The Slaves of Elizabeth Fale

The Slaves of Elizabeth Fale
Alan McClyde
Table of Contents
The Slaves of Elizabeth Fale..............................................................................................................................1
Alan McClyde..........................................................................................................................................1
CHAPTER ONE......................................................................................................................................3
CHAPTER TWO.....................................................................................................................................6
CHAPTER THREE...............................................................................................................................11
CHAPTER FOUR..................................................................................................................................19
CHAPTER FIVE...................................................................................................................................23
CHAPTER SIX......................................................................................................................................25
CHAPTER SEVEN...............................................................................................................................37
CHAPTER EIGHT................................................................................................................................42
CHAPTER NINE...................................................................................................................................45
CHAPTER TEN....................................................................................................................................50
CHAPTER ELEVEN.............................................................................................................................57
CHAPTER TWELVE............................................................................................................................64
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Alan McClyde
This page copyright © 2009 Olympia Press.
http://www.olympiapress.com
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CHAPTER ONE
Sir Hilary Garner fitted a Turkish cigarette into a long holder, lit it and blew a thoughtful cloud of aromatic
smoke as he contemplated the dark, handsome man sunk in the depths of an easy chair on the other side of the
great open fireplace. Logs blazed cheerfully in the hearth, their flickering fight picking out and accentuating
the livid scar that ran from ear−lobe to chin of Sir Hilary's companion, giving him a startlingly devilish
appearance.
“Well, Howard,” murmured Hilary, “what news of Natia?”
“Oddlyplenty!” Howard Tesker raised the balloon glass to his lips and downed what remained of the
contents. “Fine brandy, that, Hilary,” he commented, hopefully retaining the empty glass.
“I do not pay you for assessments on the quality of my cellar!” snapped Hilary, testily. “What about that
benighted womanor, more precisely what has she done with the fillies I went to all that trouble and expense to
tame and break to the saddle?”
“Well, that's the odd part about it,” Tesker said slowly. “It was easy tracing Natia herselfshe's back in
Cannes as large as life, doing the rounds of all her old hauntsbut what she's done with our womenand her boat
and crew, for that matter is a complete mystery!”
“But surely, you've had her shadowed the whole time? Where does she sleep? Where does she eat? What
sort of sex life does she have? She can't sit around in bars and cafes all the time, holding hands with creeps
who aren't even sure themselves what sex they are! From our brief acquaintance, I got the impression she
would be a highly−sexed little bitchshe must be dong something about that. Whatever it is, you should know
about itI told you to spare no expense in this matter.”
“We know everything she does, from the time she gets up to the time she goes to bed.”
“Well, now I even want to know what she does IN bed! For all we know she could be a lesbian and have
on of those girls chained up in the bedroom for use at night! From now on, Howard, I want a twenty−four
hour watch kept on her. When she makes a move, I want to know about itimmediately, you understand? I'm
going to get that bitchand our fillies backif it costs me a million!”
“We've go to face up to the fact that she may have sold the women by now,” warned Tasker.
“No!” Hilary bounced up out of his chair, ejecting the half−smoked cigarette agitatedly from the holder.
“Nofor several reasons: her father's a millionaire several times over and gives her whatever she wantsshe
doesn't need money; it's only a couple of weeks since she took them oft usshe will have been so thirsty for
revenge for flogging we gave her, she'll have had an orgy of flaying the skins off their backs. They wouldn't
be in any condition to be sold yet.”
“Poor bitches!” grunted Tesker. “But I think that with such beauties they are, she could have sold them
easilywith or without stripes!”
“Perhaps. But there is just one other little point you have overlooked my dear Howard,” purred Sir Hilary,
pausing for effect, dark eyes glittering in firelight as they met Tesker's. “Remember what she said after you
had performed your trick with the lariat and hauled her aboard “The Bizarre”?
Tesker leaned over the side of the chair and put his glass on the floor, temporarily abandoning hope of
having it refilled. As he did so, his mind went back two weeks, to the day they had foiled an attempt by Natia
and her crew to board the “The Bizarre”. As the two sea−gong yachts drew close, Tesker himself had lassooed
the beautiful, but dangerous, owner of the boat named after herself, while one of “The Bizarre's” crew had
fouled her screws with a cargo net to prevent pursuit by the faster craft.
“Wasn't it something about having us flayed and then killing us all?”
“That too,” smiled Hilary. “But I remember asking her what her intentions were had she succeeded in
boarding us.” He chuckled. “She was so mad, she was about ready to explode, even though she looked like a
drowned rat at the timeremember?”
Tesker grinned and nodded. “But what a pair of tits for a rat!”
“Her answer,” went on Hilary, “was that she had intended putting us all to the whipping post and flaying
the skins from our back!”
“Yes, I remember, nowthen you threatened to have her keelhauled!”
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“But this is the point I am trying to make, Howard,” Hilary went on, emphasizing every word. “She was
including all the women!”
“YesI recall Elizabeth Fale being very, very peeved about someone even daring to think of laying a whip
across her tender flesh.”
“Adding that to what we already knew of Natia's reputation, it's my guess that she'll keep the girls for her
own private sportat least for the time being. I think she gets as much kick out of whipping a woman as we do.
Whereas our dear Elizabeth isor professes to bereally only interested in flaying and dominating men, Natia
Daeudiri would be very happy to flog the skin off either sex!”
“Especially the skins of the seven girls she hijacked from us,” added Tesker. “They nearly all had a hand in
her flogging while she was aboard “The Bizarre”. He fingered the scar along his jaw thoughtfully. “Hm, I see
what you mean. But where...”
“Is she keeping them?” Hilary finished for him with a smile. “Well, I think it's a pretty safe bet that she has
them still aboard the 'Natia' and that's why you haven't been able to locate either boat or crewit's probably
cruising around somewhere at sea, waiting for a radio signal from her. She is no doubt in Cannes for a
breather and to attend to the other nefarious business interests she has, after one of the biggest whip orgies
you've ever heard of!”
“Those poor bloody bitches,” murmured Tesker again.
“As you say,” agreed Hilary, although with little feeling. “We should have kept them well whipped and
well riddenin more ways than one! But those Arabs are still savagesthey quite likely have them staked out in
the sun all day to tenderize their skin for flogging at night!” Sir Hilary shook his sleek head and extracted a
gold cigarette case from the pocket of his immaculate maroon−red velvet smoking jacket. “There's another
thing,” he continued, fitting a fresh cigarette into the holder. “Those girls were still wearing their saddles and
all the trappings when they were taken on board the 'Natia'. Hand−tooled leather, hand−made bits and
stirrupsall made to my own specifications. I want 'em all back.” He lit the cigarette and exhaled smoke,
smiling thinly. “Oh, yes,” he said venomously. “I have a lot of reasons for wanting Natia apart from the
pleasure I'm going to get out of lacerating her olive−skinned backside with every instrument of flagellation I
can lay my hands on! The first few lashes I give her will make her previous flogging seem like tender kisses!”
Tesker looked up shrewdly at the spare, lithe figure standing like an uncoiled spring before the hearth,
looking nowhere near his forty−two years.
“And I take it you'll not just be confining yourself to her buttocks this time, eh?” he said softly.
Sir Hilary's lips drew back, white, even teeth gleaming in a tight smile that was more a savage grimace of
unholy anticipation.
“How well you know me, Howard.” Hilary's eyes narrowed introspectively. “Remember how those
luscious breasts of hers stood out with that wet shirt clinging to them like another skin? And those nipples!”
he added in a whisper, almost to himself.
“I also remember how the looked when the shirt was stripped from her,” nodded Tesker, smiling up at
Hilary. “Visualizing how they'll look with stripes laid across them?”
“Imagine preparing her for a whipping, Howard. Pouring her into one of those leather costumes I had
madethe ones with the holes for the breasts and buttocksand then spread−eagling her on the steel rack. Think
of those coffee−and−cream passion fruits with the big dark teats jutting proudly through the openings in the
black, skin−tight leather, silently screaming to be whipped.”
“Not so proud after you have finished with them, I'll be bound!”
“Nor their owner so silent!” returned Hilary. “Howard, if we could get those bloody women backAND
Natia Daeudiri with them, of coursewe'd have an orgy of flagellation that would make what we did on 'The
Bizarre' look like a Sunday−school treat!” Sir Hilary puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette, then continued, “To
make her first flogging really something, I should have her stripped and tied to the mast of the 'Natia', then I'd
flog her in front of her own crew. That would knock some of that fiery spirit out of her. Then, as a final
degradation, I think I should have her held down while one of her own crew fucked her on deck.”
Howard Tesker arched a startled eyebrow up at his chief. Sir Hilary was not usually moved to the use of
four−letter words.
“I doubt if you'd get him to do itremember, she's a princess in her own country.”
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“Oh, he'd do it all right;with a gun at his head!” Hilary paused thoughtfully. “Although, I don't knowI
might even perform that task myself.”
“Task!” exclaimed Tesker.
“She'd never live that down! I'd give her an Arab princess!” grated Hilary.
“Don't you think, though, that it would be a better idea to concentrate on getting Natia herself? If we could
get her out of Cannes and aboard 'The Bizarre', surely, we shouldn't have much difficulty in making her talk?”
“You've broached this before,” replied Hilary with a shrug of impatience. “I don't think so. To begin with,
it's bare−faced kidnapping. Talking girls into going on a cruise, after one had made certain woman out of a
place where she is so well−known, they have no close ties, is one thing, but spiriting a and with God knows
how many minions watching over her, is quite another. Besides, I am not sure we could force her to talk.”
“Not even if we got Elizabeth Fale to work on her for a while?” asked Tesker incautiously.
“Oh, for God's sake, Tesker!” Hilary burst out. “I've forgotten more refinements in the taming of women
than Elizabeth Fale has ever dreamed of! Anyway, her forte is apparently dominating men.” He sneered.
“Who knowsshe may even be an unconscious lesbian! I've yet to hear of any man who's managed to get
between her legsI'm pretty certain that sop Tony Hood wasn't allowed the privilege,” the sneer became a
laugh. “And I think that little Arab would be just the one to find out that the imperious Elizabeth was lesbian
and work on it. Wouldn't we look a pair of idiots if she made her fall for her and got her to change sides!”
“I think that's very doubtful, Hilary,” said Tesker, mildly. “Just remember how annoyed she was at the
mere thought of Natia wanting to whip her. I'll bet she just can't wait to get her hands on that little Arab
princess!”
“Nevertheless, we shall do this my way,” Hilary told him, the sharp bit of authority in his voice. “In any
case, the very fact that Natia IS an Arab would sway me from that course. The Arabs have been torturing each
other since they crawled out of the seaNatia would let us flog her to the bone and die happy, chalking it up as
a victory, knowing she had foiled us.”
“And yet you think you could tame her?”
“Vastly different thing, my dear Howardvastly different. TAME her yes. Daily whippings to various parts
of her lovely body; privations, humiliationssexual and otherwise. Training her to the bridle, keeping her
chained in her stall when not required for whipping or riding; having her washed down like a horse by
lackeys, or given an occasional good scrubbing with a hard brush while she was still sweating after a fast
gallop.” Hilary's face was flushed with the tense emotion engendered by his own thoughts; his eyes were wide
and looking far beyond the man they were apparently directed on. “I should have her attired in all kinds of
dresses and costumes for different occasionsall designed to humiliate. I'd scour the country for highly−sexed
women with a passion for flagellationthe active kind and applied to their own sex. I would rouse them to a
peak of frenzy, arm them with whips and let Natia loose amongst them! I should tame her so well, she would
be saddling herself to be ridden; fetching the whip, stripping and prostrating herself to be whipped. I should
tame her all right tame her so that she would just live to obey me, whether I wanted to ride her, flog her, or
spit on her.” His gaze shortened to take in Howard Tesker again. “A long and involved'though delicious
process, Howard, and one I sincerely hope I shall have the pleasure of taking her through. But for the short
third degree to make her talk? I don't think so. As for lady Elizabeth Fale,” he went on slowly. “I shall have
her in on the party, certainly. I'll let her handle the eight women for a while, just to see how she performs with
them. It should be interesting to observe her dominating her own sex. She has always been at pains to insist
that she does think so. As for lady Elizabeth Fale,” he went on not believe in the flogging of women, but I
wonder...” He smiled wolfishly. “With eight female slaves under her, her reactions may be very differentand
very interesting, we'll see. Afterwards... well, I have a few other little plans for her. Meanwhile, Howard, you
do things my way. Wait until Natia makes a move from Cannes, then followI think you will find she leads you
to her boat and our women.” '“And then?”
“Then, my dear Howard, you are on a five hundred pounds bonusand 'The Bizarre' sails again!”
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CHAPTER TWO
The long, sleek shape of the “Natia” moved serenely along the south−east coast of France. Seagulls
wheeled and swooped, cawing, above the trim craft, while the Arab crew moved lazily about the deck,
attending to the running of the boat. The whole scene was one of peace and tranquillity until one moved below
decks to the after−hold, where a hook−nosed, half−naked Arab lazed and sweated in a chair outside the door.
Inside, dimly illuminated by bulk−head lights, seven beautiful women lolledxxxxxxxxx on this palliasses
strewn about the floor. One or two of them had retained the tattered remnants of filmy panties, others had
parts of ripped dresses wound into loincloths, but most of them were completely naked.
Luscious breasts and full−fleshed buttocks stirred languidly, sweat−filmed with the stifling heat in the
hold.
The spoke little, their expressions hopeless, as they lay waiting for the knew not what. A plump, pretty girl
of no more than seventeen or eighteen crouched on her knees, sobbing quietly, her head pillowed on the
mature, naked breasts of a woman of about thirty, wetting the lush globes of flesh with her tears. The older
woman's arms were round her, comforting the girl, stroking her back, though being careful not to touch the six
bright red weals etched across the pouting cheeks of her bottom.
“There, dear,” whispered Ann Soames, gently rocking. “Don't cry. Soon, this will all be just an awful
nightmare behind uswe're bound to be rescued by someone before long.”
“I wouldn't like to bet on that!” A woman in her mid−twenties sat up a little stiffly. She was naked except
for a loin cloth of wispy silk and her full, luscious white breasts jiggled entrancingly as she moved. Flaming
red hair cascaded heavily down past her shoulders, meeting the start of a series of fading pink stripes that
criss−crossed down her tapering back and disappeared under the silk loincloth knotted low about her wide
hips. She leaned over to put a soothing hand on the sobbing girl's shoulder. “Sorry, Molly, but it would only
make things worse in the long run to build up false hopes.”
“I suppose you're right, Cynthia,” sighed Ann, hopelessly. “But surely, things can't get much worse!”
“They can and they will when that Daeudiri woman gets back.” A full−breasted blonde, completely naked,
turned over onto her stomach, stretching out her shapely legs. She, too, showed a similar pattern of
nearly−healed weals down her back, continuing over her bare, jutting buttocks. “She's only giving us this
respite to allow our skins to heal ready for another dose of the whip.”
“Had she been here, poor Molly would have received more than the six strokes of the cane that she got,
after kicking the shins of that hook−nosed savage outside.” The girl reclining on the palliass next to the
blonde's struggled to her feet, drew herself up and stretched, shaking down her long dark hair and sweeping
back the damp tendrils from her cameo−shaped face. Tall, willowly, with large, high−set breasts and
firmly−rounded bottom, tightly−swathed in a thin strip of transparent silk that did nothing to hide the deep
cleft between the thrusting cheeks at the ear, nor the mass of dark hair covering her plump mons veneris at the
front. “Mary's rightthe only reason we're getting a rest from being whipped incessantly is so that she−devil
will have seven whole skins to work on again.”
“Wish we knew where we were,” muttered another dark−haired girl, sitting up to reveal small, but
beautifully shaped breasts, firm and uptilted with pointed, well−defined nipples.
“We could be erasing down the Thames for all the good it would do us.”
“Not in this heat!” The tall brunette standing up undid the knot at her hip and slipped the wispy piece of
silk from her loins, shaking it out to wipe the perspiration from her body.
“I don't see why you bother with maidenly modesty, Sylvia,” the naked blonde remarked. “Those filthy
Arabs have seen us naked so many times they know what we look like between our thighs better than we do
ourselves.”
“At least it stops the said filthy Arabs' finger probing what we have there!”
“That's a point,” blonde Mary Hawe conceded. “Incidentally, have you noticed they haven't tried that sly
groping they used to indulge in when we were being thrashed nearly every day? Not since that damned Natia
told us she was going ashore for a while.”
“There wasn't anything sly about the handling we got!” growled Ann Soames, her voice thick with disgust.
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She still cradled Molly Andrews in her arms, although the girl had now ceased her sobbing.
“By the way,” put in the beautiful red−head, “I seem to remember her also telling us that we were going to
be used as whores by the crew when we first came aboard, but nothing's happened in that direction.”
“Thank God!” murmured Mary Hawe.
“I don't want to keep reminding you all of the worst, but I think we still have that to come. In fact, I have
the feeling we've got all sorts of dreadful things being cooked up for us.”
“Probably why she's gone ashore,” said the girl in the corner. “Arranging some permanent home for usshe
can't keep us afloat all the time.”
“Butbut surely,” sniffed Molly Andrews, “surely, she isn't going to keep us locked up for the rest of our
lives, flogging and humiliating us with a renewal of sobs. “Hasn't she had her revenge f−for being whipped on
SirSir Hilary's boat? And and I didn't have any hand in that, anyway!”
“That damned Hilary Garner!” exclaimed Ann Soames. “He's the one who got us into this mess. I wish I'd
never heard the name.”
“I wonder if we would have been any better off if we were still in his tender careI think his intention was to
use us as horses and flog the life out of us if we didn't please him.”
“And we all thought we were coming on a pleasure cruise!” said the girl in the corner with an ironic laugh.
“What do you think she'll do with us, Cynthia?” asked Molly, tearfully. “Will she let us go, eventually?”
“I wish I could be so hopeful, dear,” the lovely red−head said sadly. “But going on the facts of Natia
Daeudiri and her crew being Arab and the part of the word we were in when we were transferred to her boat,
it's my guess that we shall eventually be sold as slaves.”
“Oh, God!” choked Molly. “Has everyone gone mad except us seven? All this whipping and flogging
andand those awful saddles that Sir Hilary strapped on us! Why? I don't understand. II know there are certain
things a man likes to do to a woman, but:but I used to think they would be nice thingslike kissing andand
fondling... I used to dream of it happening to me, one day.”
“You've never had a man, have you, sweetie?” asked Ann gently.
Molly shook her head. “II know they put their their things between our legs and that it hurts at first.”
Unconsciously, her hands strayed down over her soft belly to touch the thatch of dark hair at the junction of
her plump, shapely thighs. “But then it gets beautiful, doesn't it?” she went on in a whisper. “II thought that
was what Sir Hilary was going to do to methat's why I didn't really mind when he caned me the first time. It
hurt, but it was sort of exciting, too.”
“I think most women find an occasional mild to moderate whipping an added stimulation when coupled
with sex,” observed Cynthia Margetson, “but cold−blooded floggings and whipping with a complete absence
of sex or even common humanity!” She shivered.
The seventh member of the party awoke and sat up, blinking round sleepily, tossing the dark hair from her
eyes. Young, pretty of face and with a lovely, curvaceous body, she gave evidence of the fact that the whole
party had been well and carefully chosen for the purpose of the original cruse.
“What was that about whipping?” she asked drowsily.
“Nothing you haven't heardand feltbefore, Betty,” sighed the tall, dark girl wiping the sweat from her body.
“I don't know about you, but I don't think I'm going to be able to stand much more of it.” Betty Stevens got
to her feet and unwound the strip of dress material Mary Hawe had given her from out her hips. “When I think
of that terrible lash hitting into my back!” she shuddered. “And I left a cosy job in a shop for this!”
“What about poor Molly?” said Ann.
“At least knew we should probably have our bottoms spanked once in a while, for fun. But this poor little
innocent thought she was signing on as a maid!”
