britt came to face her, his breathing heavy, the veins and sinews in his forearm standing proud. He had already seen her back, vicious red welts criss-crossing her skin with blood oozing from a series of tiny cuts.

The extent of the marks across her upper thighs, belly, and breasts surprised him. He saw that some strokes had landed directly on her nipples.

'Now then my beauty', he said between breaths. 'Do you want me to continue or would you prefer to tell me where we can find your precious Sempha?' She hadn't realized that she'd been gritting her teeth, her jaw aching from the exertion. It felt as if scalding water had been applied to her back, the pain not limited to the contact points. Her belly and thighs were stinging too, but it was her breasts that caused her the greatest agony. They too had suffered tiny, almost imperceptible, cuts. It felt as if sharp knives had been drawn across her chest.

The sweat continued to pour from her racked body – her hair now matted as it hung down her front. Her thirst was more acute than ever. 'You call that a whipping?' She forced out the words, desperate to humiliate the brute. 'I thought you were tickling me'. He squinted, barely containing his rage. He knew she wouldn't talk.

If she had taken twenty-five of the hardest lashes he could deliver, fifty would probably make her faint but she would be unlikely to relent. The best he could do was prove to the spectators that he had hurt her. That way, he would at least be seen to have won the contest. Britt took a small bottle from his jerkin and removed the stopper. He walked behind her and applied some of the liquid to a cloth. 'Remember me bitch' she heard him say just before he dabbed the moist rag against her wounds.

She screamed, the sound piercing. He continued the work and she screamed again, wrenching against the chains, her body thrashing from side to side in a futile attempt to shake off the agony.

He came to face her, her writhing so fierce that drops of sweat were being thrown off her body into his face. 'And now those luscious breasts of yours'.

More of the lemon, vinegar, and salt mixture. He walked off the platform leaving the Amazon warrior hanging like a captured animal. No one in the crowd moved. They watched as she dealt with the horror of what she had endured.

Her face was contorted with pain, her chest rising and falling as she somehow sought to dissipate the hurt. Those at her back saw a mass of red and crimson: cuts, welts, and raging sores. Even her firm buttocks showed evidence of the ordeal she had undergone. And those at the front saw her hard flesh alive with the after shocks of the leather. At the bottom of the steps Britt spoke with a group of six men, aiming his request at one who stood out as the leader. They nodded their heads and smiled.

'Sounds too good to be true,' said Flamt when Britt was out of earshot. The other five laughed. An army Major standing nearby heard the instructions that Britt had issued. He walked up to the group and addressed them, looking at Flamt while he spoke. 'Make no deviations from Britt's instructions. We don't want to take any risks with this prisoner.

She's strong and resourceful and I don't trust her an inch'. 'Certainly Major,' replied Flamt. 'We shall carry out Britt's instructions to the letter'. The others nodded in agreement, their faces serious. The Major left and Flamt turned back to the group. He looked at Grax, his cousin, and winked. They all grinned.

For an hour the sun cooked the Amazon's back under its coating of vinegar. She imagined that her arms were separating from her shoulders, that her skin was about to peel off her body, that her breasts would never recover from their torture. Amphora thought there could be nothing worse than this. Eventually Flamt and his group took her down. They removed the ribbon that held her hair and went to tie her hands. She made it difficult for them, resisting as they bound her.

But having hung for so long, and with her ankles still shackled making running impossible, and with there being six against one, they succeeded in their efforts to tie her. With her hands secured behind her back, and a man gripping each arm, they led away the proud irresistible beauty. *** While Amphora was being taken from the platform, three meetings were being held simultaneously in different places. Tevo was sitting with Admiral Costall planning the route to Lumana. 'We'll take the Lynx,' the Admiral was saying. 'It's fast and maneuverable and can carry up to forty men with their equipment. The ship's designed to be rowed if we encounter light winds'.

Tevo was always slightly rankled by Costall's accent. For a Thoranian, the Admiral was very refined. He did not participate in the sport of interrogating prisoners. But if Nemo found the gold the navy man knew that he would be given a share of the spoils. His appetite had been whetted for this adventure. 'Seems a good choice,' said Tevo.

'How long do you think it'll take us to reach Lumana?' 'With fair weather, probably two days and two nights,' replied Costall. 'Fine,' said Tevo. 'Assemble your crew.

I want volunteers only, just like the thirty men that I shall be bringing. Can we sail at first light tomorrow?' 'Yes,' said the Costall. 'Dawn it is'. The Admiral stood up to leave. 'I have a question for you Tevo. How do you know where to look for Sempha?'

'We don't know precisely where she'll be. But there's a hilly region in Lumana, close to where we'll land, that's mostly covered with forest. It's riddled with caves so we guess she'll hide somewhere around there. We already have scouts positioned throughout that area; we can only hope to get lucky'. Costall reached the door. 'One more thing Admiral,' said Tevo.

'The king's eldest son, Prince Haalet, has volunteered for this mission. Do you think I should take him? He's never been on anything as dangerous as this and I'd hate to be held responsible if something happened to him'.

'Yes,' said Costall. 'You should take him. The experience would be good for him. The king doesn't need to know. Nor does anyone else. Let it be our secret'. 'Thanks for your advice,' said the Captain.

'I'll allow him to come on the proviso he tells no one where he's going. We'll board Haalet before the other soldiers. Perhaps he can stay in your cabin during the crossing so none will see him until we arrive at Lumana'. 'Of course,' said the Admiral, and left the room. He had much to do before sunrise. *** In a tent deep inside Lumana, Sempha was with her team of closest advisors drawing up two sets of plans: the defence of her kingdom and the rescue of Amphora.

Glaina was part of the team, both these causes dear to her heart. 'Nemo will come for you Sempha sending a force overland,' Tolana, head of the army, was saying. 'I guess the timing depends on how long Amphora can hold out'. Tolana turned to Glaina.

'Sorry to seem so cold and matter-of-fact about your sister's fate, Glaina, but I must speak plainly if we are to construct the best possible plans'. 'I understand,' Glaina replied. 'Amphora would want the same'. 'They won't mount a full scale invasion, ' Tolana continued. 'It'll be smaller - more focused.

Something formulated after Amphora's been broken; when they think they know roughly where to look. Sempha, you and Glaina must leave tonight and take refuge in a place of your choosing.

Don't tell anyone where you're going. It's best that way.

After fourteen days meet me at the place marked with a cross on this map'. She handed Sempha a scroll. 'When will you be leaving for Thorania?' Asked Glaina.

'I wish I could come with you'. 'I know you do,' replied Cercia, the leader of the rescue team. 'But your place is by Sempha's side, now more than ever'. *** In an antechamber off the throne room, Nemo was sitting opposite a man whose name he did not know - no one knew it - and of whom he was afraid although the man was one of his subjects. 'When will she be delivered to me?'

The man asked. 'Very soon,' replied the king. 'Give me one more day. A few pieces of equipment require some last minute adjustments. I have seen the woman's strength and I want to be sure everything is working perfectly. What are my precise instructions?'

'Simple,' the king fiddled with his dagger. 'She knows where Sempha will hide. That's what I need to know'.

The man enquired. 'Then we'll go after the Princess,' Nemo answered, deciding there was no need for the dungeon master to know of the expedition due to leave the next day. 'And once she's been captured, she'll also be bought to you so that you can extract from her the location of the treasure'. 'Are there any boundaries with the Amazon that's here?' The king's brow furrowed.

'Had you plans to use Amphora for anything after I've got the information you require?' What's left of her will be thrown to the troops as their reward for bringing me Sempha. The Princess will be my personal slave. Whatever it is you have planned for Amphora, do it. I don't care. Just get me that information'. The dungeon master left.

Nemo sipped his wine, his hand shaking. What was it about that man that created such fear in all those he encountered?

*** While the king was finishing his drink, the man closed and locked the door to his own private paradise deep in the bowels of the castle. Thankfully he had few visitors. He disliked people. 'Where to start?' He looked around the room, a number of tasks needing attention. 'I think I'll start with the basics'.

He walked over to a cabinet and opened one of the draws. He took out a brown leather pouch, rolled up and held closed by a cord. He undid the knot and the leather fell open. The torches that lit his dungeon were reflected back at him from a number of differently shaped scalpels, pliers, and blades revealed within the pouch.

He sat at a table, some polish in one hand, a rag in the other. He liked things to be spotlessly clean.

'This one', he said to himself, selecting a hook shaped piece. 'Where on that hard body of hers shall I apply this first?'

He rubbed, holding the blade up to the light to check for stains he might have missed. 'My dream come true. A real live Amazon strapped into the device, mine to torture at will'. He whistled while he polished, his crooked teeth and thin cruel lips making a surprisingly tuneful combination. His head filled with visions of the muscled beauty struggling while he worked on her.

To be continued. The following totally fictitious writings of M Coolham are intended for the sole readership of those of LEGAL AGE.

The ADULT ONLY material contained within is also for personal use only where local standards permit scenes of violence, torture and sex. Please do not read further if any of these subjects offend, or if you are not of legal age.

This is a work of fiction. The author does not condone violence of any sort. The following is under Copyright and is for your sole enjoyment. Your cooperation in not using the material in any other application without the express permission of the author is requested.

INTERROGATION OF AN AMAZON CHAPTER FOUR Delivered. Britt had been offered the chance to whip Amphora providing he agreed not to mark her permanently and to ensure that she was taken to the healers once he had finished with her. He knew that the crowd sensed the contest had been a draw at best – possibly even a psychological victory for Amphora. Having dismounted the platform he did not want to wait around while she hung in her chains, people looking and pointing his way. Britt had shared many guard duties with Flamt and, believing him to be reliable, had asked his fellow soldier to bring the prisoner to the healers.

The door to the inner castle was close to the back of the platform. Although the crowd gathered round and pressed in for a chance to touch the Amazon's body, the small group was soon inside the building. The cool of the interior soothed the warrior's body, kinder to her damaged skin than the fire of the late afternoon sun. Daylight faded as they walked towards the central section of the fortress, the way lit with torches. A smell of damp permeated the air.

The woman's short ankle chains dictated the speed at which they could travel. They clattered against the stone floor, the sound echoing in the dingy corridor. Flamt walked ahead of the group, Amphora behind him, a man holding each of her arms, and Glax bought up the rear with the other two men, the three of them entranced by her jiggling buttocks and firm thighs, occasionally glimpsing the sides of her swaying breasts. With each step the tops of her boots flopped against her thighs. They took it in turns to hold her arms. Each wanted a feel of the solid flesh that covered hard muscle underneath her smooth skin.

The coating of sweat on her toned body heightened the experience. They turned right and entered a long passage. Suddenly Flamt turned and stopped, signaling for the others to do the same. He walked up to the Amazon and looked her up and down. She glared at him. 'You really are remarkable,' said Flamt, his eyes fixed on her breasts.

'What do you say we have a little fun?!' 'But what about Britt's instructions?' Said one of the men. 'And the Major too,' said another. 'A moment can't hurt,' said Flamt. 'Hold her Glax'. Before she could react Glax was right behind her, locking his arms behind hers pulling her elbows together.

Being her height, his face was in her hair, the scent sweet despite the sweat. His tunic rubbed against the woman's raw back making her wince. Glax drew his arms together forcing her shoulders back, her breasts thrusting forwards. Held tight, her abdominal muscles formed a solid ridge down the centre of her torso. She shook her head fighting to get free, her weighty breasts bouncing uncontrollably, her hair flying in front of her face. Glax wrestled with her, turning her violently so that he could lean his back against one of the walls while he concentrated on strengthening his hold. 'Steady,' said Flamt.

'No one needs to get hurt here. I just want a feel of Amazon flesh'. He stretched out his arm to fondle her breast.

With lightening speed she drove Glax hard against the wall, blasting her head back against his nose. Simultaneously, using Glax's arms as support, she raised her chained feet and drove the heels of her boots into Flamt's crotch. Her aggressor was flung against the other wall. He fell to the floor, groaning, his hands covering his balls. Blood covered Glax's face.

He freed her, instinctively reaching for his damaged nose. Flamt lay writhing on the floor. The Amazon could not go far with her ankles in chains and she was soon caught by the other four men who pinned her against the wall, one with his arm at her throat, one pressing each of her shoulders to the stone, the other driving his fist into her abdomen. The nauseating sound of fist against muscle mixed with the groans of the injured men. She fought but they restrained her, her breathing heavy from anger and the exertion. The cousins gathered themselves and came to stand in front of the warrior, nursing their wounds.

