Victor Bruno

Badia
 Victor Bruno
Illustrated by Badia

Published in Spanish as
‘Mercancía Desnuda’
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 CHAPTER ONE

Quentin Osman sat under the striped awning set up on the aft quar-
ter deck. It was cool and pleasant there though he realised the heat
was rising even if the time was only a little past eleven in the morn-
ing. Dressed in a check sports shirt, lightweight blue trousers and
sneakers, he lifted the tall glass of Bourbon at his side and sipped. It
was just to his liking. Long, pale and ice-cold. Quentin felt very
pleased with life at that moment ... and sensed that, soon, he was
going to be even more pleased.
From off the table, he picked up a pair of opera glasses and fo-
cused them on the port deck. This was something that he had been
unable to resist doing in the last fifteen or twenty minutes he had
spent under the awning. The reason was not far to seek. Although
the deck was bone-white clean, a young woman was scrubbing it.
She was stark naked and wore a lightweight silver chain about her
waist. She was also depilated so that Quentin could observe her sexual
charms unhindered. The hindquarters, he thought, were most excel-
lent and he wondered if the young woman would be aware she was
under observation. She scrubbed vigorously and ceaselessly. With
her body in close-up in the glasses, Quentin could see the sheen of
sweat on hr back. Remarkable, quite remarkable, that such a thing
could be happening right before his eyes!
Quentin picked up his glass and drained his drink. His pulse rate
was definitely faster. He felt in a dream-like state and, having only
been aboard the ‘Paradise’ for some thirty six hours had not yet ad-
justed to the incredible mode of life which prevailed. It was a world
apart. Unbelievable, yet real. For one could not deny the evidence of
one’s eyes.
Feeling just a shade self-conscious, he raised his arms and snapped
his fingers. From behind him a figure approached and deferentially
curtsied. Quentin turned his head and tried to look unruffled as he
gazed upon the naked woman standing beside him.
“Master?” she queried respectfully.
“Another Bourbon,” said Quentin abruptly.
“Yes, Master.”
The woman picked up Quentin’s empty glass and disappeared.
She too wore a silver chain about her waist but, in addition, there
were small silver rings through her nose, her nipples and her clitoris.
From these rings were suspended small green emeralds. When he
had first seen them, Quentin had looked upon them with utter amaze-
ment aware, nevertheless, they were potent symbols of the woman’s
servitude. She was a flame-haired Jewess with exceedingly white
skin, her body being just a shade overblown for Quentin’s taste. An
excellent body all the same. Good, big firm tits; a sumptuous bot-
tom. Her name, he knew, was Rebecca and he also knew that her
owner happened to be aboard the ‘Paradise’ at the time. The woman
returned, breasts juddering slightly as she placed Quentin’s drink on
the table. Quentin managed a vague wave of dismissal. He was only
just getting used to doing such a thing. For a moment, he had been
tempted to place his hand on one of the white flanks. On a buttock
cheek, even. But something had prevented him, even though he was
aware that he was perfectly at liberty to do so.
Had not Madame Vesta informed him?
That formidable lady was the supreme arbiter aboard the ‘Para-
dise’. She owned the ship and she organised the whole operation. A
close personal friend had given Quentin an introduction to her. It
was a great privilege. And now that Quentin was safely aboard the
‘Paradise’, that privilege seemed all the greater.
What a wonderful world he had been introduced to!
A world of slave girls ... ruled inexorably by Madame Vesta and
her numerous assistants.
Quentin Osman picked up his opera glasses and, this time, he fo-
cused them on the starboard deck. Here another naked woman was
scrubbing the deck. On her knees, she was moving slowly towards
him, her half-melon breasts swinging and joggling beneath her with-
out cessation. Her face, despairing, and mouth partially open, was
half concealed by strands of long blonde hair. She scrubbed relent-
lessly, her body also shinned with sweat. What makes them toil in
this fashion, Quentin asked himself? It was quite remarkable. He
tried to imagine his Julia doing what these two women on the deck
weredoing at that moment and could not truly visualise it. Julia ...
naked ... depilated ... scrubbing on hands and knees? It did not seem
possible to Quentin that she could be made to do it. Yet Madame
Vesta had assured him that that would be the case. Quentin felt the
increased pounding of his heart. Could it really be true? What a won-
derful idea it was! That deceitful, arrogant, headstrong bitch reduced
to this! Marvellous ... oh unbelievably marvellous! Though it might
cost him a small fortune to have Julia abducted and put aboard the
‘Paradise’ he reckoned it would be worth every cent.
The bitch, the bitch! The overweening, insolent bitch! Oh God, how
superb to be the one to make her suffer to the full! Quentin drank
some more Bourbon to try and calm his nerves. It wasn’t very suc-
cessful. Finishing the glass, he snapped his fingers again. Rebecca
appeared almost instantly. Perhaps emboldened by alcohol, Quentin
placed one hand lightly on a buttock cheek. Rebecca remained silent
and submissively still.
“Yes, Master?” she queried.
“I shall require another Bourbon ... in a moment.” Rebecca re-
mained; Quentin ran his hand up and down the soft, warm flesh.
Under normal circumstances, if he had done any such thing to a
woman, she would have slapped his face and run screaming. And he
would have been charged with indecent assault. As it was, Rebecca
submitted, with seeming calm, to his fondling.
“I ... I am told your owner is aboard,” said Quentin as casually as
he could.
“Yes, Master.” The voice was controlled. Quentin squeezed the
lush buttock cheek.”
“Are you pleased?”
“Yes, Master,” responded Rebecca in that same controlled voice.
“As his slave, I am always pleased to be of service to him. To ... to
please him as he wishes.”
“I see,” said Quentin. He squeezed the buttock cheek rather more
firmly. “And, has it always been like that?”
There was a pause before Rebecca answered. “No, Master,” came
the answer.
Quentin nodded in satisfaction. “You were then, shall we say,
trained to it?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Fetch me that drink.”
“Yes, Master.” Rebecca moved away and, in moments it seemed,
returned with another Bourbon. I don’t want to get drunk, reflected
Quentin as his sipped, but I do want to get relaxed. This bizarre
world, filled with slave girls, was still an amazing revelation to him
and rather unnerving. Also, he knew, Madame Vesta was going to
ask him the positive question that day. Was he, or was he not, going
to send Julia to the ‘Paradise’? With all it entailed?
Quentin, in fact, was almost 90% certain he would.
Wasn’t it exactly what such a cheating bitch deserved?
Yes ... yes ... it was!
Quentin glanced to the port deck. The naked girl was still scrub-
bing unceasingly, but now another figure appeared. This was a tall,
broad-shouldered blonde garbed in lightweight black leather. She
wore a bolero, the shortest of short skirts, and a pair of very high-
heeled calf-length boots. To her waist belt was hooked a three-foot
thong of black leather, something like three inches wide. Quentin’s
nerves tingled as he saw the woman unhook the thong and swing it at
her side. She advanced at an easy pace along the deck and passed the
kneeling slave. A few paces past the still scrubbing figure and the
blonde turned. The black thong swung high then cracked down across
the slave’s buttocks. A faint, wailing cry reached Quentin’s ears as
the naked slave writhed down on to the deck. A pink-red band had
appeared across her twisting nates. A few moments later and a sec-
ond stroke fell in more or less the same area. Another wailing cry,
more writhing and kicking. The tall blonde was pointing down to
the deck at some point which the slave had already passed ... and
obviously barking some order. The girl scrambled around and be-
gan to scrub the deck where the blonde was pointing. Quentin could
only assume some part of the deck had been overlooked during the
scrubbing.
A third stroke of the thong and then the slave slithered back to
where she had been working. Her arm began to move vigorously
once more. Three bands of a bright pink-red now encircled her jud-
dering bottom. Through his opera glasses Quentin gazed on them
with sadistic relish.
Oh my God, he said to himself, one day this could be my Julia!
The tall blonde made her way along the deck and mounted the
companion way to where Quentin sat under his awning. She gave
him a generous wide-mouthed smile. He began to rise. “No, please
don’t get up.” Quentin resumed his seat. “Rebecca, a glass of iced
mineral water.”
“Yes, Miss ....”
The blonde seated herself in a chair alongside Quentin and was
almost immediately served. Quentin’s gaze lingered on the big white
bottom as Rebecca bent. It was quite unmarked but he supposed that
it must, quite often, have been marked like that of the woman on the
deck.
“You are, I believe, Mr Osman?”
“That’s right,” said Quentin. “Quentin Osman.”
“I am Miss Judith,” said the blonde. “One of Madame Vesta’s sen-
ior overseers.”
“Ah ... I am pleased to meet you,” replied Quentin, trying to sound
as if such a statement was something perfectly natural to him.
“I understand you may be sending a young lady to us?”
“That is correct, Miss Judith,” nodded Quentin. “I am considering
it most seriously.”
“If she has offended you in any way,” said Miss Judith, “I am sure
this is just the place for her. Has she?”
Quentin found himself colouring. “More than offended,” he said
vehemently. “She has cheated me ... financially and sexually. She
has wilfully denied me. She has made a fool of me. She is an arro-
gant self-willed bitch!” He saw Miss Judith smiling at the venom of
his words,
“She seems ideal for the ‘Paradise’,” she said. “The more arrogant,
the more self-willed, the better!”
“And you have no trouble with such a woman?” enquired Quentin
naively.
Miss Judith laughed lightly. “No trouble at all, I assure you Mr
Osman.” Miss Judith pointed to the figure on the deck across whose
buttocks she had so recently laid her strap. “See that girl down there,”
she said, “she belongs to a German Baron. Name of Nerine. She was
very hoity-toity when she arrived aboard just about a month ago. Look
at her now. Straining every sinew. In mortal dread that I might go
back and give her another taste of my strap. Believe me, Mr Osman,
pain is a wonderful persuader.”
“Yes ... yes ... so it seems ...” Quentin more or less mumbled. It
was so difficult to adjust to such extraordinary situations. Madame
Vesta, and this Miss Judith, took it all so naturally. Yet, in truth, it was
all quite unnatural. Thrilling, though. Very thrilling! “You mean ...
well ... if I sent my Julia here ... she ... I mean ... would be treated just
like ... well ... that girl on the deck?”
“Just like that, Mr Osman,” smiled Miss Judith. “Or worse.”
“Worse?”
Miss Judith laughed again. “You do not imagine, Mr Osman, do
you, that my strap across a girl’s backside is the worse that can hap-
pen to her aboard the ‘Paradise’?”
Quentin hesitated. “Well ... I don’t know. I mean, I haven’t been
aboard long.”
“No, that’s true. But let me tell you that the strap is about the least
severe form of punishment a girl can receive here.”
“Really?” Quentin was truly surprised.
“Oh yes, really, Mr Osman. There are canes, birches, martinets,
whips. They all hurt a good deal more than my strap. You will be
aware of this if you attend one of our Punishment Sessions.
“Punishment Sessions?”
“Yes,” nodded Miss Judith. “One is held every evening at seven
p.m. Any girl who has failed in hr duties, been disobedient, and so
on, will be taken there and punished accordingly. Madame Vesta
normally adjudicates but, if she is not available, Miss Kaufman, her
deputy makes the decisions.”
“I see ... said Quentin musingly. Looking down to the port deck,
he noticed that the scrubbing slave girl had slumped down. Perhaps
she has fainted, he thought. It would not have been surprising.
He saw Miss Judith glancing at him. “Does it worry you that your
Julia will be treated in this fashion ... caned, birched, whipped and
the like?”
“N-no ... no ...” replied Quentin almost too hastily. He was begin-
ning to realise just how much he wanted such things to happen. “It
will do her good. Teach her some manners. Teach her not to be such
a first class bitch.”
“That’s very true,” said Miss Judith rather smugly. “I am rather
looking forward to meeting this young lady. She seems worthy of
taming.”
“Will you be dealing with her then?” asked Quentin.
“Amongst others,” said Miss Judith. “Madame Vesta has half a
dozen female Overseers and four male Trainers.”
“Four males. eh?” Quentin found himself rather pleased by that.
Julia would not take at all kindly to being ordered about, or handled,
by any male!
“Yes,” said Miss Judith. “Two of them are negroes, one is a Turk,
the other a German.”
Quentin was even more pleased by this piece of news for he was
aware that Julia had a natural aversion to coloureds.
“Most interesting,” he said. He saw the long-legged blonde arise
from her chair. She really was most attractive.
“It looks,” she said, “as if Nerine needs a little stimulating.” Quentin
could only suppose that Nerine was the slave girl slumped on the
deck. He watched as Miss Judith unhooked the belt at her waist as
she strode down the deck. He found his nerve ends tingling with
pleasure again.
On arrival at the recumbent figure, Miss Judith realised that the
girl had not actually fainted but was merely exhausted. She laid her
strap viciously across the upturned buttocks, evoking a shriek which
Quentin, in the distance clearly heard.
“You slack bitch ... get on with your work!” bellowed Miss Judith.
Again the strap cracked down. Again the girl shrieked in torment.
Making some superhuman effort, she began to scrub the deck feebly.
“I think we’ll have you doing it the hard way,” said Miss Judith. She
took the scrubbing brush from Nerine’s feeble grasp, yanked up her
head by pulling on the dark brown locks. She saw the girl’s petrified
face, wet with tears, slack with exhaustion. That was how Miss Judith
liked to see them; when she really put the pressure on. “Open wide,”
she ordered. Conditioned to obedience, the girl opened her mouth ...
and found the wooden handle of the brush shoved crosswise into it.
From the ends of the brush hung two straps and these were now buck-
led at the back of her head. “Get your snout into that bucket and get
scrubbing again,” rasped Miss Judith.
Ccrraaccckkk!
Ccrraaccckkk!
Twice more the strap fell across Nerine’s twisting bottom. Con-
vulsed with pain, she plunged her head into the sudsy water in the
bucket. Her head came up again; she was snorting and choking.
Down went the brush to the deck and she began to jerk it back and
forth. Miss Judith looked down with smug satisfaction. She hoped
the newcomer, Mr Osman, was impressed.
He was!
“If you haven’t finished with this deck in a quarter of an hour, my
girl,” Miss Judith was saying, “I’ll have you on Punishment Detail
tonight and see to it you get a really good caning!”
Groaning, Nerine’s head plunged back into the bucket; groaning
she began to scrub almost frenziedly. With a friendly wave to Quentin,
under the awning, Miss Judith went down the companion way to a
lower deck.
“She’s a tough one that,” said a male voice at Quentin’s side, mak-
ing him start slightly. Then he noticed that the slave girl Rebecca was
on hands and knees at the man’s feet, nose pressed to the deck, hind-
quarters raised high. “Allow me to introduce myself, I am Gustav
Heine.”
“Er ... how do you do ...” Quentin took the extended hand.
“Quentin Osman,” he said.
“You will have made the acquaintance of Rebecca,” said the man,
who was Jewish in appearance.
“Yes ... yes ... that’s true ...”
“It so happens, she belongs to me.” You may kneel up Rebecca.”
The white fleshed woman did so, tossing back her flame red hair. She
clasped her hands at the back of her neck which lifted her half-melon
breasts higher. “Good tits, eh, Mr Osman?”
Quentin found himself slightly embarrassed by the question and
was annoyed with himself. Why under the circumstances, should he
feel embarrassed?
“Yes ... excellent,” he responded.
“Not a bad arse on her either,” said Gustav Heine. “Show Mr
Osman your arse, Rebecca ... NICELY.”
Without delay or demure, Rebecca swivelled herself round on the
deck, thrust up her sumptuous bottom high and parted her thighs.
She could not have been more immodestly exposed.
“Excellent,” repeated Quentin, his voice a little thick. One day, he
thought with sudden heat in his blood, I may make Julia show herself
like this to stranger. Well, why not?
“Well trained now, as you see,” said Gustav.
“Yes, indeed. How long has she been here?”
“How long Rebecca?”
“Nearly eight months, Master,” answered the kneeling girl.”
“As long as that, eh?” said Gustav. “You must be quite acclima-
tised.”
“Y-Yes ... Master ...”
“Alright, you can kneel up again, slave.” Rebecca knelt erect once
more, breasts thrusting prominently. “Like to have a feel, Mr Osman?”
For a moment, Quentin did not understand, then he felt himself
flushing slightly. The twin orbs quivered softly before him; the tiny
emeralds, dangling from large rosy nipples, glinted.
 “Well ...” began Quentin.
“Get closer to Mr Osman, Rebecca,” said Gustav. The woman
moved so that her breasts wee almost touching
Quentin’s kneecaps. Her features were expressionless, though there
was a kind of deadness in her green-blue eyes. Feeling a quick surge
of desire, Quentin took the milky-soft flesh in his hands, squeezing
and joggling the breasts up and down a little. “Very nice,” he said
thickly.
“Yes,” nodded Gustav, almost sagaciously. “Unfortunately, Mr
Osman, I cannot permit you to fuck her at this time. I’m still keeping
her to myself for the moment. Hence the silver chain around her
waist.”
“I understand,” said Quentin. It was remarkable to hear such a
thing said ... even though Madame Vesta had already explained to
him that any girl on board who wore a gold chain was available to
him. The unreality of it all still lingered with Quentin.
“You sending a girl here?” asked Gustav.
“Yes,” said Quentin. He realised then that he had positively made
up his mind.
“A mistress? Unfaithful?” enquired Gustav.
“That sort of thing,” replied Quentin.
“Like Rebecca here. I think she regrets it now. Yes, Rebecca?”
“Yes, Master,” came the clear answer. Gustav smiled faintly.
Gustav Heine rose from his chair. “If you will excuse me, Mr
Osman,” he said formally. “I have to go below, taking Rebecca with
me. Just now, the desire came upon me to give her a really solid
fucking. But, then, I’ll be seeing you again, I’m sure.”
“Yes, yes,” nodded Quentin, watching the woman rise. Meekly
she followed her Master off the small deck, her big bottom quivering
as it swung from side to side. She would, reflected Quentin, make an
excellent fuck. Plenty of meat on her. His gaze returned to the port
deck. The girl, her head still jerking ceaselessly, had almost reached
the end of the deck. Quentin, who had not, of course, heard Miss
Judith’s threat, wondered where she was getting the energy from. On
the opposite deck, the blonde woman had reached the end of the deck
get closer to mr
osman, rebecca

very nice
titis unfortunately i
cannot permit you to
fuck her at this time.
god, help me... i’m still keeping her to
myself for the
moment
and was kneeling quietly on hands and knees, shoulders heaving gen-
tly. Now that she was considerably closer, Quentin could see that her
body was wet with sweat. Well, the time was approaching midday
and the sun was almost at its highest peak. It would have been un-
pleasant just to have stood on the deck, let alone to have to scrub it.
What a merciless regime this was, he thought. How would his pam-
pered Julia be able to survive it, he wondered? It was an interesting
thought.
At that moment, there was a movement on the starboard deck and
Quentin saw a tall, muscular negro making his way towards the kneel-
ing blonde. His body glistened with oil, it seemed, and he was quite
nude but for a white pouch about his loins. It was a pouch that swelled
menacingly. Quentin felt his heart begin to pound faster. This must
be one of the Trainers Miss Judith had mentioned. He was certainly a
giant brute of a man. What, he asked himself, beads of sweat break-
ing out on him, would Julia think of him? It was quite incredible to
contemplate. She would go berserk, would she not? Yet he, Quentin,
was in a position to make it happen. Oh what a joyous thought!
The negro arrived at the kneeling girl and said something. At once,
she knelt erect, facing him, with hands clasped at the back of her neck.
Just as Rebecca had knelt a little while before. The negro grinned.
Big white teeth ... an almost friendly face ... big whites to his eyes.
Then, to Quentin’s fascinated amazement, he removed the pouch about
him. His cock dangled down. Long and thickly girthed. Quentin
had never before seen such a well hung man, even in photographs.
The balls were also large. Quentin found his throat tight. Why did
not the woman scream? Run? She knelt there, as if mesmerised like a
rabbit before a snake. The negro spoke again. Then the blonde woman
placed the palms of her hands against the powerful black thighs and
began to lick the pendulous organ. Quentin felt almost sick with
excitement; there was a pulsing in his throat. Could this really be
happening?
Seemingly unconcerned, the negro folded his arms and gazed ab-
stractedly out to sea. All the time, his organ slowly began to swell
and raise itself. The girl was licking avidly, and kissing too. A re-
markable sight which had Quentin totally absorbed. How far was
this going to go, he wondered? Was this black brute actually going to
fuck the girl? Quentin found himself hot with excitement at the very
idea.
“Settling in, Mr Osman?” enquired a female voice at his side. Once
again Quentin started at this unexpected intrusion. He felt embar-
rassed, like a Peeping Tom caught out.
“Er ... hrrm ... er ... yes ... Madame Vesta ... er ... thank you ...”
“That is Petula down there,” said Madame Vesta easily. “She be-
longs to a wealthy American businessman.”
“Oh ... indeed?”
“Yes. The Trainer is Ahmed, one of my two black Trainers. A big,
strong fellow, eh?” At that moment, the negro, Quentin saw, was ap-
proaching full erection. The girl was still licking zealously.
“Mmm ... yes, Madame ... very big and strong,” Quentin heard
himself saying.
“Mr Dwight ... that’s Petula’s owner, faxed me yesterday. He wants
the girl fucked at least six times a day for the whole of this week.
That will keep the male Trainers busy but I’m sure they don’t mind.
You, of course, could fuck her if you wish.”
“Er ... thank you, Madame,” said Quentin. He looked down to see
the negro now in full erection. A massive weapon indeed!
“That was something I should have told you about, Mr Osman,”
Madame Vesta was saying. “You can always cable or fax me as to
how you want you slave treated. Something might occur to you on
the spur of the moment, you understand?”
“Yes ... yes ...” answered Quentin a little lamely. He was watching
the negro pointing to the ships rails. The blonde Petula turned her-
self around, clasped the lowest rail and thrust up her hindquarters
invitingly. He saw that the woman was shuddering.. Understand-
able, he thought, in view of what was coming to her!
The negro, Ahmed, patted the proffered bottom, then knelt behind
the girl and gripped her flanks. Quentin held his breath as he posi-
tioned himself. A slight movement, then a solid thrust. Fully in one
simple movement. Quentin caught the sound of a gasping wailing.
A blonde head was thrown back. The negro remained deep in, obvi-
ously savouring the sensation to the full.
Then, with slow but powerful movements of his haunches, he be-
gan to thrust in and out. The girl continued to shudder and jerk, her
wailing gasps coming repeatedly.
“Some of the slaves find Ahmed rather a handful,” said Madame
Vesta complacently.
“Yes ... so I can imagine,” nodded Quentin. Ahmed was now
pounding solidly. Here was a young woman getting well and truly
fucked. On her Master’s orders, too. Quentin much enjoyed the idea
of that.
“Jason is much the same,” said Madame Vesta. “Really big boys
they are. That’s why I chose them of course.”
“Yes ... yes ...” nodded Quentin. He was quite fascinated by the
rape that was going on down on the deck. The steady increase of
pace; the writhing of the victim. Delicious to watch.
Oh Julia ... oh Julia ... one day this could be you!
Quentin’s heart was thumping. He clasped his hands together, for
he thought he had felt them begin to tremble. My God, this young
woman was really getting a pounding. Faster and faster moved
Ahmed’s black haunches; more and more convulsively writhed
Petula’s white hindquarters. It was, indeed, a splendid spectacle!
Quentin wondered whether it was the first time Petula had been
fucked that day. If so, she was still going to get a cock up her five
more times. At least!
Ahmed, making a kind of chortling sound, came to a furious cli-
max, shooting his load into the succumbent depths he had conquered.
Twitching and moaning, Petula slumped down on to the deck.
She had been bestially used...
And she would be used again and again ...
Quentin felt Madame Vesta’s hand on his arm. “I hope you ap-
prove of our regime here,” she said.
“Very much,” said Quentin hoarsely.
He badly needed a drink.
 CHAPTER TWO