“True, and I'm sorry for hersorry for all of us. None of us expected what we actually got.” She let the
loin−cloth fall at her feet and turned to walk self−consciously toward the bucket placed in the farthest corner
of the hold, while the rest considerately turned their backs.
“You know,” said Mary thoughtfully, “I think I should prefer to be back on board 'The Bizarre' better the
devil you know than the devil you don't know.”
“You'll be flogged and ridden, with one of those fantastic saddles strapped to your back,” murmured
Cynthia.
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“At least Hilary Garner would eventually have taken us back to England.”
“And that's another thing I wouldn't have bet on!” snapped Cynthia. “In fact, now I come to think of it, he
wouldn't have dared to let us loose after what he did to us. You spent most of your time down in Tesker's
cabin, you didn't see half of what went on. The night before we were brought aboard this boat, he had us
tripped and flogged at the masthe had most of us saddled up and we were being ridden round the deck on the
morning Natia took us over. If he had taken us back to England and one of us had talked, his name would
have been mud!”
“It wouldn't have been a name anymore, if I'd had my way,” said Ann Soames grimly. “It would have been
a number! In fact, a few illustrious heads would have rolled if we had got back to England. That old lecher
who talked me into coming on the tripSir Ronald Duveenwould have been one of them for a start. Knowing
him, I guess it would turn into some sort of sexual orgy, I'll admit, but I never expected to have the skin flayed
from my back. And what about your partner, Jane?”
The brunette lying in the corner rose and came over to flop wearily down beside Cynthia, exquisite,
apple−like breasts juddering firmly. “Lord Settle−wood? Yes, although perhaps I should have known better.
I've been acquainted with him for quite a few yearsAND had my behind spanked regularly!” She shook her
head. “But, no, I must say I didn't expect him to back Hilary Garner in what he did to us. At worst, I reckoned
on having a cane laid across my bottom a few timesin the privacy of the cabin.”
“Wonder what they did with the saddles we had on when we were brought across to the 'Natia'?” Betty
Stevens returned to the group, patting with her loin−cloth the glistening droplets clinging to the wispy dark
curls between her thighs.
“Thrown them overboard, I hope!” snapped Jane Brelton, fervently. “It's bad enough being...”
“Listen!” hissed Ann Soames. “The engines have stopped.”
All seven girls sat tensed in the sudden silence and all forward movements ceased to be replaced by a
gentle rocking motion.
“Wish they had portholes down here,” said one. “At least we'd be able to see if we were in port.”
Presently, they heard voices and the door opened to admit two of the Arab crew, one armed with a pistol
the other with a coiled whip. By shoves and gestures, the women were herded out of the hold and up the
companionway, to be lined up on deck in the broiling sun.
They were paraded on the port side and saw a powerful motor launch pulling away toward the long, low
coastline some ten miles distant.
“Remove those rags from your backsides and throw them over the side!”
The strident female voice and accented English brought all seven girls' heads jerking sharply round in
unison. Several of them groaned and there was a stifled sob from Molly, as they beheld the olive−skinned
woman standing at the top of the steps leading up to the wheelhouse who stood erect as she surveyed her
beautiful, but bedraggled, captives. Her blue black hair was unbound and flowing gently in the slight breeze,
framing her oval, delicately−boned face, marred, somewhat, by the sneer that played about the full red lips.
She wore a black shirt which clung tightly to her upper body, accentuating the round, jutting breasts and
clearly defining the hard little buttons of her nipples. A white skirt depended from her flaring hips, outlining
the rounded columns of her full−fleshed thighs, and ended a few inches above the dimpled knees. Calf−fitting
Russian boots in crimson kid leather matched the crimson silk scarf that fluttered about her neck, cowboy
style. A short, plaited leather whip, hanging by a loop from her wrist, completed the ensemble.
Slowly, she descended the steps as the girls fumbled with the knots on their brief loin−cloths or stripped
tattered panties down their legs. She stood at the end of the line, idly flicking the whip, her expression
unreadable, as she watched them move forward to toss the bits of cloth over the side.
“Now get down on your hands and knees!” she rapped, making Betty Stevens, who stood nearest to her,
jump as she cracked the whip viciously close to her pouting bottom−cheeks. “Quickly, now!”
Submissively, the naked women dropped to hands and knees on the deck, keeping their thighs pressed
tightly together to conceal the last intimate secret of femininity left to them from the eyes of the watching
Arab crew.
Smiling at the abject display of white female flesh, Natia walked slowly down the fine, bending to run her
hand over a perspiring, faintly−striped back, or the ripe hemispheres of a upthrust bottom. Molly gave a
8
startled yelp as the tip of Natia's whip flicked at the dividing fine of her close−pressed thighs, just below the
overhang of her buttocks.
“You,” grated Natia, making the girl groan as she ran her fingers roughly over her freshly−wealed bottom.
“How many strokes?”
“S−six,” muttered Molly, clenching the muscles of her behind in expectation of more punishment.
“Six what? And how are you supposed to address me?” raged Natia, slashing the whip furiously down
across the defenseless backside.
Molly screamed as the lash hit into her already desperately sore bottom. “S−six w−with thethe cane,
P−Princess!” she choked, her thighs splaying open and shut, haunches wagging from side to side with the
pain. Darkly−shaded softness of the unfortunate girl's sex as she writhed on the deck before Natia.
“Given to you by whom?” went on Natia.
“Thethe captain,” sobbed Molly, her tears dripping to the deck as she crouched with bent head.
“For what?”
“Forfor kicking thethe guard inin the shins.”
“You were lucky, my fiery little serving−girl were it not for the fact that I ordered a period of rest from the
more severe punishment of the whip, you would have been put to the post and flogged until you fainted!”
“Natia walked on to the end of the row of bowed backs and naked bottoms, making Cynthia, whose last
whipping had descended half−way down the backs of her thighs, he flat with open legs for her inspection,
causing more excitement amongst the crew as she felt at the tender softness between the lovely tapering
thighs, high up near the reddish down of her crotch. Cynthia squirmed in shame as knowing fingers briefly
stroked upward along the closed, velvety lips of her exposed vulva.
“All righton your feet!” Natia commanded, walking round to stand in front of the parade of shamed naked
beauties. “Your skins are healing well,” she announced, leaning forward to examine a fading wavy line of
pinkness that curved and plunged across the mouth−watering hillocks of Ann Soames lovely breasts. “Very
well indeed.” She stroked a hand across the soft, quivering belly of Betty Stevens, where the lash had curled
about her waist during an earlier whipping. “That is good,” she went on. “It is good because now I shall be
able to have a little more sport with you and have nice white skins to work on before handing you over to your
new masters in about a week's time.”
“New masters?” Jane Brelton queried nervously. “What are you going to do with userPrincess?”
“You have to be sold as slavesI have already arranged for a few prospective buyers. In the meantime, you
are gong to be given a little more training in humility and how white female slaves should behave toward their
Eastern masters.”
“But, surelyuhPrincess,” the tanned willowy Sylvia Dancus spoke up boldly. “This is all so unfair. Hilary
Garner and his friends are the ones you should want to get even withwe were treated as badly as you were
aboard 'The Bizarre'. We were whipped and ridden and...”
“Had a hand in thrashing and insults that were inflicted on me!” Natia cut in.
“To a very minor degree,” returned Sylvia coolly. “And, anyway, you'd intended having US whipped
before you had even met us, for some strange reason. “Sylvia shook her head in exasperation as her
companions looked on in worried awe. “I'm afraid I don't understand the Eastern thought processes.”
“I'm going to do my best to teach you,” Natia's voice was low and venomous as she deliberately took one
of Sylvia's prominent nipples between thumb and forefinger and twisted the tender bud viciously.
Sylvia yelped with pain and staggered back, both hands going up to nurse the injured breast, as her eyes
filled with hot tears.
“As for Hilary Garner and his friendsmore especially that woman they call Lady FaleI shall catch up with
them one day.” She smiled thinly at the cowed faces before. “In the meanwhile, I have you to play with! You
will shortly be taken to my headquarters ashore, where I think you will find it quite as, shall we say,
interesting as your Hilary Garner's punishment room on 'The Bizarre'. Now you will be taken below and put in
irons; I shall also have you gagged in case you have any stupid ideas of shouting for help when we put
ashore.”
She gestured imperiously to four crewman lounging close by, their eyes gloating on the voluptuous array
of ripe, female flesh. They came forward eagerly as she issued her instructions in Arabic on what was to be
9
done with the women. Her eyes glittered strangely as she watched the juddering buttocks and thighs of her
naked captives, their heads bowed dejectedly, disappearing down the companionway. When the last had been
led below, she made her way to the wheelhouse to confer with the captain. Shortly thereafter, the “Natia”
turned hard to port, diesel engines humming powerfully, and headed for land.
10
CHAPTER THREE
A fire blazed in the hearth of the great dining hall of Chesham Manor, country seat of Sir Hilary Garner;
the long Jacobean oak table was elegantly set for two people, one at either end, silverware glinting in the light.
A tall, supple woman in her late twenties strode impatiently up and down before the hearth, her
panther−like gait made even more striking by her general appearance. Gleaming, raven−black hair was drawn
severely back behind her tiny, slightly pointed ears. Slim; dark eyebrows arched upwards above glittering
dark eyes. Her face could be described as beautiful but for a certain hardness about the mouth, now set in a
grim, angry red line. A shimmering black sheath of a dress clung to her of parity ridge curving up over her
round, melon−slender body like a second skin, showing the wide V like buttocks and the pencil−slim
suspenders lying along the strong thighs, which threatened to rip the tight skirt with every long stride she
took. Small, hard breasts strained upwards and outwards against the material, their rounded tops thrusting
snowily above the low neckline.
She stopped her pacing at a side−table laden with glasses and decantors, poured herself a drink and went
back to the fireplace to tug strenuously on a tasseled velvet bell−pull.
“Madam rang?”
“Madame rang!” she turned to glare at the impassive face of the butler. “Will you remind your master that
Lady Fale is here, that he invited her to dinner and that she has been here for almost half an hour? Will you
further remind him that I am not accustomed to being kept waiting by any man and that if he doesn't put in an
appearance very soon, he will be dining alone!”
“As you wish, madam.” The butler withdrew as unobtrusively as he had entered and without a change of
expression, as all good butlers should. Unhurriedly, he crossed the hall and mounted the broad, curving
staircase to the first floor, turning with an almost military precision towards the west wing at the top. As he
lifted a hand to tap at one of the double doors of Sir Hilary's bedroom, a high−pitched, feminine sound, like a
cross between a sob and a giggle floated through. He paused, mouth tightening only the barest fraction, one
grey eyebrow twitching with what could have been either disapproval or envy, then he rapped with just the
right amount of force for the noise to rise above whatever activity might be going on within.
The door opened a few inches to reveal Sir Hilary, clad only in vest and underpants, his face showing his
annoyance at the intrusion.
“What the devil d'you want?” he snapped.
“Lady Fale, Sir Hilary, she'sah” He gave a well−schooled cough, hand at just the right angle before his
mouth. “She appears to be getting a little restless, sir.”
Hilary grinned. “If I know her, she's hopping mad! Let her wait a little longerthe change will do her good!”
“She did say, sir, that she might have to leave...”
“I could make a fair guess at what she said,” Hilary cut in impatiently. “Tell her I'm dressing andyes, that'll
give me a little more time to er attend to a certain little matter I have on hand tell her I then have to make a
long−distance phone call and hope to greet her with some strangely interesting news. That should hold her for
a while. Don't forget that wording, George: “Strangely interesting newsfor her!' ”
“Very good, Sir Hilary.” George bowed and retired.
Hilary closed the door and turned eagerly towards the bed, where stood a plump, pretty girl, her expression
half fearful, half excited. She was stripped to her under−things, a black silk dress, white apron and cap thrown
across the end of the wide four−poster bed.
He moved closer and stood regarding her for a long moment, feasting his eyes on the lush bundle of young
femininity. She stood looking back at him apprehensively, her arms folded under her breasts, which seemed to
spill out like two great creamy beach−balls in a pink sling, the strip of a bra hardly hiding even the colour of
the bulging spheres and accentuating the nipples. Tiny pink panties, frilly−edged round the legs, were pitifully
inadequate for the job of covering the huge, cuddle−some masses of her buttocks, and crisply curling dark
hairs peeped out on either side of the wispy nylon stretched taut over her pouting mount.
“Well, my little beauty,” Hilary said thickly, moving over to the bedside table. “You know why you are
here?”
11
“Yes, sir−Ithink so.”
“You aren't sure? I told you to report to me for what reason? Tell me!”
“Forfor punishment, sir,” murmured the girl hesitantly.
“Exactly. And, by the terms of the agreement on which I hired you as a maid, you know what form that
punishment is to take?”
“Thethe cane, sir,” whispered the girl, miserably.
“What else!” snapped Hilary. “Why did you think I ordered you to remove your dress?”
The girl blushed, but made no reply, as Hilary pulled open a drawer in the bedside table and took out a
long, slim cane, smiling thinly as she flinched and averted her eyes.
“Now, Joan,” he said softly, “I want you to remove your knickers.”
“She turned fearful eyes on him. “Oh, sir, must I?”
He swished the cane through the air, making the girl jump as it whistled down behind her, the wind of its
passage fanning her scantily−clad bottom.
“You agreed when you were hired to accept all punishments from me whenever I considered them merited,
in return for the high wages I am paying you.”
“Yes, sir, and I'll keep to the bargain. But must I take my knickers off? Couldn't I be caned over them, sir?
They're very thin, and...”
“How old are you, Joan?” he interrupted.
“Nineteen, sir.”
“Then you are too old for all this modest school girl nonsense!”
Hilary looked at the cringing girl, a raging desire burning through him to rip the flimsy panties from her
hips and lash a whip into those big, tempting buttocks, then to turn her over onto her scalding bottom and
plunge between the plump thighs, penetrating deep into the heart of her soft, wet loveliness.
But this was England and the girl's parents live−din the village scarcely five miles away. He could not
allow his passions to have the full rein he had been able to when on board “The Bizarre”. The former was
outthe girl would put a limit to the amount of punishment as she was prepared to take, despite the princely
salary. The latter? He would see.
“Do as you are told, Joan,” he said evenly. “Take your knickers right off and bend over the end of the bed.”
She cast him one pleading look, but already her arms had unfolded and her hands were straying down
towards the waistband of the panties, though too slowly for Hilary's liking.
“At once!” he rapped.
“Y−yes, sir.”
Trembling fingers hooked into the elastic waist, arms straightening to force the tiny knickers down over
broad hip? and jutting bottom. They were still stretched impossibly tight across the thickness of her juddering
thighs and she had to force them all the way down to her dimpled knees, where, with an elegant little jiggle of
her full−calved legs, the panties dropped to her feet, whispering against the back nylon of her stockings.
“Hilary walked round her as she stood with her hands crossed demurely over the hair at the base of her
stomach, her eyes downcast. The only covering left to her now were the strained brassiere, high−heeled shoes
of black patent leather and the black nylon stockings, held taut by a black suspender−belt which was really
nothing more than series of narrow, frilly straps, two of them dissecting the snowy cheeks of her bottom.
“You will have to remove that suspender−belt also,” Hilary almost croaked, his tongue thick in a dry
mouth. “It will impede the application of the cane.” He kept behind her, not yet wanting her to see the bulge
that rose urgently below his belly, pushing out the underpants. Later, perhaps.
Hesitantly, the maid bent, fingers starting a fumble at the catch of one suspender−strap.
“I
haven't time to wait for thattake the whole thing down!”
With what sounded like a stifled groan, she straightened and began a new struggle with the tight elastic belt
to get it below her bottom. When it was clinging about her thighs at the tops of her stockings, Hilary thrust the
12
cane between her legs, arresting its in its downward progress.
“That's far enough,” he snapped. “Now go and bed over the bottom of the bed.”
His eyes followed her, gloating on the heavy shudder of bared thighs and bottom, as she hobbled to the end
of the bed. Her hands were once more crossed in front of her pubis as she turned to look at him, her wide blue
eyes glistening with tears.
“Lay your hips on the edge and bend over, so that your upper body is resting on the bed,” he instructed.
“Stretch your arms well out and clasp your hands together.”
With a little sob, the girl obeyed him, pressing her hips against the edge of the bed and bending to rest the
softness of her upper body on the covers; stretching out her plump white arms, she clasped her hands, keeping
her shamed face turned towards the opposite side of the bed from which he stood. Thus she lay, silently
awaiting her punishment.
“W−what is my−my punishment, sirII...” she choked, getting her voice under control with difficulty. “II
meanhow many stroked am I to to receive?”
“As this is the first time I have had to chastise you, I am going to be lenient.” Hilary paused, having
difficulty in controlling his voice as he looked down at the delectable flesh of the maid's naked buttocks,
spread abjectly before him, the deep, brownish−pink chasm between the two globes slightly parted. “I shall
give you six strokes. You agree you deserve this punishmentthat you should be caned?”
There was a long silence before he heard her whisper: “Yes, sir.”
Without any further indulgence in the preliminaries he loved so well, Hilary measured his distance from
the area of punishment and lifted the cane.
The slim, wicked malacca thrummed down to land with a vicious splatt! against the soft flesh, biting into it
and etching a line of hot agony across the centre of the palpitating spheres.
The girl gave a choked cry, her near−naked body writhing in torment as a purple−red stripe appeared on
the magnificent bottom, spanning both cheeks.
Again, the cane rose and fell, cracking like a pistol shot, raising another weal not half−an−inch below the
first. The girl squealed, shapely nyloned legs kicking madly behind her. Hilary paused for several seconds to
admire the shaking, jerking loveliness of the seared bottom−flesh before continuing the punishment.
The third stroke was the most vicious of all, lashing into the softness of the pouting under−cheeks, just
above the crease twixt thighs and bottom. Joan's head jerked up, her back arching, as her mouth opened wide
to emit the hoarse scream that bubbled from her throat. Her thighs splayed, to be snapped together again by
the elastic garter−belt, as her lovely wealed bottom jerked frantically up and down, hips slamming against the
edge of the bed.
Her control almost broke and her hands started to go to the protection of her defenseless buttocks. Then her
body tensed, her hands went back slowly to be clasped tightly before her and she pressed herself flat on the
bed in submission, face pushed into the covers to stifle her sobs of pain.
Hilary smiled as he watched her, waiting until some of the tenseness had gone from her striped
bottom−cheeks and her only movement was the convulsive heaving of her back. No attempt to escape. No
pleading. Here was a girl worthy of her salt!
The cane rose again to flash down and explode on the trembling mounds of red−streaked flesh, right across
the crown of the buttocks, throwing them into fresh, quivering contortions of fiery pain.
Her shriek was muffled as she ground her mouth into the bedclothes, fingers twisting into the damask silk
cover. Her pain−wracked bottom jumped and shuddered as she writhed from side to side, flashing high heels
beating a tattoo on the floor as she fought to control herself and absorb the pain. But, somehow, the brave girl
managed to remain in position, keeping her naked bottom thrust out for the rest of her punishment.
Hilary administered the last two strokes of the girl's thrashing with only moderate force, keeping them
high, so as not to cross any of the other four weals.
Joan held herself down rigidly against the bed, knuckles white as she clutched the bedcovers, her thighs
pressed tightly together. Her sobbing continued, though muffled, breaking into a sharp cry only as her body
jerked under the two final strokes.
When it was over, the girl lay where she was, sobbing quietly, her beautiful naked bottom, an overall pink
now, etched with six neatly−laid stripes of a dull, bluish−red. Hilary threw the came down beside her on the
13
bed and watched her for a while, wishing her thighs were farther apart for his eyes to penetrate beyond that
darkly−shaded division directly below the cleft of her buttocks.
His forehead was beaded with sweat and he was breathing heavily, though with emotion rather than
exertion. The bulge under his pants was huge, now, the pent−up fury of his desire a ranging thirst that could
only be quenched in the clinging wetness between those soft, quivering thighs, rising plump and
creamy−white above the blackness of stockings and suspender−belt. He had to do something about it, and,
with another glance at the clock, he decided to risk both the girl and Lady Elizabeth Fale walking out.
