by Sean O'Kane
"You don't have any pride! Understand?"
Sshwack!
"You don't even own your body. Understand?"
Sshwack!
"It belongs to those who you entertain. Understand?"
On and on the savage catechism went until at last she was left alone again to complete her sentence for having spoken. But at least she had held out against the threatened orgasm and that was one shred of her tattered pride she could hold onto. And it comforted her as the excitement faded and pain gained the upper hand.
She screamed when she was taken down at long, long last and the strain came off her racked body. Someone raised her head and gave her water, then when she could stand again she was led below and chained in her cell. Even in her state of dazed exhaustion she could hear the indrawn gasps of breath from the other cells as she was taken along the line and the other girls caught sight of what an hour of special treatment with Carlo meant.
They were all allowed to rest until the trolley was wheeled in again and a lunch of lamb and vegetable stew was served. Thankfully they were not required to fight for it, they merely had their hands freed and ate in their cells. Tara ate greedily and could easily have polished off twice as much but even so she fell immediately into a deep sleep once she was chained again.
She awoke during the afternoon to see some of the girls taken out of their cells and led out as she had been. They, and all the others feared the worst, but about an hour later they returned, sweating and panting but largely unmarked by the whips. Later on Tara was to find out that they had been taken for extra exercise; a run around the perimeter of the ship to begin the process of slimming them down and hardening them up.
In the evening Carlo returned and Tara's heart sank. The food trolley was there, but so was the bag with their numbers in. He couldn't expect her to fight surely? She ached and stung all over as she hauled herself to her feet. She had had two serious thrashings in twenty four hours. But of course she would be expected to fight, she realised. It was all part of Carlo's relentless logic. She would fight and inevitably lose; all she could do was put up as good a show as possible, show him she had learned her lesson well and try to reduce the thrashing she was bound to face and increase the amount of food she would get.
This time she was matched against a girl who looked a bit fitter than her first opponent. And so it proved. There was no sympathy in the girl's eyes as they glanced at each other while their chain was secured; the lure of food and the avoidance of the cane was clearly uppermost in her mind.
When Carlo shouted, Tara tried to go for surprise and drag back on the chain. The other girl had the same idea and they spun into each other, face to face. Later that night, it would occur to Tara that that was the first time she had ever felt another naked girl's body against hers, breasts flattened against breasts, thighs and bellies pressed together. But at the time all she could do was try and weather the storm. The girl had no pity and immediately swung her free arm round to club and scratch at the weals which striped Tara's back. She screamed but instinctively reacted by getting a handful of her opponent's hair and wrenching it back. For what seemed like an eternity they stood perfectly balanced. Both their torsos bent backwards while their hips thrust together and their chained hands struggled for supremacy. Tara, trying desperately to ignore the clawing at her back, won the struggle and got her chained hand to her opponent's breast where she dug her fingers into the soft flesh. Immediately the girl screamed and twisted away, losing her grip on Tara's back. Tara took the advantage offered and yanked hard on the chain, but the girl was made of stern stuff and Tara was horribly aware that the last twenty four hours were taking their toll. She was breathing hard and feeling light-headed. And as she tugged her opponent forward, the girl recovered, planted her feet wide and swung her weight suddenly against the chain. It sent Tara off balance and before she knew it she was being whirled around in a wide arc on the end of the chain. Helplessly she cannoned, back-first, into the side bars of the end cell and for a fatal second staggered as the fires erupted once again where the whip had scored her. Immediately she other girl swung again and Tara was sent hurtling into the opposite row of cells. She screamed and then screamed again as she felt the girl dig her free hand into her right breast and drag her forward by it.
She knew she was running on empty now and all she could do was try and club and claw at the girl with her free hand even while she was dragged relentlessly forwards. The end came when the girl deliberately let her grip on Tara's breast slip until her fingers were round the nipple itself, still sore from the morning's beating. The fingers and their sharp nails closed and Tara wailed in despair, clutching desperately at the hand which twisted cruelly, sending sharp knives of agony through Tara's whole body.