A short while later, Miss Judith appeared on the deck, carrying two
iron collars and chains. She moved to Nerine first, who was slumped
lifeless with the scrubbing brush still rammed in her mouth. Miss
Judith made a perfunctory inspection of the deck, seemed satisfied,
then locked the collar round the girl’s neck. She was pulled uncer-
emoniously to her feet, where she stood swaying on rubbery limbs.
Focussing his opera glasses, Quentin became aware of the extent of
Nerine’s distress. Her pretty face was covered in suds, her ripe body
was drenched wet with sweat; she staggered wildly as Miss Judith
pulled her along, seemingly unconcerned at the state of her victim.
They arrived at Petula who also had a collar locked on. She was also
pulled up and stood weakly, clutching the ship’s rail. Quentin smiled
faintly to himself. Probably weak from the solid fucking she had just
received as much as from her toil, he thought. The naked figures
made their stumbling way along the deck, one with her bottom well
reddened.
He heard Madame Vesta snap her fingers but, of course, Rebecca
was no longer on duty.
“Where’s the slave?” she asked Quentin.
“Her Master, Mr Heine, took her away,” replied Quentin.
“Dr Heine,” corrected Madame Vesta. She almost smiled. “Randy
old bastard,” she added. Then she flipped a switch on a miniature
microphone attached to her corsage. “Send a slave up to the aft quar-
ter deck, please Miss Kaufman.”
In a remarkably short space of time, a naked figure appeared be-
fore them. At once she went to her knees and pressed her nose to the
deck, hindquarters raised high. It seemed, Quentin thought, the ob-
ligatory posture when a slave presented herself. How young this
one looked! Though the girl was well-shaped, she had the figure of a
schoolgirl ... a tightly-rounded bottom and exceedingly firm breasts
the size of cooking apples. Her straw-coloured hair was plaited in a
single pony tail, held by a blue ribbon, which fell almost to her waist
... around which was a gold chain.
“Fetch me a bottle of Chablis,” ordered Madame Vesta, “and I am
sure Mr Osman would like another Bourbon.” The girl sprang quickly
to her feet and disappeared to the drinks cabinet under the awning.
It was now getting very hot and Madame Vesta switched on a punkah
fan. The girl returned, placing bottle and glasses on the table. She
appeared nervous and was shivering a little, despite the heat. Quite
understandable, being in the presence of Madame Vesta.
“This is Kim,” said the owner of ‘Paradise’. “She is, at the mo-
ment, the youngest slave girl we have aboard. How old do you think
she is, Mr Osman?”
Quentin looked at the lithe figure standing submissively beside
them, eyes a little downcast. “Seventeen, maybe,” he answered. A
gold chain, despite being so young!
“She’s sixteen,” said Madame Vesta.
“Really!” Under normal circumstances, the girl would still have
been at school. He gazed at the neat depilated mound. It looked
very virginal, but, needless to say, this youngster would not be a vir-
gin.
“When are you seventeen, girl?” asked Madame Vesta.
“N-next week, Madame,” came the answer. Madame Vesta turned
to Quentin and her lips twitched in a partial smile.
“So you’d better hurry up, Mr Osman, if you’d like to fuck a six-
teen-year-old!”
Quentin was almost shocked by this suggestion and found him-
self colouring slightly. He uttered a little guffaw. “Well, yes, I sup-
pose so...”
“Would you like to fuck her?”
Quentin swallowed hard. His nerve ends were tingling again. The
idea was incredible ... and incredibly exciting. “Er, yes ... it ... it
would be a pleasure ...”
“Oh yes, it would be a pleasure alright. Kim may be young but,
like all my slaves, she has been excessively well trained. I’ll have her
brought to your cabin later in the day ... after we have done a little
tour of inspection.”
“Thanks very much,” said Quentin. He could still scarcely be-
lieve all this was happening. The girl was dismissed by a peremp-
tory nod from Madame Vesta. I wonder how the girl feels, said
Quentin to himself, being given to a paunchy, middle-aged lecher
like himself!
Quentin sipped reflectively. This is the life, he thought. I must
remember to take another dose of the Elixir Madame Vesta had given
him. He was permitted four doses a day and, aboard the ‘Paradise’,
it seemed he was going to need them. The pink liquid, in a large
medicine jar at the side of his bed, acted both as an aphrodisiac and a
strengthener of virility. Quentin found himself getting partial erec-
tions with remarkable frequency. Well, with all the nubile nudity
around, that wasn’t so surprising ... but it was nice to know he was
going to be able to do himself justice.
At that moment, two figures appeared on the foredeck. One was a
female Overseer, clad in a red leotard and red thigh-length boots and
she was leading a naked slave girl on the customary collar and chain.
Quentin eyed the seductive swing of the girl’s hindquarters as she
made her way forward, noting the silver chain.
“What proportion of girls wear gold chains?” enquired Quentin.
He was beginning to feel more free and easy with the formidable
Madame Vesta.
“I would say it is about 60% gold,” came the reply.
“Uh-hu ... and where’s that girl going?”
“She’s going to act as a figure-head on the prow,” replied Madame
Vesta casually.
“Really?”
“Yes ... we always carry a figure-head, night and day and in all
weathers. It’s all part of our disciplinary regime. The present girl
acting out the role, will have been chained to the prow for eight hours.”
“Good Lord,” mumbled Quentin, quite startled. There seemed no
limit to what could be done to these ravishing captives. How would
Julia like acting as a figure-head, he wondered? Most demeaning!
The pair disappeared down a companionway to the lower deck.
 bite her hard...
MMM... make her bleed!!!
MMMMM...

The prow was just visible from where they sat and Quentin saw that
a couple of members of the crew had gathered there. Doubtless engi-
neers off duty. They were not, incidentally, permitted ever to leave
the lower deck.
The girl was led forward and stood listlessly whilst the Overseer
busied herself with releasing the girl on the prow. Quentin watched
the waiting girl cringing and shuddering as she was groped by the
two crewmen. Breasts and buttocks were mauled; a hand went be-
tween her thighs.
“From time to time,” said Madame Vesta easily, “a pillory is put
up on the lower deck. Then, for an hour or so, crew members have
the run of the girl placed in it. It is necessary they have some relief.”
“Mmm ... yes ... of course ...” Quentin’s brain seemed to be throb-
bing at the very thought of such a bestial ordeal.
The girl who had been on the prow now stood on the deck, look-
ing relieved but fatigued.
She wore a leather harness,
wrist and ankle bands.
These were now transferred
to the girl who had just ar-
rived. Then she was low-
ered over the side and
chained in position, arms
spread as if on a crucifix,
legs splayed wide. Whilst
this was taking place it was
the girl who had just left the
prow who was having to
endure the obscene atten-
tions of the crewmen. Then
she was collared and
chained and led back to the from time to
aft quarter deck, disappear- time, a pillory
ing from their view. is put up...
“A girl does a spell on the prow about every fortnight,” said Mad-
ame Vesta ... and Quentin did a quick calculation.
“So you’ve got some forty slave girls aboard,” he said wonderingly.
“Rather more than that. About fifty. Forty will be fully trained, ten
or a dozen still undergoing training.”
“Ah ... I see ...” It was amazing to think of some fifty lovely young
women all being held captive on this very ship. Being held captive ...
and SUFFERING. For that, Quentin now realised all too well, was
what lay at the heart of this regime. These girls were paying dearly
for past misdemeanours. As they should; and as his Julia would.
Fingers snapped and more drinks were poured. I’d better start
going easy on the booze or he’d feel sleepy that afternoon, thought
Quentin. And, gazing lecherously at Kim’s tightly-rounded bottom,
 we always carry
a figure-head, night and
day and in all weathers.
it’s all part of our dis-
ciplinary regime.
he realised that would be a stupid thing to do.
Quentin thought of the girl on the prow, now chained helpless and
gazing despairingly out to sea. Eight hours of cruel discomfort lay
ahead of her.
Excusing himself, Quentin rose from his chair. “I think I’ll take a
shower before luncheon,” he said. Madame Vesta bowed her head in
acknowledgement. No doubt at all, she told herself, I’ve got a new
and eager client there!
Under the shower, thinking of all he had witnessed that morning,
Quentin soon found himself in rampant erection. He could not recall
when he had felt so sexually powerful. It was like being a young
man again. He was tempted to play with himself ... then told himself
that would be quite ridiculous, in view of all the other delights that
lay ahead. He subdued himself under a cold shower and changed
into fresh pants, shirt and slacks

Luncheon was light but delicious ... iced melon, followed by cold
salmon. Champagne was available, but Quentin, perhaps wisely, de-
clined, Dr Heine, on the other hand, who had joined himself and Mad-
ame Vesta, quaffed back at least half a bottle. He looked smugly sat-
isfied, giving Quentin several knowing winks. Doubtless, thought
Quentin, he had only just finished having a fine old tumble with his
flame-haired Rebecca and was feeling very full of himself. Good luck
to him. His self-satisfaction, however, did not prevent him from fon-
dling the buttock cheek of one of the two attendant slaves whenever
she was serving him. These girls, be-ringed through nose, nipples
and clitoris, wore a tiny white apron and maid’s cap. The apron was
so brief it only reached to the top of each depilated pubic mound.
Rather sweet, thought Quentin. He, too, fondled a buttock cheek which
he was being served salmon. He felt the girl quiver infinitesimally
but she did not recoil in the slightest. Discipline ... discipline ... that
was what it was all about!
After luncheon, liqueurs were offered but again refused by
Quentin. Dr Heine drank a rather too large brandy.
“I think I’ll have a doze,” he announced.
 “I expect you need it,” grinned Quentin. Dr Heine grinned back
almost conspiratorially.
“Perhaps you might like to come to my cabin at about three p.m.,
Mr Osman,” suggested Madame Vesta. “Then we can take our tour.”
“I shall be delighted,” said Quentin, rising politely as their host-
ess left the table. He looked at Dr Heine. “Enjoy yourself?” he en-
quired.
“You bet,” smiled Dr Heine. “I fucked her twice. The first time
was a bit quick because I was over-excited but the second time I gave
her a really good ramming. Was at her for a good quarter of an hour,
I reckon. Made her come, too, and that’s a bit unusual with Rebecca
... though I know she pretends sometimes.”
“I hope you haven’t got a heart condition,” said Quentin.
“No ... no ... I’m as strong as a horse. And this Elixir Madame
provides is really first class stuff. Not only makes you randier than
ever but gets you up hard and strong.”
“I’m delighted to hear it ...”
“In fact,” said the worthy doctor, “after I’ve had a doze, I’ll prob-
ably send for Rebecca again. Oh my God, what an arse that girl’s got
on her!”
“Not to mention those big tits.”
“Quite ... quite ...” Dr Heine rose a little unsteady from the lunch-
eon table and Quentin followed him out and made his way up to his
cabin.