The maid had started to push herself stiffly upright, groaning as numbed muscles flexed and tugged on the
taut, burning skin of her bottom. Quickly, he pressed her down again, his clammy hands tingling on the satin
smoothness of her back.
“Stay there a while,” he told her, voice catching in his throat as he bent low over her bottom and smelt her
woman smell. “I'll fetch something to cool your bottom.”
Obediently, she remained in her whipping position, while Hilary soaked a flannel in cold water at the basin
and came back to the bed with it. Putting the flannel down, he pulled off her black court−shoes, then reached
up to grasp stockings and suspender−belt and draw them down her lovely white legs.
There came a little gasp of protest and she leaned up on her elbows, twisting her head to see what he was
about. By this time, Hilary had the stockings and belt down to the full, rounded calves.
“Oh, sirp−please don't to that;mymy punishment is over, isn't it?”
“Yes, Joan, your punishment is over,” he assured her. “And I must say you took the six strokes rather well.
Have you ever been caned before?”
“No, sir,” she whispered, her face wet with tears. “Th−that isnot since I wa−was about t−twelve years old.”
“Lift one leg.” The leg lifted and Hilary quickly whipped the stocking−belt and stocking from her foot.
“Now the other.”
Automatically, she started to obey, then the foot was pressed hard to the floor again. Hilary sighed. Things
had gone a little too far, his lust for her had risen too high for him to draw back now. If he had to wrench
those lovely legs apart, tie each ankle to a bed−post and rape her, he was going to have her. He looked up
along the backs of her lush thighs, at the gorgeous reddened bottom jutting above them and almost had an
attack of blood−pressure.
Grasping the recalcitrant leg firmly under the soft calf, he forcibly lifted it from the floor and dragged
stocking and suspender−belt from the foot.
Hilary picked up the damp flannel and spread it carefully over her cane−wealed buttocks. Even the low
moan and the hiss of her breath as cold met fiery heat fanned the flame of his lust for her.
Quickly, he slipped out of his vest and pants behind her, letting the hard fleshy shaft of his manhood spring
up almost parallel with his belly in full erection.
“Feel better?” he asked her shakily.
“A little better, sir,” muttered the girl, head resting on her arms.
“Well, hold stillI'm going to turn the cloth over, now.”
He raised the flannel, holding it motionless for a delicious moment, to gaze down on the lovely prone
body, naked, now, except for the skimpy pink bra. Soon, that would be gone from her and she would be his.
He turned the flannel and replaced it on her bottom, leaving one hand on a lovely flank to stroke slowly and
caressingly upwards, marveling at the smooth texture of the warm flesh. The girl shivered, but made no
protest, although her body tensed perceptibly as his hand moved inwards across her back, fingers resting
lightly on the strap of her bra.
Keeping the hand on her back, Hilary moved closer to her, his eyes on the two tiny buttons of the
bra−strap.
He was poised now, to strike; his hands moved a little higher up her back, fingers curling under the strap of
the brassiere.
“Sirplease...”
“Feeling better now?” he cut in smoothly on the frightened whisper. “Bottom not smarting quite so much?”
“But this time, she was not to be sidetracked. “Please, sir, don't...” She started to struggle, pushing herself
up on her hands. “Please let me go!” Her voice had gone shrill with sudden alarm.
14
“Not yet, you gorgeous little bitch!” panted Hilary, ripping the strap of the bra apart and leaning on her
back to hold her down.
She shrieked and struggled, legs kicking, whipping Hilary's lust to white heat with the squirming of her
lovely naked body. The flannel fell to the floor, adding a beautiful, jiggling red bottom to the delicious
spectacle. He pressed his hand down on the hot flesh to still her, then completely forgot the purpose of the
move as her legs splayed open, and slid the hand on down to slip between the backs of her plump thighs. She
shrieked again, her hips frantically jerking from side to side in a futile effort to dislodge the hand that closed
over the fleshy softness of her vulva.
“Bloody hell! You're as randy as a bitch in heat!” Hilary pressed his fingers into the slippery warmth,
probing for and finding the fleshy button of an erect clitoris.
Still holding her face down, he pulled his hand from between her thighs, his fingers slimy with her sex
secretions.
“Sobeing caned makes you sexy, eh?” he mused, sniffing the strong, erotic odour.
“Nono,” she sobbed, lovely bottom going into mad contortions as she tried to use her legs as a lever to
twist away from him.
Hilary knelt up on the bed beside her, then removed his weight from her back suddenly. With a sob of
relief, she twisted away from him. Her relief was very short−lived, however, for that was exactly what he had
expected her to do. As she turned onto her back to roll away, the front of her body was exposed to him, legs
asplay, leaving her momentarily defenceless.
He was on her immediately. With one sharp pull, the bra was ripped from her, baring her luscious breasts,
aureolae like two ripe logan berries. Then she was rendered helpless again, as he flung his weight on top of
her and gripped her wrists, pinning them down to the bed, so that her arms were stretched out on either side of
her.
She twisted her tear−wet face to one side, biting on a full underlip as he squirmed over to straddle her
wide, child−bearing hips, his rampant penis throbbing hotly against her soft, quivering belly.
He started to slide lower down her body, getting another delicious thrill as her crisp pubic hair scraped
delicately against his testicles. She bucked, her thighs coming up to thump into his back in a desperate attempt
to throw him. But Hilary was far too experienced a rider of frisky filliesespecially the two−legged kind (either
saddled or unsaddled)to be caught napping. He dug his knees into her jerking flanks, reared up with her and
sat down heavily on her stomach, winding her.
A quick glance behind him as she lay gasping for breath showed her thighs spread wide, leaving her grotto
unguarded. With a swift rolling motion, he was between her thighs, feet planted firmly on the floor.
As she felt the hard glans of his penis press against the soft, sensitive labia, she groaned in defeat, knowing
she was lost. He felt her body relax, all resistance gone.
Spreading his knees to hold her thighs apart, he risked letting go of her wrists for a glimpse of the female
loveliness he was about to enter. She lay, quiet and unmoving, looking up at him now, as he straightened to
gaze down at what lay below the thick mass of dark pubic hair.
The long, pink gash lay open, glistening with wetness, the thick lips folded back like an open wound
between her milky thighs; her clitoris, a tiny sliver of pin flesh, peeped out moistly from under the hood
formed at the apex where the lips joined. She jumped and gave a little gasp as he touched it with a fingertip,
but mate no objection.
“You want it, don't you, you sexy little wench!”
She closed her eyes without answering and he lowered himself onto her, his hands gliding up her body to
cover the ripe, stiff−nippled breasts. Warm and silky, he found a sensual delight in caressing them, rotating
his palms over the hot, pulsing teats.
“Tell me, Joan,” he said huskily, his mouth very close to hers. “Are you a virgin?”
Her eyes opened to gaze curiously into his. Her face was flushed with her struggles, but he could have
sworn the colour deepened as she whispered softly.
“No, sir.”
“The gardener's boy I caught you kissing this morninghas he had you?”
“Oh, no, sir!” She shook her head violently. “And I really wasn't to blame for thathe jumped out on me and
15
started to kiss me before I knew what was happening. I took the punishment because...”
“That's enough!” snapped Hilary, managing to infuse a little harshness into his voice.
“Oh, sir,” she whispered again, turning her head away.
He moved lower on her resilient body, this thick hard weapon gliding down over her well−haired mount to
slip back between her thighs. She tensed again, with a quick intake of breath, copied almost exactly by Hilary,
as his bulbous knob slid down her wet furrow, to stop, twitching, at her hot little entrance.
He knew by her rampant clitoris, the slippery wetness between her thighs and the condition of her nipples,
that her body, if not her mind, cried out for the relief of orgasm, evident, he recalled with considerable
satisfaction, since the end of her caning.
He pressed down on her, flattening her big warm breasts to feel the heat of their stiff crests burning into his
chest. He increased the downward pressure of his hips, until he felt the tiny muscles round her vaginal
opening begin to give a little. The girl was breathing heavily, her fingers gripping the bedclothes and he
paused, smiling. She was bracing herself for his entry. She was submitting. No further problems. However, as
far as Hilary was concerned, a woman not only had to be SEEN to be submissiveshe also had to be HEARD to
be submissive!
“Which is it to be, my sweet?” he murmured, his lips at the side of her trembling mouth. “Ten hard strokes
across that gorgeous bottomor ten pounds in your purse?”
“Oh, sirII...”
“Answer me!” he snapped. “Say 'I want ten hard strokes across my gorgeous bottom for lying', or 'I want
ten pounds in my purse for a fucking'!”
“Please don't make me say that, sir,” she whispered, although she no longer sounded hesitant. “Itit makes
me sound likelike a...”
“A whore?” breathed Hilary, almost losing control of himself as she shifted her smarting bottom and his
knob slipped against the mushy wetness of her. “Go on,” he hissed urgently. “Say it!”
There was a long pause, then came her halting whisper, “II want ten−ten... Oh, I can't!” she ended on a sob.
Then, while Hilary was still thinking of a way to surmount her modest reticence, she turned her head to
look up at him. Soft arms wound about his neck, softer thighs moved on either side of his hips as he lifted her
legs to rest her feet on the edge of the bed. The thighs splayed outwards and her loins lifted, forcing the glans
of his penis more tightly against the entrance of her vagina. Drawing his head down she gave him her parted
lips and with a little upward jerk of her hips she took the whole of his knob inside her, the muscles closing
tightly round under the flange.
The girl moaned softly while Hilary's senses swam. The wet, suctioning heat of her was too much for him,
and digging his toes into the thick carpet, he rammed his bone−hard cock all the way up her. She cried out
with a mixture of pain and pleasure as the formidable prick tore into her, filling her, stretching the tender,
sensitive walls of her vagina to the limit.
Hilary gasped, forcing himself to remain quiescent, lying on her, in her, possessing her, not daring to move
lest the seething cauldron that was his loins should boil over and drain the ecstasy of the moment in one short,
blinding flash, leaving no time to savour, as a woman should be savoured, especially a first conquest. For
Hilary to experience the supreme satisfaction, even the woman's orgasmic ecstasy should be savoured,
whether she attained it eagerly and joyously, or reluctantly and in humiliation, when she could no longer
control the inner functions of her own body.
Divining his emotions, the girl lay perfectly still beneath him, drawing her head back a little so that their
lips were just short of touching. She studied the slightly sallow face, with its hairline moustache below the
thin, straight nose studied it as a woman studies the face of a man with whom she is sharing the ultimate
intimacy possible between the sexes, as though trying to see beyond the mask shown to the rest of the world,
to find out what prompts his actions when alone with a naked woman, whether he treats her with love and
tenderness, or savage brutality.
Then she felt the pulsing rod of flesh within her, and her thoughts flew back to the basics. Her arms
tightened around his neck, her legs locked over the backs of his thighs and her loins heaved upwards to try
and get him farther into her belly, as he body took command.
Hilary grunted and drew back until only his knob remained inside her. He had recovered his control by
16
now and could concentrate all his senses on the lovelyand now willingbody of the naked girl under him. She
held herself up to him, bottom well clear of the bed, waiting for his thrust, belly taut and braced ready to bear
his weight.
Both sobbed with lust as he lunged down and his prick surged back again and Joan pressed her sore bottom
into the bed, this time gauging his forceful thrust exactly and rearing to meet it with equal enthusiasm. Each
time he drove into her, she clung to him more and more tightly, her mouth glued to his and open for his
probing tongue.
He paused half−way through the encounter. Her vagina contracted spasmodically about his great throbbing
pole inside her in a sort of off−beat answer to his throbs. She could feel the fathering storm of climax in her
loins, fluttering in her belly, tingling through her breasts and nipples, pounding in her temples.
With a deep groan of longing, she jabbed her hips up savagely squirming against him to grind her hot
nipples into his chest, hurting herself by rubbing her whipped bottom deliberately into the bedcovers as she
pulled back to heave upwards again.
She carried Hilary on the crest of her passion; her lush, wriggling body, her cushioning breasts, her hot,
demanding mouth the odour of her femininity her sweet breath and agile tongue and, most of all, the hot,
goading sheath of slime that sucked and clung round his prick, pulsing, caressing, devouring, was more than
flesh and blood could endure.
Gripping each other fingernails scraping and digging, they rocked madly on the bed, the man thrusting
brutally, the woman accepting gladly, holding her softness open to him. The speed of the thrusts he pounded
into her mounted rapidly and Joan accelerated the rebound of her up−heaving loins to match him.
“Holdhold my b−bottom,” she suddenly moaned breathlessly. “Hurt me!” Her voice ended on a sharp,
keening note of urgency, hips bucking madly and out of kilter with his strokes.
Letting her have all his weight, he slid his hands down her back and dug his fingers savagely into her hot,
jerking buttocks, grabbing two handsful of soft, tenderized flesh.
She yelled, her body arching tautly for one timeless moment, then she was moaning and sobbing brokenly,
shaking and jerking in his arms as the powerful orgasm hit her.
Only the fraction of a second was allowed Hilary to savour the girl's sexual climax, to contemplate the
expression of mingled pain and heavenly ecstasy on her face, for, with the heat of her inner body contorting
round his penis, his own erotic bomb exploded, mushrooming up through his body, dimming his sight and
dulling his brain, as the hot, slimy fall−out spurted in thick, pulsing jets into her writhing belly, spattering her
womb and uterus with potent semen.
For several ecstatic seconds, they spent madly, shaking and heaving together, like two electrified
rag−dolls, gradually slowing as though the power were being cut down. Finally, they were still, except for the
heaving of their shoulders as they drew great, gasping breaths, the lightly tanned body of the man sagging on
the white, voluptuous, sweating body of the woman.
Hilary's penis was quite slack by the time he pulled out of the girl, glistening with the wetness of their
erotic coupling. He stood regarding her as she lay back, her legs sprawled widely in weakness, the pink lips of
her sated pussy, covered with the whitish moisture of their mutual spending, hanging slackly open amidst the
damp, curling hairs.
“A sweet little cunt you have, my pet,” he commented. “Looks a bit of a mess now, though better go into
the bathroom and clean it up!”
The girl gasped, blushing, and struggled to her feet, her hand going quickly between her thighs to cover her
oozing slit. Without a word, she gathered up her things and walked towards the bathroom, her full, jiggling
bottom now a riot of colour, pink, blue and maroon from the caning, with bright red crescents scoring both
plump cheeks where his fingernails had dug into her.
Hilary bathed his limp organ at the basin, then with a glance at the clock hurried into his dressing room.
When he came out, impeccable in dinner−suit and with hair brushed to its usual sleekness, Joan stood
shyly near the bedroom door, clad in her abbreviated maid's uniform, only a slight puffiness beneath the eyes
betraying what she had gone through in the previous half−hour.
The dress had been designed by Hilary himself, to show off the slopes and curves of the girl's full−blown
body as much as possible whilst still keeping within the conventions of society. It clung to her shapeliness
17
tightly enough to leave no doubt in the mind of the beholder the contours of what lay beneath without going to
the extent of outraging the more conservative among callers and servants.
“You have a douche, girl?” he asked brusquely. “Yes, sir.”
“Then go and use itimmediately. I have no wish to hear the patter of tiny feet around the place.” He
grinned faintly. “Not even if their owner grew up with the same kind of body you haveI'd be too old to
appreciate it by then!”
“Very well, sir,” she murmured, her respectful attitude not one what diminished by what had occurred
between them.
“Well, go on, thenyou have me late for dinner already.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned towards the door, but still hesitated.
He smiled. “Oh, I seethe ten pounds, eh? You know, you didn't actually say you wanted itI did ask you to
tell me explicitly whether you wanted ten more strokes of the cane, or ten pound notes.” He waited for a reply,
but she continued to stand with he back to him, head bent. “All right,” he grinned at last. “Never let it be said
that Hilary Garner was a gypster.” (Hilary had made his first few million in American during World War Two
and occasionally indulged in a U.S. colloquialism.) “I must admit you wee a lot better than I thought you were
going to be at first. Tell you whatI'll double it! Twenty poundsdoes that please you?”
“Oh, sir, you are very kind.” The maid turned back towards him eagerly, blushing prettily.
“Ahpayable immediately after your next punishment.”
She gasped and her colour deepened. “Butbut siryouyou may not have to punish me again.”
“That is a point,” he murmured, as though it had not occurred to him.
“I shall try very hard not to do anything wrong, sir.
“Then I shall have no occasion to cane you, shall I?”
“No, sir,” she replied in a small voice.
“So you do not anticipate committing any more misdemeanors, eh?”
“No, sir.” The voice was even smaller.
“Oh, very well,” he said carelessly, reaching for his wallet. “I suppose that means that you would prefer ten
pounds now to a possible twenty pounds in the futurewhich, in your view, is highly improbably?”
He had no difficulty in following the workings of her mind as her gaze wandered to the bed. She was
recalling the pain and humiliation of the punishment she had undergone, assessing the worth of going through
it all again for the extra money perhaps, even considering the possible contrivance of some minor fault in the
near future. After a long silence, she slowly turned to the door again, keeping her head down to avoid his
gaze.
“May I go now, sir?” she whispered, reaching for the handle.
“You may go now, Joan,” he answered quietly, replacing the wallet.
She went out, Hilary following her as far as the door to gaze after her as she walked slowly down the
passage, her shapely, nylon−sheathed legs moving stiffly, with hardly any of the pert hip−swinging and
bottom−wagging she normally put into her gait.
Smiling as he contemplated doubling the ante again after the girl's next caning, Hilary descended the stairs
to bid his waiting guest a tardy welcome.
18
CHAPTER FOUR
“HILARY GARNER!”
“Lady Faleand looking very beautiful,” smiled Hilary suavely as he entered the dining room. He stopped
before the glowering woman standing with her back to the fireplace, and gave her a slight, almost mocking,
bow. “Do forgive the belated...”
“Belated!” she hissed. “Do you realize I have been waiting here for almost an hour? If it had not been for
the fact that...”
“My butler told you I should shortly have some very interesting news for you,” he cut in, “you would have
been on your way back to London!”
Her eyes flashed dangerously. “It may interest you to know I have flogged men until the blood ran for
being less than one minute late!”
“Frankly, it doesn't interest me,” he said quietly, turning towards the drinks table. “And not MEN,
Elizabethpoor, spineless wretches who are neither fish, or fowl, nor good red meat.” He held up a decanter.
“Drink?”
“I suppose soI've been pouring myself bourbon,” she said pointedly. “And I agree with you absolutely.”
“Oh? That's nice.” He turned, handing her a glass. “About what?”
“About men being spineless wretches!”
A smile quirked his thin lips. “That wasn't QUITE what I said, but no matterwe'll let it pass,” he said
easily.
His refusal to be stung maddened her, as he knew it would.
“I could soon prove it to you beyond a shadow of doubt if I had your under my whip!” she retorted hotly.
“Now that, my dear Elizabeth, poses several problems. Problem one: I should be most unwilling, to say the
least, soyou would have to get me 'under it' as you put it. Which brings us to problem two: This would
necessitate a trial of strength, to which there could be only one outcomeI am quite deceptively strong.”
“You mean you would actually use your superior strength against a woman...?”
He roared with laughter as her voice trailed off, seeing the trap he had led her into. With a furious snort of
indrawn breath, she swung away from him, taking a deep draught of bourbon.
“If you get your pleasures out of having a creature around you to dress up as woman, bath you, brush your
hair, dress you, wash your undies and take a thrashing whenever you feel like dishing one out, then, by all
means, indulge yourself, but please don't lump the entire male sex under those headings.” He paused,
watching her. “Because one day, you might very well come unstuck!” he finished slowly and very softly.
The almost imperceptible sneer she generally affected when addressing men was back on her face when
she turned round again. “Meaning?”
“Meaning you might one day pick on a man who resented your attitude so much he would be prepared to
do something about showing you how wrong you were.”