She never found out whether one of the guards had told the other girls the reason for her punishment up on deck, but in any event her opponent seemed to understand what was required. The guards stood in a big circle in the wide part of the hold, cheering and clapping, while far more slowly than she need have Tara's conqueror dragged her squirming and screaming towards the far wall. She emphasised her power, once she was halfway there by swinging Tara around again and slamming her back-first into the hull, the guards clearing out of the struggling girls' path. But even as Tara arched away from the slam and staggered, the grip on her nipple never lessened. Indeed she was so exhausted by then that the girl was even able to wrench her chained hand up to Tara's other nipple and while she pawed feebly at it the fingers curled around it but didn't close.
Distantly she heard cheering and stamping from the men - and probably the girls too she thought - and she realised her opponent was putting on a show. She was pausing, just letting her audience and her victim know what was coming next.
"Nnnn.........Aaaah!" She let out a wordless plea and then a yell as the nails slowly closed. Tara knew her only hope now lay in playing up, letting the audience, and especially Carlo, see the full extent of her defeat. It hurt her more than any physical pain could but she knew she couldn't face Carlo's full wrath again that day. Drunkenly, only half pretending, she followed as her tormentor led her into the centre of the floor, then paused again. Through the tangled mat of her hair Tara gazed into the girl's face. It was alight with a savage excitement and she was glancing around to see if she had everyone's full attention. Then with a merciless grin she twisted harder on Tara's nipples, making her shriek in genuine anguish and then swung her around once more, hurling her again into the opposite side of the hull. Despite the blinding shards of pain in her breasts, Tara managed to swing her free hand back and slam it into the metal before her whole back hit it. It helped a little but still she made a show of arching and then staggering forwards once more as she was pulled. But this time the pressure was downwards as well as forwards, and a further twist had Tara on her knees, her hands now just feebly clinging to those tormenting her nipples.
Immediately in front of her face was the girl's dark pubic thatch, matted with sweat between her gleaming and spread thighs. She had had to open them and bend at the knee to get her hands low enough to continue the hold and now Tara was suddenly aware of a strong, pungent aroma, part sweat but part something else too. She gazed in amazement at the girl's crotch, she had never been this close to another woman's sex but she knew what she was smelling. She had smelled it on her own fingers when she had masturbated. The girl was furiously aroused. Tara groaned and shook her head as she realised what she was going to have to do. Around her she could hear a storm of noise. They were putting on a good show alright; and it was about to get better. But she rebelled at the thought of the humiliation and with the last of her strength tried to prise the tormenting fingers off her crushed nipples and wrench herself free. All she managed was to prolong the moment and cause herself more pain as she tried to pull away. But the crowd obviously liked it.
The girl gave a sharp forward tug and pulled Tara back quite easily, then tugged again. She was close now and could see how the labia were full and
peeled apart, the smell assailed her nostrils again, earthy, animal and primitive. Suddenly, just as it had under Carlo's whip, the thought of how she must look and what she was about to do, swept through her and even made her catch her labouring breath with the intensity of the excitement it generated. She was naked, whip-striped and kneeling before her conqueror, about to abase herself for the pleasure of the watchers. Utterly thrilling degradation.
She leaned forward and put her tongue far enough out so that all could see it lick hesitantly at the proffered sex. She recoiled at the acidic strength of the taste, but after all the girl was sweating heavily. That earned another hard twist but this time her scream was muffled as she darted her head forward, the wiry hairs brushing her nose and cheeks. Eagerly now, not liking the taste but loving the thrill, she explored another woman's vulva for the first time. She was amazed at the slickness of the labia, the soft complexity of the clitoral hood guarding its surprisingly prominent erection. She swirled her tongue and heard the girl groan above her, then ducking and twisting her head, and aided by the girl bucking her hips forward she plunged in for the vaginal opening, tongue so far out it ached. She found it and probed up, fascinated, horrified, excited at being inside another girl's body, her face and hair matted in her juices.