At around three o’clock, Madame Vesta was awaiting Quentin’s ar-

rival and they left her cabin at once. “I think,” she said. “We’ll first
take look at some of the Training Rooms.”
“Fine by me,” said Quentin, who was glowing with anticipation.
“You will realise, Mr Osman, that all the girls you will see first are
rather recent arrivals aboard. Some will have been here for just a
couple of weeks, others perhaps two months. On average, we reckon
it takes some three months to get a slave fully trained. It depends on
the individual. Some are more pliant than others; some more stub-
born. Would you say your Julia is stubborn?”
 “Very,” replied Quentin.
“Then that is unfortunate for her,” said Madame Vesta. They made
their way below decks where there was air-conditioning. The en-
gines could be heard humming very faintly. Along a carpeted corri-
dor, then a right turn, and they were on bare boards. Stretching into
the distance were twelve iron doors, six on one side, six on the other.
In each door was a small, sliding grille. Madame Vesta peered into
the first room then closed the grille. “In use,” she said. “Basic train-
ing by the look of it.” She unlocked the door and went in, closely
followed by Quentin.
“Don’t let me interrupt, Miss Lara,” said Madame Vesta, “I am just
showing a guest around. Please carry on.”
“Thank you Madame,” said this Miss Lara. Quentin thought she
was one of the most seductive and sexy women he had ever seen.
Her skin was light coffee-coloured and she had a superb figure. It
could have been termed perfectly formed, and she had long limbs
which were encased in white, thigh-length boots with exceedingly
high heels. These added to her height, making her a little over six
feet tall. The rest of her outfit consisted of a white leather bra and a
pair of tight-fitting white leather pants. A white ribbon held her jet-
black hair, piled high on her head. Magnificent, said Quentin to him-
self, wondering whether one was permitted to fuck the Overseers as
well as the slaves. Quentin was soon to discover that this was not
allowed ... since all the Overseers were lesbians!
Quentin’s attention was next drawn to a naked slave girl who was
kneeling on the floor, nose pressing down, bottom uplifted. She was
sobbing. Looking down at her was a swarthy male Trainer who wore
one of the white pouches Quentin had seen on the negro Ahmed.
“This is Khalid,” said Madame Vesta with a nod at the man,” one
of my four male Trainers. He is Turkish.”
“How do you so, Sir,” said the man politely. Quentin nodded back,
quite fascinated by the scene before him.
Miss Lara had a long but very slim white switch in her hand.
Quentin was not aware of it but this was made of hard but very flex-
ible whalebone. This switch was knitting needle thin so that it could
be used with frequency without over-damaging. Such switches were
most usually used in the early stages of training. The switch was
sawing lightly over the kneeling girl’s bottom ... which, Quentin saw,
carried a finely-etched, criss-crossing tracery of thin red weals. The
switch was designed to sting painfully ... to encourage, might say,
rather than to punish.
“Now, Melanie,” said Miss Lara, “what are you doing? Let us hear
loudly ... a visiting gentleman is watching and listening.”
Two harsh sobs burst from the kneeling figure; her bottom flinched
as the switch continued to saw lightly. “I ... mmmf ... I ... mmmfff ..
mmmfff .. am ... am ... sh-showing ... my ... mmmfff ... mmfff ... c-
cunt to ... to m-my Master ...” came the choking answer.
“That’s right, Melanie,” said Miss Lara, in an almost friendly tone,
“that is what you are doing. Though it has taken some time to per-
suade you.” Miss Lara turned a dazzling, broad-mouthed smile upon
Madame Vesta and Quentin. What superb teeth! “And you are show-
ing your Master your cunt because it is something you no longer pos-
sess. Correct?”
“Urrff ... uuuugghhhh ... y-yes ... M-M-Miss ...”
“That treasured little possession which you used to guard so mod-
estly, is now available to all and sundry to inspect. And, in due time,
to use.”
“NO .... OOOOH ... NOOO .... OOOO ... stopppp ... this ... I
CAN’T B-BEAR IT!” The girl’s head was up; Quentin saw her utterly
distraught features.
“What is your nose doing off the floor, slave?” rasped Miss Lara.
She nodded to Khalid, who bent, seized the girl’s arms, twisted them
up behind her back, then thrust her head between his thighs, clamp-
ing them tight. Melanie was shrieking and struggling wildly. But
uselessly. The powerful Khalid was able to handle her like a small
child. Pulling on her arms, forcing them higher, Melanie had to raise
her hindquarters up. The girl was twisting left and right, shrieking
even louder. It was an amazing sight. Indeed, a delightful sight,
thought Quentin.
“I think this one’s been under training for only about ten days,”
said Madame Vesta.
“Fourteen actually, Madame,” said Miss Lara. “She had an over-
weening sense of modesty, which I am in the process of eradicating.
She seems to think her cunt is something special.”
Madame Vesta clicked her tongue and watched as Miss Lara’s slim
switch whistled and bit into the writhing flesh. Another thin weal
joined the criss-crossing tracery.
“You do not lift your nose off the floor, slave, until I tell you to do
so,” rapped out Miss Lara.
Sswwwiiiiii ..... iiipppppttt! The switch bit again. My God, how
that girl struggled and writhed! She seemed half demented.
“You do not lower your backside, until I tell you to do so ...”
Sswwwiiiiii ..... iiippppppp!
Gasping cries of pain; a convulsive squirming of the tormented
bottom.
“They are always more sensitive at the start of training,” remarked
Madame Vesta.
“Mmm ... yes ... so I would imagine,” nodded Quentin.
“You do not give me orders,” Miss Lara was saying.
Ssswwwwiiiii .... iiiipppptttttt!
“You do not speak, slave, unless you are asked a question ....”
Sssswwwiiiii .... iiiippppptttt!
“Get that into your head ... once and for all ....”
Sswwwiiiii .... iiiippppppttttt!
Miss Lara signed to Khalid to release the sobbing, whimpering
Melanie. The girl slumped to the floor and clasped her hands to her
lacerated buttocks. Of course, compared with the weals and the pain
which would have resulted from the application of a real cane, these
lacerations were modest indeed. Yet, to the inexperienced Melanie,
they were the most awful torment imaginable.
“Show your Master your cunt, Melanie,” ordered Miss Lara re-
lentlessly. For a few moments, the girl lay on the floor sobbing heart-
brokenly. Then the switch sawed her buttocks again and, whinnying
with dread, she forced herself into a kneeling position, hindquarters
towards Khalid, and thrust her rump up high. Her thighs parted.
Melanie’s whole body shook at the effort of will this piece of humili-
ation cost her. Quentin was beginning to understand how terror ...
and terror of pain ... ruled aboard the ‘Paradise’.
 “Right,” said Miss Lara, “you are now showing your cunt again to
your Master, slave, because, as we have already discussed it does not
belong to you any more. This hypothesis you still do not seem too
ready to accept. Still, it is a fact. Does your cunt belong to you,
Melanie?”
“U-Urrfff ... mmfff ... n-n-no ... Miss ...” whimpered Melanie. She
was at a stage where she would have said virtually anything in order
to avoid further pain.
“Now,” continued Miss Lara, “I repeat, your cunt is, at the mo-
ment, available for all and sundry to inspect. Later it will be used. Is
that quite clear, slave?”
“Uuuuuuurrrrrrr ...” Melanie’s groan was long and plaintive. She
was in a world of horror, one in which, moment by moment, she sank
even deeper. “Y-yes ... uuuuuurrrrrrr ... yes ... M-Miss ...”
“Good ... good ...” said Miss Lara complacently. “So long as you
understand that.” Still the long switch continued to saw menacingly.
Melanie’s nates kept contracting with dread. “Right, now my girl,
you will kneel and face your Master.”
Melanie, heaving with her sobs, forced herself up and turned. She
had come to the conclusion that she had died and was in a private
Hell, even though Miss Lara had tried to persuade her from this ab-
surd notion. ‘You are alive and now consigned to a life of servitude,’
she informed her.
Quentin noticed that, as the girl knelt erect, she automatically
clasped her hands behind her neck. Something she had learnt in train-
ing, obviously. Her fulsome breasts were thus raised higher. She
wore no slave rings and Quentin rightly presumed she had not yet
been pierced. That normally happened after the fourth week of train-
ing.
“Khalid,” said Miss Lara, “would you like to have a feel of those
nice young tits?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered the Turk taking a step forward. It re-
minded Quentin of how he had fondled Rebecca’s breasts that morn-
ing at Dr Heine’s invitation. Melanie, however, reacted differently.
Instead of submitting, as Rebecca had done ... indeed, proffering her-
self more invitingly ... Melanie cringed away as Khalid’s hands fell
upon her and began to squeeze. She twisted from side to side in
protest.
“NO ... NOOOOOO ... DON’T OOOOOHHHHHHHH ...
DON’T!” the girl cried out.
Miss Lara shook her head almost sorrowfully. “I warned you what
would happen if you did that again, slave,” she said. Then she nod-
ded to Khalid ... and the Turk once more gripped Melanie’s arms,
turning her around so that she had her back to his thighs and was
facing Miss Lara.
“NO ... NOOOOOO ... YOU CAN’T ... NOOOOOOOOOO!”
screeched the terrified girl.
“O yes I can,” said Miss Lara, smiling sadistically. Then she slashed
her switch twice across the juddering breast-flesh before her. Melanie’s
head jerked back, her neck sinews strained as she screamed in pain.
Two slim weals appeared over the wildly bouncing and swinging
breasts. Melanie’s blue eyes were wide and wild, spouting with tears.
“Now,” said Miss Lara, coldly and calmly, “we will do that again.
And next time you recoil from your Master, I shall lay four strokes
across your boobs. Are you hearing me, Melanie? Do you under-
stand? Believe me, I mean what I say.” Melanie was nodding her head
in agreement. It was the first time she had felt the switch across her
tender breast-flesh ... and she certainly didn’t want to feel it again.
“Kneel before your Master again.” Melanie was released and, shud-
dering and sobbing resumed her former position, breasts thrusting
prominently. With relish, Khalid seized them again, squeezing and
mauling, also twisting the nipples.
Melanie cried out again and again in horror but she did not recoil
this time. She submitted. As she must.
“Excellent,” pronounced Miss Lara. “I really do think you are be-
ginning to learn a little, slave. Always remember, Melanie, that what
you once possessed, you no longer possess. You are simply a slave.
Here to serve and please others. Do you understand?”
Melanie nodded violently. She did not seem capable of speech.
Khalid was still mauling her breasts at will.
“Good .... good ...” said Miss Lara soothingly. “Alright, that will
do, Khalid.”
 The Turk’s hands came away. It must, reflected Quentin, be quite
a pleasant job to be a Trainer aboard the ‘Paradise’. He wondered if
he had fucked Petula yet ... which would surely be one of the man’s
duties.
“Now, Melanie,” said Miss Lara, taking the girl by her light brown
locks and looking hard into her contorted features, “we are making a
little progress. You have learnt the various obligatory slave postures.
Even if reluctantly. You have learnt that you are always kept totally
naked. You have learnt how to display your cunt invitingly to your
Master. Or to any man who wants to see it, for that matter. And you
have learnt that your breasts can be fondled by your Master when-
ever he wishes. Or, I say again, by any man who so desires. These
are small steps towards servitude. Doubtless you have found them
difficult. But steps have been made, nevertheless. The fact that your
backside is so tender indicates how reluctant you have been to take
those steps. Yet, I have to tell you, there are many more steps yet to
be taken before you are a fully trained slave. A truly submissive one.
It is up to you how much you suffer as you take those steps. But, I
assure you, take them you will.”
Melanie’s young face was quivering and twitching in disbelieving
horror. At first she had been unable to understand how anything so
hideous could be happening to her. That she must have gone out of
her mind. But reality was steadily encroaching.
It was actually happening to her!
It was all true!
Unbelievably true?
She had been abducted and was being forced into the vilest form
of slavery!
“We will now proceed a step further,” said Miss Lara. “Melanie,
kneel erect before your Master.” Shoulders heaving with her emo-
tions, Melanie did so. She wished she could be struck dead at that
very moment. How could anything be worse than this monstrous
ordeal? “Khalid, would you mind removing your pouch?” asked Miss
Lara.
“Not at all,” smiled the Turk. Then the white triangle of leather
slipped away to reveal a long, meaty-looking penis. Almost as good
as Ahmed’s thought Quentin. Melanie gasped in shocked horror and
covered her face with her hands.
Instantly, Miss Lara lashed her switch across the top of the girl’s
buttocks.
Once!
Twice!
“Hands away!” bellowed Miss Lara. “Look at your Master’s cock!”
A third stroke fell before, squirming wildly, crying out, Melanie
obeyed the order. Shaking with sobs, she looked upon the revolting
male organ before her. Oh ... oh ... the obscenity of it all! She felt sick.
Only the knowledge that, if she looked away, that deadly switch would
fall, kept her gaze intent.
“U-U-U-Urrr .... urrrrr ....” she groaned, breasts rising and falling
fast, stomach quaking.
“That’s a nice big cock, isn’t it, slave?” enquired Miss Lara.
Melanie could make no coherent answer ... so the slashing switch
fell yet again.
“Isn’t it?” demanded Miss Lara.
“Uuuuuuurrrrr .... uuuuurrrrr .... no .... oooooh ... no ...
nooooooooooo ...” cried the wretched Melanie.
“You mean it isn’t a nice big cock, girl? Don’t be so absurd!”
The switch fell again and Melanie twisted in torment down on to
the floor. Yet Miss Lara pursued her relentlessly. Twice more the
switch bit.
“Kneel up ... up ... UP ... I say!” bellowed Miss Lara. “Look at
your Master’s cock ... come on ... look at it ...”
Somehow, Melanie forced herself into an erect kneeling position.
She simply could not stand any more pain. She had to do it. SHE
HAD TO! Through a curtain of tears she looked upon the revolting,
dangling organ.
“Now, I ask you again, Melanie,” said Miss Lara, slowly and care-
fully, “ is that not a nice big cock?”
“U-Urrrfff ... ohhhh ... uuurrrfff ... u-urfff ... yes ... ssss ... M-
Miss... yes” sobbed Melanie.
“Good,” said Miss Lara. “I am glad you appreciate it. And, to
show that appreciation, you will now kiss it.”
 A piteous shriek of horror erupted from Melanie. She twisted away,
once more covering her face with her hands.
“NO ... NOOOOO ... NNNNOOOOOOOO!” she cried. “I CAN’T...
I CAAAAAANNNNN’TTTT!”
Once again, Miss Lara smiled broadly at Madame Vesta and
Quentin. “We’ll see about that, young lady,” she said. “I think it’s
about time you felt a REAL cane, not just this tickler!” She signed to
Khalid who, once more, pinioned the struggling girl’s neck between
his thighs, pulling up her arms so that her bottom was conveniently
presented. The tracery of thin weals was now considerably more pro-
nounced. Miss Lara, meanwhile had gone across the room to a cabi-
net and returned holding a supple willow cane which must have been
twice the thickness of the whalebone switch. Quentin found himself
hot with excitement. Miss Lara tapped Melanie’s bottom and the girl
shrieked in dread.
“For this display of outright disobedience, slave,” she rasped, “you
are going to get a taste of a real cane. It is going to hurt ... but it is
going to make you obey! Oh yes, believe me, it is!”
With venomous force, Miss Lara lashed the cane down across
Melanie’s projecting buttocks. There came a series of high-pitched
intakes of breath before the girl screamed ear-splittingly. It was a
sound which said, such pain cannot be. Yet is. YET IS! A red-purple
weal now encircled the squirming nates, outmatching those which
already lay there.
Again!
Then again!
Quentin had never imagined anyone could writhe quite so franti-
cally. So violently, yet so impotently. There was no way the girl was
going to escape. That knowledge filled Quentin with exquisite de-
light. No doubt, he thought, I am a true sadist.
A fourth stroke fell.
How many was she going to get?
Theoretically, Quentin realised, there was no limit. Yet, practically,
there had to be. If anything more was to be obtained from the shriek-
ing girl.
In fact, Miss Lara laid on two more strokes, making it six in all. It
was the first time Melanie had felt a real cane ... and she knew all
about it. She was broken. Sobbing ceaselessly. Twisting about on the
floor like a freshly-landed eel. The new weals were vivid indeed.
Twin-tracked. Quentin imagined he could almost see them pulsat-
ing.
Remorselessly, Miss Lara gripped Melanie by her hair again, pull-
ing her up, putting her face down close.
“Now, just listen to me, slave, if you disobey me again in this ses-
sion, I shall give you the cane again. Not six strokes, slave, but twelve.
Do you hear me? Twelve! Think about that, slave! Now, kneel up and
face your Master.”
The sobs were unceasing. Awful sucking-groaning sounds. Sounds
from a pit of utter despair. Yet, driven by terror of even greater pain,
Melanie made herself kneel before the nude Turk.
“Now ... kiss that cock, slave,” ordered Miss Lara. The cane just
tapped; the nates clenched violently.
Melanie bent forward and pressed her lips to the heavy, dangling
organ.
 CHAPTER THREE

Before Madame Vesta and Quentin left, Melanie had tremulously be-
gun to lick Khalid’s cock ... and it was the cane which was sawing
menacingly across her clenching nates, not the switch. The room was
filled with the sounds of heaving sobs.
“How long is a session?” asked Quentin as Madame Vesta closed
the door behind them.
“It varies. Sometimes a girl has to be taken down to the Punish-
ment Room and soundly thrashed. That delays things and, most prob-
ably puts her out of action for the time being. I expect Melanie will
be in there for another half an hour yet. Miss Lara will put her through
her whole routine again ... posturing, displaying, proffering breasts,
cock licking. Any protest or disobedience and she feels that cane.
“Miss Lara is most beautiful,” said Quentin.
“You think so? I doubt if Melanie is of the same opinion. She is
certainly a good Overseer.” They had arrived at the next iron door
and Madame Vesta peered through the grille. “Ah,” she said, “an-
other stage of training in progress.”
They went in and Quentin was met with a remarkable sight. Four
girls were kneeling in a line and each one had a dildo in her mouth,
the dildo being attached to some kind of pumping device. Heads,
dark and light, were bobbing back and forth energetically. An Over-
seer strolled up and down the line, a small control panel in her hand.
“This is most excellent training for the future. It strengthens a girl’s
jaw and endows her with exceptional sucking powers. As you will
find, Mr Osman, if you ever want to make use of a mouth.”
“Take more of it in, Diane,” said the Overseer, tapping one of the
bottoms with her switch. “Right to the back of your throat.” There
were choking sounds as the girl obeyed. Just as Melanie’s had been,
all the buttock cheeks carried a tracery of thin weals left by the switch.
“Come on, all of you .... suck, suck .... hard and strong!” The Over-
seer smiled at the watchers. “They’ve been going at it for ten min-
utes,” she explained. “Probably getting a bit tired. There were slurp-
ing sounds and Quentin saw that each pink dildo was slippery with
some pink liquid. “I’ll finish them off, one at a time,” said the Over-
seer. She was a rather plump, motherly looking woman in a red blouse
and skirt and wearing ornate looking ankle boots. She stood behind
the girl at one end of the line. “Stand by, Janice ... see if you can avoid
spilling any this time.” The girl gripped the root of the dildo and
went on sucking as avidly as ever. Then the Overseer pressed a but-
ton on the control panel and the dildo began to jerk. Obviously it
was spurting some liquid down the girl’s throat. Eyes wide, she was
gulping furiously as she continued to suck. Just a little of the liquid
oozed from her mouth, but not much.
Gulp ... gulp ...
“That’s better, Janice, you’re getting it down nicely,” said the Over-
seer.
Gulp ... gulp ... snort ... snort ... gulp ...
Then it was over. Janice’s head slumped and the dildo, now de-
flated, just as a real penis would have been, slipped from her mouth.
She moaned feebly.
“Very like the real thing, which they will all be tackling shortly,”
said Madame Vesta.
“I didn’t realise you were so thorough,” said Quentin.
“One has to be ... for the best results,” came the reply.
The second girl in line was not quite so successful as the first. It
was Diane. The dildo slipped out of her mouth before the process
was complete and quite a lot of the sticky white liquid squirted over
her face. She twisted away as if it were real sperm and this earned her
four stinging cuts from the Overseer.
“Not good enough, Diane,” rasped the Overseer. “You’d better
start making a big improvement ... and fast.” The girl sobbed wretch-
edly. Hopelessly.”
“I think we’ve seen enough,” said Madame Vesta, moving to the
S LUR PS
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door. “Thank you, Miss Flora.”
“Always a pleasure, Madame,” smiled the matronly figure.
“And now, I think, we may see the real thing. In the next room.”
She was looking through the next grille. “Ah yes ...” In they went ...
and now there was a different scene.
There was just one girl on her knees and she was before a rather
gross, ugly-looking man seated quite nude on a chair. This, Quentin
correctly presumed, was Otto the German Trainer. Behind him stood
Jason, the second of the black Trainers and he was also nude.
The girl was buxom, big-buttocked, but those buttocks were, as
yet, unmarked. She was attending to Otto with an almost frantic kind
of zeal, running her open mouth up and down first one side of his
solid erection then the other.
“That’s it, girlie,” grinned Otto. “You’re improving.” The girl’s
head went down and she began kissing and licking Otto’s balls fer-
vently. He turned and winked at Jason. “I do believe she’s beginning
to enjoy it,” he said.
“Could be, man,” replied the negro. “And why not?”
Frankly, Quentin could think of plenty of reasons why not. What
woman could possibly enjoy servicing a gross, pig of a man like Otto
in this fashion?
“Stick a dildo up her, Jason ... get her really worked up.”
“Sure thing ...” The negro went to a cupboard and returned with a
large pink dildo. He turned a cog at it’s base and it began to vibrate
powerfully and noisily. Jason positioned it between the girl’s sex
lips, parting them with the bulbous knob.
“Here it comes, Birgit,” he said. “Aren’t you the lucky one!” Then
he thrust in the dildo with one single movement ... thrust it in to the
hilt. The girl’s fair head of hair jerked up and back and a strangled
cry gurgled in her throat. Grinning more broadly, Otto seized the girl
and pushed her down again.
“Get on with it, my beauty,” he said. Then he placed his hands
under the girl and Quentin could see the big, soft breast fruit being
mauled. Birgit’s mouth was at work again, sliding up and down again
from knob to base ... and then attending to the big, swinging balls
below.
“Cunt starting to get warm, is it, girlie?” enquired Jason. No co-
herent reply was forthcoming from the overworked girl.
“Birgit is Danish,” remarked Madame Vesta. “One of the bigger
girls here.”
“She’s certainly got quite an arse on her,” said Quentin with delib-
erate crudity.
He watched the lush flesh of that bottom start to quiver and twitch
a little ... so the dildo was obviously having an effect. Now that it
was buried within her, the noise of the buzzing had lessened. But it
would be vibrating just as vigorously.
“Right,” said Otto, his wet lips parted a little. “I think we can now
get properly down to business. “Get the knob in your mouth, girlie
... just the knob to start with.” He was still mauling the big breasts.
Birgit, panting, raised herself up a little and took the root of the
solid penis in one hand. Then she slipped the big pink-mauve knob
into her mouth and began to suck energetically. Otto looked pleased.
“Now you can see the benefit of that earlier training you have just
witnessed,” said Madame Vesta.
“Indeed,” nodded Quentin. The power of the girl’s mouth was
very evident.
“Take more in,” ordered Otto after a couple of minutes. Birgit slid
two or three inches of the cock into her mouth, head jerking back and
forth.
It was at that moment Quentin saw the buttock flesh begin to quiver
and twitch more violently. Whimpering-snorting sounds jetted down
Birgit’s nostrils and the whole of her hindquarters jerked and jud-
dered.
“She’s coming,” announced Jason.
“Lucky her,” said Otto thickly. His mouth was opening wider, his
lips were wet, he was breathing faster. “That’s it, my beauty ... more...
more ... suck ... suck ...”
Birgit, throat working, took as much of the hard cock into her mouth
as she could possibly manage and continued to suck as if her life
depended on it.
 SCHHURP
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stick a dildo
up her, jason...
sure thing... get her really
worked up

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 Otto began to pant. His jowls quivered. His eyes were beginning
to glaze. The climax, thought Quentin, could not be long delayed.
Then he was groaning and dribbling, his haunches jerking spasmodi-
cally as he spurted and spurted into the still sucking mouth.
Gulp ... gulp ... gulp ... gulp ...
Birgit knew what she had to do. And she did it to perfection. Otto
patted her head. “You’ve come on nicely, slave,” he said patronis-
ingly. Temporarily exhausted, Birgit made no coherent answer to this.
The cock slipped from her slavering mouth and dangled. Her head
dropped in resigned defeat. Inside her, the vibrator continued its
energetic work. Otto rose from the seat and Jason took his place. He
began to fondle the big breasts, just as Otto had done.
“Time for some black meat, white Missie,” he said, grinning hugely.
“I knows you like that better, eh?” Again, there was no coherent reply
from Birgit. Although she had only a couple of minutes to recover,
Birgit was given no respite. “Get to work,” ordered Jason.
And now Birgit set about pleasuring a black cock instead of a white
one. Her fervent zeal did not seem to have lessened one little bit,
though she must have been getting rather tired. It was now that all
the hours of training helped. It was not long before Jason was brought
to full erection and was being sucked. It seemed to Quentin as if his
weapon was even larger than that of Otto. And that was saying some-
thing!
“Seen enough?” asked Madame Vesta.
“Yes ... I guess so ...” answered Quentin as casually as he could.
He had just remembered that young Kim was going to be brought to
him when this tour of inspection was over. I’ll be right ready for her,
he thought hotly.
They came to the fourth door. “Ahhh ...” said Madame Vesta, with
something like enthusiasm, “anal training.”
They entered the room and Quentin saw a girl laying face down
on a curving squab of leather, her wrists secured to the front end of it.
At the rear end there was a metal contraption to which was attached
some kind of piston-like object which was driving steadily back and
forth. By reason of the shape of the squab, the girl’s hindquarters
were raised high, her thighs held splayed, and the piston-like object
was driving in and out of her anus. The girl was groaning almost
constantly. Quentin then noted that the penetrating object was a dildo,
but not one as large as that which had recently been thrust up Birgit.
“This prepares them for being bum-fucked,” said Madame Vesta.
“It widens them for easier penetration and also acclimatises them to
the sensation. I must say, most girls don’t take too kindly to anal
training ... but they get it all the same.”
“I see,” said Quentin. He went to the front of the squab and saw
the girl’s pain-distorted features, her cheeks wet with tears. Remorse-
lessly the dildo drove in and out, ever and anon, making the girl shud-
der convulsively. Quentin thought he heard her saying something
and bent closer.
“Mercy ... mercy ...” came a weak little voice, “no more ... no
more...” It was pathetic, but Quentin was unmoved. A girl had to
learn.
Madame Vesta approached. “How long have you been on here,
Selina?” she enquired.
Selina, with long silky brown hair and a pretty face (even if dis-
torted) spoke weakly again. “It ... it ... aaah ... s-seems a-ages, M-
Madame ...” she answered. “Ohhhh pity me ... M-Madame ... pity
me ... make it stop ... oh God ... make it stop ...”
“The duration of your stay on here is entirely up to your Over-
seer,” said Madame Vesta callously. At which the girl Selina burst
into a fresh flood of tears. “Come to the other end Mr Osman, I want
to show you something.” Quentin moved to where the metal contriv-
ance was, getting a close-up of the piston-driven dildo entering and
withdrawing systematically. “You will see,” went on Madame Vesta,
“that below the anal piston is another one. A second dildo can be
attached to that and operated so that it enters her cunt. As the anal
dildo emerges, the cunt dildo enters. And vice versa. Ingenious isn’t
it?”
“Most,” agreed Quentin. He was, indeed quite fascinated by the
machine. Selina continued to groan, moan and shudder as it went
about its rhythmical work. It must, he reflected, be quite ghastly to
 this prepares
the slave for be-
ing bum-fucked i see...