He met her fierce stare with a gentle smile, reaching for the bell−pull without taking his eyes from hers.
“Indeed?” she said at last, hp curling. “You didn't, by any chance have yourself in mind as a possible
candidate, did you? I believe I once warned you, Hilary, that if you ever took it into your head to try, I should
prove moremuch much morethat just a difficult pupil.”
A lesser man might well have quailed before the menace in tone and expression. Hilary's smile merely
broadened.
“You did, my dear you didand I should be most disappointed in you if you didn't. “That is,” he added
hastily, “if I took upon myself the role of your teacher.” Hilary saw an issue looming up which it suited his
purpose to side−stepfor the time being.
The suspicion of a snarl left her mouth as she gave him a keen look. “You had no such intentions in that
direction, then?”
“None whatever, dear Elizabeth,” he smiled. “Truce?”
“Truce!”
She gave him her hand and he decided that Elizabeth Fale could be quite lovely when she smiled.
19
“Bring on the victuals, George!' he cried gaily, as the butler appeared.
Conversation was necessarily stilted during dinner, conventionally served by butler and footman. They
confined themselves to generalities and carefully worded enquiries regarding those who had returned with
them from the cruise.
It was with the coffee and brandy, Turkish cigarettes smouldering in two long holders, that Hilary
dismissed the servants and got down to the purpose of his invitation to Lady Fale.
“And you know, there's an annoying imbalance in a certain matter concerning the cruise,” he began. “One
which I intend to rectify in the very near future.”
“And I take it that I fit in somewhere?” she asked with a smile.
“I assumed you would like to be in on the party.”
“You assumed correctly!” she replied, dark eyes flashing. “Anything that will give that little chit of an
Arab her come−uppannce!”
“That, of course, is the purpose I had in mind as well as rescuing those seven women from her clutches.”
“Rescuing,
Hilary?” she murmured.
“Well, he grinned. “Let's not split hairs at this juncture! I've had Howard Tesker in charge of some men in
Cannes for over a week, now. Tesker was in England a couple of days ago to report to me on progress. They
have located Natia Daeudiri and have been sticking to her like a second skin, waiting for her to make a move.
I had a wire from Tesker yesterday which said Natia was on the move and that everything was under control.
And this morning,” Hilary paused to refill their brandy glasses.
“Yes?” Elizabeth clucked impatiently. “I do wish you'd cut out that habit of keeping people hanging in
mid−sentence!”
“I have that habit?” he smiled. “Sorry! This morning, he called me long−distance to tell me that Natia had
left Cannes by motor−launch and headed east along the coastshe is, of course, being followed.”
“Bravo, Hilary!” exclaimed Elizabeth enthusiastically. “So that long−distance phone−call your butler said
you were to make was about Natia! Well what's the interesting news? Have they caught up with her?”
Hilary coughed. “Well, not exactly.”
“Don't tell me they've lost her!”
“Oh, no. I'm afraid that was only a little delaying action on my part,” Hilary confessed. “I made no such
call.” He held up his hand quickly as he saw her bang her balloon glass down on the table, almost shattering it,
in preparation for a storm. “Pax!” he grinned. “The fact is, I was about to attend to a small domestic matter
when you arrived that's why I could not come down to welcome you.”
“Surely, you could have had the courtesy to spare a minute from whatever you were doing, even if only to
say hello and offer me a drink, after inviting me here.”
“I hardly think you would have appreciated your host greeting you in his vest and underpants!”
“Is that how you usually attend to domestic matters?” she said coldly.
“Certain of them,” he answered carefully.
“Oh, THAT sort!” she snorted disgustedly.
“Things were already under way when you arrived,” said Hilary calmly. “And you were rather early. As a
matter of fact, I had just persuaded her to take off her dress when you were announced.”
“And how far had you got when I sent the butler up for the second time?”
“Her under−things were about to follow the dress! And I was still in my underpants! I'm sorry,
Elizabethbut what could I do?”
“I still think you could have timed yourah amorous pursuits more conveniently.”
“On reflection,” he said thoughtfully, “perhaps I do have an interesting item of news for you.”
“Oh?”
“I caned her!”
“Not exactly an innovation for you, but go onwho is she?”
20
“One of my maids?pretty little thing.”
“You beat your female servants here at the Manor? But risky, isn't it? This isn't 'The Bizarre', you know.”
“I only beat one of them at the momentby arrangement. This was her first punishment.” Hilary fitted a
fresh cigarette into his holder and slid the cigarette box down to Elizabeth. “Hence the difficulty in getting he
to take her clothes off.”
“Don't tell me you have a punishment room fitted up as well?”
“Alas no. There are one or two rooms down in the cellars whose walls could tell an interesting tale of
yesteryear, but the equipment has long since been moved out. Now, in my father's time...” he sighed. “Perhaps
one dayI'm toying with a few ideas in that direction. Too many problems at the moment, though,” he mused.
“A middle−aged female cook, a staid and sober butler, married footman, the gardener and his family living in
a cottage in the grounds...”
Elizabeth cut short his musings: “Tell me of your IMMEDIATE plans. Let's get back to the”
“Can't wait!” grinned Hilary, rubbing his hands. “Shouldn't be long, now.”
“Where's 'The Bizarre' at the moment?”
“Well, she should be somewhere off Cannesfar enough off, I hope, for Natia to be unaware of her
proximity. As soon as Tesker has the location in the 'Natia,' we shall join 'The Bizarre' and move in, catching
the fiery little Arab princess with her ahknickers down, as it were.”
“I hope you haven't forgotten that the 'Natia' is a larger and faster craft than yourswith a larger crew.”
“If we are not able to take her unawares, I hope Natia herself hasn't forgotten it!”
“I don't quite follow.”
“Remember what she promised before they pulled away? She said if they ever found us in the
Mediterranean, they'd send us to the bottom. Then, they had a harpoon gun, capable of firing explosive
charges, against the little pistol you had. This time, we not only have our own crew, but another half−a−dozen
private eyesall armed. Just to make certain, we have acquired a deadly little machine gun, which we shall have
all ready to dissuade any stinking Arab who gets ideas about trying to bring that harpoon gun to bear on us.
Naturally,” he went on, hastily, “I hope it won't come to the use of firearms. I should think that by showing
our considerable teeth, they will be persuaded that discretion is the better part of valour and hoist the white
flag.”
“Are you taking any of the male passengers you had before?” enquired Elizabeth.
“Well, Roger Blane is already with Tesker, but I have not been in touch with the others since we got back.
I wouldn't mind having Alex Tremayne and George Carruthers with me, if we could get in touch with them in
time, though,” Hilary said thoughtfully. “Sir Ronald Duveen and Lord Settle−wood, I think, are a little too
old, a little too fat, for what I have in mind.”
“And what have you in mind, Hilary?” laughed Elizabeth. “The whips will sing and we'll all ride again,
eh?”
“Among quite a few other things,” murmured Hilary.
The supercilious sneer which annoyed Hilary so much was twisting her mouth again as she went over to
the table, took another of his cigarettes, lit it, and turned to face him.
“Which means, I suppose,” she said, affecting a sigh of boredom, “that you will not be able to control the
urge to have your usual fun and games between their legs.”
“And you, my dear Elizabeth,” murmured Hilary sweetly, “will be quite at liberty to do... well, what it is
you do in place of sex!”
Her face reddened. “Why you...” She stopped, her mouth clamping shut. She had walked into it again.
Deciding reluctantly that she was no match for him in his present form, especially on the subject of sex, she
changed the subject. “What are your plans after boarding the 'Natia'? You don't intend keeping it, do you?”
“Of course not. We'll tie the crew up and smash enough equipment to ensure their not being able to follow
for quite some time. I shall put you and the girls ashore with a couple of my men. From there, you will
proceed to the chateau of a friend of mine near Algiers.”
“With seven captive women all screaming blue murder?” gasped Elizabeth.
“They will be in a large van which will be waiting for youthey will also be gagged. You do not have to
worry about my friend, eitherhe and I have the same fondness for the whipping of beautiful female bottoms. I
21
have been in touch with him and he will be expecting you.”
“And where will you be?”
“I shall be attending to one or two other little matters, but I shall join you in a few days. You will have the
time of your life being the mistress of seven beautiful slaves, my dear. You will be in complete charge and
there is more equipment for the taming and flagellation of women at the chateau than you could get through in
a year!”
“Hm, I should have preferred to have had men under my croup,” muttered Elizabeth, although her eyes
were sparkling, with a positive tigerish smile playing round her mouth. “But I'll make do. Having that Natia to
flog will make up for it.”
Hilary regarded her shining face and smiled. “I take it you approve of the plans, then?”
“I can't fault them, Hilary,” she said, the tiny white line of hardness at each corner of her mouth lost in the
deeper dimples of the first real smile Hilary had observed that evening. “Except, of course, in that one
particular,” she added. “Ier I suppose I couldn't bring Tony Hood along, could I?”
“On this trip, I would prefer not,” Hilary answered firmly. “You must admit he's such a simpering fop...”
Hilary shook his head. “No, ElizabethI could imagine him screaming his head off if we ran into real trouble.
Besides, you'll have your hands full with the girls.”
“All rightno matter. May I help myself to another drink?”
“By all meansyou may help me to one while you're at it.”
Hilary stood regarding her slender, but shapely body from the rear, his eyes finally coming to rest on the
tight round buttocks straining against the black skirt and showing the ridged edges of panties and garter−belt,
with the slim lines of the straps running down the backs of her thighs to hold the sheer stockings taut on her
slim, well−shaped legs. He stared, as though by staring he could penetrate the thin material penetrate so that
those rounded buttocks were bared to him, penetrate to the very heart of the warmth and softness that lay
snugly hidden beneath the arch at the tops of her strong thighs.
Hilary speculated on what she might look like in the nude and idly wondered what sort of sexual
performance she would be capable of in bedif any. Perhaps, my round−bottomed Elizabeth, we may... His
flow of thought was broken by a polite cough.
“You are wanted on the telephone, Sir Hilary,” the butler informed him. “Will you take the call in the
study, or shall I plug them through to the dining room, sir?”
“The study will doI'll be along in a minute. Who is it, by the way?”
“It's a long−distance call, sirMr...”
“Tesker!” shouted Hilary, starting for the door. Make those brandies large ones, Elizabeththis is it!”
He was beaming and rubbing his hands briskly when he returned a few minutes later.
“Got your passport, Elizabeth?”

“Not with me. So it's on, is it?”
“It most certainly is! You had better get back to London tonight and pack, for tomorrow we fly out to
Cannes!”
22
CHAPTER FIVE
Hilary looked down as the Elizabethan class aircraft banked over Cannes to make its landing approach,
scanning the harbour and wondering which of the many gleaming, white−hulled vessels was “The Bizarre”.
From the air, the coastline curved, dented and rose, to accommodate the fickleness of Mother Nature, the
golden sands washed by a sea of white−edged, azure blue glaring whites and pastel shades of the clustered
buildings added more colour to an already colourful scene, the silvery glints of the numerous heated
swimming pools belonging mainly to the luxury hotels seeming, somehow, incongruous so near to the
warming sea.
Here it was that the starlets and beatniks congregated. Here, during the “season” were found the models
and the wealthy playboys, the former vying with each other for exclusive invitations to the private villas
owned by the latter, their only claim to a better way of life being the shapes in which their flesh had been
moulded, their degree of success generally commensurate with the amount of the said flesh they were
prepared to exposeand sharein the privacy of the aforementioned villas.
Howard Tesker was there to greet them when Elizabeth and Hilary had cleared customs, leading them
straight to a waiting car with an air of extreme urgency, saying he would give them all the details of the latest
developments on the way.
The car left the airport, later swinging onto the broad curving highway, lined with gently−swaying palms,
hotels, balconied penthouses and flat−roofed villas that spoke of plush living and the heavy tourist trade.
It was still very early in the season, but already, the streets and beaches were gay with the million different
colours and hues of tanned flesh, bikinis and brief play−suits of female native and tourist alike. Eager as he
was for information concerning Natia, Hilary found himself slightly irritated as Tesker claimed his attention
throughout the whole of the journey down to the harbour, leaving him no time to contemplate the
scantily−covered, bouncing breasts and pert, jiggling buttocks of the pleasure−bound females who thronged
either side of the boulevard and flitted in and out of the stream of slow−moving traffic.
“As I told you over the phone,” said Tesker, “Natia left Cannes yesterday morning in a motor launch,
heading along the coast towards Nice, followedthough she didn't know itby Roger Blane and a couple of our
men in an Auster aircraft we hired.”
Tesker paused and grinned. “Very useful man, old Rogerhe hit the jackpot! Not only pin−pointed Natia
when she went ashore for awhile just outside of Monacohe circled around and spotted the 'Natia' about ten
miles out. A little later, Natia's launch went out to ithe said he was tempted to go down for a closer look, but
didn't want to give the game away. The launch returned from the yacht, but he wasn't sure whether or not
Natia was on it. Then, a little while after that, the 'Natia' followed it and he decided he could safely land and
refuel.”
“So that's where she is,” mused Hilary. “Monaco. What about the women?”
“We haven't been able to find out definitely if the girls are aboard, of course, but everything points to it,
unless she put them ashore somewhere within a day or two of her taking them from us, which is most
unlikely.”
“Well, go onwhat else did Blane find out?”
“Well, the 'Natia' anchored about a half a mile out and Roger thought at first that they might be waiting
until nightfall to bring the girls ashore and transport them to some hideout Natia had been having prepared for
them. Then, later in the afternoon, she came right into a berth in Monaco. By this time, Roger and our two
private eyes had taken a stroll round the quay and, by dint of a few well−placed questions and a little folding
money, they found out that the 'Natia' was taking on stores and fuel for a trip to Oran.”
“Oran? Now where the hell...! Oh! That's Algeria isn't it?”
“Exactly,” grinned Tesker. “A little over a couple of hundred miles further along the coast from Algiers.
Now don't forget, her father's a sultan, or something, somewhere in Morocco, so it must be quite a happy
hunting ground of hers unto that way. We figure she probably has her main headquarters either around there
or a little further into Morocco and that that's where she's taking our women.”
“But that's just perfect, isn't it?” exclaimed Elizabeth enthusiastically. “With your friend's chateau near
23
Algiers, Hilary...”
“She seems to be playing right into our hands, sure enough.” Hilary broke in, smiling wolfishly. “Do you
know, I'm beginning to feel almost sorry for our poor little Natia! Any more information, Howard?”
“Plenty!” said Tesker eagerly, proud of himself and his friend Roger Blane. “Roger flew back here this
morning, leaving the other two to watch for the 'Natia' sailing. They are in touch with 'The Bizarre' by
short−wave radio, so we shall know as soon as the 'Natia' leaves Monaco. Meanwhile...”
“Meanwhile, Howard,” smiled Hilary, “we start out across the Med. and stop the engines at some point
half way between...”
“Burning up the air with radio messages the 'Natia' is bound to pick up and follow,” went on Tesker
happily. “And there will be 'The Bizarre', like a sitting duck, flat−footed, waiting for Natia to send her to the
bottom.”
“To misquote our beloved Sir Winston: “Some ducksome feet!” chuckled Hilary. “Yes, Natia is certainly
playing into our hands. So all we have to do now is get aboard as quickly as possible, eh?”
“That's why I hurried you up at the airport, Hilary. We want to be well out before that message comes
through, because the 'Natia' has more speed than we do. We're all fueled up and ready to move just outside the
harbour.”
Twenty minutes later, the three were boarding. “The Bizarre” from a dinghy. Hilary turned to Tesker as
soon as the luggagemostly Elizabeth's was aboard.
“Right, Howardanchors aweigh!”
“Aye−aye, sir!” grinned Tesker with alacrity, heading for the wheelhouse.
“By the way,” Hilary called after him. “Where have we got the machine−gun?”
Howard Tesker pointed to a tarpaulin−covered bulk atop the wheelhouse. “War surplus Browning .303I
had it mounted on a swivel, so we can rake 'em fore and aft if we have to!”
“You're a very resourceful fellow, Howard,” Hilary said admiringly. “And you can almost start closing
your fist around that five hundred!” He turned towards the companionway. “Come on, Elizabethlets go below
and have a drink. Join us when you're ready, captain,” he called over his shoulder.
“Aye−aye, sir!” grinned Tesker, again.
As Hilary broached a magnum of champagne, “The Bizarre” set sail once more, heading sou'−sou'−west.
24
CHAPTER SIX
It was just after dawn when Hilary was awakened by Tesker's insistent knocking on the door of his cabin.
He sat up and switched on the light.
“Come in,” he called, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What is it, Howard?”
“The 'Natia', Hilaryshe sneaked up on us during the night. Now she's only about a quarter of a mile
awayyou'll be able to see her if you look through your porthole.”
Hilary got out of his bunk and went across to the porthole. There, just off the port bow and closing slowly
with the brilliant rising sun almost directly behind her, rode the “Natia”.
“Don't tell me she caught you napping!”
“No fear!” Tesker was dressed in his full−dress uniform as Captain of Hilary's one hundred and twenty
foot cruiser, the gold braid around cuffs and peak of white−topped cap glinting in the light. “As a matter of
fact, she couldn't have timed it better for ussaves making a show of running! We had a signal from Monaco
letting us know she had started shortly after you went to bedI saw no point in waking you. We carried on until
about an hour ago and then shut off the engines to give her a chance to catch up.”
“Good manany word from the bitch herself?”
“Five minutes ago. Short and to the point'No tricks, no signals; stay where you are, we're coming aboard'.”
“How are our armaments?”
“I have six men in position and under cover along the port side armed with Marlin .30−30 rifles; two more
have 9mm Lugers and there's one for you if you want it. I was quite handy with Brownings during the war, so
I'll take care of the one on the wheelhouse.”
“That should be enough, I suppose.”
“Well, if it isn't I have our best manthe one who fouled the 'Natia's' screws with the cargo net armed with a
Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum.”
“What'll it do? asked Hilary, still watching the approaching “Natia”.
“What'll it do?” laughed Tesker. “Damn near knock the engine out of a car at a quarter of a mile! If they
are well armed, apart from that harpoon gun, and look like they want to make a fight of it, I'll knock the
harpoon gun out, while he puts a couple of shots below their water−linefinis!”
“All right, Howardhow long have we got before she's alongside?”
“She seems to be taking her timeonly at quarter−speed, I'd say. Probably knows we haven't the speed to
out−run her. Say, about twenty minutes.”
“Good. That will give me time to shave and dress and warn Elizabeth.” Hilary lit a cigarette and walked
across the cabin to run water into the basin. “By the waywhat about Roger Blane?”
“He has one of the Marlinscrack shot with a rifle. Well, I think I'll get to my post on top of the wheelhouse
before they get too close.”
“Before you go, Howard,” Hilary said thoughtfully, “word in your ear. Just a slight change of plan
regarding the women when we get them back. We shall be rising a little in their estimation after rescuing them
from Natia and I propose to play that to the hilt, because I intend taking a small chance when we get to
Algiers. I want them treated as honoured guests from the moment they come aboard, you understand?”
“I don't understand, Hilary, but whatever you say, of course.”
“Warn the men about thisimpress it especially on Roger, too. I want him to do his damndest to get back
into Betty's Steven's good books and you must make your peace with Mary Hawe. Are you getting the picture
now? We are sorry for the way we treated them when they were aboard 'The Bizarre' and we want to make up
for it. Tell them we got carried awaytell them anything that will help towards getting their trust again. Impress
on them that they will soon be going home to England. Feed them, pamper them, make love to themsleep with
them if they'll let youbut no force.”
“Well, if you say sobut what's the idea?”
“They are going to travel openlyand quite willingly, I hopewith yourself, Blane and Elizabeth to the
chateau.”
“What? But that's taking a bit of a chance, isn't it?”
25
“How much of a chance depends on how successful we are in gamingor, rather, re−gainingtheir
confidence. Take your time getting to Algiers and that will give us a chance to work on them.”
