Slave Ship

by Mark Andrews

  That was good. As long as the pain - and the memory of it - lasted, they would be docile.

  Allison was first and of all of them, she was the only one who stood up calm and silent. I was standing next to the doctor and I could see the spirit still present in her bright blue eyes but I had to admire her courage.

  The doctor positioned the iron - we had decided it would be with the erect cock at an angle of 45° from the perpendicular, its tip reaching up to the left side (from her point of view) of her navel, and the balls dangling down on the other side, down near the top of her vaginal slit. The whole thing, from one end to the other, was nearly four inches long.

  Dr Strange now pressed the thing onto her flesh - that velvet-smooth, pristine skin that was now to be marked forever by a red-hot branding iron.

  She didn’t scream. The perspiration stood out from her brow and indeed all over her body in droplets, but she had set her face and as the iron bubbled and seared its way through her skin and into the muscle itself, she stood there, eyes fixed and hard until the doctor pulled back quickly on the iron and then bent down to examine the black wound he had made.

  “Perfect,” he breathed. “A perfect mark. It will take a couple of weeks to fully heal but then she will be perfectly marked - for ever!”

  She was slumped down now. The effort of staying silent had drained her and of course she was now in intense pain. Burns are perhaps the worst sort of pain we can endure and she had just had a rather severe one.

  Why didn’t I allow her to be anaesthetised or at least the flesh numbed a little? Because I wanted them to feel this pain. It was part of their conditioning and essential, I thought, for their future docility as slaves.

  The iron had cooled only a little and was soon bright red again and so the doctor moved up to the next girl. This was one of the blacks, the girl Juma who was a statuesque Amazon who had come from Nigeria. She was a real beauty (of course they all were) and very big and well-muscled but she didn’t have Allison’s strength of mind and as the iron moved closer to her dark-chocolate, gleaming flesh, she was babbling incoherently. Mind you, I didn’t blame her. I suspect I would have been too, if I had been on the receiving end of that iron.

  Anyway, the iron bar at her middle held her body still while her arms and legs were fully outstretched, exposing her lower belly perfectly for the iron. After it was withdrawn and he had examined the wound, Dr Strange grinned delightedly. “Another perfect brand, Brian...”

  Chapter 3

  The denuding of their bodies; the subsequent depilation to expose their sex totally; the ringing of their noses, tits and sexual portals; and finally the branding of their bellies with the mark of a sex-slave, all went a long way to taming the twelve girls but of course there would always be backsliders and in any case, once the full depravity of their future roles became known to them, there would be a constant demand for the use of the Punishment Room.

  The Helot was no ordinary brothel. No indeed. I already possessed a number of these all over the country. This was the epitome of a house of pleasure devoted to satisfying the jaded lusts of the world’s richest men; satisfying them in every way short of death or actual maiming of their bodies. On this ship, anything went. Whatever a man craved from a woman, he would find it here, including pain - great pain; and such other degradations as sucking and deep-throating her clients’ cocks and balls, rimming their arses and even tonguing them deep inside.

  If a client got his rocks off by watching a girl tortured, then she would have to bear it. Scream of course, and contort her body wonderfully as the pain mounted, but accept it anyway, for not to meant even worse punishments, hence the array of instruments of pain around the walls of the Room. No that these wouldn’t be used purely as a source of pleasure for my guests at times. They most certainly would; just that their use as a punishment would be far worse.

  All this was explained in great detail to the twelve girls once they had all been branded and they stood and listened in varying degrees of horror as I carefully explained how they were to become paragons of pleasure for our clients once they began to arrive.

  “And in the meantime, slave-sluts, you are going to practise on the crew. Your trainers will be on hand to correct any faults you display. And believe me, they will not be lenient with their canes or whips on your flesh, so it would be best if you accepted your new roles immediately and didn’t attempt to resist the inevitable...”

  This little speech was delivered in the PR as we now dubbed the Punishment Room and to reinforce it, I decided to enact a little demonstration.

  One of the machines I had had my engineers construct was the Caning Machine (CM for short). I had told them not to stint on materials and workmanship for I wanted each item to look as if it belonged in a modern operating theatre. The CM had therefore been constructed of high-grade stainless steel and its parts all moved very fluidly.

  I had decided this piece of equipment - to this point an unknown quantity to the slaves, would be the location for my speech. I thought it was well chosen.

  It was basically a frame built between the deck and deck-head. Between the two steel uprights, set about four feet apart, were fixed the moving parts. They were in three parts: at the top were the constraints for the neck and two wrists and at the bottom, two more for the ankles. The victim was placed in front of these and once the top section was opened, her neck and wrists were placed in the half round slots, after which the other part was replaced, encasing all three items and then locked shut. Then, first one leg and then the other was lifted and placed into similar steel holders in the lower part and locked shut. She was now suspended a foot or so off the deck but in a more or less upright position.