...
M ....
M M M...
M
M M ....
MM
M M M
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no more... no M ..
more... please

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be left, secured helpless, in that room, being repeatedly penetrated
by a merciless machine. Nobody there to stop it. Nothing to halt it. It
just went on and on in a mindless fashion.
Oh Julia ... how you are going to enjoy getting an automatic dildo
driving in and out of your arsehole!
At that moment, the door opened and Miss Judith came in, still
garbed in black leather. She smiled sweetly at Quentin. “Enjoying
your tour of inspection?” she asked.
“It is most informative,” he said rather staidly.
“Yes, I guess so ...”
“How long has Selina been on there?” enquired Madame Vesta.
“An hour,” said Miss Judith. “So she must be feeling a little sore.
I’ll give her a squirt.” The machine was switched off and Selina ut-
tered a loud, long moan of relief. “Don’t think she likes it much,”
smiled the Overseer. She returned with a large syringe, presumably
containing some kind of soothing ointment, and this she squirted into
the girl’s anal passage. Again Selina moaned loudly with relief. Her
bottom was patted by Miss Judith. “All over for today,” she said in
an almost jovial tone. “Always try and remember, Selina, that this is
getting you ready for the real thing ... and that would be far more
painful if you hadn’t been prepared in this way.”
Those words must have indeed been cold comfort in the girl’s ears!
They left the room, while Miss Judith was releasing her victim,
and made their way along the line of cells. The next proved not to be
in use.
“I think we might take a look at one or two of the Punishment Cells,”
said Madame Vesta. “These are occupied by girls who have commit-
ted some misdemeanour or other ... failed to adequately satisfy a
guest and so on. Also, as I have already told you, an Owner can send
instructions for a particular punishment to be carried out on his slave.
There are fully trained slaves as well as slaves under training in the
cells. Let’s take a look.”
Madame Vesta did not bother to look through the grille but un-
locked the first cell door she came to. Quentin saw a naked slave girl
fastened in an upright position to a pillar. Over her head, resting on
her shoulders, was a heavy iron cage. Petrified, bulging eyes gazed
imploringly through the close-up bars.
“Probably been talking out of turn,” said Madame Vesta. “This is
a Head Cage with a pear gag. A girl can wear one of these for up to
twenty four hours. Not very comfortable, I can assure you.”
Going to the front of the Head Cage, Madame Vesta inserted a small
key and a little metal door swung open. To the inside of the little
door was attached an iron tube and, on the end of that tube was what
looked like a small hand grenade, It was black and wet with saliva.
The girl’s mouth remained gaping open. It was as if her jaw was
locked, which, in fact, it was. Locked open with straining cramp. A
great shuddering groan came from that gaping mouth.
“It would seem,” said Madame Vesta, “that she has been wearing
this for eleven hours.” She pointed to a clock-indicator in full view of
the girl, up on the wall. “Still another hour to go.”
The girl’s head was shaking from side to side, as if to deny this.
The brown eyes, shimmering with tears, were frantic with pleading.
A gargling sound came from her throat, presumably an attempt at a
verbal plea. Casually, Madame Vesta closed the door and the pear-
gag went in again, to fill the girl’s mouth with serrated iron. The eyes
seemed to bulge even more, whimpering snorts jetted down tow flar-
ing nostrils.
“Makes a girl hold her tongue pretty quickly,” remarked Madame
Vesta as they left the cell. “They start with six hours, then twelve,
then eighteen, finally twenty four. Even more, of course, if neces-
sary.”
Into the next cell they went and now a remarkable sight met
Quentin’s eyes. Another girl was pinioned upright to a pillar but in a
quite different fashion. She was roped to it. Yards and yards of rope
had been wound tightly round her body, holding her quite immo-
bile. More rope was around her arms which were spread out in cru-
cifix fashion against two crossbeams. Cruellest of all was a rope that
ran underneath her, between her thighs. It was knotted at back and
front of a rope at the waist and drawn so tight that it cut bitingly deep
between the sex-lips. In fact, the rope had more or less disappeared
within them.
“A touch of bondage,” said Madame Vesta. “Probably ordered by
her Master. Correct, slave?”
“Yes, Madame,” answered the girl, her voice tight. One of the ropes
around her neck must have been near to strangling her.
Madame Vesta glanced up at the clock-indicator. “Still over six
hours to go,” she said. Quentin watched a large tear roll down one
cheek. Oh the suffering ... the incessant suffering!
Then on to another Punishment Cell. Before him, Quentin saw a
large wooden wheel, with escalator-like steps. “This is the tread-
mill,” announced Madame Vesta, “not in use at the moment.” Quentin
noted the bar to which a girls wrists could be shackled whilst she
climbed and climbed the never-ending stairs. The was a gauge which
recorded the number of turns made and also a clock to record the
passing of time. Anyone on the Treadmill would know whether they
were ahead to behind their work-load. To the side of the clock hung
two instruments or correction ... a long thing, like the one Quentin
had seen Miss Judith using and a cane about the same weight as the
one Miss Lara had employed.
“One more look,” said Madame Vesta, “let’s see if there is anyone
on the crank.”
There was. In the next cell, a panting, sweating figure was turning
a large metal handle (rather like a bigger version of an old-fashioned
starting handle). Breasts bounced wildly as did bottom flesh. It was
obvious that the handle took quite some turning, yet it was young
round at a fairly rapid rate.
“This is a very tiring form of discipline,” stated Madame Vesta, as
if that were not already quite obvious. An indicator on the wall re-
corded 380 turns. It clicked up every time the crank reached its low-
est point.
“How many to go, Jessica?” enquired Madame Vesta.
“Huh ... hhhaaah ... huh ...” panted the girl, pausing momentarily.
“One ... aahhh ... one hundred and t-twenty ... hhhhaaaa ... urrrr ....”
She began to turn the handle again, weary though she obviously was.
Madame Vesta glanced at the clock.
 how many to one... aahhh... one
go, jessica? hundred and t-twenty...
hhhhaaaa... urrrr...

only half an
hour to do it
in, jessica.

M
M..........
MMM
M ....
M M
H . H . ....
M
M M MHH H H
M M
H... .
MHHHH H H HHHH. .. .. .
M
M M
M M
MH
M
M
MM M
H . H . ....
M M MMHH H H
M M HHHHHH...... H ... .. .
M
M MM MMM
M
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H

M
MM MM M M M
M
MM
MHHHHH . .
HH
H HHH......
M MMM M
H .. M M M H HH...
M M H HH... MM MHHHH...
MMM MHHHH...
M H H
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M
MM MM H
HH... H
M H
 “Only half an hour to do it in, Jessica. You might make it.” They
left the cell to the sound of hoarse panting.
“What happens if she doesn’t?” asked Quentin.
“She gets one stroke of the tawse or cane for every turn-shortfall.
And she gets them while she’s making up the shortfall. It is a consid-
erable incentive to making the maximum effort.”
Quentin could well understand that!
The cell door closed on a Jessica fast approaching exhaustion. There
was little doubt the girl was going to feel plenty of leather before her
stint was done.
“I think,” said Madame Vesta, “we might take a look at the Slave
Quarters ... the cells where the girls are kept when they are not on
duty nor undergoing discipline.”
Quentin followed his hostess down a companionway to a lower
deck and they came to along passageway with dozens of iron cell
doors on either side of it. What a forbidding picture those doors pre-
sented, thought Quentin! How many cruelly tormented spirits must
lie behind them!
As they turned into the passageway, they caught sight of Miss Lara
leading a girl on a collar and chain. By the look of her well-striped
bottom and thigh-tops, it must have been Melanie. The girl was mov-
ing along on all fours, bottom high in the air, rolling from side to side.
A most undignified method of progression! As they gained ground
on them, Melanie could be heard sobbing. Several times Miss Lara
tugged sharply on the chain. Once again Quentin was struck by the
fact of how ravishing this coffee-coloured Overseer looked. She
moved with a kind of feline grace.
“I imagine Miss Lara is taking Melanie to the Treatment Room. It
might be interesting to look in there first.”
“Treatment Room?” queried Quentin.
“Yes,” nodded Madame Vesta, “we are very lucky to have it. If we
did not, the amount of punishment administered here would be quite
impossible.” Quentin had wondered about that. How was it that so
many of the slave girls he had seen went about unmarked? “A Nor-
wegian Professor, who is a great friend of mine, has devised a re-
markable ... one might say, miraculous ... system of Quick Healing.
It is a combination of special ointment and some rays beyond the
ultra-violet. This system removes in twenty four hours, or even less,
weals and welts which otherwise would have remained visible for a
week or more.”
“Indeed? That is remarkable, I must say. So ... Doctor Heine’s slave
Rebecca, for example, whose hindquarters were so pristine white this
morning, could well have been punished the previous day?”
“More than likely,” replied Madame Vesta.
“It’s almost unbelievable,” mused Quentin.
“But it is a fact,” said Madame Vesta.
“A most, most convenient fact.” agreed Quentin.
Just ahead of them, Miss Lara opened a double pair of iron doors
and led Melanie in. They followed and a surprising sight met
Quentin’s eyes. There were a dozen or more leather-topped tables in
the room ... black leather ... looking rather like massage tables. Six of
them were occupied by naked slaves, five of whom lay face down,
one face up. Each girl was secured at wrists and ankles by means of
leather cuffs and short chains. Above each table was a large lamp,
beaming down the special rays constantly. They were invisible, like
those in a sun-ray parlour. Some of the buttocks, Quentin saw, were
covered in a white ointment. On those that were not, he could see
pink-red flesh and faint traces of weals.
Miss Lara was securing Melanie down. There were many thin,
criss-crossing switch weals and a dozen or so of the heavier weals left
by the cane. “I should think,” said Madame Vesta, “twelve hours
should be sufficient to clear this little lot up. Two sessions of six
hours each, eh Miss Lara?”
“That should do it,” smiled the Overseer. She picked up a large
jar and dipped in her hand. It came up carrying a big dollop of white
ointment. This she smeared liberally over Melanie’s flinching but-
tocks and thigh-tops. The girl began to gasp and cry out, twisting
and turning. “It stings a bit when it’s first put on,” explained Miss
Lara, “but eases up after a few minutes.” She switched on the over-
head ray lamp. “Soon have you as good as new, Melanie,” she said,
giving the girl’s sticky bottom a proprietorial pat. She cleaned her
hand with a cloth and strolled over to the table on which a girl lay
face up. Quentin noted traces of weals over the upthrusting orbs.
There seemed to be a lot of them. “Tits feeling less tender, Magda?”
enquired the Overseer.
“Y-Yes ... Miss ...” came a whispered answer. Though she was
lying down, the girl seemed to cringe under the Overseers’ dominat-
ing gaze. There was fear and dread in the light brown eyes.
“Her Master,” said Miss Lara, turning to Quentin, “instructed that
Magda receive a breast caning. Eighteen strokes. It was I who car-
ried out his instructions.” Miss Lara smiled sadistically down at the
helpless girl. “Magda and her Master are both Polish,” continued the
Overseer. “A rather tough race. Magda’s Master has not yet paid her
a visit yet, though I think the day may not be far off.” She smiled
again. “I have a feeling he may wish to cane those tits himself.”
Magda’s eyes filled with unshed tears as they moved on.
They came to a big-buttocked girl on the next table. The bottom
was mottled all over in a pink-red colour, with thin flecks of the same
colours running in all directions ...
“This was a more serious case,” said Madame Vesta. “Hildegarde
here has, so far, had forty eight hours of Treatment. Another twenty
four should see her right again. You see, Mr Osman, her Owner or-
dered that she receive twenty four strokes of the birch which, as you
can doubtless imagine, is severe punishment indeed. When
Hildegarde first went down on this table, the whole of her backside
looked like a huge piece of raw steak. An unpleasant sight. How-
ever, Hildegarde’s Owner asked that not only the flogging be put on
video tape but also the final result of it. In close-up. That tape has
been sent off to him and I imagine he will be satisfied.”
Twelve hours before, Quentin would have been quite incredulous
but now, after all he had seen and heard aboard the ‘Paradise’ he ac-
cepted the statement without feelings of disbelief. Almost as if it were
something normal. What had once seemed monstrous acts were fast
becoming simple matters of fact.
“I am impressed,” said Quentin as the trio left the Treatment Room.
 “Yes, it is a remarkable achievement on the part of the Professor. If
it could be revealed to the world, it would probably earn him a Nobel
Prize.
Miss Lara laughed and Quentin found himself grinning. It was
the nearest he had ever heard to Madame Vesta making a joke. She
herself, however was neither smiling nor laughing. Quentin realised
she must be serious.
“Miss Lara,” she asked, “do you happen to remember Melissa’s
call number?”
“Forty four, Madame,” came the answer. She gave a little wave
and moved off down the passageway. Possibly, reflected Quentin,
some newly arrived slave girl was, at that moment, trembling with
dread as she awaited Miss Lara’s arrival.
“I think we will visit Melissa,” said Madame Vesta, “since, from
what I have heard, she a similar type to your Julia. Certainly she had
the same kind of temperament when she first came here. That, how-
ever, has changed considerably.”
They stopped outside a door with the number 44 on it.
Madame Vesta unlocked it with a Master key which dangled per-
manently from her belt!
 CHAPTER FOUR

As Madame Vesta closed and locked the door behind them, Quentin
saw that the cell contained two wooden bunk-beds, one on each side.
The left hand one was empty but, on the right hand one, a lovely
young woman was pushing herself up on to her knees. Once into
that position, she splayed her thighs. She was shackled to the wall by
means of a collar and chain and, in turn, her wrists were shackled to
the iron collar.
“This is Melissa,” stated Madame Vesta perfunctorily.
Quentin said nothing but, with his eyes, continued to devour this
ravishing creature. She had a superbly curvaceous figure, very like
that of his Julia, and her long thick hair was deep auburn in colour.
She had green eyes, lightly flecked with brown and the eyes slanted
in a slightly Oriental manner, giving the girl a somewhat cat-like ap-
pearance. The cheekbones were high, the nose long but delicately
shaped, the mouth full and wide. She did not look at Quentin but
simply straight ahead. He saw a little nervous tic flicker momentar-
ily in one cheek. With exceptional pleasure he noted the gold waist
chain.
“Melissa has now been here for some six months,” continued Mad-
ame Vesta.
“I see,” said Quentin. He found his heart was beating rather fast,
his throat a little dry. If I want to, I can fuck this girl, he was saying to
himself. And he did want to! Who wouldn’t?
The breasts, thrusting all the more on account of the raised arms,
were truly magnificent. Large but not over-large ... firm, high and
proud, light brown nipples, Quentin noted, too, the swell of Melis-
sa’s flanks. I’d like to be able to see her bottom, he thought. Well,
doubtless that wish would not be too long delayed.
 “Until recently,” Madame Vesta was saying, “Melissa was owned
by a Swedish gentleman, named Lars Piltgard.” Again Quentin saw
that tic in the cheek. “Unfortunately Mr Piltgard was recently killed
in a skiing accident. An avalanche. So that means that Melissa is now
owned by me. For the time being anyway. Doubtless I shall be dis-
posing of her. At a good price.” Madame Vesta looked at Quentin.
“Perhaps you would like to buy her, Mr Osman?”
Quentin was startled at the suggestion and found himself colour-
ing a little. Yet, at the same time, he was incredibly excited by the
possibility. What a marvellous idea! To totally possess this lovely
creature!
“Yes ... well ... I’ll certainly consider the matter,” he found himself
saying in a rather high-pitched voice. His heart was pounding faster.
What a delicious looking mound this girl had! It seemed to swell
prominently ... and provocatively ... the coral-pink sex lips neatly
furled. Incredible to think that she had surely been repeatedly fucked
by the likes of Jason and Otto.
“While Melissa’s Master was alive,” said Madame Vesta, “she wore
a silver chain. When he died, I changed it to gold. That was only a
week ago.”
“Really?” That meant, thought Quentin, that there could not yet
have been too much ravishment by those brute Trainers. If I bought
her, he reflected, I’d probably change her back to silver and keep her
for myself. For the time being anyway.
Quentin saw a cane hanging from a hook in a post at the end of the
bunk-bed and Madame Vesta caught the direction of his gaze. “If a
slave does not position herself as Melissa is doing when her cell is
entered ... if, for example, she is asleep or exhausted, that will be laid
across her backside. Soon brings her back to life. And into position.”
“Yes ... yes ...” nodded Quentin. Actually, he was finding it a little
difficult to imagine one so beautiful as this Melissa being treated in
such a way. But, of course, she would be. Madame Vesta strolled
across the cell to the other bunk-bed.
“Some are single cells,” she said, “some are double, like this one.”
She picked the heavy iron collar. It clanked. “One day, your Julia’s
neck could be in this,” she said. “As cell-mate to Melissa ... who
could act as her guide and comforter. An interesting thought, eh?”
“Yes, indeed it is,” replied Quentin. He gazed at the collar and
tried to imagine it around Julia’s slim white neck. It wasn’t only an
interesting thought, it was a delightful one!
Madame Vesta, who had seated herself on the bunk-bed, stood up
suddenly.
“Mr Osman,” asked, “have you ever whipped a woman?”
What a stupid question, he thought. Whenever would he have
been in a position to do such a thing? But Madame Vesta did not
seem to think the question stupid; it was asked quite calmly. Need-
less to say, she lived in a different world. “No ...” he answered sim-
ply.
“Would you like to?”
Quentin experienced a hot tingling all over his scalp. His heart
began to pound even faster than ever. Would he? Well, would he?
“I ... I’ve not thought about it,” said Quentin lamely.
“You don’t have to think about it,” said Madame Vesta. “Either
you know or you don’t whether you would like to whip a woman.”
It was of course, something Quentin had fantasised about, particu-
larly in relationship to Julia. She, he would have like to whipped
many a time.
“Yes ... I would like to,” he answered a little hoarsely. His scalp
was tingling even more; his throat was drier than ever.
“Would you like to whip Melissa?” came the question.
There was an intake of breath from the other side of the cell and
Quentin’s brain seemed to bubble as he looked across at the kneeling
shackled figure. He knew he would like to do a lot with Melissa.
Including whipping her.
“Yes ... I would,” he stated, yet not truly believing that he was
going to be permitted to do such a thing. The girl had committed no
fault, had she? Of course not. The green eyes looked wider and there
was growing dread in them.
“Then you shall, Mr Osman,” said Madame Vesta in that matter-
of-fact way of hers. She went across the cell and unlocked the chain
which was attached to Melissa’s collar. “Get off there, girl,” came a
sharp order.
With a natural grace, Melissa stepped off the bunk-bed and stood
by it, wrists still shackled to the collar. Quite helpless, thought
Quentin, quivering with excitement deep inside. He thought his hands
might be trembling and clenched them together. Was the unbeliev-
able about to happen? Was he going to whip a helpless, naked woman?
A most lovely young woman at that?
“Have you been whipped lately, Melissa?” asked Madame Vesta.
“No ... Madame ...” The voice was low, vibrant, cultured.
“Well, girl, you are going to be whipped now.” Melissa seemed to
flinch slightly. “I want you to understand, slave, that you are not
going to be whipped for any fault or misdemeanour. This is purely
for Mr Osman’s benefit. A demonstration, you might say, of what can
be done to a slave girl here. You understand?”
“Y-Yes ... Madame ...” Quentin saw the full lower lip of the girl
start to quiver. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for her ... then his
desire to whip this superb body overcame that. He clasped his hands
tighter. The palms were beginning to sweat.
“Move to the end of the cell. Face the post,” ordered Madame
Vesta.
With a lithe, easy movement, Melissa made her way to the end of
the cell. For the first time, Quentin was favoured with a view of her
splendid hindquarters. Fulsome oval-shaped buttocks; long taper-
ing thighs. A sinuously-seductive swing which set the soft, white
flesh quivering a little. A spectacle to remain in the memory.
Madame Vesta followed the girl and, when she had reached the
post, locked a ring on the front of the collar to a snap-hook hanging
from the post. Melissa stood, face and inch or two from the post,
wrists still shackled to her collar. Quentin surveyed the smooth back,
the shoulders quite broad ... the back that tapered to a slim waste ...
and then swelled deliciously out again into the actual hindquarters.
“Do you see any resemblance to Julia?” asked Madame Vesta.
“Their figures are very similar,” answered Quentin.
“Then perhaps you would like to imagine you are whipping Julia?”
 Quentin smiled nervously. “Maybe ... maybe ...” he murmured.
Surely, whipping Melissa would be quite exciting enough!
Madame Vesta had come to his side and carried a leather whip in
her hand. It was made of black leather, tightly plaited, no more than
three feet in length. It tapered throughout its length so that, at its tip
(where there was a tiny knot and three little leather tassels) it was no
more than pencil thick. There was no handle as such; the grip was
simply where the leather was thickest.
Suddenly Madame Vesta snaked the whip out and it cracked loudly
in the enclosed space. The sound sent the flesh of Melissa’s back and
buttocks quivering infinitesimally with dread. Quentin found that a
quite fantastically exciting sight. He was handed the whip.
“I suggest, Mr Osman,” said Madame Vesta, “that you lay six
strokes across this girls back. However, do not imagine using a whip
is all that simple. One wants to try and achieve a lashing-crack of the
tip as it lands. But, I’ll expect you’ll manage.”
“Yes ... yes ...” muttered Quentin. Beads of perspiration had sprung
to his brow. He gazed on the broad white expanse of back. So smooth!
It almost seemed a pity to spoil it. But cruel lust quickly overcame
any such sentiments. In any case, as he now knew, it would not take
long to restore Melissa’s back to its present condition. Quentin swung
the whip experimentally once or twice, then raised it above his head.
An incredible sensation of delight filled him as he lashed the plaited
leather down. It fell, but did not crack, across the shimmering white
flesh, raising a thin welt which ran diagonally. Melissa’s head jerked
back and a gasping-groan was ejected from her widened mouth. She
shuddered, then her face fell back to the post. For his part, Quentin
was astounded that the girl had not screamed out in pain. He was
not, of course, aware of Melissa’s experience nor the intense desire
within her not to be made to scream by such a monster as himself.
It has to be said, despite all her terrible ordeals aboard the ‘Para-
dise’ over the previous six months, some vestiges of will and pride
remained within her being. Perhaps that was unfortunate for her.
Quentin swung back the whip again ... trailing it, then raising it
high. I am flogging a woman, he said to himself ecstatically. The
plaited whip swept down again and again, it fell, rather than cracked,
across the helpless flesh. Melissa uttered the same kind of gasping-
groan, once more, shuddered conclusively. A second deep red weal
sliced across the flesh. Madame Vesta looked slightly disdainful. She
was not exactly impressed by he guest’s technique. These novices! If
she herself had been applying the whip, she would have had two
howls of torment out of Melissa already.
Quentin was luckier with his third stroke. It did, in fact, make a
cracking sound as it bit into the waiting flesh and forced half a yelp
from Melissa whose body jerked convulsively. Quentin glanced at
Madame Vesta as if seeking approval but his hostess’s features re-
mained impassive.
Melissa’s head dropped a little. “O-Ohh ... G-God ... oooh ...
God...” she moaned in a soft, tremulous voice.
Quentin’s features were stretched taut; his grey-blue eyes were glint-
ing with sadistic relish. One day, this could be Julia, he told himself
... being flogged by a complete stranger. What a heavenly idea!
He laid on the fourth stroke, striving to do so with extra force. But
that only put his timing out and he did not achieve the satisfying
cracking sound he desired. All the same, it produced another loud
gasping-groan from Melissa. He heard her whimpering softly as he
prepared for the fifth stroke. She was shuddering almost incessantly
and he sensed the girl was defying him by not screaming out with
pain as the plaited leather lashed across her back. Courageous, but
annoying. He wished he could make her shriek.
Teeth clenched, he laid on number five as hard as he could. It
cracked over the back with satisfying force and Melissa let out a short,
demonic howl of pain. His best yet! Quentin was gratified. That was
more like it. Just one to come ... and he was determined to make it a
good one. He realised now that one must delay the wrist action to
the last moment so as to get maximum whiplash from the last few
inches of the whip. Pity he had not realised that before. Tingling
with excitement and lust, he steadied himself to make the last stroke
the most effective of all.
Ccrraacckk!
 It was a splendid stroke ... loud in application ... producing a
vivid red weal ... his finest effort yet. Melissa writhed agonisedly,
head tossing back, mouth gaping wide in her loudest howl of tor-
ment.
Madame Vesta nodded towards Quentin as a sign of approval. He
felt most gratified. He could not recall when he had felt quite such
exhilaration. He looked lustfully on the six weals which ran diago-
nally across Melissa’s beautiful white back. The sight of them filled
him with infinite pleasure. I have flogged a woman, he said to him-
self ... and not many men can say that.
As her howl ended, Melissa’s auburn head slumped down again.
A murmuring, groaning sound could be detected. Quentin bent his
head closer. Slurred words came to him.
“Uhh ... uhh ... oh ... uuh ... y-you b-beast ... how ... uhh can you...
uuuhh ... uhhh ... t-treat a w-woman ... s-so ... oooo ...”
He was surprised but, frankly, had to admire the woman’s cour-
age. She was helpless and she had just been whipped, yet still some
of her will and pride spoke for her. Amazing!
Madame Vesta stepped forward. “I heard her say something ...
what?” she demanded.
“I ... could not hear quite clearly,” replied Quentin. “All I am sure
of is that she called me a beast ...”
Madame Vesta’s already hard features hardened further; her eye-
brows were raised in something like surprise. This girl did indeed
have spirit!
“Is that so?”
“Yes ... yes ... I’m virtually certain of it.”
Madame Vesta looked saturnine. She was aware of Melissa’s deep
reserves of will and pride. That she was not yet utterly submissive.
That did not disturb Madame Vesta. It was merely a question of fur-
ther time. However, no doubt that Melissa was rare specimen.
“She will be punished for her insolence,” said Madame Vesta.
“Well ... yes ... I suppose she must be,” said Quentin. He won-
dered what would happen now. Was this a serious offence? Most
likely. Even so, he had to admit to himself it was a very understand-
able offence.
“I would like you, Mr Osman,” said Madame Vesta slowly, “ to lay
on a further twelve strokes. And this time, I want all of them across
Melissa’s buttocks.” She paused, and almost smiled at him. “You
have no objection?”
“None,” answered Quentin. Then, emboldened by the situation,
he spoke again. “I think she deserves them,” he added.
“You are right, Mr Osman,” said Madame Vesta. “And I’ll tell you
now that, after she had had her second whipping, Melissa will be
taken down to one of the Punishment Cells and a Head Cage will be
put on her for twenty four hours.” There was a kind of cry of protest
from the sobbing girl. “That may help her a little to control her tongue
in future.”
“Yes ... yes ... I’m sure it will,” said Quentin. His eyes were on
Melissa’s most beautiful bottom. Still unmarked. Swelling softly.
Quivering as it turned left and right. Quivering, quite possibly, also
with dread. Which? Perhaps both. In any event, it didn’t matter. That
quivering, soft flesh made a most delectable spectacle.
And it is flesh, thought Quentin, blood hot, that I am now going to
whip!
Quentin raised the whip. “Just a moment, Mr Osman,” interrupted
Madame Vesta, “I am not quite happy with your whip action. Ex-
periment on this pillar here. Try delaying the wrist action until the
last possible moment.”
Quentin turned to the pillar and used it as a target. After a few
lashes, the whip began to crack more frequently. He was getting the
idea now. “Is that better?” he asked.
“Yes, a good deal better,” replied Madame Vesta. “Now, please
use a similar technique on Melissa’s bottom.”
Blood surging, Quentin turned back to the quivering, soft buttock
flesh. This time he’d make her yell on each stroke. She’d called him
a beast ... the insolent bitch!
Ccrraaccckkk!
The plaited leather bit with whiplashing force into Melissa’s right
buttock cheek. With a gasping shriek, the girl writhed convulsively,
the new weal snaking up and down as her bottom juddered wildly.
Oh how lovely to make her writhe like that!
“Excellent,” said Madame Vesta, “now over the other cheek, please
Mr Osman.”
Quentin changed his position slightly and attacked the left but-
tock cheek. Again there was a ‘ccrraaccckkk’” like a pistol shot. Melissa
shrieked again, tossing back her head, bottom bouncing left and right.
Another red-purple weal leapt up.
Quentin’s head seemed to be buzzing with cruel lust. He did not
know it, but his mouth was beginning to sag open and his breathing
came faster.
Ccrraacccckkk!
And again ...
Ccrraacccckkk!
Right ... and then left. Four savage weals now striped Melissa’s
superb bottom, which never ceased to bounce and squirm wildly. Her
howling shrieks began to fill the cell. After the sixth stroke, Quentin
heard her pleading desperately. It was wonderful to hear.
“AAAAHHH ... MERCY ... HAVE ... M-MERCEEEE ... I’VE ...
DONE NOTHING ...”
These piteous cries only served to rouse Quentin to greater efforts.
He became utterly absorbed in his task ... lost in it. Whiplashing
down with might and main ... right and left, right and left. He lost all
count of time and place. Also of the number of strokes he had laid on.
He was consumed by sadistic frenzy ... and would have gone on and
on whipping Melissa, until she was unconscious, but for Madame
Vesta’s restraining arm on his.
“Thank you, Mr Osman ... thank ... you ... that will suffice. Excel-
lently done. You whipped the girl well.”
Quentin was panting and sweating, just a little ashamed of the way
he had lost control of himself. His temple was throbbing as he gazed
at the cruel lacerations he had inflicted on the beautiful bottom be-
fore him. It was a bottom which continued to twist and shudder, de-
spite the fact that the whip no longer fell. Long, shuddering moan-
ing-groans erupted from Melissa’s throat every few seconds and she
was sobbing heart-rendingly.
Every fibre of her being was filled with burning bitterness at the
cruelty of the hideous world she was forced to inhabit. First, she had
been flogged for no reason ... except to please a pig of a man. Sec-
ondly, on account of an irrepressible outburst, she had been flogged
a second time. And more severely. The injustices of it was well-nigh
beyond bearing.
And, ahead of her, lay twenty four hours of jaw-stretching, chok-
ing torment whilst she wore the Head Cage. No wonder Melissa was
sobbing and groaning without restraint.
“Would you like to watch me put the Head Cage on her?” asked
Madame Vesta.
Quentin mopped his brow. He was trembling a little after such a
fantastic experience. “Very much,” he replied.
Melissa was unclipped from her pillar and almost fell. “Hold her
up, please,” said Madame Vesta sharply. Quentin dashed forward
and clasped the staggering figure to him. He felt Melissa’s softness
and warmth. One of his hands was over a breast. Lust within him
soared to a new height. My God, he would have loved to have fucked
this beauty there and then!
A lead chain was fastened on the collar. “Thank you, Mr Osman.”
Reluctantly Quentin released the body he was clasping. I’ll have you
one day ... and soon ... said Quentin to himself. Meanwhile she
hadn’t been sufficiently punished. Madame Vesta tugged on the chain
and Melissa tottered behind her. The door was opened and they made
their way back down the corridor, Quentin bringing up the rear. Never
did his eyes leave that weal-and-welt striped bottom as it undulated
seductively from side to side.

