Slave Ship Page 6

  As a result of the success of the pilot programme, we now accelerated the acquisition of more girls and they too went into the same programme although with them it was easier for we had Allison’s team to show them the way by example.

  The ship was now steaming south. We had passed through the Mediterranean, through the Suez Canal and into the Red Sea and thence into the Indian Ocean, picking up girls at various ports on the way, all by the same or similar means the first twelve had come aboard.

  It was now time to bring our first guests aboard.

  These were gleaned from various sources but began with my former clients in the brothels in the UK. From that venture I had built up contacts all over the world and these had led to more. I had discreetly contacted the more wealthy and the more jaded of them and outlined my new enterprise. Most had eagerly accepted my invitation to join the ship for a week or more cruise and enjoy the talents of the most beautiful and competent whores in the world, with whom they would be able to do almost anything they liked, short of injuring or damaging them.

  As I spelled out the secret slave deck and the set-up of the Punishment Room, I could hear the excitement at the other end.

  “You mean I can cane a girl as much as I like?” one asked - and got an affirmative answer.

  Another wanted the details of the machines ranged around the PR. Yet another wanted to know the racial mix of the girls, to which I responded that we had a full range of all types, from pure Asian, black and Caucasian to a mix of all three basic types.

  They began to come aboard as we were leaving the Mediterranean Sea and because we were passing through the Canal, the slave deck was closed, all the girls sealed into it while the customs officers pored over the ship.

  Some of the crew had been trained to double as stewards at these times and now tended the needs of the passengers. It all worked very well. We were over another hurdle. But then, as we emerged into the Red Sea and more open water, the girls were brought out by their trainers and lined up so the passengers could select their steward for their time on board. Each girl would be able to serve four passengers in this way and still be available for general sexual duties as well.

  Their training was much curtailed now of course but it still continued. Billy, Dennis and Ravindra all took them for sessions once or twice a week in smaller classes and dependent on their trainers’ perceived view of their needs. But the slavegirls all tried their very best. A visit to the PR was to be avoided at all costs for all had either experienced one or other of the machines in there, or had been made to stand and watch as one of her colleagues underwent a session on it. None was ignorant of the pain and suffering to be borne in that room and while their clients-to-be would be taking them down there from time to time to watch them suffer, such sessions were far less horrible than a real punishment.

  This I had had their trainers impress on them from the very beginning.

  Of course I had my own steward. So did the captain. The other officers had to share a girl between them. No doubt you will have guessed whom I chose? Yes, it was Allison. That girl was something else. Once she realised how much she delighted in raw hard sex, she underwent a real change and she was at my side almost constantly. Not for her the guests on the ship. She was mine and mine alone. She valeted me and normally slept with me (although I did use the other girls as well - for variety) and she was my steward at table. She remained naked of course for she was still a slave; but she was my slave!

  By the time we reached the Indonesian Archipelago, our complement of passengers was complete. They would come and go but from then on, the Helot was at full strength both in slaves and passengers. She was a small cruise liner and while originally had been able to cater for about five hundred passengers, with my conversions, this had been reduced to just over a hundred with a similar number of slavegirls.

  My passengers were paying outrageous fares for their passage and the use of the slavegirls and the ship was going to make me another small fortune, even after paying the captain and crew double the going rate for their services.

  For their initial display, I had the naked, ringed and branded girls parade around the space between the chairs and the instruments of torture in the PR. The guests were not shown how to access the slave deck; they would have to be brought here by a trainer - we were ever conscious of security, but they would be allowed down here at all reasonable times either to watch another guest ‘punishing’ a girl for her alleged wrongs, or to do it himself to his choice of the moment.

  The girls had all been trained to show off their nude bodies perfectly, dancing around the chairs, whirling their bodies this way and that, raising their arms in delicate motions or perhaps showing off their fine muscles. There appeared no rhyme or reason to the display but if they had watched closely, as a girl passed a point, she changed her display to something else. There were four different routines and six different triggers so each guest had a different view of each girl as she passed his spot.

  They had gaped initially at the lithe beauty of the girls’ bodies, at the rings in their noses, tits and sex lips - but even more at the beautiful brand on their bellies - the outline of an erect cock whose tip was up near their navels and whose root, under which hung a pair of heavy balls, was down near the side of their vaginas. The mark was a fine line and didn’t hide the delightful ridges and hollows of the abdominal muscles ranged down their bellies but it was very apparent and the image of what it was, very clear.

  Each girl held in her hand a holder with a card in it, on which was displayed a number. Each guest was issued with a communicator (like those used on the Starship Enterprise) which he wore on his shirt and with which he could speak to the duty control officer at any time and as a guest identified the girl of his choice, she was marked down to him until she had four guests to look after. She was then removed from the line.

  Guests could not use their own stewards for casual sex. They could book her of course but the time she was available depended on her duties. Still, we had arranged things so a guest would have pretty free access to the girls.