  That soon changed. The third part of the mechanism was a bar that rested against her belly. This was on the end of a rod that was connected to the system of levers that operated the whole machine, and when the activating wheel was turned, this bar moved into her belly while the neck/wrist and ankle manacles moved the other way, drawing them forward and effectively doubling her over the bar at her waist.

  What this meant was that she was now ‘touching her toes’ but in a horizontal position. Another wheel rotated the whole mechanism and thus her relative position so that her now tightly stretched buttocks could be upended to any position the torturer desired.

  I had decided that Allison, the English aristocrat, would be a perfect subject for this little demonstration and at my signal, Henry, her trainer, grabbed her and moved her up to the open manacles. She protested of course. She was by no means tamed yet, hence the reason for her as my choice. She resisted but Henry’s superb muscles soon had her standing in front of the machine with her neck and her wrists locked into their constraints,

  He then squatted down and, not without some difficulty, forced her left leg up and her ankle into the manacle which he then snapped it closed. It was no easier with the right ankle but soon enough she was locked securely into the five constraints and I now moved to the first wheel, turning it by the handle that poked out in front of it so that the upper and lower sections of the machine began to move towards the wall against which she faced, bending her in two, while the middle bar, the one that nestled into her stomach, began to push her bottom the other way, towards the crew members sitting in the seats.

  Once she was fairly tight - and doubled right over, I began to turn the other wheel. This one upended her bottom to present it more effectively to a downward lash of the cane. She looked quite magnificent, bent over double and slightly upended. Her buttocks were stretched as taut as it was possible to make them and were thus were in a perfect position to feel the cane to its utmost. She was protesting - quite volubly, of course, I growled at her to shut up.

  “In a few moments, slut-slave, you will have something to scream about; for now, be quiet!” It didn’t make much difference of course, but she would learn, in time, that she was to be silent
unless invited to speak...

  I nodded to Henry who now held a nice, meaty cane in his hand. “Twelve strokes, Henry. Very hard...”

  He grinned and took up position while the other slaves, ranged on either side of the machine, and the off-duty crew members and the rest of the trainers sat in the chairs, watching with eyes wide as Allison was about to be punished.

  Henry raised the cane high and I sighed as I watched the splendid muscles of his arms double over to form into a high-peaked ball of hard muscle. I am not homosexual but I can admire a well set-up male body and Henry was about the best there is, at least in my opinion. He wasn’t a body-builder but his muscles were so damned athletic!

  The cane fairly whistled as its tip accelerated through the air and made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air. But then, an instant later, it landed on the taut flesh of her buttocks, right across the crown of them both and it made a cracking, thunk sound as it did, eliciting a scream of agony from the so indecently exposed English girl.

  “Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” it went, sort of, anyway, but it went on a lot longer than I can write down. It started low but then rose to a crescendo as the pain bit in harder and harder and its tone went up and down, almost musically. But we were enthralled with the sight her naked body in its total exposure to us.

  She really was very indecently exposed and I had to grin as I observed the twin orifices so openly visible between her buttocks. Her legs were wide apart and as she was bent double and with her legs well spread apart, her anus and her now smooth vaginal opening were both perfectly exposed to us all. Soon, I would show her just how well we could all see her former ‘private’ parts. For now, we all watched as the first welt formed.

  As soon as the cane hit, the warm tones of her flesh had whitened but then the blood had rushed in, turning the mark pink and then red and forming up into two weals, one over the left cheek, the other the right, this one a perfect continuation of the first.

  Henry stepped back as soon as he had delivered the first stroke, enabling everyone to get a good view of her quivering bottom and to listen to her screams of agony. They abated eventually and then she pleaded - something she hadn’t done before: “No more. Please! No another one like that. I can’t stand it...”

  I could see that. Within the constraints of her tightly held body, she was shaking uncontrollably. Sweat had formed almost everywhere on her flesh and she looked quite magnificent. I had already decided to have her to my cabin this night and I wondered now how compliant she would be.

  Henry waited a few minutes. This was to a long-drawn-out punishment, for it was partly ritual - an entertainment for the crew as stand-ins for our future guests; part a lesson to Allison; and, more importantly still, partly an example to the others of what might await them if they didn’t behave themselves - that they must show a proper enthusiasm towards our clients and accept their duties, horrible and all as they might be, with composure, at least.

  But then he stepped up again. Allison was still whimpering but her screams had abated. There was utter silence in the room apart from that, the slaves on either side of her now terrified, while the seated audience was spellbound by the spectacle.

  It was a spectacle, too. The machine, lovingly crafted and polished to a gleaming lustre; the beautiful and so naked girl bent double in it, her buttocks upended a little with her arms and legs pointing down at an angle of about 45° below the horizontal; and the leather harness on the magnificent body of her black trainer and his otherwise total nakedness, all contributing to the awe in which we all stood of the scene I had created - even me!