Flamt noticed a door a short way down the corridor. 'In there,' he pointed with his head. 'Get her in there'. Glax went ahead and opened the door onto a dark windowless room.

The four soldiers wrestled the struggling woman through the door and held her, one man standing behind her his arm still around her throat. He pulled back her head arching her spine making her stomach muscles pronounced and harder than ever. Flamt grabbed a torch from one of the corridor's wall brackets and entered, closing the door. The light from the flame bought the room to life and they could see it was a storage area, pewter tankards and other iron kitchen equipment stacked on shelves that lined three of the walls from floor to ceiling.

A large oak table stood against the fourth wall. Glax took the torch from Flamt and placed it in a metal holder.

The flames danced, glancing off the bowls and saucepans in confused fashion. Flamt approached the trapped Amazon, taking care to come at her from the side anxious to avoid a repeat performance. With her hands tied behind her and her body arching backwards, her muscled bronze torso presented an open target. He smashed his fist into her belly. The sound of the impact was sickening.

She was ready for him, her muscles tensed, so the blow hurt his hand more than her stomach. 'I only wanted a little feel you bitch,' he spat. 'If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you've got.

You chose the wrong man to reject'. 'Six onto one,' hissed Amphora. 'Is that the only way Thoranian men can get a woman?' She was breathing deeply, her chest heaving, sweating in the airless chamber. Another blow to her abdomen. She struggled against being held, Flamt's punches glancing ineffectually off her twisting body. The man knew he wasn't hurting her.

'Bring over the table,' he motioned to Glax. The men pulled their trophy out of the way slamming her chest against the door. They held her there, her breasts, hip bones, and thighs rubbing against the rough wood, the tiny cuts to the front of her body irritated by the splintering wood. Glax dragged the table to the centre of the room, its wooden legs shuddering against the stone. The table was five foot long, three foot wide, and sturdy in build.

'Put her on the table,' said Flamt. Knowing what was coming she made a supreme but futile effort to escape, trying to floor the man who was holding her from behind. But they had anticipated her move and the six men grabbed her, one on each leg, two on each arm, swung her round and threw their victim onto the table. She landed hard on her bound arms, her shoulders and upper back making contact with the wood, her reactions saving her head from smashing against the surface. She forced the acute pain from her mind, concentrating on how she could avoid what they were about to do to her. Amphora's head was at one end of the table, her bent knees at the other, her feet dangling off the edge.

The Amazon went to raise herself but they overpowered her before she could move. Glax pressed against her cheek holding her face sideways to the table. One man leaned on each of her shoulders. Two held her muscular legs. Flamt watched while she thrashed against the gang, her body twisting, her breasts bouncing, her muscles flexed and hard. The effort made her grunt. 'Let's tie her,' said Flamt, his voice raised against the sound of her body banging against the wood.

He found a coil of rope, returned to the table, and cut four long pieces of cord. He threw three across her chest and one over her waist. The rope was clammy. 'All the better for grip,' he thought and let the ropes fall either side of the table. 'Keep her down,' he said. 'This won't take a second'.

He crawled under the table and tied the ends of the ropes together, the dampness of the hemp making it easier to knot. Flamt knew how to use rope; not for the first time he was grateful for his stint in the navy. He could feel her struggling against being bound and enjoyed the sensation of pulling the ropes tight, her movement becoming more restricted as the ropes pulled her harder and harder against the tabletop. Flamt stood up to admire his handiwork; he smiled. The Amazon's tapered waist was secured flat to the table.

A chaos of rope criss-crossed her chest pulling down on her gorgeous breasts. Her tits fought to exit from the tangle of ropes that encased her.

Her right nipple was laid flat under the coarse hemp, her left standing proud, rope passing either side directly on her aureole. He could see that the damp cord was biting into her hard bronzed torso. Amphora was tied tight to the table, her hands still secured behind her back. The soldiers that had been holding her upper body released their victim but the men gripping her legs continued to wrestle with the warrior.

The downward pressure on the captive's breasts resurrected the agony of being dragged by her chest, the log across her shoulders. 'Let me go you BASTARDS,' she yelled. 'We're just having a bit of fun,' said Flamt. 'We'll soon be on our way. Let's get those ankle chains off you'. While the men held her legs, Flamt unlocked the ankle cuffs and the chain clattered against the stone floor.

The soldier stood at the end of the table looking down at the trapped woman. Glax came to join him. She glared back at them, both in awe at the incredible shape of her abdominal muscles, accentuated with her head raised off the table. 'S-p-r-e-a-d her,' Flamt said deliberately, leering at the struggling beauty. He'd forgotten about the pain in his groin. The soldiers pulled her legs apart. She bucked and squirmed but she was held fast, the heavy table proving to be the perfect anchor.

She resisted being spread, the men working hard to hold her, one man on each thigh and one on each calf. Two on each leg was too many for her and she was powerless to prevent them from spreading her wide. 'Who's going first?' With testosterone pumping, and the stunning woman tied before them like an answer to their prayers, they all volunteered. 'NOOOOO,' Amphora screamed out. 'Too bad miss hard-body,' said Flamt, coming to stand in-between her legs.

'You should have thought of that when you rejected my advances. I was only trying to be friendly'. He smirked, enjoying her fear. 'I think you're rather over-dressed'. He reached down, grabbed the front of her black cotton panties, and ripped them off, the skimpy material coming away easily.

He stood taking in her beauty, her panties moist in his hand. Her line of dark hair, so perfectly feminine, drew his gaze down to her secret lips – a pink gate guarding heaven. She looked unbelievable.

So utterly irresistible. Flamt put her panties to his nose and inhaled deeply. 'Mmmmm', he smiled.

'You smell of honey. Anyone want a sniff?' The men passed them round, each making some lurid comment, each intoxicated by her perfume. 'You're PATHETIC', she yelled. Flamt drove his fist into her inner thigh. Knuckle against the flat of her muscled leg. 'We need to shut her up,' said Glax.

'Someone might hear her squeal'. 'You're right,' said Flamt. Looking around he saw some rope on one of the shelves. 'Pass me that cord'. Glax obliged and the two men walked around to her head, Flamt taking a rag from his pocket. They both recoiled at the stench.

'Have you been gutting fish again?' 'Pass me her panties', said Flamt and a man threw them over. 'Want a taste my beauty?' Glax held her head between his hands like a vice; her eyes forced to look at the ceiling. She opened her mouth to scream but Flamt was ready, thrusting her panties deep into her mouth, the rag following, its taste making her want to vomit. Flamt laid the rope across her mouth and pulled down hard either side of her head, his hands against the table. 'mmmmpphhhh' was all they could hear.

Her eyes and forehead creased as her tongue fought to extricate the gag, futile now that the rope was in place. She couldn't move her head. The rope pulled at her cheeks, forcing the cloths deeper into her mouth. Amphora's face reddened, the veins in her neck throbbing. 'Hold the rope'. Glax moved his hands from her head and took over holding the rope. Flamt tied the ends together underneath the table, mirroring the ropes that held her chest and stomach.

The Amazon's upper body was tied tight. Only her legs were free. Amphora breathed heavily. Her breasts rose and fell, her chest unable to complete its full cycle because of the bonds. She felt the damp rope biting into the top of her breasts as her ribcage expanded and contracted. Her raw skin rubbed against the rough table, her hands uncomfortable in the small of her back.

The men held her legs wide apart making her pelvis ache, partly from the sheer angle at which they held her, and partly because she had fought them so hard. She kept trying to draw her legs together, her thigh muscles straining, but it was to no avail. For her, the worst agony was the exposure; that these filthy men could see her most private place; that she was unable to cover herself. The thought of being violated by these thugs was too terrible to contemplate. Flamt and Glax came round to stand between her legs again. 'You really are truly wonderful,' said Glax.

'I shall remember this moment always. I expect this to be the best fuck I'll ever have. 'Speak up Amphora,' said Flamt.

'We didn't hear you'. The men laughed.

They drew straws for the honours, Flamt winning the game. 'Fix,' said Glax, grinning from ear to ear. 'I like mine naked', said Flamt. 'Completely naked. I want her legs bare'.

'As you wish,' said Glax, and went to remove her right boot. She kicked like a wounded horse but he managed to take it off, throwing it to the floor. 'Now the other one,' said Glax walking round by her head to the other side of the table. He paused a moment to look down at her face, her expression a combination of anger and fear. The ropes continued to do their job. She was held and at their mercy.

Continuing down the table towards her left leg, he couldn't resist taking a moment to study her squeezed breasts. He bent down and pulled at the rope running across the middle of her tits; tugging hard there was just enough give in the binding to take the pressure of her breast.

Holding the rope free of her chest for a moment, he then released it, the cord snapping back against her skin, the soreness in her flesh amplifying the pain. Standing up, he looked at her face.

'You're going to get what you deserve. No one bloodies my nose and gets away with it'. He bent down and bit her exposed left nipple; so hard that his teeth almost met.

To her it felt as if he was going to bite it off. The warrior closed her eyes, wincing, the sinews in her neck protruding wildly as she fought against her cruel bondage.

Glax went to pull off her left boot. The Amazon kicked out with all the energy she could muster.

Glax and the two men holding her leg were flung against the shelving, pots and kettles falling to the ground, the noise in the enclosed space deafening, the sound escaping into the corridor. 'Grab her,' hissed Glax, twice humiliated. The men got hold of her leg again and forced it wide. Wider than before. The soldiers holding her other leg pulled just a little bit further. They could see her nostrils opening and closing vigorously as she fought to take in oxygen.

Glax removed her other boot and threw it down with the other. 'She's ready cousin,' said Glax. 'She's all yours!'

Flamt undid his belt. With her head tied to the table she could only look upwards. But she could sense what was happening. Even restrained this way she could see the motion of his arms. The brute was naked from the waist down, his member rock hard and standing proud, already dripping with anticipation. He went to stand in-between her spread legs, savouring the moment, drinking in her fear. Tied tight as she was, and held wide apart by the men, she was still able to move her torso a little.

He would enjoy the suggestion of a fight. He studied her legs, the flat of her muscular bronzed inner thighs, the muscles flexing and unflexing as she fought; a big turn-on for him. He stroked the inside of her legs and then slapped them as if she was his pet. He came right up to her and placed his hands on the table either side of her waist. 'Are you ready for a real man, Amazon bitch?'

The door flung open and the Major stormed into the room. 'WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?' 'What did I tell you?' Instantly Flamt went limp.

'It's just a bit of fun sir. She attacked me. Look at his nose'. 'I warned you about her,' replied the Major. 'I told you she's dangerous.

But there's no excuse for this. You know the rules with this one. You get your chance, but AFTER the dungeon master. The soldiers released her taking care to tie a leash around her neck, and to reapply the ankle chains, before they freed her from the table. They left the gag in place.

None of the gang looked her in the eye but the Major saw her expression; one moment a smirk, the next deep anger. 'I'll walk with you to the healers,' said the Major. 'Don't worry. You'll get your chance with her.

And next time there'll be no interruptions'. * * * Alexa, the principle healer, was making final preparations for Amphora's arrival. The healers had been expecting her having received a briefing from Nemo that morning. 'The woman will be delivered to you late this afternoon,' he had said. 'She has vital information that we need but she refuses to speak.

Last night she was beaten and today she will have been paraded and whipped. Despite these ordeals I doubt she'll open up to us. She's exceptionally strong; I think that only a visit to the dungeon master will make her talk'.

'How badly will she be hurt when she's brought here?' Alexa had asked. 'Superficial wounds only,' the king had said. 'The men who punished her had strict instructions not to scar her. The thug in the bowels of the castle likes to receive his victims unmarked'.

'I'm sure we can have her ready within three days,' said Alexa. * * * For the next thirty-six hours the healers worked on the Amazon with ointments and lotions. They fed her well and allowed her to sleep, puzzled at the names Sempha and Glaina that she frequently called. Much of the time Amphora was tied to a large iron bed, spread-eagled and face down because the skin on her back required particular attention.

They applied balm to the cuts on the warrior's muscled back, shoulders, thighs, and stomach. They had a gentler cream for her breasts. While stroking her bronzed skin the healers often lingered, their fingers taking in the structure of her muscles, the hardness of her young flesh, the firmness of her generous breasts.