  All he had to do, at any time of the day, was to use his communicator to ask for a particular girl for a specified time, either in his cabin, or in the PR. Most wanted the girls in their cabins for the Helot was a brothel first and foremost and while real torture was perforce restricted to the PR, each cabin was well supplied with canes, birches, whips and other items of a portable nature with which to torture a girl before the actual sex.

  I was often invited to a cabin to enjoy a drink with one of the guests. One of my favourites was Sheikh Ali Bakr. He was an old friend and a former client of my brothel chain. I had been to his palace on occasion and had been afforded the privilege of visiting his harem. Here were a dozen girls, all foreigners, either white, black or Asian and he kept them permanently naked. I had known he would delight in my ship and now I was sharing a drink with him, waited on by his steward, a lovely Asian girl from Thailand. He had chosen Ratana, already mentioned.

  “You have hit on a real winner with the Helot, my friend,” he said softly, his hand stroking up and down the well-muscled thigh of the naked girl.

  I grinned. “I have, haven’t I?” I said, watching him expertly appraise the slender and so lovely girl standing demurely beside him.

  Have you tried out any of the machines in the PR yet?” I asked then.

  “Not yet, but I shall. As you know, I don’t like to hurt a girl too much - unless a real punishment is called for, anyway. Enough to make her squirm and show off her splendid muscles and to scream a little, but that’s enough - for me at least.”

  I nodded. “That the case with most of our passengers. Too much pain and the girl is damaged spiritually - becomes a lifeless moron. But a little pain is good for them and some even come to enjoy it...”

  “So do some men,” he said. I raised my eyebrows inquiringly. “Oh yes. I have
a harem of boys as well as the one you saw and in it are a couple of handsome young devils who thrive on pain - especially the rack. Stretch them out a little and then whip their genitals and they scream - but in ecstasy as well as pain...”

  “I hadn’t realised you enjoyed boys as well as girls,” I observed. “Perhaps we should acquire some young male slaves as well as girls? What d’you think?”

  “I don’t think it’s necessary or even advisable. I never ever mix my two harems or even let one lot see the other. It could cause you problems having naked boys running around the passages on the ship and bumping into girls - cause you competition the guests would not appreciate...”

  I grinned at him. “Of course you’re right. It would be foolish to say the least.”

  All this time his long brown fingers had been sliding over Ratana’s lovely body, delving into her sex (which she obediently opened for his questing fingers), up and over her firm breasts, around her back and down over her shapely buttocks and then poked in between them, at which she spread her feet wide and bent forward to expose her anus for his inspection.

  He smiled at me. “I think I shall cane this girl’s lovely rump and then book her for an extended session on my bed...?”

  I nodded. “Of course. Would you like me to book her for you?”

  “If you would be so kind, but I would like you to stay and watch her chastised...”

  “It would be my pleasure,” I said and then spoke into my communicator, inquiring if Ratana was free for the next two hours. She was and I so informed my host who had risen and moved over to the rack that graced every cabin on the ship, selecting a medium sized cane with which to show the lovely Ratana that he expected the very best from her.

  He moved over to his bed and arranged the two pillows on top of each other across its centre then gestured to her to mount the bed and drape her middle over the pillows. She did, quite willingly although I could see the fear in her eyes as she looked at the cane in the Arab’s lean hand. I could read her like a book. ‘Was this tall handsome Arab going to cane her hard, or would he be lenient’ she was wondering.

  Her beautifully rounded bottom poked up wonderfully. A perfect target for the cane. I also admired the fact that he didn’t restrain her although chains and manacles were discreetly provided in small receptacles at the four corners of the bed. He stripped off his robe and then his shirt and once again, I admired his physique. For all his forty-plus years, he had kept himself in superb condition. He raised the cane and then lashed it down, right across the twin mounds of her buttocks. And it was very hard.

  “Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” she screamed and her whole body went into convulsions. Convulsions that aroused both of us wonderfully. Her muscles rippled and corded as she twisted this way and that, her hands reaching back to try to ease the burning pain in her nether cheeks.

  Neither he nor I tried to stop her. This was what we delighted in - the sight of a naked young girl in pain, twisting and writhing her beautiful muscles and showing off her body to a tee. It wasn’t so much the pleasure of inflicting pain on another human being as this spectacle that followed and for this reason Ali didn’t keep lashing the cane down on her rump. He (and by invitation, me) could savour her body for quite a few minutes as she squirmed and writhed on the pillows before another stroke would be necessary.

  I stayed and watched for half an hour, enjoying every minute of it but then I excused myself. I could see he was ready to mount the girl and for that he would wish privacy...

  I always closely monitored the guests using the PR. There were four cameras in that room and the duty officer was enjoined to watch very carefully what went on down there. I had said back at the camp that it was possible a girl might die down there but that wouldn’t happen if I could prevent it. These girls were valuable, not only in terms of their purchase price but also in the weeks of training we had spent on them. But even more than that, while I admit I am amoral, I do have some scruples and allowing a girl to be tortured to death is beyond the pale.

  Accordingly, each guest is told that while he may, if he so chooses, use the PR to excite his jaded lusts, if a girl dies he will be banned from the ship and fined very heavily (they all had to put up a bond of half a million pounds).