They entered a Punishment Cell and Melissa, still sobbing

uninhibitedly, was fastened by her neck, with her back to a pillar.
Her lead chain was removed. Madame Vesta picked up the heavy
iron Head Cage which was set on a nearby table. She advanced re-
morselessly on her victim.
 “H-Have p-pity ... ohhh ... p-pity me ... j-just this once ...” Melissa
was whimpering hopelessly.
Madame Vesta raised the cage up and settled it down on Melissa’s
white shoulders, her wrists first of all having been unshackled from
the collar. The Cage was held in place by means of straps passing
under her armpits and buckled tight at the back. The little door of the
cage was open and Madame Vesta screwed into it one of the grenade-
like pear-gags. It seemed they were of various sizes ... and this one
looked most unpleasantly large. Then Madame Vesta tossed a pair
of handcuffs at Quentin. “Please pull Melissa’s wrists behind the
pillar, Mr Osman, and handcuff them there.” Quentin was delighted
to be called to assist in this way. He pulled the slim wrists round and
quickly snapped on the handcuffs. Then he came round to the front
again.
“Open wide, Melissa,” Madame Vesta was saying. “One day, you’ll
learn to hold your tongue, my girl!”
“Merceee ... merceeee ...” Melissa’s tear-filled eyes were wide and
pleading. Her mouth was quivering out of control.
“I said, open wide, Melissa. Do you want me to make it thirty
hours?” said Madame Vesta silkily.
Inevitably, but with hideous reluctance, the mouth opened. Quentin
saw the pink throat, the flickering tongue. Then the little door of the
cage was slowly but surely closed and the cruel gag slid fully in.
There was a choking sound, followed by snorts down Melissa’s
flared nostrils. Her eyes bulged frantically and the sinews of her neck
muscles strained. That the gag was a torment to wear even for a few
moments was evident ... yet twenty four hours of this torment lay
ahead for the wretched girl.
Madame Vesta turned to Quentin and laid a hand on his arm. “Now
Melissa can enjoy the weals you raised across her in peace and quiet,”
she said. They turned together and made for the door. Melissa was
still snorting as the door closed behind them.
Madame Vesta locked it.
 open wide,
melissa. one day,
you’ll learn to hold
your tongue, my
girl!

merceee...
merceeee...
 CHAPTER FIVE

When Quentin returned to his cabin, he felt a little light-headed. He

was still quivering inside from what had been happening. It had been
an incredible experience ... and Quentin could not recall when he
had enjoyed anything more.
Whipping a woman was wonderful!
Quentin showered away the sweat from his body and then lay na-
ked on his bed. The guest cabins aboard the ‘Paradise’ were large
and exceedingly comfortable. A complete contrast to the bleak cells
the slave girls occupied! A bottle of champagne would not come amiss,
thought Quentin, and put out his hand to pick up his bedside tel-
ephone.
“Yes, Mr Osman?” enquired a polite voice. That would be one of
the Overseers.
“Send up a bottle of Dom Perignon, please,” said Quentin.
“Certainly, Mr Osman. And, by the way, we have Kim ready for
you whenever you wish.”
“Kim?” In the excitement of the recent past, Quentin had quite for-
gotten about the girl.
“Yes ... the 16-year-old on the quarter deck this morning.
“Oh ... of course ...” His nerves tingled pleasantly. It was about
time he released some ‘dirty water’, otherwise he might burst! “Send
her up in about half an hour,” he ordered. He wanted to think about
Melissa exclusively for a little while longer before turning his atten-
tions to another slave.
“Certainly, Mr Osman.” The phone clicked. It was just as easy to
order a girl as Champagne! Quentin poured himself a measure of
Madame Vesta’s Elixir. He felt quite randy already but there was no
harm in feeling randier ... and ensuring one performed at one’s best.
 Quentin lay back and closed his eyes.
Melissa’s bottom. Swelling softly. So white, so smooth.
Melissa’s bottom. Squirming wildly. Laced with weals.
When she’s recovered I’ll have her here, thought Quentin hotly.
I’ll do whatever I like with her. Just the threat of another whipping
would make the girl utterly compliant. He could make her do any-
thing. He could fuck her till he was exhausted. And he would! Quentin
found himself coming steadily to erection as his lustful thoughts in-
tensified. Fine, Kim would soon be there to deal with that. There
was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” called Quentin. It would be a slave girl with his Cham-
pagne. No matter that she should see his erection.
One of the girls who had served at luncheon came in, still wearing
her mini-apron and a maid’s cap. On a salver she carried an ice-bucket
and some glasses. She came to the bedside and curtsied, her eyes
flickering briefly on Quentin’s rigid member.
“Pour,” ordered Quentin curtly ... and ran his hand over the girl’s
bottom as she bent slightly to do so. She accepted his groping as the
most natural thing in the world. I am, thought Quentin, truly getting
into the swing of things aboard the ‘Paradise’. Slave girls were be-
coming a normal part of everyday life. “Will there be anything else,
Master?” asked the girl, with another brief glance at the solid mem-
ber.
“Nothing, girl,” replied Quentin. “You may go.” Obviously the
girl had half-expected to be fucked as well as serve Champagne. It
was nice to be able to reject her so casually.
“Thank you, Master.” The girl curtsied again and left. A pretty
little thing, reflected Quentin. Well-shaped, as most of the girls were.
If it hadn’t been for the imminent arrival of Kim, he would certainly
have had a piece of her. Contentedly, he downed a full glass of the
wine in one go and then re-filled. Life was good. Very good.
He thought again of Melissa, still wearing the gag that was half
choking her. Still snorting, doubtless. Quentin felt no sympathy now,
as he once might have done. There was an iron law on the ‘Paradise’.
If a slave erred, she suffered. His thoughts drifted to Julia. That arro-
gant creature was in for a very big surprise. And quite shortly. Oh
what a come-down it was going to be! He liked to think of her naked
and scrubbing the deck, as he’d seen Nerine doing that morning. Really
sweating her guts out. He liked to think of her being fucked by that
massive buck nigger Ahmed. No ... wait. That would not do; not to
begin with anyway. He would have a silver chain put on Julia first to
reserve her for himself. She would, of course, have to suck the Train-
ers ... and that would not be exactly to her fancy! But she would not
be fucked. Not until he gave the word. And when, at last, he did give
the word, he would want to be there to watch it happen. Lovely!
Complete control of women, Quentin now realised, was the most
divinely satisfying thing in the world.
He closed his eyes and dozed a little, not being roused until there
came a knock on the door. That would be Kim. He saw that, in his
doze, he had subsided. Well, that would soon be remedied.
“Come in ...”
An Overseer whom Quentin had not seen before entered. She wore
a purple leotard and similar coloured calf-length boots. She was lead-
ing Kim on a collar and chain.
“I am Miss Vivienne,” she said, “I believe you asked for this slave?”
“Correct,” nodded Quentin.
“Do you want her collar on or off, Sir?”
“Off, please,” replied Quentin. His eyes ran happily over the
youthful figure, noting that the girl wore only nipple rings, from which
were suspended tiny ruby pendants. No nose ring, no clitoris ring.
The collar and chain clanked to the floor.
“As you know, Sir,” said Miss Vivienne, “there are some mild cor-
rective instruments in the cabinet. Please use them, if you so desire.”
“I will,” grinned Quentin. Kim’s small, child-like face looked quite
impassive.
“If you have any trouble with the girl, I should be glad if you would
report it, Sir.”
“I will, never fear,” replied Quentin.
“Thank you, Sir. Just ring down when you want her taken away.”
The Overseer ventured a brief smile, then turned and left the cabin.
 Left alone, Quentin gazed at the apple-round breasts, the almost
child-like mound.
“So, Kim,” he said, “it is true that you are still only sixteen?”
“Yes, Master.” The voice was certainly that of a 16-year-old.
“Who sent you here?”
“My step-mother, Master. She has always hated me. I was ab-
ducted from Boarding School.”
“Indeed? Most unpleasant, I’m sure. How old were you then?”
“Fifteen, Master.” Quentin contemplated what a hideous shock for
one so young to arrive in such surroundings.
“Have you always wore a gold chain?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Life must have been pretty tough. Especially to begin with.”
The young features quivered briefly but intensely. “Y-Yes ... M-
Master ...” If he hadn’t felt so randy, Quentin might have felt rather
sorry for the girl. He was steadily coming to erection again.
“But now, you must have adapted somewhat, yes?”
“Yes, Master.”
Quentin smiled in avuncular fashion. “Well, Kim,” he said, “you
have been brought here to make an old man happy. Well, certainly
old as far as you are concerned.
“Yes, Master. I wish to please you to the very best of my ability. It
is my duty.”
“Good ... that’s fine.” Quentin beckoned with his finger. “Kneel
on the end of the bed, my little slave, and start by kissing my balls.”
Kim did not seem at all disconcerted by this order and got at once
on to the end of the bed, bending forward with her hands on Quentin’s
plump thighs. She also parted her thighs which displayed her fully
in the mirror on the wall at the end of his bed. There was another
mirror in the ceiling above. Quentin saw the slight figure bending
forward ... the long straw-coloured pony tail ... and the tightly-
rounded young bottom. All very nice.
Then soft warm lips began to kiss his scrotum gently. Even nicer.
Quentin thought of all the training that had gone into making Kim do
this without the slightest delay or protest. In the real world, what 16-
year-old could be persuaded to kiss the balls of a paunchy, middle-
aged lecher like himself?
The kissing went on and was intensified. A busy little tongue be-
gan to lick. The girl certainly knew what she was about.
“Suck me, girl,” said Quentin with a sudden urgency. Already his
desires were getting out of control. Not surprising, perhaps, in view
of what had happened and what was happening now.
The girl raised herself up and her open mouth began to run up
and down his rigid organ. Quentin was not particularly long but he
was thickly girthed, with a big knob. He shuddered with pleasure as
the urgent mouth slid up and down, first one side, then the other.
“Get it in your mouth, slave,” said Quentin, his voice suddenly
thick.
With instant obedience, Quentin’s large knob was enclosed by a
wet-warm, sucking mouth. The seemingly eager mouth of a 16-year-
old. He was astonished by the sucking power. Then he recalled what
he had seen earlier. Kim would have spent hours on one of those
machines, ensuring she had the strength to suck a man with maxi-
mum effect.
Oohh ... oohh ... it was marvellous!
Kim took more of him, still sucking like a vacuum cleaner.
It was even more marvellous!
Quentin groaned, rolling from side to side on the bed. He knew,
in that moment, he could not withstand this incredible sucking mouth.
He would have to fuck this girl later. For the moment he was lost in
her mouth. The lust, generated by all he had seen and done, was
mounting to a fierce peak.
Nothing could stop it.
He was going to shoot and shoot.
Kim seemed to sense it and sucked even more avidly. Fiercely.
Almost painfully. Quentin released the pony-tail and placed his hands
under Kim’s firm breasts. They joggled as her head bounced up and
down. Faster ... faster ... ever faster!
Quentin was groaning louder, his haunches beginning to jerk, his
stomach quaking. It was the best blow-job he had ever had in his
life... and a 16-year-old was giving it to him. Through glazing eyes,
Quentin could still just about see the feminine charms still displayed
in the mirror. Oh what a delicious young cunt! That was to come
next.
The culmination of desire swept upon him. He was lost ... quite
lost. Nothing on earth could have stopped him shooting his load
within a few seconds.
And that was what Quentin did exactly ...
With young Kim continuing to suck and suck whilst she ferociously
swallowed the jetting semen. As she had been trained to do.
It was a violent and prolonged explosion of pent-up lust which
left Quentin quite drained. He felt weak and helpless. His thighs
and calves quivered, out of control. He was slaked ... quite slaked.
He moaned, his head turning, mouth slobbering on a pillow. The
young mouth was now quiet, yet remained lightly gripping his flac-
cid organ.
Kim had done a marvellous job.
For the time being.
Quentin closed his eyes and drifted off into a lustful reverie ...
which included Nerine, Rebecca and Melanie. And, above all, Melissa.