Amphora was powerless to prevent the abuse; in addition to being under heavy guard she was bound at all times. Even in the relative sanctuary of the bathroom, manacles had been driven into the walls to secure the prisoner. The healers bathed their patient in steaming water scented with sandalwood and lavender. With her limbs chained to anchor points at the corners of the tub, they rubbed and massaged Amphora's naked taut body, the precious herbs creating lather on the water's surface that hid their wandering hands. She could feel as they prodded and poked in every orifice, exploring her most private places. The warrior took no pleasure from their touch but chose to save her strength for what she knew lay ahead.

Her loyalty to Sempha was uppermost in her mind. Whatever they had planned for her, she resolved to remain silent at all costs. Although obviously in pain and somewhat weakened when she arrived, the resources and spirit of the Amazon had surprised the physicians. Her remarkable fitness, together with the magic of the potions, had worked wonders and on the third day their patient was ready. Her skin was once again flawless, the whips marks and bruises having completely disappeared. 'It's time to prepare her,' said Alexa to the other healers. 'You know what to do'.

Amphora was tied naked to the bed, face up, her arms and legs spread wide, her wrists and ankles secured with rope to the bedposts, her raven-black hair splayed out above her head. Alexa fed her and allowed her to drink plenty of water.

The healer never tired of watching her patient's body; the muscles tensing and flexing with every movement. She was in awe at the Amazon's undaunted pride. Alexa studied the captive's natural beauty with special poignancy knowing that within a few hours the victim was to be delivered. The physician doubted she'd ever see Amphora again.

And if she did, she knew it was unlikely the stunning warrior would still look as she did now. Within half an hour the Amazon was sleeping deeply. The drug that laced the water she had just drunk was very effective. * * * While the healers had been attending to Amphora, the Lynx had sailed to Lumana. During the journey the soldiers had busied themselves sharpening their swords and checking their equipment. They had interacted with the crew, swapping news and information about the mission.

Three of the soldiers had been on the team that had captured Amphora. For all the rest, and the sailors too, this was their first trip to Lumana. Haalet had been brought from the Admirals' cabin and introduced, the men expressing surprise that the Prince had chosen to volunteer. The evening before arriving at their destination Tevo and Costall had addressed the men. 'For most of you this will be your first encounter with the Amazons of Lumana,' Tevo had said. 'Do not be deceived by their beauty. These women are unlike any you will have met before.

They fight as well.

The Slang Dictionary, by John Camden Hotten--The Project Gutenberg eBook The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Slang Dictionary, by John Camden Hotten This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. EXPLANATION OF THE HIEROGLYPHICS.

No good; too poor, and know too much. Stop,—if you have what they want, they will buy.

They are pretty “ fly” (knowing). Flexify 2 Keygen Photoshop. Go in this direction, it is better than the other road. Nothing that way. Safe for a “cold tatur,” if for nothing else.

“ Cheese your patter” (don’t talk much) here. Cooper’d (spoilt) by too many tramps calling there. Gammy (unfavourable), likely to have you taken up. Mind the dog. Flummuxed (dangerous), sure of a month in “ quod,” prison.

Religious, but tidy on the whole. “THE WEDGE” AND THE “WOODEN SPOON.” A NEW IMPRESSION LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS 1913 PREFACE. Slang, like everything else, changes much in the course of time; and though but fifteen years have elapsed since this Dictionary was first introduced to the public, alterations have since then been many and frequent in the subject of which it treats.

The first issue of a work of this kind is, too, ever beset with difficulties, and the compiler was always aware that, though under the circumstances of its production the book was an undoubted success, it necessarily lacked many of the elements which would make that success lasting, and cause the “Slang Dictionary” to be regarded as an authority and a work of reference not merely among the uneducated, but among people of cultivated tastes and inquiring minds. For though the vulgar use of the word Slang applies to those words only which are used by the dangerous classes and the lowest grades of society, the term has in reality, and should have—as every one who has ever studied the subject knows—a much wider significance. Bearing this in mind, the original publisher of this Dictionary lost no opportunity of obtaining information of a useful kind, which could hardly find place in any other book of reference, with the intention of eventually bringing out an entirely new edition, in which all former errors should be corrected and all fresh meanings and new words find a place. His intention always was to give those words which are familiar to all conversant with our colloquialisms and locutions, but which have hitherto been connected with an unwritten tongue, a local habitation, and to produce a book which, in its way, would be as useful to students of philology, as well as to lovers of human nature in all its phases, as any standard work in the English language. The squeamishness which tries to ignore the existence of slang fails signally, for not only in the streets and the prisons, but at the bar, on the bench, in the pulpit, and in the Houses of Parliament, does slang make itself heard, and, as the shortest and safest means to an end, understood too. My predecessor, the original compiler, did not live to see his wish become an actual fact; and, failing him, it devolved upon me to undertake the task of revision and addition. How far this has been accomplished, the curious reader who is possessed of a copy of each edition can best judge for himself by comparing any couple of pages he may select.

Of my own share in the work I wish to say nothing, as I have mainly benefited by the labours of others; but I may say that, when I undertook the position of editor of what, with the smallest possible stretch of fancy, may now be called a new book, I had no idea that the alteration would be nearly so large or so manifest. However, as the work is now done, it will best speak for itself, and, as good wine needs no bush, I will leave it, in all hope of their tenderness, to those readers who are best qualified to say how the task has been consummated. In conclusion, it is but fair for me to thank, as strongly as weak words will permit, those gentlemen who have in various ways assisted me.

To two of them, who are well known in the world of literature, and who have not only aided me with advice, but have placed many new words and etymologies at my service, I am under particular obligation. With this I beg to subscribe myself, the reader’s most obedient servant, The Editor. December 20, 1873.

Note.—The reader will bear in mind that this is a Dictionary of modern Slang,—a list of colloquial words and phrases in present use,—whether of ancient or modern formation. Whenever Ancient is appended to a word, it means that the expression was in respectable use in or previous to the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Old or Old English, affixed to a word, signifies that it was in general use as a proper expression in or previous to the reign of Charles II. Old Cant indicates that the term was in use as a Cant word during or before the same reign. The Publishers will be much obliged by the receipt of any cant, slang, or vulgar words not mentioned in the Dictionary. The probable origin, or etymology, of any fashionable or unfashionable vulgarism, will also be received with thanks. Several words are entirely obsolete.

“Alybbeg” no longer means a bed, nor “askew” a cup. “Booget,” nowadays, would not be understood for a basket; neither would “gan” pass current for mouth. “Fullams” was the old Cant term for false or loaded dice, and although used by Shakspeare in this sense, is now unknown and obsolete. Indeed, as Moore somewhere remarks, the present Greeks of St.

Giles’s themselves would be thoroughly puzzled by many of the ancient canting songs,—taking, for example, the first verse of an old favourite—. “Bing out, bien Morts, and toure and toure, Bing out, bien Morts, and toure; For all your duds are bing’d awast; The bien cove hath the loure.” But perhaps we cannot do better than present to the reader at once an entire copy of the first Canting Dictionary ever compiled. As before mentioned, it was the work of one Thomas Harman, who lived in the days of Queen Elizabeth. Some writers have remarked that Decker was the first to compile a dictionary of the vagabonds’ tongue; whilst Borrow and Moore stated that Richard Head performed that service in his Life of an English Rogue, published in the year 1680.

All these statements are equally incorrect, for the first attempt was made more than a century before the latter work was issued. The quaint spelling and old-fashioned phraseology are preserved, and the initiated will quickly recognise many vulgar street words as old acquaintances dressed in antique garb. Abraham-men be those that fayn themselves to have beene mad, and have bene kept either in Bethelem, or in some other pryson a good time.

Alybbeg, a bedde. Askew, a cuppe.

Autem, a churche. Autem mortes, married women as chaste as a cowe. Baudye baskets bee women who goe with baskets and capcases on their armes, wherein they have laces, pinnes, nedles, whyte inkel, and round sylke gyrdels of all colours. Beck [Beak, a magistrate], a constable.

Belly-chete, apron. Benar, better.

Benship, very good. Bleting chete, a calfe or sheepe. Booget, a travelling tinker’s baskete. Borde, a shilling. Boung, a purse.

[ Friesic, pong; Wallachian, punga.] The oldest form of this word is in Ulphilas, puggs; it exists also in the Greek, πουγγὴ. Bowse, drink. Bowsing ken, an alehouse.

Bufe [Buffer, a man], a dogge. Bynge a waste [Avast, get out of the way] go you hence. Cackling chete, a coke [cock], or capon. Cassan [Cassam], cheese. Casters [Castor, a hat], a cloake. Cateth, “the vpright Cofe cateth to the Roge” [probably a shortening or misprint of Canteth].

Chattes, the gallowes. Chete [see about this word.] Cly [a pocket], to take, receive, or have. Cofe [cove], a person. Commission [mish], a shirt. Counterfet cranke, these that do counterfet the Cranke be yong knaves and yonge harlots, that deeply dissemble the falling sickness. Cranke [cranky, foolish], falling evil [or wasting sickness]. Crashing chetes, teeth.

Cuffen, a manne. [A cuif in Northumberland and Scotland signifies a lout or awkward fellow.] Darkemans, the night. Dell, a yonge wench.

Dewse a vyle, the countrey. Dock, to deflower.

Doxes, harlots. Drawers, hosen. Dudes [or duds], clothes. Fambles, handes.

Fambling chete, a ring on one’s hand. Flagg, a groat.

Frater, a beggar wyth a false paper. Freshe water mariners, these kind of caterpillers counterfet great losses on the sea:—their shippes were drowned in the playne of Salisbury. Fylche, to robbe: Fylch-man, a robber. Gage, a quart pot. Gan, a mouth. Gentry cofe, a noble or gentle man.

Gentry cofes ken, a noble or gentle man’s house. Gentry mort, a noble or gentle woman. Gerry, excrement. Glasyers, eyes. Glymmar, fyer. Grannam, corne. Grunting chete, a pygge.

Gyb, a writing. Gyger [jigger], a dore. Hearing chetes, eares. Jarke, a seale. Jarkeman, one who makes writings and sets seales for [counterfeit] licences and passports.

Ken, a house. Kynchen co [or cove], a young boye trained up like a “Kynching Morte.” [From the German diminutive, Kindschen.] Kynching morte, is a little gyrle, carried at their mother’s backe in a slate, or sheete, who brings them up sauagely.

Lag of dudes, a bucke [or basket] of clothes. Lage, to washe. Lap, butter mylke, or whey. Lightmans, the day. Lowing chete, a cowe. Lowre, money. [From the Wallachian Gipsy word LOWE, coined money.

Cogalniceano’s Essai sur les Cigains de la Moldo-Valachie.] Lubbares,—“sturdy Lubbares,” country bumpkins, or men of a low degree. Lyb-beg, a bed.

Lycke [lick], to beate. Lyp, to lie down.

Lypken, a house to lye in. Make [mag], a halfpenny. Margeri prater, a hen. Milling, to steale [by sending a child in at a window]. Moffling chete, a napkin.

Mortes [mots], harlots. Myll, to robbe. Nab [nob], a heade. Nabchet, a hat or cap.

Nase, dronken. Nosegent, a nunne. Pallyard, a borne beggar [who counterfeits sickness, or incurable sores. They are mostly Welshmen, Harman says.] Param, mylke. Patrico, a priest.

Patricos kinchen, a pygge. [A satirical hit at the church, PATRICO meaning a parson or priest, and his little boy or girl.] Pek, meat. Poppelars, porrage. Prat, a buttocke.

[This word has its equivalent in modern slang.] Pratling chete, a toung. Prauncer, a horse. Prigger of prauncers be horse-stealers, for to prigge signifieth in their language to steale, and a PRAUNCER is a horse, so being put together, the matter was playn.

[Thus writes old Thomas Harman, who concludes his description of this order of “pryggers,” by very quietly saying, “I had the best gelding stolen out of my pasture, that I had amongst others, whyle this book was first a-printing.”] Prygges, dronken tinkers, or beastly people. Quacking chete, a drake or duck.

Quaromes, a body. Quier [queer], badde. [ See.] Quier cuffin, the justice of peace. Quyer crampringes, boltes or fetters. Quyer kyn, a pryson house. Red shanke, a drake or ducke. Roger, a goose.