“But is there any need for this?” Tesker looked at his chief in amazement. “We shouldn't have much
trouble in getting them to the chateau without... ”
“Your's is not to reason why, Howard!.” An edge had crept into Hilary's voice. “Your's is but to do!”
Tesker signed resignedly, the scar along the edge of his jaw puckering as he smiled. “As you say, Hilaryso
long as I don't have to die, with it!”
Hilary grinned as he put down his razor and sluiced water over his face. “If you do exactly as I say,
Howard, I promise you will not regret it.”
Tesker left the cabin and Hilary dressed in a tailored blue blazer and gleaming white ducks, with a yachting
cap set at a rakish angle on his dark head. With another glance through the porthold at the on−coming “Natia,”
he fitted a Turkish cigarette into his holder, lit it, and strolled leisurely out to rouse Elizabeth.
“Who is it?” she called sleepily in answer to his knock.
“Hilary.”
“What do you want?” she asked suspiciously.
“Well, I haven't come to lay siege to yourer virginity!” he snapped, his voice ending on a rising note of
question in sudden annoyance. “We are about to be attacked by...” He paused and chuckled... “a piratical craft
closing fast on the port bow!”
“Oh!” There came the sound of rustling bedclothes. “You'd better come in.”
“Elizabeth was sitting up, her body gleaming palely through a translucent mauve nightdress, looking more
feminine than Hilary could remember seeing her before, with the small, firm breasts pressing out the material
and the dark peaks of the nipples embossing them like tiny buttons. Her dark hair was unbound and fell in
raven cascades to her bare white shoulders. With a tightening of her lips, she pulled the covers up to her chin.
“Even at times like these, you can't forget the old Adam, can you?” she sneered.
“Even Drake finished his game of bowls,” murmured Hilary mildly. “I thought I'd warn you to keep to
your cabin in case they start firing.”
“I told you the last time that I am quite capable of taking care of myself! How close are they?”
“Almost within hailing distance. They should be alongside in about five minutes.”
“Then I shall be on deck in four! I want to see that bitch of an Arab's face when she finds she's walked into
our trap. I'll bring my pistol, toojust in case.”
“Please yourself.” Hilary left the cabin, pulling the door closed the last few inches slowly enough to catch
the flash of long bare legs and white thighs as she threw off the bedclothes and leapt out of bed.
Up on deck, the men were deployed along the port side, lying flat, with rifles already trained on the
“Natia", now no more than two hundred yards distant. Just inside the wheelhouse, Roger Blane knelt,
cuddling his Marlin lovingly, out of sight of the approaching yacht, while behind him crouched the crew−man
with the Smith and Wesson. Hilary stopped in the doorway.
“Don't hole them unless you absolutely have to,” he warned the man. “There are seven women probably
locked in a hold.”
“Aye−aye, sir.”
“Mr. Tesker at his post?”
“Right here, Hilary,” came Tesker's quiet voice just above his head. “All set. You'll find a Luger on the
chart table. Do you want to parley with her first?”
“No point.”
“Good, because I've given our men orders to let her have her say and then fire a warning fusillade over
their heads, taking the command from Roger 'I'll only show myself if they go for that harpoon gun, or look
like making a real fight of it. After the warning, you can deliver your surrender terms, eh?
“That I shall most certainly do!” Hilary went into the wheelhouse for the Luger and then made his way to
the rails to watch the approach of the other vessel.
“The “Natia” had shut off her engines to drift in, starting them again briefly in reverse to halt her forward
movement. And there she rode, rising and falling gently on the slight swell, not a dozen yards from “The
Bizarre”. Arab seamen lined the rail, keeping a respectful distance from the central figureNatia Daeudiri.
26
Several of the crew were armed with pistols, but, by the way they held them negligently down at their sides.
Hilary guessed they did not consider they would be needed as anything more than a threat. He threw a glance
aft and saw that the harpoon gun, although aimed in the direction of “The Bizarre", was not manned. He
turned his attention to Natia. Clothed completely in dazzling white, she made a striking figure, with her pale
olive skin and the thick, blue−black hair bound up this time and drawn back in a similar style to Elizabeth's.
Full round breasts strained against a white, open−necked shirt, while a pair of white matador pants clung so
tightly to her wide, curving hips, beautifully sculptured thighs and full−calved legs, that they could almost
have been taken for the bare flesh of a white woman from that distance, except for the little flare at the ankles.
Someone passed her a megaphone and she raised it to her lips.
“Hilary Garner! I did not expect Allah to answer my prayers so quickly!” The silvery voice floated across
almost bubbling with triumph. “I warned you what would happen if I ever caught you in the Mediterranean
again! We are coming aboard. Do you have that woman you call Lady Fale with you on this trip?”
“Wonderful to see you again, Natia!” Elizabeth Fale emerged from the companionway, sleek and tigerish
in a short black leather skirt, calf−hugging black riding boost with high heels and a black bolero−shaped
jacket of soft leather, laced down the front so that it was moulded to her hard, jutting breasts. Her midriff was
bare, giving just a peep of her navel above the waist of the skirt as she moved. One hand was behind her back,
clasping the pistol, the other at her side, holding a black, short−handled whip, coiled like a gleaming snake.
“This is excellent!” shouted Natia. “The two people I have been praying would fall into my handsto fulfill
a promise to my crew if we even found you. You will be stripped naked and tied to the mast of your accursed
mast. There, you will be flogged senseless by myself and my captain, after which you will be thrown to my
crew for them to take their pleasure between your legs!” A laugh rippled across the water. “And they like their
pleasures roughfrom the galley−boy up!”
“And that sounds very much like the voice of experience!” Hilary shouted back.
Natia almost dropped the megaphone in her fury. “You have just added one more thing to what I had in
store for you, Garner,” she yelled. “What was it you threatened me withkeelhauling? Now stand by and have
all your crew and any other passengers up on deck, standing facing this way with their hands in the air by the
time we reach you. I and some of my crew are coming aboard.”
“Have you quite finished, Natia?” shouted Hilary.
“I have until I board you!” She put down the megaphone and a few of her men started to lower two small
dinghies.
“Duck behind the wheelhouse, Hilary,” hissed Roger Blane.
Hilary did so, cocking his pistol, just as Blane roared “Fire!” A sharp crackle of gunfire rang out and most
of the “Natia's” crew dropped flat, Natia herself dropping to a wary crouch.
Picking up the megaphone again, she yelled, “That was very foolish, Garner! If you do that again, I shall
return your firewith the harpoon gun!”
“Wouldn't you rather surrender?” Hilary shouted back mockingly.
“You'll die for thisand I'll see you take at least a week to do it!”
“Give 'em another volley!” ordered Hilary.
“Yes, sir!” grinned Blane, “Okay, boys,” he said in aloud in his easy−going Massachusetts drawl. “Over
their heads again... Fire!” Another volley rang out.
“Get those boats lowered, you yellow swine!” they heard Natia yelling to her crew. “Man that harpoon
gun!”
A few of her crew returned the fire, while two of them ran aft to man the harpoon gun. One of the dinghies
began to lower again, with three men in it. Another sharp crack echoed across the water and the dinghy
suddenly tilted, pitching the men into the sea while it hung by the stern, swinging crazily.
Hilary looked admiringly through the glass at Roger Blane levering another round into the breach.
“Nice shooting, Roger!”
Just then, Howard Tesker threw off the tarpaulin to reveal himself and the Browning on top of the
wheel−house. Three short, roaring bursts were sufficient to ensure that the harpoon gun would never by of any
use againexcept as scrap metal!
The crew of the “Natia” stood frozen in shock at this new deadly threat, then Natia had the megaphone
27
again.
“You dog, Garner!” she screamed.
Hilary roared with laughter. “Want to give in now?”
“Kill the pig!” she yelled and Hilary had to duck quickly as shots shattered the glass panel of the
wheelhouse door.
Roger Blane's rifle cracked again and an Arab screamed, dropping his pistol and clutching his wrist.
“All right, Garner,” Natia's shrill, furious voice came through the megaphone again. “You've survived one
more battlethe next will be your last! I shall be back before you can leave the Mediterraneanwith enough arms
and men to blast you out of the water!”
She flung down the megaphone and creamed orders to her frightened crew. Three of them made for the
wheelhouse, but before they could reach it, Tesker had poured several short bursts into it, shattering glass and
splintering woodwork. For the first time, Natia looked uncertain. She stood by the rail, looking from Tesker to
her smashed wheel house.
“You won't be back, Natia,” shouted Hilary strolling forward. “Because you aren't going anywhere! I want
you and your crew lining the rail with their hands upI am coming aboard. And don't forget you are covered!”
Natia stood for a while, glaring hatred as some of Hilary, himself a fair shot, aimed his Luger carefully and
chipped the deck with a bullet close to her feet. She leapt back with a startled yelp, and that decided the issue.
Pistols clattered to the deck as the crew slowly raised their hands and shuffled forward to line up close to
the rail. Natia was the last to move, then she, too, came forward to stand with her crew although, still showing
defiance, she refused to raise her hands and instead, stood clutching the rail front of her.
Hilary gave orders for a dinghy to be lowed then shouted another warning across to the “Natia.”
“For your own good, I would advise you refrain from any last−minute tricks.” He pointed the sheelhouse.
“Just remember, that machine−gun could now the lot of you down in seconds!”
Hilary picked Roger Blane and two crewmen accompany himself and Elizabeth as the advance boarding
party, but before getting into the boat, drew Lady Fale to one side.”
“I've made a few alterations in our plans, ElizabethI think you may find them amusing. Instead of this
being a case merely of slaves reverting their original owners, it is going to be a genuineor almost
genuinerescue operation.”
“I don't followbut go on.”
“We are going to release them from Natia's clutches, bring them aboard 'The Bizarre' and give them
exactly what they expected when they left Englanda pleasure cruise. They will have their cabins backall their
things are still hereand we shall do our level best to make up for all the pain and misery we got them into.”
Elizabeth stepped away from him, hands planted on her svelte hips, legs wide. “Have you gone out of your
mind? What are you going to do,” she sneered, “release them when we get to Algiers?”
“That's the idea!” smiled Hilary, enjoying the look of astonishmentand no little disappointment on her face.
“I do NOT find that at all amusing!”
“You will, Elizabeth. I want you to be as sweet to them as you know howwe've got to showand
convincethem that we regret acting as we did when they were with us, and that we intend making it up to them
in every way possible. When we get to Algiers, I hope we shall have gained their confidence enough for them
to travel ungagged and unfettered to the chateau with yourself, Blane and Tesker, where they will spend a few
days enjoying themselves and generally recuperating from their ordeal, whilst I attend to some business and
have 'The Bizarre' made ready for their return voyage to England.”
“Now I know you've gone mad!” snapped Elizabeth.
“However,” Hilary went on, watching her face. “There will be a slight hitch in plans when you reach the
chateau. Blane and Tesker will return to the yacht with Raoul (the owner of the chateau) leaving you in
complete charge.”
“To act as hostess and general factotum, I suppose? NoI won't do it, Hilary, and that's final!”
“To act as the mistress of seven beautiful slaves, Elizabeth! There's all the equipment you will need at the
chateau. You'll be able to whip them, ride them, dominate them anderdo whatever else you wish with them.”
Elizabeth Fale's eyes brightened momentarily and her teeth flashed in a brief smile. Then she shook her
head.
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“It wouldn't work, Hilary. I'm fairly strong and very capable, but how the hell am I going to get seven
women to let me whip them without putting up a fight?” She shuddered. “Seven against oneI should probably
end up by being thrashed myself, and that I would not be prepared to risk under any circumstances! The whole
idea is ridiculous!”
“Not even with six men to back you up? They work for Raoul and are experts in the taming of women.
They will do whatever you tell them to do, whether it's to tie them, ride them, flog them, or just sit outside the
door while you do whatever you want to them.”
“All right, HilaryI apologise. I should have known you better!” the hard lines of her mouth softened in a
smile.
“So you see, you shall have the pleasure of breaking them in all over again,” he smiled. “There will be all
the shyness and outraged modesty, their humiliation when they are first strippedand you will have their lovely
white, unmarked bodies to work on.”
“Perfect, Hilary! But I can't understand why you...”
“I shall be along later, never fearI really do have one to two things to attend to. Meanwhile, you have a
clear field for at least four or five days.” Hilary started to follow Blane into the dinghy, then turned back as he
was struck with an afterthought. “Just one small pointI should like you to give the impression that those men
are in your pay rather than Raoul's.” He shrugged. “Merely a precaution in case our slaves ever escaped and
talked I wouldn't want to get him involved, you understand?”
“Is he aware of all these arrangements yet?”
“To the last detailI have been constantly in touch with him since before we felt England. Shall we attend to
Natia, now?”
“Let's!”
A few seconds later they were boarding the “Natia” with drawn pistols, whilst one of the crew took the
motorised dinghy back for more men. Hilary nodded to Blane and the other man, who grabbed Natia's arms
and held her rigidly between them.
She stood listlessly, her expression apathetic as though she had not yet grasped the fact that her seeming
hour of triumph had been turned at the last moment to bitter, humiliating defeat.
Standing close to her, Hilary saw her white matador pants were made of calf−skin, clinging so tightly to
her lovely limbs they even showed the dimples in her knees. The smooth, curving plains of her belly were
followed religiously, as they slanted downwards, incurving towards the thighs and rising to the prominent
pubic hillock at the centre of the loping underbelly.
“Turn her round,” grunted Hilary.
Hilary's pulses quickened as they held her with her back to him. Her buttocks reared back, jutting, the seat
of the pants moulded so tightly to the rounded cheeks, he could see the pouting overhang at the tops of her
thighs. He walked round in front of her and stood smiling mockingly into her eyes for a moment.
“Beautiful!” he murmured. “You really must give Elizabeth the address of your tailor!” He stepped back to
survey her. “You know, I'm almost tempted to have you flogged in them!” He reached out and brushed his
hand over the plump, leather−covered mount.
She suddenly came to life, her eyes blazing hatred. She spat at him like a wild thing and Hilary had to
jump back quickly as her foot lashed out.
“Don't touch me, you filthy pig!” she screamed, looking round wildly at her crew as she struggled in the
arms of Hilary's two men. “Well, help me, you yellow dogs!”
A few hands lowered and some of the men started to edge in hesitantly. There came another coughing roar
from the Browning and bullets whistled overhead, ending all thought of further resistance.
“Still the fiery little vixen, eh?” Hilary sneered. “All right, Natiano more games. Where are our women?”
“Find out!”
“I intend to!” Without warning, Hilary's two hands shot out to grasp the V neck of her white shirt, then,
with a vicious outward and downward wrench, he ripped it apart right down to her waist, leaving the two
tattered halves hanging about her hips. Hissing intakes of breath were shared by friend and foe alike as the
glory of her upper body was exposed, the silky coffee−and−cream skin gleaming in the sunlight. Firm,
swelling breasts jumped and swung violently as she shrieked with rage and shame, shapely, leather−clad legs
29
lashing out in an effort to maim her tormentor. Roger Blane foiled this by crossing his leg over the front of
both of hers.
Hilary moved close to her, eyes dwelling on the lovely, quivering breasts, the large nipples and their
aureolae dark, almost mauve, splashes of colour against the paler skin of the mounds they adorned. His hands
closed over their rubbery softness, stilling their wild dance. He grinned at her enraged scream and the awed
mutterings of her crew; to them, this was sacrilegious! THEY HAVEN'T SEEN ANYTHING YET! he told
himself, releasing the exciting teats and holding his hand out towards Elizabeth.
“Loan me your whip for a few moments, Elizabeth.” She handed it to him and he uncoiled the gleaming
black length of it, stepping well back from the wild−eyed, struggling Natia. “Once more, Natia where are out
women? We'll find them, anyway.”
“Then find them, dogyou'll get no help from me!”
“Very well,” said Hilary, very quietly. “Roger and you too,” he told the crewman holding her other arm.
“Pull her shoulders well back and one of you plant your knee in her spine.”
Natia screamed again as her lovely body was arched and a hard knee was shoved into her back, so that her
bare breasts were thrust out, taut and up−curving. She watched Hilary draw his arm back, saw the backward
jerk of his wrist and the sun glinting on the black ship as it blurred upwards.
At the last second, she shut her eyes tightly and twisted her head away, knowing she must take at least one
lash there in order to preserve what renamed of her dignity as an Arab princess before her crew.
The whip flashed, hissing faintly as Hilary's arm swung down with enough force to cause pain but not to
damage. The crack was softened somewhat by the tender cushions the whip fell on.
The breasts juddered madly under the blow and Natia screamed, struggling futilely in the arms of her
captors, as a dark stripe appeared across the tops of the lovely fawn globes. She hung her head in shame and
to hide the tears of pain from her watching crew.
“That was the first of ten strokes,” grated Hilary, drawing the whip back. “I shall ask you again before
starting on the second ten.”
“Allall right, curse you!” she panted, injured breasts heaving. “They'rethey're locked up below.”
“You lead the wayand no tricks!” snapped Hilary, handing the whip back to its owner. He drew the pistol
from his pocket and signaled to Roger Blane and the crewman to release her.
Half bent, her hands cupping her smarting breasts, Natia turned and tumbled before them, leading the way
to where the seven girls were locked in the hold.
There were cries of exclamations of disbelief from the girls clustered together as the door of their prison
was unlocked and Natia appeared, naked to the waist, with Elizabeth Fale and Hilary Garner close behind her.
They eyed the beautiful Arab, getting the picture as they saw the lash−marks across her breasts, the tears on
her cheeks and the tattered shirt hanging about her hips. None of them were sure whether they were glad or
sorry when they obtained confirmation of the situation by seeing Elizabeth's whip and pistol and Hilary's
Luger.
The seven naked girls faced their erstwhile captors and for a moment there was complete silence. One or
two arms were crossed over enticing naked breasts, more hands were lowered to conceal pubic mounts and
shaded thigh junctions.
It was Hilary who broke the silence with a shocked exclamation as he walked round them, viewing the still
visible marks of the whip on their backs and buttocks.
“Good God! And to think that it was I who got you into all this!”
“You poor things!” exclaimed Elizabeth, taking his cue. “Oh, Hilary, I feel so ashamed to think that I had a
hand in this as well.”
Natia started to pull the two halves of the shirt up to cover her breasts, but jumped back with a startled yelp
as Elizabeth's arm flashed up from her side, a flick of her supple wrist making the whip crack sharply, the
very tip flickering wickedly not an inch away from the tender crest of one of the soft−rounded hillocks she
was trying to cover.
“You'll not need any covering for quite a while!” snapped Elizabeth. “In fact,” she went on, her eyes fixed
on the bare brown torso, “you won't WANT any!”
Hilary's mouth was dry as he gazed at the seven beautiful naked women, standing huddled together
30
amongst the thin mattresses, looking at Natia with hate and himself and Elizabeth with dire suspicion.
“Don't worry, girls,” he told them gently. “You are safe now, believe me. There's just one little ceremony
to be carried out and then you'll be back on board 'The Bizarre' with all your troubles behind you.” He turned
and waved his pistol to Natia. “Come onback up on deck. We have something very special lined up for you.”
“ErHilary,” Elizabeth said sweetly. “Can't we do something about the girls' modesty? I meanall those dirty
Arabs...”
“Oh, forgive me,” Hilary smiled charmingly and then pointedly turned his back on them. “I'll see what I
can dokeep your eye on our dusky little spitfire.”
When he got to the deck, Hilary found that the two yachts had drifted even closed and Tesker shouted that
he would have to start the engines soon to avoid a possible collision.
“All right, but will you send over seven large towels first?”
Four more men were about to cross in the dinghy and they waited while seven bath−towels were collected.
As soon as they arrived, Hilary took hem below and distributed them amongst the girls. Then, with the
reluctant Natia in the lead, they went up on deck.
The “Natia” was equipped for sailing and Hilary inspected the stout mast, so much better for what he had
in mind than the slim radio mast of “The Bizarre", in that it thickened like the trunk of a fair sized tree
towards the base. He patted it, smiling, and turned to Elizabeth, standing beside him.