When he awoke slowly from his lustful reverie, Quentin found him-
self in half erection. Kim’s mouth was still delicately gripping him.
Obviously awaiting orders. That Elixir of Madame Vesta’s was cer-
tainly potent, he thought. He knew he was ready again.
Lightly he patted Kim’s head. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said.
“Yes, Master ...” The mouth had left his prick. The voice was sub-
missive.
“Or, rather,” said Quentin, “you are going to fuck me. You’re com-
ing on top of me. Going to ride me.”
“Yes, Master.”
Quentin like the idea of a 16-year-old doing all the work. He fon-
dled the girl’s well-rounded tits and pressed them against his swell-
ing tumescence. Quickly he was solid again. “There you are, my
pretty young slave ... it’s all yours.”
“I ... I an honoured, Master.”
Honoured? It was an amazing thing to hear. Surely not possibly
true. But said, anyway. Kim slithered up him, wriggling provoca-
tively. His hardness was pressing into a soft-warm belly.
“You like my cock, girlie?”
“Yes ... mmm ... yes ... Master ... I want it in me ... big and hard ...”
“Good ... good. Because that’s what you’re going to get.”
Kim came up over him, thighs splaying wide. She gripped the
root of Quentin’s prick and ran the knob up and down between her
liquid-warm sex lips. How could she be so hot already? Training?
“M-Master ... Master ... I w-want you ...” There was an urgency in
the girl’s voice yet Quentin knew, what she said could not be true. It
was just marvellous acting. Marvellous training.
Slowly, wriggling provocatively, Kim sank down on to Quentin’s
erection. How hot she was... and how tight too! Quite delicious!
Quentin placed his hands on the tight-rounded young bottom. A
schoolgirl, he said to himself, a schoolgirl!
“Master ... Master ... you ... oooh ... you feel wonderful ... oh it’s
such a lovely cock!”
“Then get your cunt to work on it, girl,” ordered Quentin grossly.
Instantly, Kim’s haunches began to rise and full. Slowly but per-
sistently. Her cunt gripped tightly in hot, liquid-velvet. Kim’s
haunches began to move faster. At the same time she began to wrig-
gle. It was heavenly ... quite heavenly!
“Oh ... oh ... you little beauty ...” panted Quentin, “you really do
... ahhh ... do ... make ... aaaahh ... a marvellous f-fuck ...”
“Oh Master ... Master ... I’m glad I please you!” Young Kim was
giving her all. As she must, of course. There could be no half meas-
ures when engaged in such activities, otherwise the results might be
dire.
As it was, Quentin had no grounds for complaint. He was getting
everything he wanted to slake his outrageous lusts. A hot-tight slip-
pery young cunt sliding up and down his solid organ. Giving him
increasing pleasure moment by moment. Almost unbearable pleas-
ure. Quentin looked up to the ceiling mirror and saw the young bot-
tom pounding up and down. Giving him everything it possibly could.
Superb ... quite superb!
He was mounting again. Mounting to the heights.
“Faster ... faster ... faster ...” he panted, eyes rolling as he strode to
a climax. His whole body began to judder. “Oooooohhh ...
aaaaaghhhhh ... ooooh ... you lovely little fuck ... ooooohhhhh ...
AAAAGGGHHHHH ... HHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAHHHH...
HHHHHAAAAHHHH!”
Jerking uncontrollably, Quentin exploded into the wriggling
depths.
The slumped, breathing stertorously, mouth sagging agape.
He looked quite disgusting.
But, of course, Quentin did not care whether he looked disgusting
or not. On the ‘Paradise’, such things counted for nothing. He was
there to be served to the limit by slave girls and, whilst they did so,
whether he looked revoltingly bestial was neither here nor there.
In fact, it made it all the more pleasurable to realise a girl found
you revoltingly bestial and still had to serve you to the limits of her
abilities. Yes ... Quentin liked that. He now felt very relaxed ... and
happy in the knowledge that there were many more delights to be
enjoyed in the days ahead. He patted Kim’s head.
“You can take a shower, if you like, young Miss.”
“Oh ... thank you, Master. You are most kind.”
“Pour me a glass of Champagne first.” Kim did so and Quentin
grinned as she ran off, schoolgirl-like to the shower cubicle. How
delightfully that rounded young bottom waggled. It was, he reflected,
quite a different bottom to that of Melissa. That was nature and su-
perbly shaped in the classical tradition. Kim’s arse was simply round
and juvenile. None the worse for that! On the other hand, Quentin
said to himself, one needed a bottom like Melissa’s to punish. It was
softer and more fulsome. The rod or the whip bit deeper into it. Idly,
Quentin wondered how the girl was coping with that awful pear-gag
in her mouth. It had been there for several hours ... but there were
many, many more hours to go.
 Kim returned, looking refreshed, breasts bouncing delicately, pony-
tail swinging. She really is most delightful, thought Quentin, as the
young girl sank to her knees by his bed.
“Pour yourself a glass of Champagne, little one,” he said.
“Oh Master ... that is not allowed ...”
“What do you mean, girl? If I give you an order you obey it. I am
a guest here.”
“Yes ... oh yes ... Master ... I understand ...” Kim sprang up and,
with a trembling hand, poured some Champagne into one of the wait-
ing glasses.
“Cheers,” said Quentin, raising his glass.
“Cheers,” responded Kim, looking a little nervous but drinking
deep and fast.
“You seemed to need that,” said Quentin. “Pour yourself some
more.”
“Do you think I should, Master?”
“Just do as I say, girl ...”
“Yes, Master.” Kim, trembling, poured herself a second glass and
tried to drink it more slowly. She was not used to being treated in
such a fashion.
“You are very good with your cunt, girl,” stated Quentin with de-
liberate crudity.
“Thank you, Master. I am glad I pleased you.”
“Yes, I am sure you are,” nodded Quentin, “otherwise you would
have got a good thrashing, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes ... yes ... Master ...”
“Pour us both some more wine. Then order another bottle on the
house phone.” Quentin was in the mood to get a little drunk.
“Yes, Master,” said Kim meekly. She poured the Champagne and
then ordered some more.
“I think,” said Quentin jovially, “it might be rather amusing to have
you dressed up as a schoolgirl ... and then have me act as your form
master.”
“Dressed up, Master?” Kim spoke as if having any clothes on was
something unnatural. Well, she had been kept naked for so long it
probably was a little unnatural to her!
“And you know what happens to naughty schoolgirls, don’t you
Kim?”
The girl blinked. “Th-They get punished, Master?”
“That’s right, little one. They have to take their knickers down and
get their bare bottoms smacked. Or, if they’re really naughty, caned.”
Kim blinked again. “I understand, Master,” she said. The serving
slave arrived with another bottle of Champagne, poured two glasses
and left. Once again, Kim drank fast.
“Like to be a schoolgirl again?” asked Quentin.
“If that’s what you want, Master.”
“That’s what I want ... and that’s what I’m going to have,” he
grinned. “Come up on the bed, girl.”
Kim climbed up and Quentin began to fondle her breasts. She
thrust them at him provocatively. When his hand ran down her belly,
she opened her thighs invitingly. Quentin titillated her cunt. Both of
them were drinking the wine at a quite rapid rate. Quentin soon be-
gan to feel the effects and it amused him to see that Kim was quite
tipsy. He poured a little of the wine into his navel. “Lick that out,” he
ordered. The girl did so almost greedily. He put some drops of wine
on his prick. “Lick that off,” he said. Kim did so. It felt nice. Quentin
began to swell a little.
“Does my Master wish to fuck me again?” enquired Kim in a rather
slurred voice.
“He sure does,” replied Quentin, who was stiffening fast. He rolled
over on to the youngster who, at once, parted her thighs wide and
drew them up so that she was readily available. Quentin felt a girlish
hand grip him and guide him in. He snorted with pleasure. Two
young limbs wrapped themselves round him and clamped over his
heaving lump. Quentin rammed slowly but steadily. Having been
slaked twice, he was going to make this one last.
“I ... huhhh ... I’ve huhh ... always ... huhh ... huhh ... wanted to
huhh ... huhh ... fuck a schoolgirl,” he panted.
“And now you are, Master,” said Kim. She sounded almost happy.
Probably on account of the Champagne, he thought. She felt so light
and lithe; so agile. Even though Quentin’s weight was crushing Kim
down, she was managing to wriggle ecstatically.
Quentin began, after some five minutes, to ram a little faster. “Oooh
... you’ve hooor ... hhhaaaahhh ... g-got ... a ... aaahhh ... hhhuuhhh
... hhooorr ... lovely ... tight cunt ... girl ...” he panted.
“T-Thank you, ... thank you, Master,” said Kim.
Soon Quentin began to grunt piggishly, sounding rather like an
animal at the trough. He was drooling and dribbling, mouth slobber-
ing on Kim’s shoulder. Quite disgusting. Of course, the girl endured
all this bestiality without complaint ... but she was glad when
Quentin’s groans of delight intensified and his prick began to jerk
convulsively within her.
Moaning, Quentin slumped down, chest heaving, wet with sweat.
Within moments, it seemed, he was snoring gently.
Unfortunately for Kim, she was unable to extract herself from the
crushing weight on top of her.

“How was Kim?” It was Madame Vesta who asked the question. She
sat at the head of the dining table, flanked by Quentin and Heine.
“Excellent,” replied Quentin. He felt and looked a little jaded,
partly on account of his sexual excesses, partly through drinking too
much.
“So you like them young, do you?” enquired Dr Heine.
“On occasions, I do, Dr Heine.”
“Oh, please call me Gustav. I shall call you Quentin. I prefer them
more mature. Like my Rebecca. You will have noticed.”
“I certainly noticed, Gustav,” smiled Quentin.
“As long as both of you gentlemen are getting what you want,”
said Madame Vesta. She suddenly slapped the bottom of the serving
girl at her side. “You’ve slopped some, you careless bitch,” she
snapped. “If it happens again, I’ll have you caned!”
“I ... I beg p-pardon, Madame,” gasped the girl, curtsying nerv-
ously. It always was an ordeal to serve the Mistress of the ‘Paradise’.
“I’d like to have that Kim dressed up as a sexy schoolgirl and give
her some lessons,” announced Quentin.
“I’ll arrange it whenever you want, Mr Osman,” said Madame Vesta.
There was no question of her being on Christian name terms.
“Thank you, Madame Vesta,” said Quentin politely. Marvellous,
he thought, you have only to ask and you get.
“I wouldn’t mind having Rebecca dressed up as a schoolgirl, said
Gustav. “Rather amusing thought that, eh? I could have her sent along
to you whenever you are giving Kim lessons. If you like?”
Quentin thought of buxom Rebecca bursting out of a schoolgirl
uniform ... and liked it. “Good idea”, he said. “I’ll let you know.
Dinner proceeded pleasantly and without incident. At one point,
an image of Melissa flashed in Quentin’s brain. She is, he realised,
not yet halfway through her cruel ordeal.
Later, back in his cabin, Quentin took a final dose of the Elixir and
was soon deeply asleep.
 CHAPTER SIX

By ten o’clock next morning, Quentin felt fully restored. He rang

down for coffee, happily aware that he had a solid hard on. It re-
minded him to take his first dose of Elixir. Marvellous stuff! Should
I fuck the serving slave when she arrives, he asked himself? No ...
better hold back for the moment. One never knew what was coming
up during the day. Certainly not Melissa. It would be all of thirty six
hours before she was restored to her normal condition. I’ll simply
have to be patient! said Quentin to himself.
He was almost on the point of changing his mind when the serving
slave arrived. She was a shapely redhead, with white skin like
Rebecca’s and most beautiful tits. Firm half-melons which joggled
incessantly with her movements. Then he noticed the silver chain
about the girl’s waist. No go there. Of course, he could have sent for
another slave but, at that moment, couldn’t be bothered. He sipped
his coffee and relaxed on a pile of pillows, glancing through a copy of
‘Penthouse’ which had been placed on his bedside table. The girls on
the ‘Paradise’ were very much on a par with those in the magazine,
he thought.
Later, Quentin took a lazy bath instead of a shower and then slipped
into a towelling dressing gown. It might be worthwhile going up to
the quarter deck, he thought. At that moment, the house phone rang.
“Good morning, Mr Osman. This is Miss Judith,” said a crystal
clear voice.
“Good morning, Miss Judith. And how are you?”
“Fine ... fine ... thanks. And I hope you are well.”
“Yes, I’m feeling great ...”
“Mr Osman, I’m wondering if you could do me a favour.”
“I’ll try, Miss Judith.” He much fancied the tall, powerful blonde
but, by then, was aware there was no chance of having her.
“I was wondering whether you could help out with Petula?”
“Petula?”
“Yes ... you may recall the slave on deck-scrubbing. Got fucked
by Ahmed.”
“Oh yes, I remember now.”
“You may also recall that her Master gave instructions that this
week, she was to be fucked at least six times a day?”
“Yes ... that’s so ...”
“Well, it so happens that all four of our Trainers have got a pretty
big work load at the moment. It occurred to me you might be able to
help out.”
Quentin experienced a tingle of pleasure. He’d never had such a
request made to him before. “Fuck her, you mean?”
“Precisely that, Mr Osman.”
“Well, I certainly don’t see why not.”
“Good ... good ... that’s very kind of you Mr Osman. I’ll bring her
up in about half an hour, if that’s OK with you?”
“That’s fine. Any time you like, in fact, Miss Judith.” When Quentin
put down the receiver he found he was already hardening again.

With black boots, thigh-length, a black bolero and short skirt, Miss
Judith came striding into the cabin, leading Petula behind her. The
girl was blonde but not as blonde as the Overseer. She had a good
medium-sized figure and well modelled features. The girl’s blue
eyes were twin pools of despair and her soft pink lips were quiver-
ing.
“This is Petula, Mr Osman,” said Miss Judith. “You will have seen
her on the aft deck yesterday.”
“I did indeed,” nodded Quentin. It was a rather odd sensation to
know that, shortly, he was going to fuck a young woman he had never
spoken to and had only seen in the distance.
“As I told you, Mr Osman, Petula’s Master has instructed that, this
week, she be fucked at least six times a day. I’d like you to be one of
those to do it.”
“Alright by me,” said Quentin, trying not to get too excited. “Has
she yet been fucked today?”
“No. All Trainers are rather engaged at the moment ... and Dr
Heine, too. You will be the first.”
“I see ...” Quentin was pleased about that. He saw that Petula was
trembling slightly. It must be quite an ordeal, he thought, to be given
peremptorily to a complete stranger. Miss Judith was unlocking
Petula’s iron collar and, once it was off the girl fell submissively to
her knees and placed her nose to the floor.
“Mind if I stay?” asked Miss Judith.
Quentin was startled, but answered quickly. “Not a bit, Miss Judith.
I won’t be taking up too much of your time. Kneel up, girl,” he said
to Petula.
“Take up as much or as little as you like,” smiled the Overseer.
“You’ll be saving me the trouble of fucking her myself. Yesterday I
had to use a strap-on dildo on her, because she hadn’t had her full
ration. All very well in its way, but not following her Master’s in-
structions to the letter.”
“Quite so,” smiled Quentin. “Help yourself to a drink, Miss Judith.”
“Thanks,” said the blonde and strolled across to the drinks cabi-
net. She poured some red wine and Quentin, striving to relax and
feel no embarrassment, removed his towelling robe. Petula’s features
twitched as she looked upon his gross nudity. That was fine. If she
didn’t like the look of him, so much the better!
“A little respect first,” said Quentin, as Miss Judith seated herself
and crossed her long limbs. She sipped her wine, seemingly rather
disinterested in what was going on.
Petula came forward on her knees and placed her palms flat down
on Quentin’s thighs. Then she began to lick and kiss his fast-swelling
prick. The girl’s eyes were closed, her nostrils flaring. She was defi-
nitely not enjoying herself. Quentin came steadily to full erection.
“Over the end of the bed, slave,” he ordered, voice just a shade
unsteady. “And get your arse well in the air.”
Petula, trembling more, crawled to the end of the bed and laid her
torso on it. Then she raised her hindquarters up high and parted her
thighs. A well used cunt, reflected Quentin as he gazed. That week,
certainly!
Quentin clasped two shivering flanks, hearing Petula utter a moan-
ing sigh of resignation. He positioned himself ... felt the parting of
the sex-lips ... then thrust in. He entered surprisingly easily, finding
the girl quite warm and receptive. Nice, very nice. He might have
been doing Miss Judith a favour but she was doing him one too.
“I shoved a vibrator up her for ten minutes or so,” said the Over-
seer. “To make sure you didn’t have any hassle about this.”
Quentin looked up, seeing Miss Judith sipping her wine casually.
He was thrusting easily in and out. “Thanks,” he said, “she’s fine,
actually.” His belly was thumping hard to the up-raised buttocks.
Gliding smoothly, gliding easily. Quite a nice cunt. Petula, however,
was unresponsive. It was pure rape, not a communal sex exercise.
“Use your arse, slave!” bellowed Miss Judith. “Come on ... use it
... or I’ll make use of it in a different way!”
This sudden intervention had immediate results. Petula’s hind-
quarters were galvanised into co-operative action.
“That’s more like it,” gasped Quentin as the girl acted and re-acted
in rhythm with his forceful thrusts. “Yes ... yes ... yes ...” Petula’s
passage was getting hotter and juicier all the time.”
“Sorry about that, Mr Osman,” Miss Judith was saying, “I wasn’t
watching her closely enough at first.”
“Ohh ... aahh ... that’s ... a-alright ... yes ... that’s alright ... M-Miss
Judith ...” panted Quentin, “she ... ahhh ... she ... she’s doing a good
job now ...”
Quentin began to pound faster and faster. Lovely to know that
this slave was going to get the same kind of treatment at least five
more times that day. Ahmed ... Jason ... Otto ... Khalid. One of them
twice, maybe. At least, he was first. In front of Miss Judith, he was
trying not to show too much enthusiasm. But, all the same, he was
definitely enjoying himself. This girl was getting really squelchy. He
could still hear her moaning. And gasping. He wondered if he might
make her come.
 “How is she, Mr Osman? I mean ... you have no complaints?”
“No ... no ... hhhaaahhh ... hhhaaahhhh ... no Miss Judith ... quite
a ... quite a haaahhh ... haahhh good fuck ...” repeated Quentin breath-
lessly.
“I’m glad about that,” said the Overseer, “in view of all the trouble
you’ve taken ... helping me out like this, I mean ...”
“Think ... aaahhh ... think ... nothing ... hhhhhaaaahhhhhh ... of
it...” said Quentin. He was fast coming to a peak. He rammed and
rammed brutally, his features contorted with insensate lust. He had
no control over his mouth again. He was drooling lasciviously. Miss
Judith looked to one side, not able to bear the sight of it all. As to
what Petula was enduring was beyond her capability of imagining.
Too, too hideous. But, then, she was nothing more that a slave ...
who had to endure whatever was inflicted upon her.
Quentin realised that Petula’s buttocks were convulsing and quak-
ing. Jerking back and forth. My God ... he was making her come!
How marvellous! Absolutely marvellous! It was rape, but she couldn’t
stop herself coming!
The realisation sent Quentin over the brink.
Snorting piggishly, as he normally did at that stage of a sexual en-
counter, Quentin unleashed himself into the succulent depths he had
been given ... and conquered. He collapsed down, heart pounding,
breathing furiously. Petula moaned. I’ll have to watch myself, said
Quentin to himself, otherwise I’ll be giving myself a heart attack.
Madame Vesta’s Elixir was all very well, but could his constitution
stand it? Anyway, he reflected, as he slowly recovered, it would be a
good way to go. On the job!
He eased himself out and off the body as had just ravaged; then he
put on his towelling robe. Petula, still shuddering, remained over
the end of the bed.
“Thank you again, Mr Osman,” said Miss Judith, getting up out of
her chair. “I’m sorry about the slow start.”
“That’s alright,” smiled Quentin, looking satisfied. He watched
Miss Judith yank up Petula’s head by tugging on her hair.
“Slave!” she rasped, “if I see any more of that lazing during today,
I shall give you a good caning. A really good caning. Understand?”
“Y-yer ... sss ... y-yes ... Miss ...” whimpered Petula.
“As it is,” continued Miss Judith, “for the time being, you can feel
a little leather.” The Overseer slipped the loop of her thong off her
wrist and swung it up high.
Tthhwwaaaccckkkk!
It cracked down loudly across Petula’s still upthrust bottom.
Quentin had already seen that strap in operation at a distance; close
up, it was even more impressive. Petula sucked in her breath, her
bottom squirming as it absorbed the swathe of pink-red torment it
had just endured.
Tthhhwwwaaaacccckkkk!
Again the strap was laid on with maximum force. Petula yelped,
twisting frantically left and right.
“A-Agghhh ... aaaaghhh ...”
“When your cunt is being made use of slave, you give everything.”
rasped Miss Judith. “You know that, slave!”
Tthhhhwwwaaaaccccckkkk!
“Yyaagghhhh ... aaaaghhh ... yes ... Miss ... y-yes ... ssss!”
“You don’t just kneel there like a half-dead sheep ...”
Tthhhwwaaccckkkkk!
“Aaaaghhh ... aaaaghhhh ... no, Miss ... I ... aaaghh ... beg par-
don... M-Miss ...”
Miss Judith re-looped her strap to her wrist and smiled broadly at
Quentin. “I hope I haven’t disturbed your morning too much, Mr
Osman,” she said, eyes glinting merrily.
“No ... No ... Miss Judith. That’s quite alright,” answered Quentin.
“Always ready to be of service.”
“I might have to bring her back tomorrow. Would that be OK?”
“Quite OK,” smiled Quentin.
Miss Judith locked on Petula’s collar and yanked the girl to her
feet.
“It won’t do you any harm to spend the rest of the morning scrub-
bing the deck.” Petula groaned softly. “And, who knows, if you’re
lucky, you might get fucked again while you’re doing it!”
 With a final wink at Quentin, Miss Judith led the girl out of the
cabin.
After he had had a little rest, Quentin decided a swim in the pool
might liven him up. Donning a pair of trunks, he made his way there.
The pool was situated on one of the fore-decks, quite high up. It was
small but adequate. Idling around in the water, Quentin became con-
scious of sounds coming up from the larger, lower fore-deck. It seemed
to him he could hear feet stamping and clicking, sharply barked or-
ders and whimpering noises. Getting out of the pool, he dried him-
self and lay on a lounger by the side of the pool for a while. He was
sheltered from the direct heat of the sun by an umbrella. Otherwise it
would have been unpleasantly hot. He half dozed for a while, still
conscious of the continuing sounds. At last his curiosity got the bet-
ter of him and he went and leant over the fore-rail, looking down. An
unusual sight was before him.
There were four naked slave girls marching along the deck. Each
wore a quite large pack on her back and also a broad waist belt. From
the front of the belt, ran a leather thong. This thong cut deeply and
painfully between the sex-lips before running between the thighs and
up through the cleft of the nates, before being buckled at the back of
the belt. This accoutrement, Quentin was to learn later, was known
as Saddle Strap. Each girl wore a pair of black shoes with five-inch
high heel which did not make marching any easier. Quentin saw that,
at each step, the thigh was raised to the horizontal, which must have
added to the pain for the under-cutting strap.
To one side of the deck, under an umbrella, sat a young Overseer,
skimpily clad in a pale blue leotard with calf-length boots of a match-
ing colour. On the table at her side was set what looked like a jug of
lime juice and, alongside it, lay the same kind of switch Quentin had
seen Miss Lara using in one of the Training Rooms. It was four feet of
slim, hard whalebone, very flexible.
Approaching the stern, the four girls did a most military about-
turn and came marching back down the deck. Four pairs of breasts
bounced and swung rhythmically. In perfect time, the thighs pounded
up and down. Distress and effort were evident on every face. As
they approached near to him, Quentin saw the sweat shinning the
flesh. This, he thought, looks even tougher than deck scrubbing. The
girls about-turned again and Quentin saw traces of the switch on all
buttock cheeks.
“Keep those backs straight,” called out the Overseer from under
her shady umbrella. “Thighs ... up ... up ... up!”
Were these girls being punished, wondered Quentin, or was this
just another example of ‘Ship’s’ Discipline, like acting as a figure-
head on the prow.
The Overseer rose from her chair and strolled slowly across the
deck, whalebone switch swinging almost lazily. Then, as she ap-
proached her sweating squad, it lashed sharply across the bottom of
the left hand girl at the rear.
“I said get those thighs UP, Karen!” barked the Overseer. Uttering
a whimpering gasp, the girl stumbled but then quickly resumed her
balance and went marching on. The Overseer strolled back and
Quentin went down to join her.
She gave him a pleasant smile as he approached. “Good morn-
ing... you’re Mr Osman, aren’t you? I’m Miss Rixi.”
“That’s right,” nodded Quentin and took a seat alongside the young
woman. “Punishment?” he enquired.
“No,” replied Miss Rixi. “Just a regular Discipline they all have to
undergo from time to time.”
“Looks tough,” said Quentin. His eyes were at one moment on
the bouncing breasts and then on rolling juddering buttocks.
“It is,” said the Overseer. “The Saddle Strap doesn’t help.” Quentin
presumed, rightly, that Miss Rixi was referring to the cruel, under-
cutting thong of leather.
“How long have they been at it?” asked Quentin.
“About fifteen minutes,” said Miss Rixi. “In five minutes I’ll give
them a breather. But then they’ll resume again, but using dumbbells.”
She pointed to a row of them on the other side of the deck. “They
weigh ten pounds each.”
“And the packs?”
“Thirty pounds.” A little whistle came from Quentin. “No wonder
they’re sweating,” he said.
“Keeps them fit,” smiled Miss Rixi. Quentin wondered how Julia
would take to this form of rigorous discipline. Not at all kindly, he
reckoned! “Like an iced drink, Mr Osman?”
“Thanks very much.” Ice tinkled as the lime juice was poured. How
much would one of those figure have given for such a drink?
At last Miss Rixi gave the command for the squad to halt. Then
called: “Stand at ease.” Legs were placed astride. “Stand easy!” Legs
crumpled and the girls fell gasping and sobbing with relief to the
deck. Then, after a little while, Quentin saw them all crawling slowly
across to the far side of the deck. There stood what looked like a low,
iron trough. It was. Soon every girl was slurping greedily, each head
bent low. The four curving bottoms made pleasant viewing, thought
Quentin. My God, how tightly that leather thong looked to be cut-
ting!
“Everything to your liking aboard the ‘Paradise’?” asked Miss Rixi
pleasantly.
“Very much so,” replied Quentin.
“You sending a girl here?”
“I am. What I have seen so far has convinced me of the wisdom of
doing so,” said Quentin. Miss Rixi smiled almost conspiratorially.
“If you want her to have a tough time, you’ve chosen the right
place,” she said.
“That is very evident ...”
After five minutes, Miss Rixi bellowed an order and the girls hur-
ried over to pick up the dumbbells. They stood in a line, looking
utterly wretched. The Overseer got up and walked over to them;
Quentin followed. The distress of each girl was even more apparent
as he got close. Eyes were filled with tears, saliva dribbled from the
corner of each mouth, dropping to the breasts where it mingled with
the sweat already there.
“You’ve got twenty more minutes to go,” announced Miss Rixi,
“and now you’re all really going to put your backs into it.” A mouth
wobbled out of control. “Single file ... six feet apart,” ordered the
Overseer. The girls hurried into position knowing they would feel
the sting of the switch for the slightest delay. “Raising dumbbells
above the head ... raise!” Up went the dumbbells high. Quentin could
see the strain on young muscles. “Now ... around the deck ... at the
double ... MOVE!”
The girls at once set off round the deck, using the same high-step-
ping gait as before. Closer now, Quentin could hear them gasping
and see them wincing. The switch lashed across the bottom of the
second girl in the file. She squealed. “Arms straight, Janice!” ordered
Miss Rixi. Arms which had been sagging just fractionally were at
once straightened. The switch whistled and hit again, this time across
the bottom of the last girl in the file. “For the SECOND time, Karen ...
get those thighs UP! Unless you want to get a good caning when we’re
through.”
The discipline really was relentless, reflected Quentin as he strolled
back to his seat, and it was amazing these slaves could find the will
and stamina to perform as they did. Pain, of course, was the essential
basic incentive. Sipping his cool drink, he watched the breast and
buttocks now swinging and bouncing even more merrily. A delight-
ful spectacle!
At some point, one of the girl’s stumbled and sprawled down on
the deck. Instantly, Miss Rixi was on her feet; within moments the
switch was falling across buttocks and thighs as the girl struggled to
get to her feet again. “Clumsy bit!” yelled Miss Rixi as her switch
whistled and bit venomously. Somehow the girl managed to force
herself up and continue to prance around the deck ... now sobbing
with pain.
Four more times Miss Rixi rose from her seat and, each time, a
different girl earned her displeasure. Justly or unjustly, it was not
possible for Quentin to know.
At long, long last, the long, long prayed for order to halt rang out.
Then: “Stand at ease. Stand easy!”
The dumbbells crashed to the deck. Legs crumpled and bodies
slumped down. Loud, heaving groans rose up. No doubt at all, each
one of the slaves was right at the end of her tether. Miss Rixi had
driven them to the absolute limit ... but not beyond. That took skill
and experience.
“I think I’ll go and take another swim,” said Quentin, getting up.
“Nice to have met you, Mr Osman.” As Quentin went up to the
high fore-deck he heard the rattle of chains. Looking down, he saw
that the iron collars were going back on and chains attached. Then,
and then only, were the Saddle Straps unfastened.
The groans of relief were loudest of all.
 CHAPTER SEVEN