Rome, goode [now curious, noted, or remarkable in any way. Rum is the modern orthography]. Rome bouse [rum booze], wyne. [A name probably applied by canters coming on it for the first time, and tasting it suddenly.] Rome mort, the Queene [Elizabeth].

Rome vyle [Rum-ville], London. Ruff peck, baken [short bread, common in old times at farm-houses].

Ruffmans, the wood or bushes. Salomon, an alter or masse. Skypper, a barne. Slate, a sheete or shetes. Smelling chete, a nose. Smelling chete, a garden or orchard.

Snowt fayre [said of a woman who has a pretty face or is comely]. Stall [to initiate a beggar or rogue into the rights and privileges of the canting order. Harman relates that when an upright man, or initiated first-class rogue, “mete any beggar, whether he be sturdy or impotent, he will demand of him whether ever he was ‘stalled to the roge,’ or no. If he say he was, he will know of whom, and his name yt stalled him.

And if he be not learnedly able to shew him the whole circumstance thereof, he will spoyle him of his money, either of his best garment, if it be worth any money, and haue him to the bowsing-ken: which is, to some typling house next adjoyninge, and layth there to gage the best thing that he hath for twenty pence or two shillings: this man obeyeth for feare of beatinge. Then dooth this upright man call for a gage of bowse, which is a quarte potte of drink, and powres the same vpon his peld pate, adding these words,—I, G.P., do stalle thee, W.T., to the Roge, and that from henceforth it shall be lawfull for thee to cant, that is, to aske or begge for thi liuing in al places.”] Stampers, shoes. Stampes, legges. Stauling ken, a house that will receyue stollen wares. Stawlinge kens, tippling-houses.

Stow you [stow it], hold your peace. Strike, to steale. Strommell, strawe. Swadder, or PEDLER [a man who hawks goods].

The high pad, the highway. The ruffian cly thee, the devil take thee. Togemans [tog], cloake. Togman, a coate.

To bowse, to drinke. To cant, to speake. To cly the gerke, to be whipped.

To couch a hogshead, to lie down and slepe. To cut bene whyddes, to speake or give good words. To cut benle, to speak gentle.

To cutte, to say. To cutte quyer whyddes, to giue euil words or euil language. To dup ye gyger [jigger], to open the dore. To fylche, to robbe. To heue a bough, to robbe or rifle a boweth [booth]. To maunde, to aske or require.

To mill a ken, to robbe a house. Tonygle [coition].

To nyp a boung, [nip, to steal], to cut a purse. To skower the crampringes, to weare boltes or fetters.

To stall, to make or ordain. To the ruffian, to the Devil. To towre, to see. Tryning, hanging. Tyb of the butery, a goose. Walking morte, womene [who pass for widows].

Wapping [coition]. Whyddes, wordes. Wyn, a penny. [A correspondent of Notes and Queries suggests the connexion of this word with the Welsh, GWYN, white— i.e., the white silver penny. See other examples under, in the Dictionary; cf. Also the Armorican, “ GWENNEK,” a penny.] Yannam, bread.

Turning attention more to the Cant of modern times, in connexion with the old, it will be found that words have been drawn into the thieves’ vocabulary from every conceivable source. Hard or infrequent words, vulgarly termed “crack-jaw,” or “jaw-breakers,” were very often used and considered as Cant terms.

And here it should be mentioned that at the present day the most inconsistent and far-fetched terms are often used for secret purposes, when they are known to be caviare to the million. It is strange that such words as incongruous, insipid, interloper, intriguing, indecorum, forestall, equip, hush, grapple, &c., &c., were current Cant words a century and a half ago, if we are to judge by the Dictionary of Canting Words at the end of Bacchus and Venus, 1737. It is but fair, however, to assume that the compiler of the dictionary was but trading on the demand for Cant phrases, and was humbugging his readers.

The terms are inserted not as jokes or squibs, but as selections from the veritable pocket dictionaries of the Jack Sheppards and Dick Turpins of the day. If they were safely used as unknown and cabalistic terms amongst the commonalty, the fact would form a very curious illustration of the ignorance of our poor ancestors; but it would be unfair and, indeed, idiotic to assume this without much stronger proof than the book in question gives of itself. Amongst those Cant words which have either altered their meanings, or have become extinct, may be cited lady, formerly the Cant for “a very crooked, deformed, and ill-shapen woman;” and Harman, “a pair of stocks, or a constable.” The former is a pleasant piece of sarcasm, whilst the latter indicates a singular method of revenge, or else of satire. Harman was the first author who specially wrote against English vagabonds, and for his trouble his name, we are told, became synonymous with a pair of stocks, or a policeman of the olden time. Apart from the Gipsy element, we find that Cant abounds in terms from foreign languages, and that it exhibits signs of a growth similar to that of most recognised and completely-formed tongues,—the gathering of words from foreign sources. In the reign of Elizabeth and of King James I., several Dutch, Flemish, and Spanish words were introduced by soldiers who had served in the Low Countries and sailors who had returned from the Spanish Main, who, like “mine ancient Pistol,” were fond of garnishing their speech with outlandish phrases. Many of these were soon picked up and adopted by vagabonds and tramps in their Cant language.

The Anglo-Norman and the Anglo-Saxon, the Scotch, the French, the Italian, and even the classic languages of ancient Italy and Greece, besides the various provincial dialects of England, have contributed to its list of words. Indeed, as has been remarked, English Cant seems to be formed on the same basis as the Argot of the French and the Roth-Sprach of the Germans—partly metaphorical, and partly by the introduction of such corrupted foreign terms as are likely to be unknown to the society amid which the Cant speakers exist. Argot is the London thieves’ word for their secret language; it is, of course, from the French, but that matters not, so long as it is incomprehensible to the police and the mob.

“Booze,” or “bouse,” is supposed to come from the Dutch buysen, though the word has been in use in England for some hundreds of years. “Domine,” a parson, is from the Spanish. “Donna and feeles,” a woman and children, is from the Latin; and “don,” a clever fellow, has been filched from the Lingua Franca, or bastard Italian, although it sounds like an odd mixture of Spanish and French; whilst “duds,” the vulgar term for clothes, may have been pilfered either from the Gaelic or the Dutch. “Feele,” a daughter, from the French; and “frow,” a girl or wife, from the German—are common tramps’ terms. So are “gent,” silver, from the French argent; and “vial,” a country town, also from the French.

“Horrid-horn,” a fool, is believed to be from the Erse; and “gloak,” a man, from the Scotch. As stated before, the dictionary will supply numerous other instances.

The Celtic languages have contributed many Cant and vulgar words to our popular vocabulary. These have come to us through the Gaelic and Irish languages, so closely allied in their material as to be merely dialects of a primitive common tongue. This element may arise from the Celtic portion of our population, which, from its position as slaves or servants to its ancient conquerors, has contributed so largely to the lowest class of the community, therefore to our Slang, provincial, or colloquial words; or it may be an importation from Irish immigrants, who have contributed their fair proportion to our criminal stock. There is one source, however, of secret street terms which in the first edition of this work was entirely overlooked,—indeed, it was unknown to the original compiler until pointed out by a correspondent,—the Lingua Franca, or bastard Italian, spoken at Genoa, Trieste, Malta, Constantinople, Smyrna, Alexandria, and all Mediterranean seaport towns. The ingredients of this imported Cant are, as its name denotes, many. Its foundation is Italian, with a mixture of modern Greek, German (from the Austrian ports), Spanish, Turkish, and French.

It has been introduced to the notice of the London wandering tribes by the sailors, foreign and English, who trade to and from the Mediterranean seaports, but it must not be confounded with the mixture of Irish, English, and Italian spoken in neighbourhoods like Saffron Hill and Leather Lane, which are thronged with swarms of organ-grinders from all parts of Italy, and makers of images from Rome and Florence,—all of whom, in these dense thoroughfares, mingle with our lower orders. It would occupy too much space here to give a list of the words used in either of these Babel-like tongues, especially as the principal of them are noted in the dictionary. “Words that wise Bacon or brave Rawleigh spake;” and Dr. Latham remarks that “the thieves of London are the conservators of Anglo-Saxonisms.” A young gentleman from Belgravia, who had lost his watch or his pocket-handkerchief, would scarcely remark to his mamma that it had been “boned”—yet “bone,” in old times, meant, amongst high and low, to steal. And a young lady living in the precincts of dingy but aristocratic Mayfair, although enraptured with a Jenny Lind or a Ristori, would hardly think of turning back in the box to inform papa that she (Ristori or Lind) “made no ‘bones’ of it”—yet the phrase was most respectable and well-to-do before it met with a change of circumstances. Possibly fashion, in its journey from east to west, left certain phrases and metaphors behind, which being annexed by the newcomers, sank gradually in the social scale until they ultimately passed out of the written language altogether, and became “flash” or Slang.

“A ‘crack’ article,” however first-rate, would have greatly displeased Dr. Johnson and Mr. Walker—yet both crack, in the sense of excellent, and crack up, to boast or praise, were not considered vulgarisms in the time of Henry VIII. The former term is used frequently nowadays, as a kind of polite and modified Slang—as a “crack” regiment, a “crack” shot, &c. “Dodge,” a cunning trick, is from the Anglo-Saxon; and ancient nobles used to “get each other’s ‘dander’ up” before appealing to their swords,—quite “flabbergasting” (also a respectable old word) the half-score of lookers-on with the thumps and cuts of their heavy weapons. “Gallivanting,” waiting upon the ladies, was as polite in expression as in action; whilst a clergyman at Paule’s Crosse thought nothing of bidding a noisy hearer “hold his ‘gab,’” or “shut up his ‘gob.’” But then the essence of preaching was to indulge in idiomatic phrases and colloquialisms—a practice now almost peculiar to itinerant “ranters.” “Gadding,” roaming about in an idle and vacant manner, was used in an old translation of the Bible; and “to do anything ‘gingerly’” was to do it with great care.

Persons of modern affected tastes will be shocked to know that the great Lord Bacon spoke of the lower part of a man’s face as his “gills,” though the expression is not more objectionable than the generality of metaphor, and is considerably more respectable than many words admitted to the genteel—we use the word advisedly—vocabulary. Shakspeare also used many words which are now counted dreadfully vulgar. “‘Clean’ gone,” in the sense of out of sight, or entirely away; “you took me all ‘a-mort,’” or confounded me; “it wont ‘fadge,’” or suit, are phrases taken at random from the great dramatist’s works. These phrases are the natural outcome of the poet’s truth to life in the characters he portrayed. A London costermonger, or inhabitant of the streets, instead of saying, “I’ll make him yield,” or “give in,” in a fight or contest, would say, “I’ll make him ‘buckle’ under.” Shakspeare in his Henry the Fourth (part ii. Scene 1), has the word; and Mr.

No good; too poor, and know too much. Stop,—If you have what they want, they will buy. They are pretty “fly” (knowing). Go in this direction, it is better than the other road.

Nothing that way. Safe for a “cold tatur,” if for nothing else. “Cheese your patter” (don’t talk much) here.

Cooper’d (spoilt), by too many tramps calling there. Gammy (unfavourable), like to have you taken up. Mind the dog. Flummuxed (dangerous), sure of a month in “quod” (prison). Religious, but tidy on the whole. Where did these signs come from? And when were they first used?

Are questions which have been asked again and again, and the answers have been many and various. Knowing the character of the Gipsies, and ascertaining from a tramp that they are well acquainted with the hieroglyphs, “and have been as long ago as ever he could remember,” there is little fear of being wrong in ascribing the invention to them. How strange it would be if some modern Belzoni, or Champollion—say Mr. George Smith, for instance—discovered in these beggars’ marks traces of ancient Egyptian or Hindoo sign-writing! That the Gipsies were in the habit of leaving memorials of the road they had taken, and the successes that had befallen them, is upon record. In an old book, The Triumph of Wit, 1724, there is a passage which appears to have been copied from some older work, and it runs thus:—“The Gipsies set out twice a year, and scatter all over England, each parcel having their appointed stages, that they may not interfere, nor hinder each other; and for that purpose, when they set forward in the country, they stick up boughs in the way of divers kinds, according as it is agreed among them, that one company may know which way another is gone, and so take another road.” The works of Hoyland and Borrow supply other instances.