“And now the scene is yours, my dear,” he murmured, for her ears along. “I think the mast will make an
ideal whipping−post.”
“You mean you aren't going to thrash her yourself? I thought that was all you had been living for these past
couple of weeks!”
“I shall take my turn with Natia before long, never fear. We do not want to appear too vicious in front of
the girls at this stage. To see meaman lashing one of their own sex, whatever she had done to them, might well
harden them towards me, remembering how I treated them before. But I think they would regard it as no more
than she deserved if another woman administered the flogging.”
Elizabeth smiled, glancing at Natia standing with bowed head between two of “The Bizarre's” crew.
“Thank you, HilaryI accept the task with pleasure!”
“If you wish, you can offer the girls a turn when you begin to tire.”
Elizabeth uncoiled the slim black whip, her eyes glittering as she strolled towards Natia. Hilary had his
men line the Arab crew up on the starboard side, facing the mast, while the girls, draped in their white bath
towels, stood in a group by the port rail.
Stopping before the silent Natia, Elizabeth dangled the whip in front of her. “The moment of truth, Natia,”
she said softly. “Now let me see what was it you had in mind for me if you boarded us? I believe I was to be
tripped and flogged senseless and then handed over to your crew for ermating purposes. It seems you are
extremely generousnot to say imaginativewith your threats. Now we shall see if you have the courage to take
some of the medicine you were prepared to dish out,” Elizabeth side−stepped neatly as a white−clad leg
lashed out.
“She's spunky, all right!” grinned Blane, having to exert more strength as Natia started to struggle again.
Elizabeth's hand shot out, forcing the young Arab woman's chin up. It is you who are going to be flogged,
my little Arab princess,” she said, her voice low and purring. “Stripped naked and bound to your own mast,
flogged in front of your own crewby me!” She moved to one side and nodded to Blane. “Lash her to the
mast!”
“Never!” yelled Natia, and, flinging herself suddenly sideways, she wrenched free of her captors and
darted for the port side.
Almost casually, Elizabeth's arm moved, her wrist nickered and the whip went hissing low across the deck
to wrap itself around one flying ankle. With a wild scream, Natia went down, to be pounced on immediately
by Blane and two others of Hilary's crew. Still screaming, she was dragged to her whipping post and held
there while ropes were brought.
Pressed tightly against the mast, flattened breasts bulging out on either side below her armpits, she was
made to embrace it, while her wrists were bound on the other side. Her legs were pulled apart and Elizabeth
ordered them to be bound at ankles and knees.
31
Hilary came over. “Shouldn't you get her pants off first?” he murmured.
“You told me the scene was mine, Hilary remember?” she reminded him, not taking her eyes off Natia's
futile struggles as she was bound. “I know what I'm doing.”
“Then carry on, by all means,” murmured Hilary, smiling faintly, as he backed away to stand by the seven
girls, whose eyes were also on the tense scene at the mast.
“Now I believe you said you had a galley−boy, Natia,” said Elizabeth, her tone light but her smile deadly.
“One who likes his pleasures rough!” She strolled over to the Arab crew, her eyes hard as they swept along
the line of awed faces. “Which of you is the galley−boy?”
They stared back at her blankly, all except the captain, distinguishable only by his dirty white
European−style linen suit against the grubby loincloths and grease−stained shirts hanging out over
multi−coloured trousers. He looked along the line of men and spoke to them in Arabic. Out stepped a thin
dark−skinned youth of about fifteen, who hesitantly followed Elizabeth to the mast which she beckoned him.
Standing close behind the bound Natia, she jabbed the muzzle of her pistol into her bare back. “Tell your
galley−boy his princess has to have her royal buttocks exposed for a whipping and that Allah has chosen him
to do the exposing!”
Natia twisted her head and spat defiantly. “I'll see you rot!” she snarled.
“Nobut I'll see YOU rot!” Elizabeth pressed the gun−muzzle to the side of the girl's head. “Tell him take
your pants downnow!”
Natia stiffened as she heard the click of the safety−catch being slipped off. Then her shoulders slumped in
defeat and she muttered something to the boy, who gave Elizabeth a started look and backed off, shaking his
head. Natia's voice was shrill with urgency as she repeated the order and Elizabeth stood to one side to make
sure he could see where the pistol was aimed.
Slowly, the boy dropped to his knees behind the Arab princess, his hands going up to grasp the tight waist
of the white leather pants. He tugged without success, until Natia said something else to him, causing him to
fumble with two small hooks at her hip. He tried again, still having to exert considerable force, and, slowly
and reluctantly, the thin, soft leather was literally peeled down off her flaring hips.
Natia stood quietly, now, her forehead pressed against the mast, as pride and dignity were stripped from
her. The entire company stood in a tense, awful silence, even the lapping of the waves seeming hushed.
Half−way down her drown hips, the slow peeling came to a halt; stringy muscles stood out on the boy's
thin black arms for a moment, then, with a gasp from Natia, the white pants were wrenched down to the tops
of her shapely thighs. Two glorious round spheres the colour of old ivory leapt out, to jut, quivering, before
the boy's startled eyes.
The lovely buttocks clenched as Natia pressed her stomach against the mast, as though trying to push
herself all the way through it to hide the intimate globes of flesh and close up the dark chasm that plunged
between them.
As the gleaming white leather was forced the rest or the way down the widening thighs to her knees,
Elizabeth threw a triumphant glance at Hilary, who smiled his acknowledgement of the artistic touch.
The sun had now climbed well above the horizon, its golden light mercilessly picking out every detail of
the bizarre spectacle, the highlights brilliant, the shadows black.
Natia was absolutely still at the mast, arms strained round the thick bole, legs braced apart, the matador
pants drawn almost to ripping point at her knees. The beautiful fawn body gleamed, rising starkly naked from
the dazzling white leather.
The boy still crouched behind his almost naked princess, his eyes fastened hypnotically on the silky
bottom−cheeks. He licked dry lips and with a sudden, animal−like whimper, he flung himself forward, black
hands clutching at Natia's bare hips as he buried his face in the deep, hot cleft between the two delicious
mounds of flesh.
Natia yelled blue murder, fruitlessly trying to jerk her hips from side to side and close her legs. She tried
pulling forward, adding pain to humiliation as her pelvis ground into the ward wood; thrusting her bottom
back only succeeded in helping a lascivious tongue to probe into the tight heat of her anus. She screamed at
the boy in Arabic and at Elizabeth in English to get him away from her.
Elizabeth was in no hurry. She stood watching the erotic scene as the girl was shamed by the lowliest
32
member of her crew, pity not being one of the many emotions which seethed and conflicted as a psychological
witch's brew through conscious and subconscious, making her what she was.
Some of the watching girls made noises of disgust and turned their heads away. Hilary, observing this,
strolled over to Elizabeth.
“Let's not prolong this fascinating little scene too long, my dear,” he said quietly, looking down at the boy
noisily slobbering between the yelling Natia's unwilling buttocks. “We seem to have made a good start with
our womenlet's try and preserve a good image for a while, eh?”
Without answering, Elizabeth booted the young Arab aside and uncoiled her whip. As the lad, suddenly
horror−struck at the enormity of what he had done, scuttled back to his ship−mates, Elizabeth, looking slim
and deadly in her black shirt, bolero jacket and riding boots, ran a white, long−fingered hand down Natia's
tapering brown back and jutting, silky bottom−cheeks.
The Arab girl twisted her head to look at her for a moment, a long steady gaze, as though to photograph her
face on her memory for future vengeance.
“You have me now, you white bitch,” she said in a low, trembling voice. “But one day, it is you who will
be naked and I who will have the whip...”
“Well, I wouldn't want you to be disappointed, Natia. In case you don't ever happen to catch up with me,
I'm going to let you have the whip now!” Elizabeth stroked the slim strip of leather down the bound woman's
back. “Thirty lashes of it...”
“May your scrawny breasts wither and...”
“To start with,” went on Elizabeth imperturbably. “Then I think you'll be softened up sufficiently for the
girls to start on you!”
“Bitch! Whore! Lesb...”
“Save your breath for screaming, Natia,” cut in Elizabeth coldly, stepping back and carefully measuring
her distance.
Casting one last look of burning hatred over her shoulder, Natia turned her head away and braced her body
against the mast ready for the coining punishment.
Every eye on both boats“The Bizarre” now some fifteen yards awaywas centred on the two central figures
in the drama about to be enacted. Elizabeth's white arm lifted, the glistening black whip curled, blurred up and
back, then vanished, hissing, to reappear a split second later as it seared a line of white−hot pain across the
pouting cheeks of the lovely bottom in the first stroke of the chastisement.
Natia's back arched, agonised buttocks rearing, as she yelled her pain. Almost at once, a bluish−red welt
sprang up, spanning both cheeks and curling up over her right hip.
Mouth set in a grim line, dark eyes slitted, Elizabeth gave her no chance to brace herself against the second
lash. It hissed down again with the full weight of Elizabeth's body behind it, to sizzle with brutal force across
the writhing flesh, not half an inch below the first. Even as the lovely body jerked, arching, under the biting
lash, buttock muscles standing out in agonised ridges, the third stroke was delivered, still lower across the
shuddering cheeks.
Steadily, the weals mounted as the whip sang and danced, a flickering streak of light as it flashed through
the air to curl with a vicious snap across the girl's tortured bottom. Madly, she tried to evade the agony,
jabbing her pelvis hard against the mast, waggling her bottom from side to side, even trying to drag herself
round behind the mast as a protection from that awful whip. But the ropes were too secure for her; she was
held rigidly for her punishment, except for the play of her hips, which did nothing to help her. Elizabeth's
expertise being such that the lovely moving target added to the sport.
Ignoring the smooth naked back completely. Elizabeth confined herself to the plump, quivering flesh of the
buttocks, the target area being from the centre of the soft cheeks to the crease at the top of her thighs.
Up and back would sweep Elizabeth's white arm, the strong, supple wrist flicking back at the apex of its
trajectory, to bring the black lash hissing down across the woman's scalding bottom while she was still
screaming in pain from the previous stroke.
Hilary felt the hard erection throbbing under his trousers as he watched the torturous flogging. The lovely,
almost naked creature at the mast writhing and screaming her protest at the pain being inflected on her
helpless backside and the movements of the woman whipping her, were a sight to rouse even a eunuch!
33
Elizabeth, feet planted firmly, legs braced well apart, her torso moving sinuously from the hips, was a
poem of smooth, controlled motion as she wielded the lash. Her black leather skirt had ridden down
considerably with her exertions and now clung snugly about her hips, leaving a large area of bare midriff
between shirtwaist and bolero jacket.
The regular hiss and crack of the punishing whip became almost monotonous. Natia screamed and sobbed
her pain and humiliation, her body contorting, buttocks streaked and juddering as the lash seared and raved
across the heavenly flesh.
Elizabeth never moved out of the area she chosen to punishlow down on the softest and fleshiest part of the
buttocks. Sadistically, after reaching the tops of the splayed thighs, she went back up to the centre to start all
over again, crossing the first lot of weals.
Natia's shrieks rose, her naked bottom jerking madly, the deep, dark cleft opening and closing as the
muscles contracted and relaxed spasmodically. The dark welts on the tanned cheeks brightened, becoming
blood−speckled, as they took their second agonizing swinging.
The girl's beautiful bottom was now a mass of fiery−red streaks from the centre to the crease directly
below the plump overhang, marking where buttocks ended and thighs began. Sweat ran down her writhing
back and her shining black hair became unbound, falling below her heaving shoulders.
Elizabeth continued the merciless lashing until, with a deep sob of shame, the lovely Arab lost control of
her bladder and began to urinate. Elizabeth paused in mid−stroke, her eyes widening with surprise, then, her
thin lips tightening, she lashed her again, even as the pee gushed from between her thighs, the golden stream
pouring into the white leather pants stretched between her knees, spilling over the top and spattering onto the
deck in glistening droplets.
Gasps and exclamations could be heard even from “The Bizarre”. Hilary glanced at the seven girls and saw
their shocked faces. Mary Hawe and Molly Andrews turning their heads away from the stricken girl under
punishment. He stepped forward quickly and grasped Elizabeth's wrist just as she was about to administer
another stroke to the tormented bottom.
“That last one made twenty strokes that you've given her, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “I think you ought to
call it a day.”
“What on earth for?” she demanded, searching his face in amazement. “It isn't like you, Hilary, to
intercede for a woman who is being whipped!”
“In this case, I amespecially now that you've made her pee herself! Don't forget our temporary image, my
dear.” He looked over at the sobbing Natia, the last of her urine leaving her in desultory spurts and trickling
down the insides of her thighs. His eyes were bright as he appraised her shapely bottom, the lower half etched
with the crimson welts. “I should like to compliment you, though, on your expertise.”
“Thank you, but I had promised her thirty lashes before letting the girls have a got at her.”
“There's no need to look so disappointed, Elizabeth,” he smiled. “Your day will comeand very soon. Of
course, if any of our little fillies want to give her a few lashes...”
“It won't spoil our image, eh?” Elizabeth's white teeth gleamed in a cruel smile. “It will also give them a
good idea of what they look like to me from the rear when they are being whipped later!” Strolling over to the
white women, she held out the whip, suppressing a smile when the nearest cringed back involuntarily. “You
need not worry when you see a whip anymore. Here.” She coiled the three−foot length of vicious−looking
black leather, and held it out, thick stock foremost. “There's the woman who was going to see you as slaves;
who flogged you incessantly and kept you locked up in a stinking hold. Wouldn't you like to get some of your
own back? You, Molly? Mary? Jane?”
Molly Andrews drew back, while Mary Hawe and Jane Brelton slowly shook their heads after another
glance at Natia's thrashed buttocks.
“I'll give her a few lashes!” Sylvia Dancus came forward without hesitation and took the whip.
“And I!” snapped Cynthia Margetson grimly.
Hilary and Elizabeth exchanged smiles as Sylvia walked over to stand behind Natia, letting the whip trail
from her hand for a moment as she gazed at the marks of the flogging. Natia was sobbing quietly now, her
dark head drooping wearily on her shoulders. The insides of her thighs glistened and there was a bright pool
of urine between her feet, tributaries branching out across the deck with the gentle rocking of the boat.
34
“All right, Natia,” grated Sylvia. “This is for the flogging you gave me at the mast!” Clutching her towel
about her with her free hand, she lashed the whip across the heaving shoulders. Even as Natia's scream ripped
out, her body jerking convulsively, Sylvia lashed into her again. “And for the caning you had that filthy
seaman give me!”
CRACK! Natia screamed again as Sylvia lashed her, placing the stroke lower down across her
shoulderblades.
“And or the odd lashes that eunuch guard of yours was fond of dishing out!” CRACK! The lovely
hour−glass figure contorted as another stripe was raised across her sweat−streaked back.
“This for all the filthy paws that felt me!”
CRACK! The lash hissed and racked, wrapping itself about the slender waist.
“And this...” Sylvia's suddenly fell to her side. “Oh, hell!” she muttered, turning away. “Why am I so
soft−hearted? Here, Cynthiayou have a go.”
“With pleasure!” Cynthia took the ship and positioned herself behind Natia to inflect more punishment, her
eyes on the one area on Natia's back which as yet bore no lash−marksthe area between her waist and the
centre of her pouting buttocks.
Holding the towel tightly across her voluptuous breasts, flaming red hair flowing to her bare shoulders,
Cynthia swung the whip up and down in one smooth movement, lashing it across the satin skin where it flared
out from the waist into the rounded curves of the buttocks. The lovely globes of flesh jumped, quivering,
under the blow, wagging madly from side to side as the recipient yelled her pain of it.
Lower still fell the next stroke, right where the jutting flesh divided into the deep crevice. A third lash
landed high on the right buttock, the tip biting into the broad curve of the hip. With tight−set lips, Cynthia
whipped the screaming woman, carefully gauging her strokes so as not to miss the wildly wagging bottom.
She brought one lash down very low and a long red stripe leapt up on the shuddering flesh a fraction of an
inch above the top−most weal inflected by Elizabeth.
“Aaarrgghh!” screamed the tortured Natia. “Not not therep−please, n−not there!”
It was the first appeal Natia had made since her flogging had begun. Cynthia stayed her hand, looking at
the six widely−spaced weals down her back and the seven she herself had inflicted on the upper part of her
bottom; below that came the red−streaked havoc Elizabeth had wrought on the soft lower curves. With a
shake of her lovely red head, Cynthia turned back and held out the whip to her companions.
“Anybody else want a go at her?”
Nobody did and Hilary ordered the whipped girl to be released. Naked, panting and exhausted from the
grueling flogging she had undergone, Natia was held upright between two of Hilary's crew, her shaking legs
barely able to support her. All the fire was gone out of her as she looked up at the smiling Elizabeth standing
before her.
“Just a fight whipping to begin with, Natia,” Elizabeth said mockingly. “Until we have more time. We
didn't want to overtax your strength−you're going to need it when we flog you properly!”
Hate burned once more with a deadly flame in the large dark eyes that gazed back at Elizabeth. “Oneone
day,” she panted, naked breasts quivering with her heaving breath, “you are going to regret every sing−single
lash you have me one hun−hundred fold! Allah will help me!”
“You'll need more than Allah to help you where you're going!” Hilary commented dryly as he came up. He
nodded to the two seamen. “Take her across to 'The Bizarre' and strip those pants off her.”
Head bent in humiliation. Natia was hauled past her crew lined up against the rail, their awed eyes going
from the shameful marks of punishment on their imperious princess's naked back and buttocks to the even
more shameful spreading pool of urine she had left behind.
The seven white girls were transferred to “The Bizarre", while Hilary made the captain of the “Natia” bring
out the magnificent saddles and bridles they had been wearing at the time Natia had abducted them. These,
too, he had sent across, after which he supervised the smashing of the “Natia's” radio and enough equipment
to prevent her moving without going through the long and involved process of rigging sail.
The men worked with quick efficiency and, less than half an hour after the flogging of its beautiful owner,
the “Natia” had slipped far astern of “The Bizarre”.
With solemn ceremony, Hilary, before the eyes of the startled girls and horrified Elizabeth, slowly and
35
deliberately hurled the costly saddles overboard.
After being told that their things were just as they had left them in their cabins, the girls went below, hardly
above to believe their good fortune in being rescued from Natia. Although still highly suspicious of Hilary's
intentions, the dumping of the saddles and the fact that he had refrained from using the whip on Natia himself,
had stirred the adverse balance of the scales the smallest fraction.
“Did you have to go that far?” Elizabeth demanded hotly, when the girls had left. “I was looking forward
to strapping them of their pretty bodies when we got them to the chateau.”
“No to worry, Elizabeth,” smiled Hilary, his mind already on other things as he looked towards the radio
mast, to which Natia had been secured while they got the boat under way. “Raoul will have all you'll require
in that line. Erexcuse, me, nowother things to attend to.”
The sneer was back on her thin lips as Elizabeth went below to change, pausing at the top of the
companionway, her glittering eyes on the shamed and beaten girl tied to the mast.
Hilary ordered two men to untie her and remove her matador pants, grimacing with distaste as they peeled
the white leather down her legs, showing the urine−sodden lining.
“Throw a couple of buckets of water over her and bring her down to my cabin,” he instructed. “Douse her
well between the legs!”
Howard Tesker strolled up as he turned to go below. “Everything to your satisfaction, Hilary?”
“Eminently so, Howard,” smiled Hilary. You've earned your five hundredand you may tell Roger he has
earned the two hundred bonus he doesn't know about yet.” They both turned at the sound of shrill screams to
see Natia being held down on the deck by two seamen, her lovely legs forced wide apart, whilst a third
pitched a bucket of water energetically straight at the soft blackness of her crotch. “That's it, lads!” cried
Hilary. “Sluice plenty over her thighs and backside!
Wouldn't relish the idea of fucking a woman who stunk of piss!” he added in an aside to Tesker.
“Iertake it that you will not wish to be disturbed for a while, then,” grinned Tesker.