  One of the most popular items is THE KNIFE. It isn’t really a knife, being made of wood. It comprises two very sturdily braced uprights, each six inches square and three feet high and four feet apart. Between the top of these is a plank, set on end and with the top edge sharpened to an edge. On either side of this, a good ten feet out, are two further uprights with chains dangling from their top. Directly above the knife is a pulley through which is reeved a rope with manacles on one end.

  I watched as a Japanese guest, aided by the girl’s trainer, put the beautiful Nigerian, Juma, through its delights. Her trainer, also Japanese and named Sanzo, a shortish young man who was however, incredibly strong, brought her into the room where waited Mr Kimotsu. Juma was quaking of course. All the girls did when they entered here, whether in truth or as a sham to please their master of the moment. I think in Juma’s case, it was in truth for, despite her statuesque figure and Amazon-like physical strength, she feared the PR possibly most of all the slavegirls.

  Sanzo had to drag her the last few yards when she realised where they were heading. “Nooo! Not that one! Pleeeaaase, no!”

  I grinned as I watched her struggles. So did her master for it showed off her so athletic muscles beautifully. I think he enjoyed the terror on her face, too.

  Sanzo forced her right leg up and over the KNIFE then slipped her wrists into the manacles on the end of the rope, pulling the other end up until her hands were extended above her head, tying off the rope to a stanchion on the wall behind him, then returned to her left side, reaching out for the chain dangling from the post on that side and pulling her left ankle out towards it.

  She had screamed as her nether regions were set down on the sharpened edge of the knife but now, as her left leg was pulled out sideways, opening her buttocks and her vaginal orifice a little, she really let fly, her beautiful, chocolate brown breasts juddering wonderfully as the wooden blade bit into her bottom.

  Having secured her left ankle, Sanzo went around behind her and did the same with the right leg - at which her screams mounted in intensity and pitch. Now that both legs were pulled out almost horizontally from her hips, her anus and vagina were fully opened and they, together with her perineum, were totally supported only by the knife. Of course she could pull herself up off it by using the rope above her head but she couldn’t hold herself up there for long and coming back down onto the wooden plank was worse each time.

  Mr Kimotsu left her like that for quite a few minutes, simply drinking in her forlorn beauty as she sat on the wooden blade. There was no danger of it really cutting her. It had been sharpened, yes, but the edge was not razor sharp and was actually rounded just a little at the top edge. Nevertheless, it would feel as if it was a knife-edge and when they proceeded with the ‘punishment’, she would imagine she was actually being cut in two, from her vagina up...

  The Japanese master now armed himself with a whip while Sanzo reached up and took hold of the free end of the rope. The whip used here was a snake. It was thick and solid and rigid at the base but then tapered to its tip which was oily and very supple. It was fluid rather than limp; you could hold it out horizontally and the end would droop down slowly rather than simply drop down. When it was applied to human flesh therefore, it hit with a solid thunk - and it hurt a great deal.

  At the guest’s nod, Sanzo pulled her up off the blade about six inches - and then let her drop back down again so the knife impacted hard on her sensitive nether regions. She screamed. Beautifully! It was a long drawn out cry of pure agony as her anus, perineum and vagina landed hard on the upturned blade, but that agony was then exacerbated by the whip.

  Mr Kimotsu lash
ed it sideways, catching her perfectly, right across the tip of her lovely breasts. He then stepped back to admire her reactions.

  They were incredible and I quickly abandoned my post in the control room to go down to the slave deck to watch this scene played out in the flesh. So did a number of other guests. The ship had a closed circuit TV system and in the various bars and lounges, large TV monitors were set up. When the ship was in port or in dangerous waters, these played local race meetings and the like but out on the high seas, the duty officer routed the best cameras down in the PR to them. Many guests were of the same opinion as me and wanted to see this at first hand and within minutes, most of the forty-nine seats down there were occupied.

  Juma’s screams and the contortions of her body had to be seen to be believed. The former were heart-rending (if any of us had had any hearts, that is) while the writhing contortions of her body made her fine muscles ripple and cord - all over her.

  Her head was thrown this way and that, the muscles of her neck moving frantically to accommodate her head motions; her breasts heaved and juddered wonderfully; her belly muscles twisted and writhed all over the place while her thigh muscles pulled and struggled to get free. Oh yes, it was certainly a show and a half.

  She went on struggling in this manner for quite a few minutes but then, as her agony abated, she calmed down a little. This was perhaps six or seven minutes after the lash had struck at the so sensitive flesh of her udders. And then Mr Kimotsu nodded to Sanzo again.

  Once more, the well-muscled young Japanese trainer (who looked like an Olympic gymnast) pulled down on the rope, drawing Juma up off the knife - and then let her fall freely back down onto it.

  Her scream was just as loud and vibrant and her bodily contortions just as magnificent. My cock - and I suspect every other one in that room, was rigid, straining at our clothing and excited beyond belief at the scene. I grinned to myself and called quietly on my communicator.