The girl's hand suddenly left the nipple it had been holding and grabbed Tara's hair. She screamed into the sex she was licking as the blood flowed back into her tortured bud but then her head was wrenched back to the clitoris and a hard twist on her other nipple set her to licking and rubbing it with her tongue, her own free hand resting on the girl's hip, until she stiffened and let out cry after wordless cry, her thighs quivering on either side of Tara's head.
But just as soon as they steadied, the grip was back at Tara's nipple and she was hauled towards the wall again on her knees, not allowed time to get up, but shuffling along behind the agony in her chest. And just as soon as the victor's back touched the far wall, Tara keeled over and lay panting at full stretch. Her opponent stood over her and she looked up at the plump-lipped slit she had so slavishly licked. She didn't care about anything now, she was exhausted and confused. She made no move to close her legs even when she saw Carlo standing, looking down at her and holding the cane across his thighs.
"Six?" he asked the guards.
For a second Tara held her breath and then let it out in relief at the upturned thumbs. As she knew he would, Carlo made no allowances for the already battered condition of her buttocks. And with the bar of the trestle digging into her stomach as she bent over it, Tara yelled and struggled her way through six scorching strokes, all the time acutely aware of what she was exhibiting between her widely spread legs. When it was over, she let her head hang down, she was bruised, battered and exhausted. At least she had taken everything Carlo could throw at her she told herself. But she underestimated him again.
He didn't release her, instead she heard his fly zip open and felt the blunt dome of his helm nudge against her vagina. She groaned in despair, surely she couldn't be wet. Through the physical exhaustion and the biting cuts of the cane she just couldn't tell what she was feeling down there. But Carlo could obviously see quite plainly and was about to make a spectacle of her in front of all of them. She felt him thrust and at the same time felt her inner walls spread in total, moist surrender to the invader. He was her true conqueror, the girl who had beaten her was just the agent of his control, and he was claiming his prize, driving deep into her willing depths. She gasped helplessly as she felt him push in to his full extent and then just hold himself there. She whimpered in frustration. If he was going to make an example of how turned on she was by everything she was experiencing, then why couldn't he get on with it? He must know how aroused she was. She groaned again as the truth hit her. He knew perfectly well, and he was waiting for her to admit it to herself and all the watchers. In abject surrender she began to rotate and move her hips as much as she could to bring his cock into contact with as much of her as possible. She was being made to ride him, to milk him. As the stimulation increased, she began to clench her internal muscles around the shaft which stayed so frustratingly still inside her. Grunting with the effort she wriggled and squirmed on the trestle, holding the uprights with her hands to try and push back as best she could. She could feel the rising tide of ecstasy even through the still-burning cuts on her backside. And then he pulled out.
"You're learning, Blondie," he said and patted her back. "Release her and let her eat."
Tara sat uncomfortably in her cell and ate her supper. Her body throbbed, stung and burned both inside and out. But her soul was in even greater turmoil. She had never been so humiliated. Never had a man turned her on so devastatingly and then spurned her like that. And never had she lost in any physical challenge she had set herself, but Carlo had set her up to lose to that girl. She was furious with herself for finding this savage life so exciting and behaving just as sluttishly as the other girls. She was furious with Carlo for.......what? Having beaten her so brutally? For having screwed her and then left her short of an orgasm? She just didn't know any more. There were only two thoughts she could really focus on. One was her abiding fury with Conor for betraying her, the second was that she was going to get even with the bitch who had beaten her. She relaxed and nursed her anger, realising that once she stopped trying to think, her body was telling her that it really wanted to finish off what Carlo had begun.