  He raised his right arm again and every eye in the room followed the curve of his biceps muscle as it contracted into the apple-sized, perfectly rounded lump of iron-hard flesh - and then leapt out as his arm came down, the cane again screaming its banshee whoosh and then the ‘thunk’ as it hit her taut flesh, just a little below the first stripe.

  Of course she screamed again and its sound and duration were much like the first time. We all sat or stood and listened to it - in excitement (or fear, depending on who you were) and then watched as the second stripe formed on her smooth flesh.

  “No! No more... please...”

  I let her go on with her mewling words. Her mournful pleas were like music to my ears after her former hoity-toity words before. Oh yes. Pain was a great teacher alright. I moved up and lovingly stroked the twin weals across both buttocks and her snivelling rose in intensity as my fingers traced down the two lines that were now raised welts on her flesh.

  But then I stepped back and nodded to Henry to go on. Again he raised his arm and lashed the cane down, making a third stroke on her buttocks. He was already an expert. He had practised long and hard and could lay the cane anywhere he chose and now he demonstrated this skill, laying the third line exactly the same distance below the second as that separating the first two.

  By now, her screams were weaker - just a bit, but they went on as long. I raised my eyebrows to Henry and he took the hint. From now on his strokes would be not quite as hard. Those first three had been at full force and any more at that power would break her skin and give her bruises that would take weeks to heal. I wanted her that night but I wanted the remaining nine strokes to be salutary reminders of her new position. No longer a member of an ancient lineage; the pure aristocrat, but a mere slave-slut, whose role was to please men - however they desired it.

  The remaining nine strokes hurt her. They were meant to but the weals weren’t as heavy and would fade much more quickly than the first three, probably by this evening... Those first three would be there for days however - just as I wanted them to be.

  When all dozen strokes had been administered (and this took a whole hour), we all left the PR - and her. She would remain in that highly uncomfortable and shameful pose until noon and by then, she would be in agony.

  But first, she would suffer an orgasm, or two. As the others watched, I moved up to her again and began to finger her wide open slit, delving in to seek out her little pleasure bud. I found it easily and began to excite it while her moans, largely abated after the last stroke of the cane, now resumed. This time though, the moans weren’t of pain, but of pleasure and as they began to outweigh the accumulated agony of twelve strokes of the cane, she began to squirm in her bonds. I increased the pace and soon she was screaming out in the new agony of an orgasm that was unwanted, but extraordinarily intense.

  It is said pain and pleasure are only variations of the same sensation. This proved that point. The pain was now sublimated by, and joined to the new sensation of pleasure and the residual pain actually enhanced her pleasure. Her moans and screams were now an intermingled cacophony of ribald vulgarities that would never have escaped her lips in other circumstances.

  “Yes! Do it! Harder! Fuck me with your finger. Hurt me! Work my cunt! Stroke my cuntish, whorish sex! Poke my pussy!” and so it went on. Words she shouldn’t even have known now poured from her mouth as my fingers worked on her clit and now poked at her anus as well. That made her pause a moment but once I was inside and working her anal ring, they resumed with even more intensity. When I left her alone at last, I knew she was going to be doubly ashamed of what she had said and what it meant to her new position.

  After the others left, I stayed behind in the huge room, sitting in the seat immediately behind her where she couldn’t see me - at least not easily. She knew I was there but I didn’t say anything and she was now too ashamed of herself to try to speak to me.

  What a picture she was. Bent double with her legs drawn up forward under her belly and chest and head, her now well-striped buttocks staring out at me, her anus and vulva openly exposed as well and the rest of her slender body quite beautiful. Oh yes. I had hit on a perfect new venture for myself in the Helot.

  I did indeed take her to my bed that night. By then the worst of her pain was gone but the memory of
it was not and she was very wary of me as Henry delivered her to my stateroom.

  “You know why you’re here, slave?”

  “To, er, to pleas..., to pleasure you, master?”

  “Right first time, girl. And what are you?”

  “A... a, er, pleasure-slave, er, master.”

  “Right again. And how are you going to pleasure me slut?”

  “Um, er, um, with my sex, master?”

  “Perhaps. Also with your mouth and your arse...”

  She stared at me in horror. “My mouth? Oh no! I couldn’t...”

  She hadn’t even registered the even worse position but I grinned anyway. “Perhaps another dozen or so strokes of the cane and then a few days left bent over the Caning Machine...?”

  Now she really squealed. “Oh no! Please master. I’ll do it...”

  “Of course you will,” I said soothingly. “And take my cock up your bum-hole as well.”

  She stared at me again, horror and shame still very apparent, written all over her beautiful face but now tinged with resignation. All she said however, was, “yes, master.”

  “First you may undress me,” I said, wondering how well she would perform this maidservant’s duty. Actually, she did it very well. It’s a wonder how well pain works to instil lessons into a person. The memory of those twelve strokes of the cane to her well-stretched bottom was very obvious and she removed my jacket and then the rest of my clothes with grace and panache, folding each and laying it down neatly on the chair until I was naked.