The three of them ... Madame Vesta, Quentin and Gustav Heine, were
once again seated at the luncheon table.
“I understand, Mr Osman,” said Madame, “that you will be stay-
ing until the end of the week.”
“That is correct,” nodded Quentin, “I am finding it most relaxing.”
“Good,” said Madame Vesta. Gustav Heine grinned at him.
“Did you have that Petula this morning?” he asked. It was a ques-
tion, not so long before, which would have made Quentin feel rather
embarrassed. But no longer.
“Yes ... as a matter of fact, I did,” he answered.
“Any good?”
“Nothing special,” said Quentin casually. Nice to appear so indif-
ferent.
“Miss Judith offered her to me but, I’m afraid, I’d just given Rebecca
such a long and solid fucking, I simply couldn’t cope.”
“Later, perhaps,” smiled Quentin. That big-bottomed redhead cer-
tainly got plenty from her Master, he thought.
“Maybe,” nodded Gustav.
“Mr Osman,” said Madame Vesta, “I was thinking. When Melissa
has recovered, I wondered if you would like to have her as your per-
sonal slave for the rest of your stay?”
“Quentin’s pulses thumped. He tried not to sound over-eager.
“Not a bad idea,” he responded. Then it suddenly occurred to him
that the girl would STILL be wearing that hideous Head Cage. It was
not due to come off until about 4 p.m. that afternoon. Moreover,
without treatment, she would still be fully feeling the weals he had
raised across her superb bottom with that whip. She had suffered a
great deal for simply (and, Quentin thought, rather justifiably) call-
ing him a ‘beast’.
“I’ll arrange it then,” said Madame Vesta. “She probably won’t
have recovered until tomorrow evening. Maybe the following morn-
ing. But I’ll send her along when I consider her fit enough to serve
you.”
“Thank you, Madame, that is most kind.” said Quentin politely.
One of the serving slaves helped him to salmon mousse and re-
filled his glass with ice-cold Chablis. Quentin gently stroked her softly
rounded nates, as she did so. They quivered deliciously. And excit-
ingly. I think I’ll have another fuck this afternoon he said to himself.
He felt fully recovered from this morning’s exertions which, after all,
had not yet been all that strenuous. But who? He thought he might
have to consult Miss Judith about that.

During the last four hours of her ordeal in the Punishment Cell, Melissa
fainted twice. The stretching ache in her jaw had almost driven her
out of her mind. The iron pear was nearly choking her. She trembled
weakly and prayed for death. Which she knew would not come.
Twice, the duty Overseer, peering through the grille, saw what had
happened. Twice a stimulant was injected into Melissa to ensure that
she suffered fully.
At four p.m., the same duty Overseer was instructed to release
Melissa from the Head Cage. In went a key to the little door. The
door swung open. Out came the cruel, over-large iron gag. Melissa’s
mouth remained wide; it was locked in its unnatural position. Sounds
rather like those made by a distant ship’s warning boom came from
the depths of her throat. Her lovely, wide-set green eyes were filled
with pain and abject despair.
The heavy Head Cage came off; the handcuffs were removed from
her wrists.
Melissa fell senseless to the floor.
The duty Overseer did not use another injection. Two in the space
of four hours was the limit. Instead she sent for one of the Trainers -
Khalid - who carried the lifeless form to the Recovery Room. There,
spread-eagled face down on a bench, Melissa’s Healing Treatment
began.
“Miss Judith?” Quentin lay grossly naked on his bed. He had taken
more of the Elixir and felt terribly randy. He was, in fact, in full erec-
tion.
“Yes, Mr Osman?”
“I’d like a slave girl sent up to my cabin.”
“Certainly, Mr Osman. You wouldn’t like Petula again, would you?
She’s till two short of her ration.”
“Frankly, I’d rather have something new.”
“Of course, Mr Osman. Any preference?”
Quentin thought for a few minutes. “Something young, buxom
and blonde, I reckon.”
“Hmmmm ... let me think.” A pause. “Ah yes ... Tessa should suit
you, Mr Osman. She’s eighteen, very blonde and nice and chubby.
Good big tits.”
“Sounds fine, Miss Judith. Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” The receiver clicked.
Quentin got off the bed and went to put a cold sponge on his balls.
He soon subsided. Want to start from scratch with a new girl, he told
himself. He lay back on his bed and, after about five minutes, Miss
Judith led Tessa in. Quentin saw at once what the Overseer had said
about the girl’s tits; also that she had gold rings through her nose,
nipples and clitoris. She was blonde and pretty in a fluffy sort of way.
Tessa went to her knees immediately her collar and chain had been
moved. “Up,” ordered Miss Judith. Tessa knelt up, her white mel-
ons quivering delectably. “Mr Osman is a very special guest, Tessa, I
hope you satisfy him fully.”
“Yes, Miss,” said the girl most meekly. Miss Judith smiled at
Quentin; she did not appear to find his nakedness distasteful. But
then, she wasn’t going to have to deal with it, as Tessa was.
“Let me know when you’ve had enough of her,” said Miss Judith,
“and I’ll have her fetched.”
“Thanks, Miss Judith.”
“Au revoir.” The powerful blonde left the cabin and Quentin stud-
ied the new arrival at his leisure. The eyes were blue, the lips were
pink. So were the rather large and beringed nipples. Those rings
were as large as the nose ring but the clitoris ring was considerably
smaller.
“Come up here, girl, and I’ll have a feel of those lovely big knock-
ers of yours,” said Quentin lecherously.
Tessa crawled forward and slid on to the bed. Her breasts swung
pendulously and Quentin’s hands enveloped them, mauling and
squeezing. The girl did not resist, she simply shuddered.
“Mmmm ...” sighed Quentin, “you have got really big boobs for
an eighteen-year-old,” he grinned at the girl. “Are you proud of
them?”
“I ... I suppose I am, M-Master,” came the answer.
“You should be ... mmmm ... lovely ... lovely ...” Quentin went on
mauling and squeezing. “Do those rings hurt?” he asked.
“N-No ... no, Master ... not much ... not now ...” said Tessa.
“But they did when they were first put on you?”
“Y-Yes ... ohh ... yes ... Master ... they did ...”
“What about the one through your clit?”
“That hurt, too,” replied Tessa. “Very much.”
“But now?”
“Not really, Master.” Quentin ran his hand down over the belly
and, with a finger, touched the ring and the clitoris, playing lightly.
“Doesn’t it stop you coming?”
“N-No ... Master ...” Quentin smiled indulgently.
“Well,” he said, “we don’t have to bother about that for the mo-
ment, because I’m not going to start by fucking you.” The girl was
complacent, accepting everything he said. As she must. Quentin
paused. “What I am going to do, is make use of those big boobies.
I’m sure it’s happened to you before.”
Tessa nodded. “Y-yes ... Master ...”
“What are you going to do?” said Quentin, lying back, “is cover
your tits with cold cream. Then you’re going to come back here and
toss me off with them. Right?”
“Yes, Master ...” Quentin grinned happily as Tessa slid off the bed
and hurried to the bathroom, plump, soft bottom bouncing. A lot of
puppy fat on her, he thought, but when she slims down she’ll have a
super figure. As it was, at that moment, he was quite happy with the
puppy fat.
Tessa came back, breasts glistening white with cream. “Good girl,”
smiled Quentin. “I hope to be able to give a good report to your
Overseer.”
“Oh yes ... M-Master ... please ...” Tessa came onto the bed again,
crawling between Quentin’s parted thighs. He was coming to erec-
tion again ... fast ... and feeling deliciously randy. My God, what
lovely big tits ... and how marvellous to be able to make use of them
in this way!
Tessa, holding her breasts at the sides, slid Quentin’s hardness be-
tween her cleft. Then she pressed her breasts together and began to
undulate her torso up and down. To Quentin, it felt absolutely mar-
vellous. He had only had this done to him once before and the it had
not turned out too satisfactorily. This time, he reckoned, it would.
“That’s it, girlie,” he leered, “squeeze hard ... mmm ... they really
are a couple of beauties?” Tessa said nothing, but her look was in-
tent. She was giving off her very best.
“I ... I ... ahh ... hope ... I am p-pleasing ... my M-Master ...”
“So far,” said Quentin. “You are doing quite nicely.” There was a
lovely warm, slippery feeling between the cleft of the breasts. Oh
yes, quite delicious! Soon, Tessa began to undulate her torso faster.
“That’s it, girlie ... mmm ... yes ... feels ... very nice.” Quentin felt his
prick as solid as it could possibly be. This, he thought, is quite an
enjoyable change from actual fucking. I wonder how long I’m going
to make it last? Madame Vesta’s Elixir made him so randy he didn’t
seem to have a great deal of stamina. No matter, he thought content-
edly, I can always go round again!
He was beginning to pant. The lust was beginning to rise.
“Faster ... faster ... g-girl ... squeeze ... more ... more ... aahh ...
yes... that’s good ... m-my girl ...”
Tessa was bouncing herself up and down now, almost frenziedly,
determined to please the fat pig she had been sent to. The thickly-
girthed prick between her breasts revolted her but she had to deal
with it. Fully.
“You ... ahhh ... you know ... what ... I ... hhhhaaahhh ... I’m going
to do ... hhhaaahhhh ... girlie ... yes?”
“I’m going to spunk all over your neck and face, girlie ...
hhhhhaaahhh ... hhhhaaaahhhh ... yes ... that’s what I’m going to
do...”
Grimly, Tessa worked on, whilst Quentin quaked and juddered
beneath her. He was arching up, groaning with licentious delight.
“M-Master ... shoot ... shoot ...” she encouraged.
“Oh wh-what ... super ... t-tits ... ohhhh ... what lovely big tits ...”
Then Quentin suddenly erupted. His semen spurted up over
Tessa’s neck, and chin ... and her face. She was covered in it. But, all
the same, she went on working with her breasts until Quentin had
slaked himself to the full.
It was, to say the least, a splendid performance on the part of the
eighteen-year-old. It was something she loathed doing most of all,
yet she had carried out her duties in exemplary fashion.
Quentin was sighing contentedly. Some experience that. Only an
eighteen-year-old. Lovely ... oh ... lovely. And he was going to fuck
her later.
“Go and get cleaned up, slave,” he ordered drowsily.
“Yes, Master.” Happily Tessa left the bed to get rid of the revolting
consequences of Quentin’s lust. In the bathroom, she washed, dried
and then powdered herself. Tessa was well aware that the evening
was not yet over. She had had to deal with a number of gross mon-
sters like Quentin during the time of her servitude. Always, she
thought, the middle-aged ones were the most disgustingly bestial.
When she came back, Tessa knelt at the end of the bed. Quentin
surveyed her lazily. He wondered what it must be like for a girl to
have to wear rings through her nose, nipples and clitoris. Most hu-
miliating! Did they ever get used to it? Unlikely. It was a constant
reminder of their slave status. You could make a slave girl do any-
thing you liked, reflected Quentin. That was the point of them. A
sudden idea came to him.
 “Show me your backside, girlie,” he said. There was no hesita-
tion. Tessa turned on her knees, thrusting up her hindquarters high,
put her nose to the floor and then parted her thighs. Like her breasts,
Tessa’s buttock cheeks were ample. Big, white three-quarter moons
of soft flesh. They framed a cleft in which nestled a ripe young cunt -
still to be sampled, he said to himself. Mmmm ... I’d like to see that
bottom squirming. And why shouldn’t he? A sudden heat went
through Quentin. He was the Master and, if he wished, he could
make a slave squirm!
He slid off the bed and went to the drawer where he knew some
corrective instruments were kept. He had been advised by one of the
Overseers to use them whenever he wished. So why not? In the drawer
was a strap and a thin cane. Neither were very severe, for obvious
reasons. One didn’t want a guest losing control and doing a lot of
damage. Like he had lost control when he was whipping Melissa,
“You’ve got an excellent bottom, slave,” said Quentin, approach-
ing the girl.
“Th-Thank you ... M-Master ...”
“Very tempting. Too tempting, in fact. I’m afraid I’m going to have
to make it squirm.” There was a little moan from Tessa. “It’s not that
you’ve been naughty. It’s just that a man sometimes likes to make a
plump bottom like yours squirm. Must have happened to you be-
fore, eh?”
“Yes, Master,” answered Tessa in almost a whisper. With her shape,
it seemed to happen all too often to her.
Quentin put the cane down on the bed and stroked the single-
thonged strap. Tessa would have felt much worse than this, he re-
flected. Still, it was nice to be going to do as he was. He placed the
strap over the naked buttocks. “Twelve,” he said. The big nates gave
a little clench of dread. Nice, that.
Thwack!
The strap fell on the right cheek, setting it quivering. Tessa’s breath
was sucked in. A pale pink band appeared.
Thwack!
This time the leather fell on the left cheek. More quivering. An-
other little gasp. Another pink band.
Thwack! Thwack!
Quentin laid on harder, left and right. Tessa squirmed this time,
her big bottom juddering and her gasp was louder. It was a most
satisfying sight. She’ll squirm even more when I give her the cane,
thought Quentin happily. He licked his lips. Lovely to be able to do
this to a shapely eighteen-year-old!
Thwack! Thwack!
As hard as he could. “Oww ... ahhh!” yelped Tessa. Her bottom
twisted left and right, quivering all over. Marvellous!
“I wish I had a really meaty strap to lay across your backside, girl,”
said Quentin thickly. Tessa made no answer. There was just another
clench of the big nates. Six to go.
Thwack! Thwack!
... and, quickly following on ...
Thwack! Thwack!
“Owww ... owww ... oh M-Master ...”
Those four, laid more or less over each other, made Tessa really
squirm. Quentin was quite delighted. “Keep your bottom up, girl ...
right up,” he ordered. The three-quarter moons, now more pink that
white, thrust up higher, the skin tautening.
Thwack! Thwack!
With all his force! The bottom bounced and jerked violently, flesh
juddering. Oh what a sight! To his surprise, though he had so re-
cently been tossed of by Tessa’s tits, Quentin found himself coming
to erection again. He sat down on the end of the bed and gazed at the
blatant nudity before him.
“That hurt, slave?” he enquired.
“Y-Yes ... Master ...”
“The cane will hurt more.” No answer. “You hear me, slave? I
don’t want any dumb insolence, or I’ll report you. Then you’ll get a
REAL caning!”
“Yes, Master,” said Tessa hastily. “I didn’t mean to offend you,
Master.”
“I should hope not,” said Quentin emphatically. With some amuse-
ment, Quentin wondered how many girls would say they didn’t mean
to offend when they were displaying themselves immodestly as Tessa
was. It was she who should be offended! Still, he was living in a
different world.
Quentin picked up the cane and stood up. The cane, though thin,
was very whippy. It would sting nicely. He laid on six strokes, as
hard as he could, in quick succession. Perhaps surprised by this rapid
assault, Tessa threshed down on to the carpet, legs kicking out. Her
hands came back to clasp her writhing bottom.
“OHH ... OOOHH ... OOOHH!” she gasped. Quentin grinned.
“That hurt didn’t it, girl?”
“Yes, Master ... oh yes ...”
“Get your backside up again ... and get it up high.” The hands left
the bottom now striped with six pink, twin-tracked weals a well as
the pink bands. Up came the buttocks, curving taut again. Flesh
flinching with dread. Nice. Summoning his strength, Quentin laid
on six more rapid-fire strokes ... which made Tessa squirm right down
to the floor again. He realised he was now fully in erection.
“Get it up again ... up ... up ... I say!” ordered Quentin thickly.
“Now I’m going to make you squirm for a different reason!”
He knelt and gripped the plump, soft flanks, mounted the girl,
ramming in with deliberate brutality. He heard her gasp and felt her
squirm. Both were genuine enough. This amounted to no more than
simple rape. The girl was not ready for him but, on this occasion, that
mattered not. Rape was rape and had its own rewards.
Thump ... thump! Thump ... thump!
Quentin’s belly pounded to Tessa’s big buttocks, bouncing back
off them.
Ram ... ram! Ram ... ram!
Tessa was jerking and juddering under the onslaught. Writhing
constantly. Only just able to sustain the gross weight that had
mounted her. It was bestial, but this was what this fat pig wanted.
She forced herself to cry out to add to his pleasure.
“I ... hhhaaahh ... I ... I’m ... hhhaaahhh ... am ... going to ...
hhhaaahhhh ... fuck this ... big arse off you ...” panted Quentin. His
UA AA
that hurt

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didn’t it, girl?