They were allowed to use the toilets and to wash and then they were chained for the night again. The guard who secured Tara was one she vaguely recognised as one of those who had taken her above decks in the morning. Now he had her bend over her bunk, bracing her hands on it and he took her from behind. She didn't even try and fight the pleasure this time. It was pure animal rutting; just a cock stuck in her up to the hilt and she writhing on it, determined to find her own pleasure. While he casually screwed her, he smeared some stinging antiseptic cream on the scratches and cuts on her back. She hardly noticed. Her right hand was under her working furiously at her clitoris until at last she threw her head back and came in blinding waves of ecstasy. Once she had achieved that first climax, it seemed as though a dam had burst inside her. The guard started a vigorous pounding into her, slapping his hips against her sore buttocks, shaking her around so much that he grabbed her hair to steady her. She came in vivid peaks, one climax almost overlapping with the next until she knew she was going to faint, but just in time she heard the man gasp and felt him stiffen as he began to pump himself into her.
She collapsed onto the bunk as soon as he withdrew from her and was asleep almost before he had chained her wrists to the wall.
Chapter 7
After the traumatic first day, a predictable routine began to appear. It started with visits to the showers and the toilets. After that, each girl was painstakingly weighed and measured and all her details noted meticulously by Carlo on his clipboard. Height, bust size, waist, hips, thighs and inside legs were all noted. In addition, during the early days, those girls who carried a little more weight than Carlo deemed appropriate were subjected to exercise regimes which were discussed amongst the men; how many runs per day would reduce this girl's tits to a firmer consistency, or how many fights would firm up that girl's thighs. Absolutely no attention whatever was paid to the girl in question who just had to stand on the scales with her hands behind her back and her legs apart. She was merely the object of discussion. The rule of silence was absolute.
Tara and five other girls were reckoned to be in good enough shape not to require any extra exercise, but even so they all went through the morning ritual, which of course involved explorations of their sexes, which in turn provoked discussions about the proportions of erect nipples and the condition of their internal muscles.
All the conversations were carried out using the crudest of terms and Tara began to find that even in her mind she was starting to frame words like 'cunt' and 'tits', words which not so long ago would have disgusted her. The constant and total nudity be
gan to have its effect as well. She and all the other girls began to lose their consciousness of it. Their struggles inevitably involved their legs being wide open on many occasions. They stood up straighter and moved more freely; it gradually began to be less demoralising and more natural to open their legs whenever necessary. And of course there was the more or less constant sex itself which wore down their reserve and dispelled the last shreds of their modesty.
Most mornings were spent in training. Carlo had gym mats brought in and they were told how to fall in such a way as to avoid hurting themselves. They were taught various wrestling moves and throws, Tara intensely enjoyed these sessions; it wasn't just that she had always enjoyed physical exertion, it was also that she found she loved the feel of another naked body against hers - even a girl's. She loved the feel of the warm flesh under her hands, the way the muscles played under the skin. And there was the undeniably sexual thrill of sitting astride a girl after she had made a throw, or of being sat on herself when she had had to take one. They all became intimately acquainted with each others' bodies as they learned to apply the various holds and throws. Tara particularly enjoyed applying head scissor holds, with a girl's head held between her thighs, feeling her panting breaths on her labia and her anus as she squeezed with all her strength, until the men made her break the hold. Quite apart from what the men taught them, as girls, they quickly taught themselves ways to add in purely female touches. For example, if a girl was held in a headlock, then a quick delve with one's free hand could result in a pleasingly painful nipple hold as well. Fingers dug deep into breastflesh were also very effective, and Tara herself had to be careful to avoid that, she offered two very tempting targets. But she loved applying it, watching the flesh swell up between her clawed fingers and feeling the girl squirm against her. On the other hand, a girl who was in a headlock could reach under her tormentor from behind and apply the grip which they all learned was the ultimate in naked female wrestling. It consisted of putting a thumb in the rectum and preferably two fingers up into the vagina - and then squeezing the septum which separated the two channels. If the girls were face to face then the thumb would slide into the vagina and the fingers into the rectum. It was almost impossible not to react to the pain. Tara found it was easy enough to apply for the simple reason that all the girls reacted as she did to struggling with other naked girls in front of a male audience, and therefore fingers and thumbs slipped easily between slick and open labia. It took a while before she could bring herself to force her thumb into another girl's back passage, but the flogging one girl got for similar reluctance soon won her round.