It would be hardly fair to close this subject without drawing attention to the extraordinary statement that, actually on the threshold of the gibbet, the sign of the vagabond was to be met with! “The murderer’s signal is even exhibited from the gallows; as a red handkerchief held in the hand of the felon about to be executed is a token that he dies without having betrayed any professional secrets.” Private executions have of course rendered this custom obsolete, even if it ever existed. Since the first editions of this work were published, the publishers have received from various parts of England numerous evidences of the still active use of beggars’ marks and mendicant hieroglyphs. One gentleman writes from Great Yarmouth to say that, whilst residing in Norwich, he used frequently to see them on the houses and street corners in the suburbs. Another gentleman, a clergyman, states that he has so far made himself acquainted with the meanings of the signs employed, that by himself marking the characters (gammy) and (flummuxed) on the gate-posts of his parsonage, he enjoys a singular immunity from alms-seekers and cadgers on the tramp. This hint may not be lost on many other sufferers from importunate beggars, yet its publication may lead to the introduction of a new code. Marriage in High Life.—We understand that a marriage is ARRANGED (!) betwixt the Lady, &c.

&c., and the Honourable, &c. “Arranged!” Is that cold-blooded Smithfield or Mark Lane term for a sale or a purchase the proper word to express the hopeful, joyous, golden union of young and trustful hearts? Possibly, though, the word is often used with a due regard to facts, for marriages, especially amongst our upper classes, are not always “made in heaven.” Which is the proper way to pronounce the names of great people, and what the correct authority? Lord Cowper, we are often assured, is Lord Cooper—on this principle Lord Cowley would certainly be Lord Cooley—and Mr. Carew, we are told, should be Mr.

Carey, Ponsonby should be Punsunby, Eyre should be Aire, Cholmondeley should be Chumley, St. John Sinjen, Beauchamp should be Beachem, Majoribanks Marshbanks, and Powell should always be Poel. The pronunciation of proper names has long been an anomaly in the conversation of the upper classes of this country. Hodge and Podge, the clodhoppers of Shakspeare’s time, talked in their mug-houses of the great Lords Darbie, Barkelie, and Bartie. In Pall Mall and May Fair these personages are spoken of in exactly the same manner at the present day, whilst in the City, and amongst the middle classes, we only hear of Derby, Berkeley, &c.,—the correct pronunciations, if the spelling is worth aught. It must not be forgotten, however, that the pronunciation of the upper classes, as regards the names of places just mentioned, is a relic of old times when the orthography was different.

The middle-class man is satisfied to take matters the modern way, but even he, when he wishes to be thought a swell, alters his style. In fact, the old rule as to proper names being pronounced according to individual taste, is, and ever will be, of absolute necessity, not only as regards the upper and middle, but the lower classes.

A costermonger is ignorant of such a place as Birmingham, but understands you in a moment if you talk of Brummagem. Why do not Pall Mall exquisites join with the costermongers in this pronunciation?

It is the ancient one. Parliamentary Slang, excepting a few peculiar terms connected with “ the House” (scarcely Slang), is mainly composed of fashionable, literary, and learned Slang. When members get excited, and wish to be forcible, they are now and again, but not very often, found guilty of vulgarisms, and then may be not particular which of the street terms they select, providing it carries, as good old Dr. South said, plenty of “wildfire” in it. Lord Cairns when Sir Hugh, and a member of the Lower House, spoke of “that homely but expressive phrase, ‘dodge.’” Out of “the House,” several Slang terms are used in connexion with Parliament or members of Parliament. If Lord Palmerston was familiar by name to the tribes of the Caucasus and Asia Minor as a great foreign diplomatist, when the name of our Queen was unknown to the inhabitants of those parts—as was once stated in the Times—it is worthy of remark that, amongst the costers and the wild inhabitants of the streets, he was at that time better known as “Pam.” The cabmen on the “ranks” in Piccadilly have been often heard to call each other’s attention to the great leader of the Opposition in the following expressive manner—“Hollo, there!

De yer see old ‘Dizzy’ doing a stump?” A “plumper” is a single vote at an election—not a “split-ticket;” and electors who had occupied a house, no matter how small, and boiled a pot in it, thus qualifying themselves for voting, used in the good old days to be termed “potwallopers.” A quiet “walk over” is a re-election without opposition and much cost; and is obtained from the sporting vocabulary, in which the term is not Slang. A “caucus” meeting refers to the private assembling of politicians before an election, when candidates are chosen, and measures of action agreed upon. The term comes from America, where caucus means a meeting simply. A “job,” in political phraseology, is a Government office or contract obtained by secret influence or favouritism; and is not a whit more objectionable in sound than is the nefarious proceeding offensive to the sense of those who pay but do not participate. The Times once spoke of “the patriotic member of Parliament ‘potted out’ in a dusty little lodging somewhere about Bury Street.” But then the Times was not always the mildly respectable high-class paper it now is, as a reference to the columns devoted by it to Macaulay’s official career will alone determine. These, which appeared during the present reign, would be far below the lowest journalistic taste nowadays; yet they are in keeping with the rest of the political references made at that time by the now austere and high-principled “leading journal.” The term “quockerwodger,” although referring to a wooden toy figure which jerks its limbs about when pulled by a string, has been supplemented with a political meaning.

A pseudo-politician, whose strings of action are pulled by somebody else, is often termed a “quockerwodger.” From an early period politics and partyism have attracted unto themselves quaint Slang terms. Horace Walpole quotes a party nickname of February, 1742, as a Slang word of the day:—“The Tories declare against any further prosecution, if Tories there are, for now one hears of nothing but the ‘broad-bottom;’ it is the reigning Cant word, and means the taking all parties and people, indifferently, into the Ministry.” Thus “broad-bottom” in those days was Slang for “coalition.” The term “rat,” too, in allusion to rats deserting vessels about to sink, has long been employed towards those turncoat politicians who change their party for interest. Who that occasionally passes near the Houses of Parliament has not often noticed stout or careful M.P.’s walk briskly through the Hall, and on the kerb-stone in front, with umbrella or walking-cane uplifted, shout to the cabmen on the rank, “Four-wheeler!” The term is both useful and expressive; but it is none the less Slang, though of a better kind than “growler,” used to denominate the same kind of vehicle, or “shoful,” the street term for a hansom cab. Military Slang is on a par, and of a character, with dandy Slang. Inconvenient friends, or elderly and lecturing relatives, are pronounced “dreadful bores.” This affectionate term, like most other Slang phrases which have their rise in a certain section of society, has spread and become of general application. “The allegory which pervades the conversation of all Eastern nations is the foundation of Western Slang; and the increased number of students of the Oriental languages, especially since Sanscrit and Arabic have been made subjects for the Indian Civil Service examinations, may have contributed to supply the English language with a large portion of its new dialect.

While, however, the spirit of allegory comes from the East, there is so great a difference between the brevity of Western expression and the more cumbrous diction of the Oriental, that the origin of a phrase becomes difficult to trace. Thus, for instance, whilst the Turkish merchant might address his friend somewhat as follows—‘That which seems good to my father is to his servant as the perfumed breath of the west wind in the calm night of the Arabian summer;’ the Western negotiator observes more briefly, ‘all serene!’” But the vulgar term, “brick,” Punch remarks in illustration.

“And these, what name or title e’er they bear, Jarkman, or Patrico, Cranke, or Clapper-dudgeon, Frater, or ABRAM-MAN; I speak to all That stand in fair election for the title Of king of beggars.”— Beaumont and Fletcher’s Begg. It appears to have been the practice in former days to allow certain inmates of Bethlehem Hospital to have fixed days “to go begging:” hence impostors were said to “ SHAM ABRAHAM” (the Abraham Ward in Bedlam having for its inmates these mendicant lunatics) when they pretended they were licensed beggars in behalf of the hospital. “I have heard people say That SHAM ABRAHAM you may, But you mustn’t SHAM ABRAHAM Newland.” Absquatulate, to run away, or abscond; a hybrid American expression, from the Latin ab, and “squat” to settle. Acres, a coward. From Bob Acres, in Sheridan’s Rivals. Adam’s Ale, water.— English. The Scotch term is ADAM’S WINE.

Added to the List, a euphuism current among sporting writers implying that a horse has been gelded. As, “Sabinus has been ADDED TO THE LIST.” Another form of expression in reference to this matter is that “the knife has been brought into requisition.” “ ADDED TO THE LIST” is simply a contraction for “added to the list of geldings in training.” Addlepate, a foolish fellow, a dullard. Admiral of the Red, a person whose very red face evinces a fondness for strong potations. “It fits to an AFFYGRAPHY,” i.e., to a nicety—to a T.

Afternoon Farmer, one who wastes his best opportunity, and drives off the large end of his work to the little end of his time. Against the Grain, in opposition to the wish. “It went AGAINST THE GRAIN to do it, but I knew I must,” is a common expression. Aggerawators (corruption of Aggravators), the greasy locks of hair in vogue among costermongers and other street folk, worn twisted from the temple back towards the ear. They are also, from a supposed resemblance in form, termed NEWGATE KNOCKERS, and sometimes NUMBER SIXES. This style of adorning the head is, however, fast dying out, and the everyday costermonger or street thief has his hair cut like any one else. The yearly militia drill may have had a good deal to do with this alteration.

Akeybo, a slang phrase used in the following manner:—“He beats AKEYBO, and AKEYBO beat the devil.” Albertopolis, a facetious appellation given by the Londoners to the Kensington Gore district. Now obsolete. Alderman, a half-crown—possibly from its rotundity. Also a long pipe. Alderman, a turkey; “ ALDERMAN IN CHAINS,” a turkey hung with sausages.

All of a Hugh! All on one side; falling with a thump; the word HUGH being pronounced with a grunt.— Suffolk. All my Eye, a remark of incredulity made in reference to an improbable story; condensation of “ ALL MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN,” a vulgar phrase constructed from the commencement of a Roman Catholic prayer to St. Martin, “Oh, mihi, beate Martine,” which in common with many another fell into discredit and ridicule after the Reformation. All out, by far;—“he was ALL OUT the best of the lot.” Old—frequently used by Burton in his Anatomy of Melancholy.

All-overish, neither sick nor well; the premonitory symptoms of illness. Also the feeling which comes over a man at a critical moment, say just when he is about to “pop the question.” Sometimes this is called, “feeling all over alike, and touching nowhere.” All-rounder, a shirt collar going all round the neck and meeting in front. Once fashionable, but little worn now. All Serene, an ejaculation of acquiescence. Some years back a popular street cry.

With or without application to actual fact, the words ALL SERENE were bawled from morning to night without any reference to the serenity of the unfortunate hearers.— See. Alls, tap-droppings, refuse spirits sold at a cheap rate in gin-palaces. All There, in strict fashion, first-rate, “up to the mark;” a vulgar person would speak of a handsome, well-dressed woman as being ALL THERE. An artisan would use the same phrase to express the capabilities of a skillful fellow-workman. Sometimes ALL THE WAY THERE. Always used as a term of encomium.

All to Pieces, utterly, excessively; “he beat him ALL TO PIECES,” i.e., excelled or surpassed him exceedingly. Also a term much in use among sporting men and expressing want of form, or decadence.

A boat’s crew are said to “go ALL TO PIECES” when they through distress lose their regularity. A woman is vulgarly said to “fall to pieces,” or “tumble to pieces,” when she is confined. All to Smash, or “ GONE ALL TO PIECES,” bankrupt, ruined. “Whilst that for which all virtue now is sold, And almost every vice, almightie gold.” It seems almost obvious that the term must have been applied, not to dollars certainly, but to money, long before the time of Irving. American Tweezers, an instrument used by an hotel-sneak which nips the wards end of a key, and enables him to open a door from the opposite side to that on which it has been locked. Andrew Millar, a ship of war.— Sea.

Ain’t, the vulgar abbreviation of “am not,” “are not,” or “is not.” Anointed, i.e., eminent; used to express great rascality in any one; “an ANOINTED scoundrel,” king among scoundrels.— Irish. Anointing, a good beating. A case for the application of salve.

Anonyma, a lady of the demi-monde, or worse; a “pretty horsebreaker.” Incognita was the term at first. Product of the squeamishness of the age which tries to thrust away fact by the use of fine words. Antiscriptural, oaths, foul language. Anything unfit for ordinary society conversation.