“You are a man of great perception, Howard,” murmured Hilary. With a fiance at his watch, he started
down the companionway. “Well, after two major engagements at sea, I'll worked up quite an appetite for
breakfast in, say, half−an−hour.”
“Two major engagements, Hilary?”
“Yes,” grinned Hilary. “And both with the same commander! YOU figure it outI'm busy!”
36
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time Natia was brought to his cabin, Hilary had stripped and donned a silk dressing−gown. Now he
lay back at ease on his bunk, hands behind his head, a cigarette smouldering in the long holder between his
teeth.
Natia's wrists was bound with rope, her feet hobbled to the same length knotted about her ankles. She
stood, bound hands covering her jet−black pubic mound. She was still wet, her hair hanging in lank tendrils.
The flogging had weakened her, but already the animal tenseness was evident, defiance once again flashing in
her dark eyes. Hilary clucked his tongue in mock sympathy.
“Oh, was it really necessary to tie her up like that?” he asked the two men who brought her.
“'Fraid it was, sir,” answered one of them with a grin. “Proper little vixen, she is. Tried to bite a lump out
of Sam's wristskicked me in the shins, too, she did. If we hadn't been quick, she would have been over the
side.”
“All right.” Hilary swung long legs onto the floor. “You may go, now.”
“Be able to 'andle 'er all right, Sir Hilary?” asked Sam.
“If I can't, smiled Hilary, “I shall scream for you, Sam!”
The beautiful Arab girl backed away as Hilary approached her, glistening droplets of water running down
her quivering breasts to hang poised for a second before reluctantly dropping from the tender peaks. As he
backed her into a corner, she clenched her hands together, making a large fist and lunged at him. Laughing, he
caught her wrists and shoved her off.
“You would do a lot better to curb some of that fiery spirit you have in you, my sweet little savage!”
What are you going to do with me?” she snarled, watching him narrowly.
“Your eventual fate is still in the lap of the gods,” he told her indifferently. “I haven't yet decided.
However.” He paused and whipped off his dressing−gown, smiling at her gasp and look of revulsion as he
stood naked, penis sticking out from under his belly in half−erection. “There's a little problem you can solve
for me while you're waiting!”
The girl cowered back into the corner, crossing her legs and pressing her hands to the thatch of damp moss
at the base of her flat, rounded stomach. She gave a sob of pain as her sore backside came into contact with
the wall; she screwed her face up, her eyes closing for a moment. Hilary grabbed the short length of rope
between her wrists and dragged her, stumbling, over to the bed, throwing her face down across it.
Immediately, she twisted onto her back, small fists clenched and ready to do battle even as she yelped with
the pain of her bottom rubbing against the covers.
Hilary threw himself on her, pinning her lithe squirming body and preventing her from using her hands.
Crisp pubic hair tickled his prick and the sac of his testicles as he mounted her, straddling her hips with his
thighs. Putting his face close to hers, he looked deeply into the flashing dark eyes.
“So this is the proud Natia who was going to sweep us out of the Mediterranean! Who would have had us
all flogged for even daring to speak to her!” He smiled wickedly. “Hardly recognize her as the same person
who stood wetting herself while she was being whipped!”
She spat at him, her struggles becoming frenzied. “Pig!” she choked. “I'll make...”
“A bloody hot little fuck!” he cut in, wiping her saliva from his cheek. “And you'll pay for that small
tribute later!”
“You'll pay for what you've done to me with your eyes!” she blazed, her knees coming up in an effort to
throw him.
He leaned up on one elbow and closed a hand over one of her delicious breasts, squeezing the softness of it
until she cried out. Holding her hands trapped between their two bodies, he began to tweak the sensitive
nipple, bringing a stifled sob with each painful flick of his finger, forcing it into erection through pain and
excitation until it stood proud and quivering, springing back at every touch and dark red with the blood that
filled it. She jerked and gasped with sensation as he bent his head and fastened his mouth to it, sucking on the
tender morsel of flesh, maddening it with darting tongue and nibbling teeth.
She moaned and tried to twist away as he lifted his head to start on the other breast, her beautiful warm
37
body heightening his passion as she wriggled and bucked under him. Suddenly, he jerked upright with a howl
of pain as she pushed her hands farther down between their bellies and grabbed his stiff penis, twisting as she
squeezed. Making her head ring with a hard slap across the face, he pulled away and jumped off the bed.
Immediately, she had turned onto her side, legs drawn up and pressed tightly together, her arms covering her
breasts.
“All right, you bitch!” he grated. “You asked for it!”
He opened a long black case lying on top of the dressing−table. Inside, on a mauve satin lining, reposed
three long canes. He ran his hand over them caressingly before finally selecting his favoritea slim, whippy
instrument of punishment whose smooth, smoky length had made many a pretty female bottom writhe with
the agony of its vicious kiss, while its owner shouted her pain and humiliated acknowledgement of its
mastery.
As he turned, flexing the cane, Natia whimpered and tried to scramble from the bed, merely hastening her
own disaster by so doing, as she presented her gorgeous, darkly−flaming bottom.
There was a short whizzing hum and the lovely dusky body stiffened momentarily as the cane lashed with
brutal force across the savagely sore buttocks. Her striped back arched, her bottom rearing up, as her head
came back and her mouth opened in a piercing shriek. Wildly, she wriggled forward to escape, but Hilary
grabbed the rope stretched between her ankles and pulled her back.
Quickly, he turned her and hauled her back until her feet were on the floor, hips resting on the edge at the
foot of the bed. He knelt and untied the rope from one ankle, re−tying it to one leg of the bed. She struggled
madly, her pain−filled dark eyes looking fearfully over her shoulder to see what he was doing.
With one ankle secured, it was safe to leave her long enough to cross the cabin to his desk, from a drawer
of which he took a length of stout manilla cord. When he went back to her, she fought desperately to keep her
legs together, but, handicapped as she was, her thrashed bottom already beginning to stiffen up, she was
unable to prevent Hilary from prising one shapely limb from the other. He fastened the other ankle to the
opposite leg of the bed with the manilla cord and stood back to feast his eyes on the lustrousing loveliness of
her, enhanced by the futile wriggles of her upper body.
Legs stretched almost to their limits, the round, full−blown buttocks, streaked and suffused from their
recent beating, were drawn slightly apart, giving exciting glimpses into the dark, mysterious fissure between
them and completely exposing the plump, slitted fig of her vulva, tucked snugly amidst the black, curling
hairs beneath.
She yelped and tried to jerk her bottom away as he dropped to one knee behind her and grasped her
scalding hot buttocks, digging his thumbs in and out roughly pulling them apart, sweeping away her last
intimate secret. Wider, he forced the two luscious mounds of flesh until he was gazing at the pale, tender
pinkness just inside the tight, pleated ring of her anus. She squirmed madly in rage shame and the pain caused
by the rough handling of her whipped flesh.
Hilary's prick throbbed, lusting to get into the girl's delicious body, to steep himself in her humidity.
Controlling the immediate urge, he released the two fleshy hillocks which sprang back, quivering, into place.
His hand slid down to cup the warm, downy plumpness between her widespread thighs. She sobbed her shame
as he stroked it with his palm, gradually inserting a finger between the moist lips. She squirmed as he felt at
the tiny opening with a finger−tip, then she was rocking and bucking madly, hips jerking from side to side as
his finger slid upwards to touch her clitoris.
“NO! NO! NO!” she screamed.
“Ah! So we're hyper−sensitive there, are we?” breathed Hilary, rubbing the small crumb of wet flesh the
harder.
She sobbed, writhed and pleaded, but he kept at her remorselessly, goading the maddened clitoris into
unwilling erection, almost as springy as her nipples.
The sinuous writhings of the lovely naked body and the intimate secrets displayed became too much for
even Hilary's iron will. He thighs were stretched wide and helpless, the hot wetness of her cunt laid open and
ready for penetration. He rose, his big penis a hard pole of near−bursting energy.
He grabbed her by the hips, intent on ramming his prick straight up her, but as soon as she felt the heat of
his knob against the side of one thigh, she twisted from the waist, one lovely breast rearing, the nipple poking
38
out like a dark cherry. Her eyes were wild and tear−filled as a shrill stream of Arabic rippled from her lips.
“What does that mean, you dusky little fireball?” he panted, trying to twist her back into position. “You
can't wait to take the prick?”
“Allah will curse you for all eternity!”
“Bully for him!” grunted Hilary, still trying to turn her and finding her body vibrant with resistance.
“You dare not take me in this way!” she sobbed.
“You have a preference?”
“My father would have you flogged until the skin...”
“I have no intention of trying to fuck your father!” snapped Hilary, becoming annoyed and frustrated at the
delay in his being able to sink himself into the soft, heavenly delights of her beautiful body. “Now hold still
and let me get at that randy little cunt of yours!”
He managed to get her hips flat on the edge of the bed again, but then she started to jerk them from side to
side. He let her go and straightened up.
“So you want it the hard way, eh?” Rearing Penis swaying heavily, he walked round the bed and picked up
the cane, then, planting a foot in the small of her back, he lashed it down across the crown of her shuddering
bottom.
Her maddened jerk nearly tore the bed from its moorings, her buttocks rearing up, hips clear of the covers
as far as her bound ankles would allow. Her scream was muffled as she bit into the bedclothes.
“Now I'm going to lash you until you beg me to fuck you.”
THWACK! The cane rose and fell again, blazing across the tortured buttocks, the welt lost amongst the
stripes of the whipping. As the cane rose again, her head came up, her pain−filled eyes fixed on its merciless
length. Suddenly, she broke.
“NO!” she screamed. “Nono more!”
Hilary checked the downward sweep. “What is it you want me to do to you?” he demanded.
She pressed her face into the covers again. “Use me,” came her muffled whisper.
“I can't hear you.”
“She lifted her head. “Mate with meput your vile...”
“That won't do at all!” Hilary had the cane poised to strike in an instant.
“All right!” she screamed, terrified, now, of that awful cane. “Fuck me! Fuck me! FUCK ME!”
“That's much betterand far more honest, judging by the condition of your cunt!' He threw own the cane and
went behind her again. As he lid his hands round her hips, she tensed, but did of try to move. “Lift your
bottom and arch your backjust as you did when I caned you.”
Sobbing but obedient, she complied. Her back arched, bottom lifting as she drew herself back towards him,
throwing her cunt into prominence, the tender petals of the lips now open and pinkly glistening. Thus he took
her in her shame.
Getting into her was not as quick and easy a process as he had imagined it was going to be, in view of her
reputation for fantastic orgies which she held at a villa she owned near Cannes. He found her surprisingly
tight and had to get a good grip on her spreading hips, keeping up a steady, continuous pressure, to force his
way into the hot, narrow channel.
She groaned as the big penis moved ponderously into her body, actually hurting as the wide−flanged knob
scrambled the walls of her vagina, brushing aside the tiny muscles that sought to impede its progress. Slowly,
the hard, fleshy rod conquered her, probing up into her belly.
With two−thirds of his prick engulfed, gripped tightly by the hot wet flesh surrounding it, Hilary set
himself for the complete penetration, digging his fingers into her soft hips.
“Right my beauty,” he grunted, and, with a powerful jerk of his loins, he hauled back on her hips and
rammed himself home.
She squealed as his rough pubic hair mashed into the desperately painful undersides of her buttocks
tocksthe area in which Elizabeth had placed the twenty sadistic lashes. She had to bear it for long moments
while Hilary got the feel of her clinging insides before starting to fuck her. She waited, her body tense with
the effort of remaining stiff as his hips slowly rotated, stirring her sexual juices with his prick and scraping
against the raw stripes of her whipping like sandpaper.
39
After steeping his rod in her wetness to the limit of its endurance, the pulsing throbs becoming more
ominous, he pulled back and began to fuck her. She yelped again as his prick tore up into the tightness of her
vagina, coarse hair grinding into the scalding mounds of flesh that were her buttocks.
The great hard lump of flesh felt huge within her, the big man seeming to penetrate far enough to displace
some of her organs. His clutching hands bruised her hips, the fingernails scoring the flesh as he dragged back
oh them with each punishing thrust. The breath was forced from her in explosive, sobbing gasps as he drove
into her with the force of a battering−ram.
Hilary knew this was not going to be the prolonged copulation he had anticipated, when each and every
sensuous delight of a woman's body was tasted and savoured to the full. Too many things had happened
aboard the “Natia” during the stripping and flogging of the fiery young beauty he was now fucking; the
spectacle of her being whipped by three women in turn, the Arab boy shaming her with the ardent homage of
his mouth between her naked buttocks, the unexpected gush of urine from between her thighs as she wet
herself under punishment. All had built up a raging lust in him which made the violent urge to spend into her
beyond his control.
He drove into her again, holding himself still for a moment, the twin mounds of her buttocks burning into
his belly, the tight walls of her vagina twitching about his cock. His hands slid upwards along her curving
flanks to the perspiration−soaked armpits, delving down under her chest to grip the firm, warm hillocks of her
breasts, the nipples hot and stiff against his palms. This added another discomfort as his chest hair pressed
down on the weals across her back.
He felt her brace herself, knowing what was coming, as his hands squeezed cruelly on her breasts and his
penis slid back along the constricting tunnel of her vagina.
She gave a sudden, gasping cry as hard fingers dug into her trapped breasts and the massive penis surged
up into her body, spurting hot semen. Sobbing, she withstood the frenzied assault of her ill−used backside,
suffering the pain and humiliation of having the man she detested enjoy the intimacy of her body. She could
feel the rhythmic pulsing of each jet as he ejaculated within her, flooding her with his hated seed, his loins
jerking crazily as they erupted with the force of his ecstasy.
The final degradation came for her with the last dregs of his emission. One hand left her breast to slide
down over her quaking stomach and fumble to her thighs; a finger−tip touched her clitoris, sending
shock−waves along the tautened nerves. Her body stiffened to resist the onslaught of the unwanted ecstasy for
only a moment, then, with a low moan of shame, she rammed her treacherous body onto the invader, impaling
herself, as she spent, shuddering with the intensity of the erotic sensations.
Without thanks or ceremony, Hilary pulled out of her, leaving their combined orgiastic juices to ooze from
between the slack lips of her vulva. Fastidious always, he carefully washed himself at the basin, drying and
donning his dressing−gown again, before going back to the bed to release Natia.
As he untied her ankles, she groaned, easing her cramped legs together and relieving the strain on her
aching hips. She gave a sharp little cry as he hauled her to her feet, the movements involved causing the hot,
taut skin of her scourged buttocks to stretch painfully.
She stood swaying on shaky legs, semen running unheeded down the insides of her thighs, bound wrists
hanging listlessly in front of her. Her head was bent, blue−black hair falling abundantly forward about her
face, her shoulders slumped in seeming defeat.
Hilary rang the wheelhouse to summon Tesker, putting the cane back in it case and laying out the clothes
he intended wearing while he waited. He tossed a towel at the silent Natia.
“Wipe yourself,” he ordered curtly.
She caught the towel, her eyes, as they met his for an instant, still flashing fiery defiance, despite the
listlessness of her body. Silently, she bent and wiped the sticky mess between her thighs, retaining the towel
to hold it pressed to her still−oozing vulva.
Tesker tapped and entered, a wide grin on his face, as he looked from Hilary to the shamed Eastern beauty,
white towel gleaming between dusky highs.
“I take it the second engagement proved as successful as the first?” he grinned.
“Well, I've worked up a pretty hefty appetite for breakfast!” laughed Hilary. “Have her washed down and
given a doucheyou'll find a couple in one of the cabinets in the Den.”
40
“You want her kept in one of the stalls we had rigged for the fillies?”
“Yestake that towel from her first, in case one of those former fillies sees her and suspects the worse.”
“Rightho, Hilarydo you plan to have a canter round the deck during this trip?”
“Lord, no! I don't want anything to remind them of the first cruise. And, by the way, we must order the
cook to excel himself with dinner tonight I have the speech of my life coming up!”
“Roger and I have a bit of explaining to do, as well!”
“We'll see what a good dinner and plenty of wine will do. Meanwhile, take this young Arab mare to her
stall and see that she's well flushed outmost embarrassin' to have her in foal, what?”
Tesker grinned, whipping the towel from between Naia's legs, and led her out, leaving Hilary to dress.
41
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hilary saw to it that the wine was well circulated at dinner that night and that Elizabeth, Howard Tesker,
Roger Blane and himself went out of their way to put the girls at their ease; he had even insisted on young
Molly Andrews, formerly employed by him as a maid, joining the party, Ann Soames lending her one of her
dresses for the occasion.
Although the atmosphere was necessarily strained and charged with the tense uncertainty of all seven
women, it was, nonetheless, extremely pleasant for the three men to have such lovely feminine company, with
the low necklines of the dinner dresses showing off plump shoulders and breast−tops, mouth−watering
hillocks rising creamily to plunge into shadowly, mysterious valleys.
The women themselves, replete for the first time in nearly three weeks with the excellent dinner, slightly
mellowed with the wine and delighting in the sheer pleasure of being able to wear dresses again, to feel the
soft gossamer under−things against their skin and the texture of nylon stockings on their lovely legs once
more, were now inclined to lend a much less hostile ear to what Hilary had to say than if be had chosen an
earlier time. They had had the whole day to relax, eat, bath and generally look at life with a less jaundiced
eye. Moreover, his action in throwing the saddles overboard had not only filled them with relieved surprise,
but had definitely chalked up at least one point in his favour.
There was an embarrassed avoiding of eyes between Betty Stevens and Roger Blane and Mary Hawe and
Howard Tesker, although the two men made it their business to see that all the requirements of the two
women were fulfilled and sometimes even anticipated.
Hilary's eloquent speech was listened to in polite silence. His apologies for the way they had been treated
while on board “The Bizarre” previously were profuse without being abject, laced with cunningly worded
references to the reputation of Lord Settlewood, Sir Ronald Duveen and Alex Tremayne and their fondness
for the flagellation of women, stressing the vast experience of the two old noblemen. He even hinted, without
actually making a downright statement, that they had been the instigators and chief advisors in the
construction of almost every conceivable instrument of flagellation and bondage, pointing out that the three
had been deliberately included out as guests on the present or any other trip that “The Bizarre” was likely to
make in the future.
He rounded off the speech by assuring them that they would be returned safely to England after a few days
in Algiers to take on fuel and stores and that, during this time, they could go ashore. His voice rang with
sincerity when he acknowledged with regret the pain and hardship the had suffered in the previous weeks and
gave promise of handsome but unspecified compensation on their return to England.
“In the meantime,” he finished, “relax, enjoy yourselvesand don't worry about a thing.”
Although no comment was passed when he sat down, one could almost feel the lessening of tension and
Hilary even saw a tremulous smile pass between Ann Soames and Molly Andrews.
At Hilary's suggestion, the party broke up shortly after his speech, ostensibly for the rescued women to get
a good night's sleep, but in face to give the three men and Elizabeth an opportunity to look in on Natia in her
stall.
She lay face down, asleep on a pile of straw, with a horse blanket covering her from the waist down. Even
as the three men looked down at the sleeping girl, Elizabeth had bent and thrown off the blanket, revealing the
lovely whip−marked body.
She smiled, looking down at the voluptuous curves of their beautiful captive. “I am going to enjoy every
minute of her training!”
“There, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. Elizabeth,” Hilary murmured regretfully. “She has had her last
whipping at your hands. She is going to be a gift to my friend Raoulrather a magnificent gift, don't you
think?”
“A gift? gasped Elizabeth. “What on earth do you want to give her away for?”
“Well, he's throwing one wing of his chateau open for our exclusive use, plus all his equipment and the
services of some of his men. I must offer him something in return. So, I am giving him Natia.”
Elizabeth knelt and laid a cool hand on the hot flesh of the welted buttocks. “Pity!” she murmured. “I had
42
been looking forward to breaking this one in.”
“We are going farther down the coast, “Hilary explained, “and under cover of darkness we will get her
ashoreRaoul will be waiting with a van.”