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yes, master...
oh yes...

HHH
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. .. .. . M....
MM
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HHH.. . .
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mouth was gaping, he had started to drool. His eyes were bulging.
Absorbed in his sheer animal pleasure, he had forgotten all about
damaging his heart.
Thump ... thump! Thump ... thump!
Faster ... faster ... ever faster! Oh he’d really got that backside on
the move!
Thump ... thump! Thump ... thump! Thump ... thump! Thump ...
thump!
Quentin worked up to a furious crescendo, loudly snorting in pig-
gish fashion, as was his wont. Then he was on the ‘vinegar strokes’,
his limbs quivering uncontrollably. He was gasping and groaning as
the wave of his intense lust broke over him. Then he was jetting and
jetting into the squirming depths.
Jetting and jetting ... until he was weak and drained.
Quentin was moaning softly as he slobbered on the girl’s shoul-
der. She, for her part, felt sick with revulsion. Luckily for her, she
was not. She simply knelt there, enduring the sweating weight. He
really might as well be an actual pig, she thought, her brain cringing.
After too long a time, the weight left her.
She heard the creak of the bed.
And soon after that, she heard snoring.
Tessa remained kneeling with her bottom up high. As she must

When he awoke, Quentin wondered where he was. Then he saw

Tessa’s up-raised hindquarters and became aware. How long had he
been asleep? It could have been hours. It was, in fact, nearly two
hours. He felt exceedingly thirsty. Buck’s Fizz would go down nicely.
Champagne mixed with iced orange juice. He picked up the phone
and ordered some to be sent up.
Idly Quentin examined Tessa’s rear while he waited. What disci-
pline! The girl had been kneeling there all the time he had been sleep-
ing.
A serving girl entered with his order, placing a tray on the bedside
table. She curtsied and left, not so much as glancing at Tessa. “Slave,”
ordered Quentin, “pour us some drinks. Buck’s Fizz. Yes ... you can
have some too. I expect you need it.”
Quentin had never said a truer word. Within a minute, Tessa was
on the bed with him, knocking back the concoction as fast as he was.
The girl drank greedily, as if seeking a quick oblivion. Quentin didn’t
mind. It amused him. He got Tessa to order up another bottle.
“In its own way,” remarked Quentin, “that was a very good fuck.”
“I ... I’m glad you enjoyed it, Master,” said Tessa, already a little
tipsy.
“It was like genuine rape, really,” mused Quentin, “you weren’t
ready for me at all. But it was most, most
satisfactory.”
“I’m so glad,” said Tessa. And she actually forced a smile. Quentin
smiled back. “But I’m sure I could give you a far more enjoyable
fuck than that,” said the girl.
And, ten minutes later, lying on her back with her thighs raised
and splayed, she was doing just that. Quentin much enjoyed the feel
of the big breasts beneath him as he glided in and out of what had
become a hot and juicy cunt. So different from the last ravaging.
There was not doubt at all, relaxed by the alcohol, Tessa was
uninhibitedly giving her all.
For Quentin, in a quite different way, it was another most satisfac-
tory encounter.
 CHAPTER EIGHT

On the following morning, Quentin had a lie in. He had had a late
night playing Gin Rummy with Gustav Heine. He ordered coffee to
be sent up and while he was drinking it the phone rang. It was Miss
Judith.
“Sorry to bother you again, Mr Osman,” she said, “but I wonder if
you could help me out again with Petula.”
Quentin considered momentarily. Despite his exertions with young
Tessa, he felt fully rejuvenated. “Well ... I don’t see why not ...”
“Thanks Mr Osman ... I’ll bring her up right away.”
Thus it was, for the second morning running, the well-made young
slave was presenting herself for Quentin’s attention. As before, Miss
Judith stayed. “I’m afraid this is all rather a bit of a nuisance,” the
Overseer said, “but I really am trying hard to make sure this slave
gets the full ration her Master ordered. Pity we haven’t got more
guests at the moment.”
Quentin smiled faintly. It was really rather bizarre to hear what he
was about to do described as ‘a bit of a nuisance’! At that moment,
Petula was on her knees sucking him into erection. That done, as on
the previous day, he ordered the girl to kneel at the end of the bed,
bottom well presented. “It’s not TOO much of a nuisance,” said
Quentin with a wink at Miss Judith.
“I’m glad to hear it, Mr Osman,” said the Overseer with a faint
smile. Quentin had begun to fuck steadily but unhurriedly; the girl’s
bottom was moving co-operatively with his thrusts. It was most pleas-
ing. Miss Judith’s warning about a really good caning for any ‘lazing’
had obviously worked. “I understand you’re going to have Melissa
as your personal slave for the rest of your stay,” said Miss Judith.
“That’s right ...” Quentin was gliding rhythmically in and out. It
was just a little strange to be chatting at the same time. But then,
there were many strange things aboard the ‘Paradise’. He felt no em-
barrassment. He wondered, however, what Petula thought about
being fucked in such an off-hand manner. Not too flattering!
“I should think she’ll be more enjoyable than this scrubber here,”
said Miss Judith.
“Yes ... I’m sure she will,” replied Quentin. In and out ... in and
out ... in and out ... in and out. The bottom was beginning to wriggle
nicely. Encouragingly, one might say.
“Is she behaving herself?”
“Not too bad ... not too bad at all,” answered Quentin, who was
beginning to breath slightly faster. In fact, he was enjoying a most
satisfying fuck. An excellent way to start what looked like being a
most delightful day.
“I believe she’ll be brought up to you this afternoon some time ...”
“Th-Thanks ... yes ... mmmm ... thanks ...” Quentin was begin-
ning to pant a little. He wished that it could have been possible not
so show his steadily mounting lust. But there was no way out. It
would have been nice to be quite cool and controlled right up to ...
and including ... his climax. But, as it was, Petula was beginning to
feel very good indeed.
Miss Judith sardonically regarded the puffy face getting steadily
heavier with lust; saw the parted, wet lips; heard the breathless gasps
of pleasure. You randy old goat, she said to herself, no point in try-
ing to pretend you aren’t enjoying it. I KNOW! Being a lesbian, she
watched dispassionately ... and with some disgust ... as Quentin
rutted faster and faster to a quick-jerking climax, before slumping
down, moaning softly.
“Thank you, Mr Osman,” she said, after a few moments.
“That ... that’s OK, Miss Judith ...” said Quentin rather breathlessly.
“A ... a pleasure to help you out ...”
“It’s nice to know you enjoyed it,” smiled Miss Judith.
“Yes ... yes ... I did ... quite,” said Quentin. He withdrew from
Petula, stood up and put on his towelling robe. “If tomorrow ...” he
began.
 “Oh great, Mr Osman,” said Miss Judith. “I’ll bring her up here
again. Melissa will be able to watch you in action ... rather than feel
you in action!”
Quentin had, in fact, forgotten that Melissa would be there. But,
then, what did that matter? Miss Judith fastened on Petula’s collar
and led her out of the cabin. The girl, pale-faced and trembling a
little, did not even look at him.
I might as well have been servicing an animal, he thought

In the afternoon, Quentin chatted with Gustav Heine, swam in the

pool, then returned to his cabin. There he lay down and, having taken
another dose of the Elixir, contemplated the past and the future.
Young Kim ... Petula ... big-titted Tessa. All delicious in their own
way.
And Melissa still to come ...
There came a knock on the door. “Enter,” called Quentin.
In came the beautiful, dusky Miss Lara, leading Melissa on a col-
lar and chain. Two beautiful women. One clothed in a clinging white
leotard and high-heeled boots, completely dominant, the other na-
ked and utterly helpless. A superb contrast in life styles.
“Good afternoon, Mr Osman,” smiled Miss Lara, “I have brought
you Melissa.”
Quentin’s nerve ends twitched. What a superb body this auburn-
haired Melissa had. Magnificently shaped, firm and fulsome, yet not
by any means overblown. It was as superb a body as that of Miss
Lara. Yet one was fully available to him, the other not.
“Thank you, Miss Lara,” said Quentin, not rising from his chair.
He noted that Melissa wore no slave rings. “Kindly take off her col-
lar.” Miss Lara did so and Melissa sank submissively to her knees.
Her face was a pale mask of dread and despair ... yet, impossible to
believe almost, there was an element of pride in her features. She
kept her chin defiantly high and looked straight ahead. How unfor-
tunate for such as her, reflected Quentin, that they had such pride
and stubbornness. They suffered far, far more as, step by step, they
were brought to the basest servitude.
Better, surely, to submit fully, sooner?
If one could, of course.
“I have not put any rings on her,” said Miss Lara, “but you may, of
course, do so, if you wish.” Miss Lara handed Quentin a small, leather-
covered box.
“Thank you,” said Quentin gravely. “I’ll think about it. How do
they work?”
“Simple,” said Miss Lara. She took out a ring from the box and
snapped it open. “You pull it apart like that, slip the ends of the
rings through the pierced hole, then snap it back again, shut.”
“I see,” said Quentin, who could not take his eyes off Melissa. His
new possession. Outwardly she appeared calm, but he could sense
the incredible tension within her.
“Show your Master your bottom,” ordered Miss Lara.
Melissa swivelled round and adopted the now familiar posture.
So abject, so immodest, so delightful. There was not a mark on Melis-
sa’s flesh. It was smooth and creamy, silk-like. Quentin gazed at the
pouting, pink cunt-lips presented to him and felt a throb of lust.
His!
“I’ll have her in that corner,” said Quentin, pointing. “Same pos-
ture.”
“Move, girl,” snapped Miss Lara ... and Melissa crawled to the
corner of the cabin which was to the left of the end of Quentin’s bed.
Down went her head, up came her hindquarters, thigh splaying. As
Miss Lara smiled at him, Quentin wondered how she would look in
such an immodest pose. Equally delightful, he was sure. Then he
dismissed the idea. “Is there anything further you require, Mr
Osman?” asked the dusky beauty.
“As a matter of fact, there is,” replied Quentin. He went to the
drawer and took out the slim cane that lay there. “I’m not at all satis-
fied with this cane, I’d like one like I saw you using on Melanie the
other day.”
Miss Lara took the cane and flexed it. “I’m not surprised you’re
not satisfied, Mr Osman,” she said. “This is just a tickler.” All the
same, Quentin recalled how it had made Tessa squirm. “I’ll get you
something meatier ... and more suitable for this splendid arse you
now possess.”
“Thanks, Miss Lara,” Melissa would not be at all pleased at that
news! “Also, I’d like a good-sized dildo.”
“That I’ll also bring you ...”
“Finally, Miss Lara, please get a slave to bring me up a bottle of
brandy, some ice and some soda.”
“Certainly, Mr Osman.” Miss Lara smiled as she left. Still in his
towelling robe, Quentin lay down on the bed and gazed happily at
Melissa’s delicious wares.
“While you are my slave,” he said, “you will always tell the truth.
I won’t be upset by it, but I will be if you don’t. Understood, Melissa?”
“Yes, Master,” answered Melissa in a low voice.
“I may as well tell you how much I enjoyed whipping you ... and
I would enjoy doing so again,” continued Quentin. “Do you still
think I’m a beast?”
There was a momentary pause. “Yes, Master,” came the answer.
Quentin smiled. “Good ... because I am, I’m glad you told the
truth. But, this time, you won’t have to wear the Head Cage.”
A serving slave entered and put down a tray with a bottle of brandy
on it.
“Pour,” ordered Quentin. “Half a tumbler, iced, and top up with
soda.” The slave did so, curtsied and withdrew. Quentin took a strong
swig, feeling the warmth of the spirit. He was going to enjoy getting
rather drunk while he played around with Melissa.
Then Miss Lara returned. She had with her a cane of about twice
the thickness of the one in the drawer and a surprisingly large dildo.
She swished the cane which whistled shrilly. It was obviously very
whippy. Excellent! Quentin saw Melissa’s nates give little twitches at
the sound. Then Miss Lara switched on the vibrator and the dildo
buzzed loudly, juddering powerfully in her hand. Quentin took the
two items and turned off the vibrator. “Thanks,” he said, “that’s fine.”
“Have fun,” said Miss Lara, smiling broadly. Then she withdrew,
and tapped Melissa’s thrusting bottom with the cane.
 “Slave,” he said, “I am going to give you six strokes with this. Just
to impress on you that I am truly your Master. Also, because I shall
enjoy doing so. You will be aware of that, of course?”
“Yes, Master,” answered the girl who was quivering a little but
keeping her bottom well thrust up.
Quentin felt his lust surging. How marvellous to be able to tor-
ment this lovely creature just how and when he liked! He flowed deep
inside. Could anything in the world be more exciting? Apart, per-
haps, from fucking her.
How silkily soft and smooth that skin was as he sawed the supple
rod across it. As yet unmarked. The nates twitched again with antici-
patory dread.
Then Quentin raised the cane high and lashed it down across the
very centre of the girl’s bottom. The cane sprang back, to leave a
vivid twin-tracked weal. Melissa’s auburn head jerked up and back
as a gasping-cry of pain was wrung from her. Her bottom writhed
left and right, juddering up and down as it did so. A quite fascinating
sight!
“Did that hurt, slave?” enquired Quentin, rather unnecessarily.
“Uuuurfff ... y-yes ... Master ...”
“Good,” said Quentin thickly. “And don’t forget, girl, you’ll get
plenty of this if you don’t please me to the very utmost of your abil-
ity.”
He gave the still juddering bottom another full-blooded cut, a lit-
tle lower down. Another gasping cry from Melissa ... another series
of convulsive squirms. Yet still she thrust her bottom high. Well
trained and experienced, thought Quentin. A third stroke whiplashed
down, this time falling a little above the first weal he had raised.
“Ooooww ... OOOOWWWW ... AAAAHHH!” came Melissa’s de-
spairing cry of pain. “M-Mercy ... Master ... oh please h-have mercy...
I ... will s-serve you utterly ...”
Quentin grinned sadistically. It was good to hear this once-proud
beauty pleading.
“Don’t like getting the cane, eh, my girl?”
“N-No ... aaahhh ... no ... M-Master ...”
 Quentin strolled across and finished off his brandy. “Pity,” he said,
“since there are three more strokes still to come.” Melissa moaned as
her nose went down to the floor again.
Sssswweee ... cccrrraacccckkk!
Lower down again. Oh how beautifully she squirmed! How pite-
ously she cried out! It was as exciting as whipping her. Perhaps even
more so now that he had her all to himself.
“How many to come, slave?”
“T-Two ... Master ...”
“That’s right, slave ... but I want your bottom higher.” Up it came,
twitching and quaking with dread. How glad Quentin was that he’d
got a REAL cane to lay on with.
Ssssswwweeee ... cccrrraaccccckkkk!
“Aaaiiieeee ... aaaaahhhhhh ...” Experienced as she was, Melissa
could not withstand the biting agony of a rod like that laid on with
full force. She writhed right down to the floor before forcing herself
to resume her upthrust posture for the last stroke.
Quentin brought it down at the very lowest part of the buttocks,
just where they joined the thighs.
Sssswwwweee ... ccccrrraaaaccckkk!
Melissa shrieked, twisting and kicking wildly. Her hands came
back and clasped urgently to the bright, freshly-raised weals. “Hands
away ... bottom back up,” ordered Quentin at once.
Instantly, the hands were withdrawn; instantly the bottom came
up again. Quentin smiled. It was nice to get such immediate obedi-
ence. He poured himself another stiff brandy and splashed in soda,
My God, this was the life, he said to himself as he drank deep, eyes
on Melissa’s quivering bottom.
“Do you now feel more like my personal slave, girl?” he demanded.
“Yes ... Master ... oh yes ...”
“Good ... good ... now I’ve got a little treat for you, Melissa. Well,
actually, it’s not all that little, as you’ll soon feel. I’m going to stick a
nice vibrating dildo up your cunt ... so as to warm you up ready for
the first fucking you’re going to get from me. Do you like the idea of
that?”
 “N-No ... ooo ... oooh ... noooo ... Master ...” The truth again.
Quentin smiled happily. Then he bent and ran the knob of the dildo
up and down Melissa’s sex-lips, parting them easily. He was grin-
ning lecherously as he thrust the big, mock-penis in. He thrust stead-
ily but surely until the whole of the length was in.
Melissa uttered an ululating, wailing cry and shuddered uncon-
trollably.
“There,” he said, “nice and big, eh?”
“Ahhhh ... yes it ... is ... b-big ...” moaned Melissa.
“Stretches you, eh?”
“Y-Yes ... ohhh ... yes ... Master ...” Quentin turned the cog at the
end of the dildo and it began to buzz and judder quite violently.
“Keep your bottom well up all the time,” said Quentin, going back
to lie on his bed. “That’ll soon get you hot, my girl!”
More brandy. That, as well as the sight of Melissa’s quivering bot-
tom, was making him burn with the fiercest desire. Soon he would
be fucking her ... but he wanted her really juicy first. Quentin took
off his robe and lay there naked, already rigidly rampant. He couldn’t
recall when he had felt a greater urgency for a fuck. He knew it couldn’t
be a long one but that didn’t matter. There were plenty more await-
ing him.
He heard Melissa breathing faster; saw her bottom quivering faster.
“Coming, are you?” asked Quentin
“N-Nearly ... ahhh ... n-nearly ... Master ...”
“Tell me when ...”
Melissa began to pant. Then her bottom began to judder back and
forth. Little gagging cries came out.
“N-Now ... eeeehhh .... aaahhh ... NOW ... NOOOOWWWWW ...
Master ...”
Quentin grinned lecherously. It was a lovely spectacle. The vibra-
tor buzzed on. I’ll let her come again, he thought. It won’t take long.
In fact,it was about three minutes before Melissa was squealing
again. Quentin slid off the bed and walked across the room, his solid
prick swinging before him. He pulled out the dildo, now glistening
with Melissa’s juices. “Make way for the real thing,” he said in a
voice taut with lust.
 Then he knelt, gripping Melissa’s submissive hindquarters. His
piggy eyes were bulging and gleaming.
“H-Here it ... comes ... my beauty ...” he grunted.
Then, with one convulsive lunge, he thrust in ... right to the hilt ...
hearing a most satisfying, gasping-cry from Melissa as he savoured
to the full the liquid-hot, velvet-clinging succulence of her.
Then he began to fuck her with an almost wild abandon.

To be continued

NAKED CARGO is the first book in the famed

‘Julia Saga’. Don’t miss the next in the series.
Out soon!

THE TAMING OF JULIA

by Victor Bruno
Victor Bruno Paul

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1 www.dofantasy.com
 Victor Bruno
Paul

Victor Bruno
www.dofantasy.com

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O IN THIS CO
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