Apartments to Let, a term used in reference to one who has a somewhat empty head. As, “He’s got APARTMENTS TO LET.” Apostle’s Grove, the London district known as St. Also called GROVE OF THE EVANGELIST. Apostles, The Twelve, the last twelve names on the Poll, or “Ordinary Degree” List at the Cambridge Examinations, when it was arranged in order of merit, and not alphabetically, and in classes, as at present; so called from their being post alios, after the others.— See. The last of all was called St.

Paul (or Saint Poll), as being the least of the apostles, and “not meet to be called an apostle” ( see 1 Cor. As in the “Honour” list ( see ), students who had failed only slightly in one or more subjects were occasionally allowed their degrees, and these were termed.— Camb. Apple-pie Bed, a trick played at schools on new comers, or on any boy disliked by the rest.

One of the sheets is removed, and the other is doubled in the middle, so that both edges are brought to the top, and look as if both sheets were there; but the unhappy occupant is prevented getting more than half-way down, and he has to remake his bed as best he can. This trick is sometimes played by children of a larger growth. Apple-Cart, the human structure, so far as the phrases with which it is connected are concerned. As “I’ll upset your APPLE-CART,” “down with his APPLE-CART.” Apple-pie Order, in exact or very nice order. Appro, contraction of approbation, a word much in use among jewellers.

Most of the extensive show of chains, watches, and trinkets in a shop window is obtained “ ON APPRO,” i.e., “on sale or return.” Area Sneak, a thief who commits depredations upon kitchens and cellars. Argol-bargol, to bandy words.— Scotch.

Article, derisive term for a weak or insignificant specimen of humanity. Atomy, a diminutive or deformed person. From ANATOMY, or ATOM. Attack, to carve, or commence operations; “ ATTACK that beef, and oblige!” Attic, the head; “queer in the ATTIC,” intoxicated or weak-minded. Sometimes ATTIC is varied by “upper story.” Attic Salt, wit, humour, pleasantry. Partly a reference to a suggestive portion of Grecian literature, and partly a sly hit at the well-known poverty of many writers.

Auctioneer, to “tip him the AUCTIONEER,” is to knock a man down. Tom Sayers’s right hand was known to pugilistic fame as the AUCTIONEER. Audit Ale, extra strong ale supposed to be drunk when the accounts are audited.— Camb. Auld-Reekie, an affectionate term for the old town of Edinburgh. Derived from its dingy appearance. Aunt Sally, a favourite figure on racecourses and at fairs, consisting of a wooden head mounted on a stick, firmly fixed in the ground; in the nose of which, or rather where the nose should be, a tobacco-pipe is inserted. The fun consists in standing at a distance and demolishing AUNT SALLY’S pipe-clay projection with short bludgeons, very similar to the halves of broom-handles.

The Duke of Beaufort is a “crack hand” at smashing pipe noses; and his performances some years ago on Brighton racecourse, which brought the game into notoriety, are yet fresh in remembrance. Aunt Sally has, however, had her day, and once again the inevitable “three shies a penny!” is chief among our outdoor amusements. Avast, a sailor’s phrase for stop, shut up, go away,—apparently connected with the old Cant, BYNGE A WASTE; or from the Italian, BASTA, hold!

Awake, or FLY, knowing, thoroughly understanding. “I’m awake,” i.e., I know all. The phrase WIDE-AWAKE carries a similar meaning in ordinary conversation, but has a more general reference. Awful, a senseless expletive, used to intensify a description of anything good or bad; “what an AWFUL fine woman!” “awfully jolly,” “awfully sorry,” &c. The phrase is not confined to any section of society. Sometimes pronounced arks.

Babes, the lowest order of (which see), who are prevailed upon not to give opposing biddings at auctions, in consideration of their receiving a small sum (from one shilling to half-a-crown), and a certain quantity of beer. They can, however, even after this agreement, be secured on the other side for a little longer price. There is no honour among thieves—at all events not among auction thieves—nowadays. Back, to support by means of money, on the turf or otherwise.— See.

Back, “to get one’s BACK UP,” to annoy or enrage. Probably from the action of a cat when preparing to give battle to an enemy. Back-end, that portion of the year which commences with October. This phrase is peculiar to the turf, and has its origin in the fact that October was actually, and is now nearly, the finishing portion of the racing season. Towards BACK-END the punters and “little men” generally begin to look forward with anxiety to their winter prospects, and “going for the gloves” is not only a frequent phrase, but a frequently recurring practice. Back Out, to retreat from a difficulty; reverse of GO AHEAD. Metaphor borrowed from the stables.

Back Slang It, to go out the back way. Equivalent to “Sling your hook out of the back-door,” i.e., get away quickly. Backslums, the byeways and disreputable portions of a town. Back-Hander, a blow on the face with the back of the hand, a back-handed tip. Also a drink out of turn, as when a greedy person delays the decanter to get a second glass. Anything done slyly or secretly is said to be done in a back-handed manner. Backer, one who places his money on a particular man or animal; a supporter of one side in a contest.

The great body of betting men is divided into BOOKMAKERS and BACKERS. Back Jump, a back window.— Prison term. Bacon, the body, “to save one’s BACON,” to escape. Bad, “to go to the bad,” to deteriorate in character, to be ruined.

Virgil has an almost similar phrase, in pejus ruere, which means, by the way, to go to the worse. Bad, hard, difficult. Word in use among sporting men who say, “He will be BAD to beat,” when they mean that the man or horse to whom they refer will about win. Bad Egg, a scoundrel or rascal. Badger, to tease, to annoy by “chaffing.” Suggestive of drawing a badger.

Bad Lot, a term derived from auctioneering slang, and now generally used to describe a man or woman of indifferent morals. Badminton, blood,—properly a peculiar kind of claret-cup invented at the Duke of Beaufort’s seat of that name. Badminton proper is made of claret, sugar, spice, cucumber peel, and ice, and was sometimes used by the patrons of the Prize Ring as a synonym for blood. Bad Words, words not always bad of themselves but unpleasant to “ears polite,” from their vulgar associations. Baffaty, calico.

Term used in the drapery trade. Bag, to seize or steal, equivalent to “collar.” Bagman, a commercial traveller. This word is used more in reference to the old style of commercial travellers than to the present. Bags, trousers.

Trousers of an extensive pattern, or exaggerated fashion, have sometimes been termed HOWLING-BAGS, but only when the style has been very “loud.” The word is probably an abbreviation of bumbags. “To have the BAGS off,” to be of age and one’s own master, to have plenty of money. Bags of mystery is another phrase in frequent use, and refers to sausages and saveloys. Bag of tricks, refers to the whole of a means towards a result. “That’s the whole bag of tricks.” Baked, seasoned, “he’s only HALF-BAKED,” i.e., soft, inexperienced.

Baker’s Dozen, thirteen. Originally the London bakers supplied the retailers, i.e., chandlers’ shopkeepers and itinerants, with thirteen loaves to the dozen, so as to make up what is known as the overweight, the surplus number, called the inbread, being thrown in for fear of incurring a penalty for short weight.

To “give a man a BAKER’S DOZEN,” in a slang sense, sometimes means to give him an extra good beating or pummelling. Balaam, printers’ slang for matter kept in type about monstrous productions of nature, &c., to fill up spaces in newspapers that would otherwise be vacant. The term BALAAM-BOX has often been used as the name of a depository for rejected articles. Evidently from Scripture, and referring to the “speech of an ass.” Bald-Faced Stag, a term of derision applied to a person with a bald head. Also, still more coarsely, “ BLADDER-OF-LARD.” Bale up, an Australian term equivalent to our “Shell out.” A demand for instantaneous payment. The Straits of BALLAMBANGJANG, though unnoticed by geographers, are frequently mentioned in sailors’ yarns as being so narrow, and the rocks on each side so crowded with trees inhabited by monkeys, that the ship’s yards cannot be squared, on account of the monkey’s tails getting jammed into, and choking up, the brace blocks.— Sea. Ballast, money.

A rich man is said to be well-ballasted. If not proud and over-bearing he is said to carry his ballast well.

Balmy, weak-minded or idiotic (not insane). Balmy, sleep; “have a dose of the BALMY.” Bamboozle, to deceive, make fun of, or cheat a person; abbreviated to BAM, which is sometimes used also as a substantive—a deception, a sham, a “sell.” Swift says BAMBOOZLE was invented by a nobleman in the reign of Charles II.; but this is very likely an error.

The probability is that a nobleman then first used it in polite society. The term is derived from the Gipsies. Bandannah, originally a peculiar kind of silk pocket-handkerchief, now slang used to denote all sorts of “stooks,” “wipes,” and “fogles,” and in fact the generic term for a kerchief, whether neck or pocket. Banded, hungry. From the habit hungry folks have of tying themselves tight round the middle. Bandy, or, a sixpence, so called from this coin being generally bent or crooked; old term for flimsy or bad cloth, temp. Bang, to excel or surpass; BANGING, great or thumping.

Bang-up, first-rate, in the best possible style. Bank, to put in a place of safety. “ Bank the rag,” i.e., secure the note. Also “to bank” is to go shares.

Bank, the total amount possessed by any one, “How’s the BANK?” “Not very strong; about one and a buck.” Bantling, a child; stated in Bacchus and Venus, 1737, and by Grose, to be a cant term. This is hardly slang now-a-days, and modern etymologists give its origin as that of bands or swaddling clothes.

Banyan-Day, a day on which no meat is served out for rations; probably derived from the BANIANS, a Hindoo caste, who abstain from animal food. Quite as probably from the sanitary arrangements which have in hot climates counselled the eating of BANYANS and other fruits in preference to meat on certain days.— Sea.

Bar, or BARRING, excepting; in common use in the betting-ring; “Two to one bar one,” i.e., two to one against any horse with the exception of one. The Irish use of BARRIN’ is very similar, and the words BAR and BARRING may now be regarded as general. Barber’s Cat, a half-starved sickly-looking person. Term used in connexion with an expression too coarse to print. Barber’s Clerk, an overdressed shopboy who apes the manners of, and tries to pass himself off as, a gentleman; a term of reproach applied not to an artisan but to one of those who, being below, assume airs of superiority over, handicraftsmen. Barge, a term used among printers (compositors) to denote a case in which there is an undue proportion of some letters and a corresponding shortness of those which are most valuable. Bark, an Irish person of either sex.

From this term, much in use among the London lower orders, but for which no etymology can be found, Ireland is now and then playfully called Barkshire. Barker, a man employed to cry at the doors of “gaffs,” shows, and puffing shops, to entice people inside. Among touting photographers he is called a doorsman. Barking-Iron, or BARKER, a pistol. Term used by footpads and thieves generally.

Barnacles, spectacles; possibly a corruption of binoculi; but derived by some from the barnacle ( Lepas Anatifera), a kind of conical shell adhering to ships’ bottoms. Hence a marine term for goggles, which they resemble in shape, and for which they are used by sailors in case of ophthalmic derangement. Barney, an unfair race of any kind: a sell or cross. Also a lark, jollification, or outing. The word BARNEY is sometimes applied to a swindle unconnected with the sporting world.

Barn Stormers, theatrical performers who travel the country and act in barns, selecting short and tragic pieces to suit the rustic taste. Barrikin, jargon, speech, or discourse; “We can’t tumble to that BARRIKIN,” i.e., we don’t understand what he says.

“Cheese your BARRIKIN,” shut up. Miege calls it “a sort of stuff;” Old French, BARACAN.

“So batter-fanged and belabour’d with tongue mettle, that he was weary of his life.”— Taylor’s Works. Beach-Comber, a fellow who prowls about the sea-shore to plunder wrecks, and pick up waifs and strays of any kind.— Sea. Beak, originally a magistrate, judge, or policeman; now a magistrate only; “to baffle the BEAK,” to get remanded. Ancient Cant, BECK. Saxon, BEAG, a necklace or gold collar—emblem of authority. Sir John Fielding was called the BLIND-BEAK in the last century. Maybe connected with the Italian BECCO, which means a (bird’s) beak, and also a blockhead.— See.

Beaker-Hunter, or BEAK-HUNTER, a stealer of poultry. Beans, money; “a haddock of BEANS,” a purse of money; formerly, BEAN meant a guinea; French, BIENS, property. “He who sells that of which he is not possessed is proverbially said to sell the skin before he has caught the BEAR. It was the practice of stock-jobbers, in the year 1720, to enter into a contract for transferring South Sea stock at a future time for a certain price; but he who contracted to sell had frequently no stock to transfer, nor did he who bought intend to receive any in consequence of his bargain; the seller was, therefore, called a BEAR, in allusion to the proverb, and the buyer a BULL, perhaps only as a similar distinction. The contract was merely a wager, to be determined by the rise or fall of stock; if it rose, the seller paid the difference to the buyer, proportioned to the sum determined by the same computation to the seller.”— Dr. Warton on Pope.

These arrangements are nowadays called “time bargains,” and are as fairly (or unfairly) gambling as any transactions at the Victoria Club or Tattersall’s, or any of the doings which call for the intervention of the police and the protestations of pompous City magistrates, who, during their terms of office, try to be virtuous and make their names immortal. Certainly BULLING and BEARING are as productive of bankruptcy and misery as are and. Be-argered, drunk. (The word is divided here simply to convey the pronunciation.) Bear-Leader, a tutor in a private family. In the old days of the “grand tour” the term was much more in use and of course more significant than it is now.

Bear-up and Bearer-up.— See. Beat, the allotted range traversed by a policeman on duty. Beat, or BEAT-HOLLOW, to surpass or excel; also “ BEAT into fits,” and “ BEAT badly.” Beat, “ DEAD-BEAT,” wholly worn out, done up. Beater-Cases, boots. Nearly obsolete. Trotter cases is the term nowadays. Beaver, old street term for a hat; GOSS is the modern word, BEAVER, except in the country, having fallen into disuse.

Bebee, a lady.— Anglo-Indian. Be-Blowed, a derisive instruction never carried into effect, as, “You BE-BLOWED.” Used similarly to the old “Go to.” See. Bed-Fagot, a contemptuous term for a woman; generally applied to a prostitute.— See. Bed-Post, “in the twinkling of a BED-POST,” in a moment, or very quickly.

Originally BED-STAFF, a stick placed vertically in the frame of a bed to keep the bedding in its place, and used sometimes as a defensive weapon. Bee, “to have a BEE in one’s bonnet,” i.e., to be not exactly sane; to have a craze in one particular direction. Several otherwise sensible and excellent M.P.’s are distinguished by the “ BEE in his bonnet” each carries.

Beef-Headed, stupid, fat-headed, dull. Beefy, unduly thick or fat, commonly said of women’s ankles; also rich, juicy, plenteous. To take the whole pool at loo, or to have any particular run of luck at cards generally is said by players to be “very BEEFY.” Beeline, the straightest possible line of route to a given point. When a bee is well laden, it makes a straight flight for home. Originally an Americanism, but now general. Beery, intoxicated, or fuddled with beer.

Beeswax, poor, soft cheese. Sometimes called “sweaty-toe cheese.” Beeswing, the film which forms on the sides of bottles which contain good old port wine.

This breaks up into small pieces in the process of decanting, and looks like BEES’ WINGS. Hence the term. Beetle-Crusher, or SQUASHER, a large flat foot. The expression was made popular by being once used by Leech. Beetle-Sticker, an entomologist.

Beggars’ Velvet, downy particles which accumulate under furniture from the negligence of housemaids. Otherwise called SLUTS’-WOOL. Belcher, a blue bird’s-eye handkerchief.— See. Bell, a song.

Tramps’ term. Simply diminutive of BELLOW.

Bellows, the lungs. Bellowser, a blow in the “wind,” or pit of the stomach, taking one’s breath away. Bellowsed, or LAGGED, transported. Bellows to Mend, a person out of breath; especially a pugilist is said to be “ BELLOWS TO MEND” when winded.

With the P.R., the word has fallen into desuetude. Belly-Timber, food, or “grub.” Belly-Vengeance, small sour beer, apt to cause gastralgia. Bemuse, to fuddle one’s self with drink, “ BEMUSING himself with beer,” &c. Ben, a benefit.— Theatrical. Ben Cull, a friend, or “pal.” Expression used by thieves. Bend, “that’s above my bend,” i.e., beyond my power, too expensive or too difficult for me to perform. Bender, a sixpence.

Probably from its liability to bend. In the days when the term was most in use sixpences were not kept in the excellent state of preservation peculiar to the currency of the present day. Bender, the arm; “over the BENDER,” synonymous with “over the left.”— See.

Bendigo, a rough fur cap worn in the midland counties, called after a noted pugilist of that name. “Hard Punchers” are caps worn by London roughs and formerly by men in training.

They are a modification of the common Scotch cap, and have peaks. Bene, good.— Ancient Cant; BENAR was the comparative.— See. Benedick, a married man. Benjamin, coat. Formerly termed a JOSEPH, in allusion, perhaps, to Joseph’s coat of many colours.— See. Ben Joltram, brown bread and skimmed milk; a Norfolk term for a ploughboy’s breakfast. Benjy, a waistcoat, diminutive of BENJAMIN.

Beong, a shilling.— See.— Lingua Franca. Bess-o’-Bedlam, a lunatic vagrant.— Norfolk.

Best, to get the better or BEST of a man in any way—not necessarily to cheat—to have the best of a bargain. BESTED, taken in, or defrauded, in reality worsted. Bester, a low betting cheat, a fraudulent bookmaker. Better, more; “how far is it to town?” “Oh, BETTER ’n a mile.”— Saxon and Old English, now a vulgarism.

Betting Round, laying fairly and equally against nearly all the horses in a race so that no great risk can be run. Commonly called getting round. See, and BOOKMAKING. Betty, a skeleton key, or picklock.— Old Prison Cant. B Flats, bugs.— Compare. Bible-Carrier, a person who sells songs without singing them.— Seven Dials. Biddy, a general name applied to Irish stallwomen and milkmaids, in the same manner that Mike is given to the labouring men.

A big red-faced Irish servant girl is known as a Bridget. Big, “to look BIG,” to assume an inflated air or manner; “to talk BIG,” i.e., boastingly. Big-Bird, TO GET THE, i.e., to be hissed, as actors occasionally are by the “gods.” Big-bird is simply a metaphor for goose.— Theat.

Big House, or LARGE HOUSE, the workhouse,—a phrase used by the very poor. Big-wig, a person in authority or office. Exchangeable with “ GREAT GUN.” Bilbo, a sword; abbrev. Of “ BILBAO blade.” Spanish swords were anciently very celebrated, especially those of Toledo, Bilbao, &c. Bilk, a cheat, or a swindler. Formerly in general use, now confined to the streets, where it is common, and mostly used in reference to prostitutes. Gothic, BILAICAN.

Bilk, to defraud, or obtain goods, &c., without paying for them; “to BILK the schoolmaster,” to get information or experience without paying for it. Billingsgate (when applied to speech), foul and coarse language. Many years since people used to visit Thames Street to hear the Billingsgate fishwomen abuse each other. The anecdote of Dr. Johnson and the Billingsgate virago is well known. Billingsgate Pheasant, a red herring or bloater.

This is also called a “two-eyed steak.” Billy, a silk pocket-handkerchief.— Scotch.— See. Belcher, darkish blue ground, large round white spots, with a spot in the centre of darker blue than the ground.

This was adopted by Jem Belcher, the pugilist, as his “colours,” and soon became popular amongst “the fancy.” Bird’s-eye wipe, a handkerchief of any colour, containing white spots. The blue bird’s-eye is similar to the Belcher except in the centre. Sometimes a BIRD’S-EYE WIPE has a white ground and blue spots. Blood-red fancy, red. Blue Billy, blue ground, generally with white figures. Cream fancy, any pattern on a white ground.

King’s man, yellow pattern on a green ground. Randal’s man, green, with white spots; named after the favourite colours of Jack Randal, pugilist. Water’s man, sky coloured.

Yellow fancy, yellow, with white spots. Yellow man, all yellow. Billy, a policeman’s staff. Also stolen metal of any kind.

Billy-hunting is buying old metal. A Billy-fencer is a marine-store dealer.

Billy-Barlow, a street clown; sometimes termed a JIM CROW, or SALTIMBANCO,—so called from the hero of a slang song. Billy was a real person, semi-idiotic, and though in dirt and rags, fancied himself a swell of the first water.

Occasionally he came out with real witticisms. He was a well-known street character about the East-end of London, and died in Whitechapel Workhouse. Billy-Cock, a soft felt hat of the Jim Crow or “wide-awake” description. Bingo, brandy.— Old Cant.

Bingy, a term largely used in the butter trade to denote bad, ropy butter; nearly equivalent to VINNIED. Bird-Cage, a four-wheeled cab. Birthday Suit, the suit in which Adam and Eve first saw each other, and “were not ashamed.” Bishop, a warm drink composed of materials similar to those used in the manufacture of “flip” and “purl.” Bit, fourpence; in America a 12½ cent piece is called a BIT, and a defaced 20 cent piece is termed a LONG BIT.

A BIT is the smallest coin in Jamaica, equal to 6d. Bit usually means the smallest silver coin in circulation; also a piece of money of any kind.

Charles Bannister, the witty singer and actor, one day meeting a Bow Street runner with a man in custody, asked what the prisoner had done; and being told that he had stolen a bridle, and had been detected in the act of selling it, said, “Ah, then, he wanted to touch the BIT.” Bitch, tea; “a BITCH party,” a tea-drinking. Probably because undergraduates consider tea only fit for old women.— Oxford. Bite, a cheat; “a Yorkshire BITE,” a cheating fellow from that county. The term BITE is also applied to a hard bargainer.— North; also old slang—used by Pope.

Swift says it originated with a nobleman in his day. Bite, to cheat; “to be BITTEN,” to be taken in or imposed upon.

Originally a Gipsy term. Cross-biter, for a cheat, continually occurs in writers of the sixteenth century. Bailey has CROSS-BITE, a disappointment, probably the primary sense; and BITE is very probably a contraction of this. Bit-Faker, or TURNER OUT, a coiner of bad money. Bit-of-Stuff, overdressed man; a man with full confidence in his appearance and abilities; a young woman, who is also called a BIT OF MUSLIN. Bitter, diminutive of bitter beer; “to do a BITTER,” to drink beer.—Originally Oxford, but now general.

Bittock, a distance of very undecided length. If a North countryman be asked the distance to a place, he will most probably reply, “a mile and a BITTOCK.” The latter may be considered any distance from one hundred yards to ten miles. “He is none of those same ordinary eaters, that will devour three breakfasts, and as many dinners, without any prejudice to their BEVERS, drinkings, or suppers.”— Beaumont and Fletcher’s Woman Hater, i. Both words are probably from the Italian, BEVERE, BERE.

Latin, BIBERE. English, BEVERAGE. Biz, contraction of the word business; a phrase much used in America in writing as well as in conversation.

Military officers in mufti, when out on a spree, and not wishing their profession to be known, speak of their barracks as the B. K. S. Black and White, handwriting or print. “Let’s have it in BLACK AND WHITE,” is often said with regard to an agreement when it is to the advantage of one or both that it should be written. Black-a-vised, having a very dark complexion.

Blackberry-Swagger, a person who hawks tapes, boot-laces, &c. Blackbirding, slave-catching. Term most applied nowadays to the Polynesian coolie traffic. Black Diamonds, coals; talented persons of dingy or unpolished exterior; rough jewels. “A cant word amongst the vulgar, by which is implied a dirty fellow of the meanest kind, Dr.

Johnson says, and he cites only the modern authority of Swift. But the introduction of this word into our language belongs not to the vulgar, and is more than a century prior to the time of Swift.

Malone agrees with me in exhibiting the two first of the following examples:—The black-guard is evidently designed to imply a fit attendant on the devil. Gifford, however, in his late edition of Ben Jonson’s works, assigns an origin of the name different from what the old examples which I have cited seem to countenance. It has been formed, he says, from those ‘mean and dirty dependants, in great houses, who were selected to carry coals to the kitchen, halls, &c. To this smutty regiment, who attended the progresses, and rode in the carts with the pots and kettles, which, with every other article of furniture, were then moved from palace to palace, the people, in derision, gave the name of black guards; a term since become sufficiently familiar, and never properly explained.’”— Todd’s Johnson’s Dictionary.

Blackguard as an adjective is very powerful. Blackleg, a rascal, swindler, or card cheat. The derivation of this term was solemnly argued before the full Court of Queen’s Bench upon a motion for a new trial for libel, but was not decided by the learned tribunal. Probably it is from the custom of sporting and turf men wearing black top-boots. Hence BLACKLEG came to be the phrase for a professional sporting man, and thence for a professional sporting cheat.

The word is now in its worst sense diminished to “leg.” Black Maria, the sombre van in which prisoners are conveyed from the police court to prison. Black Monday, the Monday on which boys return to school after the holidays. Also a low term for the Monday on which an execution took place. Black Sheep, a “bad lot,” “ mauvais sujet;” sometimes “scabby sheep;” also a workman who refuses to join in a strike. Black Strap, port wine; especially that which is thick and sweet.

Blackwork, undertaking. The waiters met at public dinners are often employed during the day as mutes, etc. Omnibus and cab drivers regard BLACKWORK as a dernier ressort. Bladder-of-Lard, a coarse, satirical nickname for a bald-headed person.

From similarity of appearance. Blade, a man—in ancient times the term for a soldier; “knowing BLADE,” a wide-awake, sharp, or cunning man. Blarney, flattery, powers of persuasion. A castle in the county of Cork.

It is said that whoever kisses a certain stone in this castle will be able to persuade others of whatever he or she pleases. The name of the castle is derived from BLADH, a blossom, i.e., the flowery or fertile demesne.

Bladh is also flattery; hence the connexion. A more than ordinarily persuasive Irishman is said to have “kissed the BLARNEY stone.” Blast, to curse. Originally a Military expression. Blaze, to leave trace purposely of one’s way in a forest or unknown path by marking trees or other objects. Blazes, a low synonym for the infernal regions, and now almost for anything.

“Like BLAZES” is a phrase of intensification applied without any reference to the original meaning. Also applied to the brilliant habiliments of flunkeys, since the episode of Sam Weller and the “swarry.” Bleed, to victimize, or extract money from a person, to sponge on, to make suffer vindictively.

Blest, a vow; “ BLEST if I’ll do it,” i.e., I am determined not to do it; euphemism for CURST. Blether, to bother, to annoy, to pester.

“A BLETHERING old nuisance” is a common expression for a garrulous old person. Blew, or BLOW, to inform, or peach, to lose or spend money. Blewed, a man who has lost or spent all his money is said to have BLEWED it. Also used in cases of robbery from the person, as, “He’s BLEWED his red ’un,” i.e., he’s been eased of his watch. Blewed, got rid of, disposed of, spent. Blind, a pretence, or make-believe. Blind-Half-Hundred, the Fiftieth Regiment of Foot; so called through their great sufferings from ophthalmia when serving in Egypt.

Blind-Hookey, a game at cards which has no recommendation beyond the rapidity with which money can be won and lost at it; called also WILFUL MURDER. Blind-Man’s-Holiday, night, darkness. Sometimes applied to the period “between the lights.” Blind Monkeys, an imaginary collection at the Zoological Gardens, which are supposed to receive care and attention from persons fitted by nature for such office and for little else.

An idle and useless person is often told that he is only fit to lead the BLIND MONKEYS to evacuate. Another form this elegant conversation takes, is for one man to tell another that he knows of a suitable situation for him. “How much a week? And what to do?” are natural questions, and then comes the scathing and sarcastic reply, “Five bob a week at the doctor’s—you’re to stand behind the door and make the patients sick. They wont want no physic when they sees your mug.” Blinker, a blackened eye.— Norwich. Also a hard blow in the eye.

BLINKERS, spectacles. Blink-Fencer, a person who sells spectacles. Bloated Aristocrat, a street term for any decently dressed person.

From the persistent abuse lavished on a “bloated and parasitical aristocracy” by Hyde Park demagogues and a certain unpleasant portion of the weekly press. Bloater.— See. Blob (from BLAB), to talk. Beggars are of two kinds—those who SCREEVE (introducing themselves with a FAKEMENT, or false document) and those who BLOB, or state their case in their own truly “unvarnished” language. Block, the head.

“To BLOCK a hat,” is to knock a man’s hat down over his eyes.— See. Also a street obstruction. Block Ornaments, the small dark-coloured and sometimes stinking pieces of meat which used to be exposed on the cheap butchers’ blocks or counters; matters of interest to all the sharp-visaged women in poor neighbourhoods. Since the great rise in the price of meat there has been little necessity for butchers to make block ornaments of their odds and ends. They are bespoke beforehand. Bloke, a man; “the BLOKE with the jasey,” the man with the wig, i.e., the Judge. Gipsy and Hindoo, LOKE.

North, BLOACHER, any large animal. Blood, a fast or high-mettled man.

Nearly obsolete, but much used in George the Fourth’s time. Blood-money, the money that used to be paid to any one who by information or evidence led to a conviction for a capital offence.

Nowadays applied to all sums received by informers. Blood-Red Fancy, a particular kind of handkerchief sometimes worn by pugilists and frequenters of prize fights.— See and. Bloody, an expletive used, without reference to meaning, as an adjective and an adverb, simply for intensification. Bloody Jemmy, an uncooked sheep’s head.— See. “‘As for that,’ says Will, ‘I could tell it well enough, if I had it, but I must not be seen anywhere among my old acquaintances, for I am BLOWN, and they will all betray me.’”— History of Colonel Jack, 1723. The expression would seem to have arisen from the belief that a flower might be blighted if “ BLOWN upon” by a foul wind or a corrupted breath.

See the condition of the flowers on a dinner-table by the time the company rise. In America, “to BLOW” is slang for to lie in a boasting manner, to brag or “gas” unduly. Blow a Cloud, to smoke a cigar or pipe—a phrase used two centuries ago. Most likely in use as long as tobacco here—an almost evident conclusion. “I was once asked to contribute to a new journal, not exactly gratuitously, but at a very small advance upon nothing—and avowedly because the work had been planned according to that estimate. However, I accepted the terms conditionally—that is to say, provided the principle could be properly carried out. Accordingly, I wrote to my butcher, baker, and other tradesmen, informing them that it was necessary, for the sake of cheap literature and the interest of the reading public, that they should furnish me with their several commodities at a very trifling per-centage above cost price.

It will be sufficient to quote the answer of the butcher:—‘Sir,—Respectin’ your note, Cheap literater BE BLOWED! Butchers must live as well as other pepel—and if so be you or the readin’ publick wants to have meat at prime cost, you must buy your own beastesses, and kill yourselves.—I remane, etc. “‘ John Stokes.’” Blow Out, or TUCK IN, a feast. Sometimes the expression is, “ BLOW OUT your bags.” A BLOW OUT is often called a tightener. Blow Up, to make a noise, or scold; formerly a cant expression used among thieves, now a recognised and respectable phrase.

Blowing up, a jobation, a scolding. “I will not weary you by further examples, with which most of you are better acquainted than I am myself, but merely express my satisfaction that there should exist bodies of men who will bring the well-considered and understood wants of science before the public and the Government, who will even hand round the begging-box, and expose themselves to refusals and rebuffs, to which all beggars are liable, with the certainty besides of being considered great BORES.

Please to recollect that this species of BORE is a most useful animal, well adapted for the ends for which nature intended him. He alone, by constantly returning to the charge, and repeating the same truths and the same requests, succeeds in awakening attention to the cause which he advocates, and obtains that hearing which is granted him at last for self-protection, as the minor evil compared to his importunity, but which is requisite to make his cause understood.” Bore ( Pugilistic), to press a man to the ropes of the ring by superior weight.

In the world of athletics to BORE is to push an opponent out of his course. This is a most heinous crime among rowers, as it very often prevents a man having the full use of the tide, or compels him to foul, in which case the decision of the race is left to individual judgment, at times, of necessity, erroneous. Bosh, nonsense, stupidity.— Gipsy and Persian. Also pure Turkish, BOSH LAKERDI, empty talk. The term was used in this country as early as 1760, and may be found in the Student, vol.

It has been suggested, with what reason the reader must judge for himself, that this colloquial expression is from the German BOSH, or BOSSCH, answering to our word “swipes.” Bosh, a fiddle. This is a Gipsy term, and so the exclamations “Bosh!” and “Fiddle-de-dee!” may have some remote connexion. Bosh-Faker, a violin player. Term principally used by itinerants. Bos-Ken, a farmhouse.

Ancient.— See. Bosky, inebriated. Not much in use now. Bosman, a farmer: “faking a BOSMAN on the main toby,” robbing a farmer on the highway.

Boss, a master.— American. Both terms from the Dutch, BOSCH-MAN, one who lives in the woods; otherwise Boschjeman, or Bushman. Boss-Eyed, said of a person with one eye, or rather with one eye injured, a person with an obliquity of vision. In this sense sometimes varied by the term “swivel-eyed.” Bostruchyzer, a small kind of comb for curling the whiskers.— Oxford University.

Botany Bay, Worcester Coll. Oxon., so called from its remote situation. Bother, trouble or annoyance. Any one oppressed with business cares is said to be BOTHERED. “Don’t BOTHER,” is a common expression.

Blother, an old word, signifying to chatter idly. Trouble, annoyance; “ BOTHERATION to it!” “confound it!” or “deuce take it!”—an exclamation when irritated. Bottle-Holder, originally a term in prize ring parlance for the second who took charge of the water-bottle, which was an essential feature in all pugilistic arrangements.

This second used to hold the combatant on his knee between the rounds, while the other or principal second sponged, instructed, and advised; an abettor; also the bridegroom’s man at a wedding. Slang term for Lord Palmerston, derived from a speech he made some years ago when foreign secretary, in which he described himself as acting the part of a judicious BOTTLE-HOLDER among the foreign powers. Bottom, stamina in a horse or man.

Power to stand fatigue; endurance to receive a good beating and still fight on. “A fellow of pluck, sound wind, and good BOTTOM is fit to fight anything.” This was an old axiom among prize fighters. Pierce Egan was very fond of the word. “Thou know’st my brittle temper’s prone to break. Are my bones BRAZIL or my flesh of oak?” Bread-Bags, a nickname given in the army and navy to any one connected with the victualling department, as a purser or purveyor in the Commissariat. Bread Basket, DUMPLING-DEPOT, VICTUALLING-OFFICE, &c., were terms which in the old pugilistic days were given by the “Fancy” to the digestive organs. Blows in this region were called “porridge disturbers,” and other fancy names, which were supposed to rob them of their hardness—to those who did not receive them.

Break-Down, a noisy dance, almost violent enough to break the floor down; a jovial, social gathering, a “flare up;” in Ireland, a wedding— American so far as the dance is concerned. “A story is current of a fashionable author answering a late and rather violent knock at his door one evening. A coal-heaver wanted to know if the gentleman would like a cheap ton of coals; he was sorry for troubling him so late, but ‘the party as had a-ordered the two ton and a-half couldn’t be found,’ although he had driven his ‘waggon for six blessed hours up and down the neighbourhood. Five-and-twenty is the price, but yer shall have them for 20s.’ Our author was not to be tempted, he had heard of the trick before; so bidding the man go away from his house, he shut the door. The man, however, lingered there, expatiating on the quality of his coals—‘Acterly givin’ ’em away, and the gent wont have ’em,’ said he, addressing the neighbourhood in a loud voice: and the last that was heard of him was his anything but sweet voice whistling through the keyhole, ‘Will eighteen bob BREAK YER BACK?’” Break Shins, to borrow money. Probably from an older slang phrase, “kick,” to ask for drink-money. Break the Ice, to make a commencement, to plunge in medias res.

Breaky-Leg, strong drink; “he’s been to Bungay fair, and broke both his legs,” i.e., got drunk. In the ancient Egyptian language the determinative character in the hieroglyphic verb “to be drank,” has the significant form of the leg of a man being amputated. “Tangle Leg” is the name given to New England rum. Breeched, or TO HAVE THE BAGS OFF, to have plenty of money; “to be well BREECHED,” to be in good circumstances.

Also among schoolboys to be well flogged. Breeches, “to wear the BREECHES,” said of a wife who usurps the husband’s prerogative. Equivalent to the remark that “the grey mare is the better horse.” Breeching, a flogging. Term in use among boys at several private schools.

“In the year 1609 there was attached to the Turkish embassy in England an Interpreter, or CHIAOUS, who, by cunning, aided by his official position, managed to cheat the Turkish and Persian merchants, then in London, out of the large sum of £4000, then deemed an enormous amount. From the notoriety which attended the fraud, and the magnitude of the swindle, any one who cheated or defrauded was said to chiaous, or chause, or CHOUSE; to do, that is, as this Chiaous had done.”— See Trench, Eng. Past and Present.