By going at slow speed and curving in to hug the coast, they managed to hang the voyage out for two more
days, during which time, Hilary, Elizabeth, Blane and Tesker did everything possible to make the seven lovely
women feel that they really were on a holiday cruise.
By the time Algiers was sighted, relations were amicable if not effusive, and Hilary felt that they were
waiting to see what happened when they berthed. That would be the acid test of the whole operation as far as
they were concerned. Conversation at meal times had been polite but cautious and Tesker and Blane had had
some little success in that they had twice been allowed to escort Mary and Betty on a turn of the deck.
The master stroke came when “The Bizarre” berthed and the gangplank was put down. The seven women
looking very beautiful in light, summery dresses, were clustered together, chatting excitedly amongst
themselves, when up the gangplank strode a tall, dark−haired man of about Hilary's age, deep blue eyes and
white even teeth flashing from a lean, tanned face. Hilary stepped forward to greet him in apparent
amazement.
“Raoul!” he exclaimed. Raoul D'Erlanger! Whatever brings you to this part of the world? I thought your
home was in Paris!”
“Hilary, my friend,” smiled the visitor. “Yes, my home is in Paris, but I have a chateau about thirty miles
from hereI like to relax there for a few months of the year. I have a small boat just along the quay and I was
on her when I saw “The Bizarre” coming in. You wrote telling me about her a little while ago.” He turned and
regarded the curious girls. “Surely not members of your crew, Hilary?” his smile broadened as his eyes swept
appreciatively over their faces.
Hilary saw that he made an instant hit, with his dark good looks and fascinating French accent. He
introduced them individually, adding that they had been about to go ashore to take in the sights.
“If the young ladies are going ashore to do a little sightseeing, Hilary,” smiled the Frenchman, his eyes
never leaving the seven women, “who better to be their guide than Raoul D'Erlanger?”
“Who, indeed,” murmured Hilary. “Would you like that, girls?”
“I would, for one!” exclaimed Elizabeth, strolling up to join the group at the head of the gangway.
“Introduce me, Hilary.”
The introduction was effected, and, whilst the eight women went into the saloon for a drink, Hilary took
Raoul on a quick tour of the boat, giving them an opportunity to talk for Raoul to be shown his beautiful gift.
Thus, by the time they joined the girls in the saloon, Raoul knew exactly what Hilary had in mind and his
ultimate aim.
“I suppose you'll be leaving Algiers as soon as you have taken on some fuel, Hilary?” asked Raoul
casually.
“No, unfortunately, for I have God knows how many things waiting to be attended to in England,” Hilary
replied. “No we shall be here for a few days. Apart from stores and fuel I'm having the engines overhauled.”
“But that is wonderful!” exclaimed Raoul enthusiastically. “Why don't you come and stay at the chateau?
It will make a nice change after your days at sea.” Then his face clouded and he shook his head. “I am afraid
that I should not be there to entertain you, though. I have to make a business trip myselfthat is why I was
looking over my boat.” He brightened again. “But I could take you out there and you could all stay until I
came back, or until you have to leavethe place will be yours. Yes?”
“Very civil of you, Raoul,” said Hilary. “I'm afraid I couldn't make it, either. I must stay with the boatone
has to supervise these things personally to make sure they're done properly.” He paused and looked round. “I
don't know about the girls, thoughthere's no reason why they can't go if they want to.”
“Well, girls?” asked the Frenchman. “Would you like to spend a few days at my chateau?”
“Sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Cynthia Margetson.
“I'd love to,” said Betty Stevens.
“Me, too!” put in Jane Brelton.
“Count me in,” smiled Elizabeth.
“May I come, too?” asked Molly Andrews.
43
“But of course, ma apetit!” laughed Raoul. “You must all come.”
Hilary kept Elizabeth back as the other went up on deck. “Wait until nightfall before you make your play,”
he cautioned her. “Some of Raoul's men will arrive as though summoned by youthey will have all the
equipment you'll need. With the help of the men, you will take the girls down to the basement of the west
wingthey will show you. On the way, Raoul will give them a short history of the placestressing that the west
wing is closed for alterations and for the removal of certain installation left by the unsavoury previous owner
of the chateau. This is to protect him in case any of the women ever get away and talk, you understand? Keep
to the basementthere are bedrooms and stores and everything you'll need there, with no other servants to
bother you. Now go and enjoy yourself!”
“And when do you intent to put in an appearance?”
“I shall be along in four or five daysso leave a little skin for me, eh?”
Hilary leaned on the rail and watched the excited group disappear across the quay, an odd smile playing
about his mouth.
“Looks like someone's gonna have themselves a ball,” drawled Roger Blaine, joining Hilary at the rail with
Tesker.”
“Elizabeth, lucky bitch!” grunted Tesker.
“Like to change places with her, Howard?” asked Hilary, still with that odd smile.
“If that's an offer, Hilary, I can soon catch them up and tell Elizabeth there's a change of plan!”
“Him and me both!” said Blane. “Hole me up with those babes and you can throw away the key!”
“I thought we were supposed to be going along with the party, anyway,” complained Tesker.
“The way Raoul and I have worked it out now is betterfor all of us.”
“For Elizabeth, maybe.”
“Oh?” murmured Hilary, mildly raising his eyes−brows. “FunnyI hadn't thought about her.”
Blane and Tesker looked puzzled.
“I don't get it,” said Blane.
Hilary looked at his watch. “How about a stroll round Algiers for a couple of hours, gentlemen? Raoul will
be joining us for dinner on board tonight.”
“But...” began Tesker, then he gave up and the two men followed Hilary's retreating back down the
gang−plank.
44
CHAPTER NINE
Elizabeth's coup was shattering in its suddenness. One moment, the seven women were laughing and
chattering happily at dinner, convinced at last of Hilary's sincerity and looking forward to several tranquil
days at the chateau before their voyage back to England, homeand the handsome compensation Hilary had
hinted at. The next, six masked men, two white and one colored, were menacing them with guns, herding
them from the room with their hands above their heads.
They were too frightened to do anything but obey as they were pushed and prodded through rooms and
passages towards the west wing, too numbed with shock to notice that Elizabeth did not accompany them. It
was not until they were taken down steep, winding stone steps, through a heavy oaken door and into a
brightly−lit room like a gymnasium, that they began to look round at each other and saw that Elizabeth was
not amongst them.
They were lined up along one wall and it was then that the full horror of their situation dawned upon them.
What they had taken for a gymnasium at first glance, as they stood blinking in the sudden brilliance, was now
revealed as something far more sinister.
“Oh, my God!” whispered Mary Hawe. “Look at that monstrous thing at the end of the room!”
Bolted to a low dais set a little way out from the wall was a huge triangle of shining chrome steel, with
thick leather straps at each point.
“Whatwhat is it?” whispered Molly Andrews fearfully.
“I'm afraid it's another type of whipping−post, dear,” said Sylvia Dancas with a shudder.
Molly started to cry and Anne Soames, ignoring the gunmen, put an arm about her shoulders. The girl was
not allowed the comforting arm for long, though. Two of the men had been at a tall steel filing cabinet, and
now they came across with many sets of gleaming steel handcuffs.
The girls were made to spread out and lift their arms high to have their wrists manacled to the climbing
bars fixed to the wall behind them. They were then ordered to stand with their legs together, when their ankles
were manacled in similar fashion. With the seven women thus rendered helpless, all but two of the menboth
colouredwithdrew. These two, still wearing their black masks, which came down as far as the tips of their
hawk−like noses, put their guns away and sat in chairs near the door.
The red−headed Cynthia's temper over−rode her fear for a moment. “What are you going to do with us?”
she shouted. “What are youbandits, or something?”
The men ignored her, but Jane Brelton, her face pale but composed, voiced the dread suspicion that nagged
at the minds of all of them.
“I think we have merely been reclaimed by our original 'owners',” she said bitterly.
“Yes,” said Sylvia Dancus, “if our kind hosts on 'The Bizarre' know nothing about thiswhy isn't Elizabeth
Fale shackled to the wall with us?”
“Much too uncomfortable, dear!” snapped a cold, hard voice on their right.
Seven heads twisted in unison and there stood Lady Elizabeth Fale just inside a small door lined with
studded black leather. Mouths tightened and faces paled, there was a broken sob from the seventeen−year−old
Molly and fear knotted the stomachs of the seven lovely females, as they beheld the bizarre costume Elizabeth
was wearing.
She smiled, her thickly−roughed mouth glistening scarlet gash in her freshly made−up face, as she strolled
leisurely across the room from the door. Slowly, she pirouetted before them, her arms out from her sides.
“You like my costume?”
The seven women, tautly stretched in their bonds, gazed back at her with frightened eyes. It almost literally
WAS a costumea swimming costume. Made of soft, black suede leather, it gleamed with a dull sheen,
enhancing the whiteness of her flesh, as it clung lovingly to her, following faithfully every sinuous movement
of her slender torso. The top curved outwards into half−cups moulding themselves round the undercurves of
the small, hard breasts, lifting them into prominence and barely covering the nipples. It swept down,
following the contours of the rounded belly and the deep indent of the navel, rising to cover the bulging pubic
hillock and then tapering to a thin strip of blackness between her thighs. From there, it rose again in an acute
45
V, leaving her white hips bare right up to the incurve of the waist.
Thin suspender straps descended from the costume, two crossing the front and back of each white thigh, to
hold sheer black nylons taut on her long legs. Black patent leather shoes with impossibly high heels shone on
her feet, while black gloves, of the same material as the costume, covered her arms to the elbows.
As she turned her back to them, she showed the costume to be backless down almost to the base of her
spine, where it tapered in a V, similar to the front, across the round jutting buttocks, leaving the white
overhang of the lower cheeks bare.
Her hair, which she had worn long since the capture of Natia, was once more dressed in the old familiar
style, drawn severely back behind the ears and fastened at the nape of her neck with a black thong.
“Why, Elizabeth?” whispered Mary Hawe dully. “Why?”
Without answering, Elizabeth turned and walked over to one of the many cabinets lining one wall, leaving
them to contemplate her rolling, half−naked buttocks. They watched her tensely as she drew open one of the
drawers, all of which were labeled. If any of them had been in any doubt about their fate, it was now
dispelled, as Elizabeth withdrew one long, vicious−looking whip after the other, smiling over at their wincing
faces as she cracked each one experimentally. Eventually, she chose one with short, thick stock and a slim,
snaky lash, dividing at the very end of its three foot length into a forked P
She walked slowly along the line of tense, helpless women, making the whip crack softly with most
imperceptible flicks of her supple wrist, reminding them of Natia's inspections of them on the neck of her
yacht. She stopped for some time to contemplate the red−haired beauty of Cynthia, who twisted her head way
in embarrassment as she was mentally tripped. Elizabeth stood very close to her for a long moment, staring
down into the plunging valley of soft shadows between the creamy hillocks of her beautiful, mature breasts.
“What are youa lesbian?” whispered Cynthia, unable to stand it any longer.
Elizabeth's eyes blazed and she leaned forward until the hard points of her own thinly−covered breasts
were digging into Cynthia's. “I shall make you sorry for that,” she snarled.
“You'll grovel, naked, at my feet, in front of my men, your back, and buttocks matching that hair of
yours!”
She moved on finally halting before the soft, cuddlesome plumpness of Molly's young body, the milky
spheres of her breasts almost spilling over the top of her dress as she fought to repress their heaving.
Elizabeth's breath quickened and a small pink tongue came out to roll around her scarlet lips as she
regarded the loveliness of the young girl. Her gloved hand trembled as it reached out to rest for a moment on a
broad hip, then to move lingeringly down on plump, tapering thigh. Slowly, almost fearfully, she lifted the
hem of the skirt as far as the stocking−tops, high, to expose the soft white flesh of the thighs, her eyes
following the suspender line upwards over the broadening columns; higher still, to where the white frilly edge
of the girl's knicker legs gripped the tops of her thighs and creased strain across the arrogant pout of the mons
veneris.
A sob escaped Molly. “Please,” she begged in a choked whisper.
“Leave the kid alone, you filthy bitch!” Two spots of high colour burned on Anne Soames's cheekbones.
Elizabeth Fale suddenly came back to earth. With a gasp, she dropped Molly's skirt and swung on Anne,
the old sneer back on her face.
“Thank you, AnneI was trying to make up my mind which of you to choose for my demonstration tonight.
You see, you are all going to resume the training you had just started before Natia took you over. You will be
seven well−trained fillies before I've finished with you. It's little late to start anything to night, but I can show
you what to expect from tomorrow morning onwards.
They watched the sway of the round, leather−clad buttocks as the woman strolled across to the door to
confer with the two Arabs.
She came back with one of the men, while the other went over to the vaulting horses.
“This one,” she told the man, indicating Anne with a gesture of her coiled whip.
Anne started to struggle as soon as she was released, but the man held her easily and dragged her to the
center of the floor, where his mate had placed one of the leather−covered vaulting horses. She was pale, her
beautiful large breasts bouncing and jiggling under the low−cut bodice of her dress as she fought futilely to
prevent herself being lifted bodily onto the vaulting−horse. Helplessly, she was stretched across it, to have her
46
wrists strapped to the front legs and her ankles to the rear, her thighs forced so widely apart as to almost split
the skirt of her dress.
“Pull her a little nearer this way,” ordered Elizabeth. “I want her friends to have a good view.”
Anne was placed at an oblique angle before the six captives, so that her plump rear was visible to all. Then
came the stripping of the area destined for punishment; Elizabeth took care of this part of the operation
herself.
Molly started to cry quietly as Elizabeth laid the coiled whip on Anne's back and bent to force the
tautly−stretched skirt up the full−fleshed loveliness of the wide−spread thighs. It was done slowly, the dark
band at the tops of her stockings gradually coming into view, then the soft white flesh above, bisected by the
black straps of the suspended. The creases separating the tops of the thighs from the buttocks and then the
bare, pouting underfolds of the buttocks themselves were revealed, before the delicious, rising masses of her
bottom were exposed, sheathed in the briefest of black, semi−transparent nylon panties, which did nothing at
all to conceal the deep, dark cleft and showed up the black suspender−belt against the pale gleam of the flesh
beneath.
The skirt was pushed right up above the spread of the hips, Elizabeth taking her time in forcing a hand
under Anne's stomach to pull it up in front. Slim, gloved fingers then slipped inside the waistband of the
panties and slowly peeled them down off the two lush mounds of creamy flesh, which sprang free to jut,
naked and quivering, as the wisp of nylon was drawn from them and left stretched in a thin black strip across
the plump upper part of the thighs, to be quickly followed by the garter−belt.
Telescopic legs collapsed slowly in upon themselves as one of the man turned a wheel at the side of the
flogging horse, lowering it at the front, so that the unfortunate woman's bared buttocks were made the apex of
a triangle, rising starkly naked and vulnerable.
The whip slid from Anne's back and Elizabeth picked it up, looking thoughtfully from the rearing buttocks
to the forked lash. With a sudden flick of the wrist, she sent the lash hissing over Anne's back to crack
spitefully hardly an inch above the white bottom, smiling cruelly when the action rough gasps from the six
watching women as well as the helpless victim.
“No,” she murmured. “I think this type of instrument will be more useful in controlling you when I have
you all cantering round my little circus in the morning.” She rested a hand lightly on the upthrust bottom,
stroked one smooth cheek and then dug her fingers into test the resilience of the flesh. “Tonight, I shall cane
you.” She pointed to a thick strap hanging beneath the center of the horse. “Fasten that round her as wellI
don't want her wriggling about.”
As she walked away, the two men passed the strap over Anne's waist, drawing it tight and buckling it,
leaving her bottom jutting up, taut and spread for the coming punishment.
Elizabeth came back, the whip replaced by a thin yellow wand of bamboo. She stroked it caressingly over
the beautiful buttocks she was about to thrash. Anne groaned and there were sounds of disgust, as she let the
tip glide downward in the softly−shaded cleft and rest of a moment on the stretched panties, the tip touching
the plump velvety oval of her vulva that peeped from between the backs of her thighs. The tip of the cane
prodded at the tender softness and Anne squirmed.
“If you're going to beat me, for God's sake get it over with,” she said in a low, tense voice. “Aren't you
shaming me enough?”
“You are going to be shamed a lot more than this in the next week.” Elizabeth stepped back a pace, tapping
the naked bottom as she measure it up for the first stroke. “Wait until you're strapped, naked, to the whipping
triangle for a taste of the lash, when your only covering will be your hair!”
The six women stood biting their lips some of them with their faces turned away from the spectacle. Large
tears rolled down Molly Andrew's face, but her eyes were fixed, fascinated, on the round white bottom of her
friend and champion, so shamefully displayed.
The cane hummed as Elizabeth went up onto her toes to bring it down with maximum force. There was a
vicious splatt! as the whippy cane bit deep into the soft white flesh. Anne's body went rigid for a moment, the
buttocks clenching, then she gave a choked cry of agony as the scalding pain seared through her and a crimson
welt rose to mar the pristine whiteness of the two rounded peaks.
Again, the cane lashed down, Molly echoing Anne's agonised cry as a second weal was laid close to the
47
first, spasming the quivering twin mounds. Up went the white arm again, apple−like breasts lifting and nearly
spilling out over the tops of the tight black breast−cups of the costume. Anne yelled her pain, almost toppling
the stout flogging−horse, as the third stripe was etched in crimson fire, working down towards her thighs.
Anne screamed as the biting cane found the sensitive place low on her spread buttocks, perilously close to
the soft velvet at the apex of her widely parted thighs.
Elizabeth caned her with an icy calm, each stroke well considered and inflicted with the full force of her
lithe body. Ten times the savage cane rose and fell, branding the lovely woman's bottom with ten agonizing
welts. At the end of the punishment, Anne lay across the flogging horse, moaning weakly, her striped buttocks
still twitching spasmodically.
Elizabeth handed the cane to one of the men and peeled off a glove to lay her hand on the scalding flesh.
Anne suddenly jerked and cried out as the eel of the hand ground into the soft warmth of her posed vulva.
“Youyou beast!” choked Molly.
“Your turn will come, young Molly,” Elizabeth told her grimly. “Put the cane away, Abdul,” Elizabeth told
one the men briskly. “And fetch me one of the beautiful plumes.” As the man went away, she beckoned to the
other. “Come here, Habiayou may hold her bottom−cheeks open while I perform the operation.” Anne sobbed
as two black hands grasped the savagely burning mounds of flesh and dragged them open. Tears ran down the
cheeks of most of the miserably watching women and Molly wept openly at this outrageous violation of
feminine intimacy.
Abdul returned, bearing a huge plume of a horse's tail. Made of real horse−hair, the first six inches from
the root waxed to make it stand up, it curved over, flaring gracefully, in the shape of a question mark. It had
been painted gold, with black and red circle round the brush. To the root end, a long, thick piece of rubber,
similar to a bung, had been attached, with a wide flange, reminiscent of the glans of a penis, at the end nearest
the tail.
Elizabeth took the plumed tail and, standing beside Anne and leaning over her back, so that the other
women had an unobstructed view, she sucked on her forefinger a moment. Then, roughly, she thrust it straight
up into Anne's bottom, twisting it inside her rectum. Anne yelped with the sudden pain, but there was nothing
she could do to dislodge it when it was withdrawn from her, it as replaced by something far more painful and
her breath hissed through her clenched teeth as the length of hard rubber was pressed into her tight rear
opening, scraping the tender walls of her rectum as it moved up into her bowels. Just when she felt that she
had taken the lot and the inward movement had stopped, she was suddenly jerking madly, crying with
renewed pain, as the wide flange at the end of the bung was forced into her, past the pitiful inadequacy of the
spincter muscles.
Elizabeth stepped back to admire the result. The tail eared up, brilliant colours gleaming in the light, to
curve over and sweep down, brushing the insides of Anne's wide−stretched thighs.
“Let's give them some idea of how they'll look tomorrow, shall we?” smiled Elizabeth, unbuckling the
strap about Anne's waist. “Therenow wag your hindquarters!”
“Anne lay unmoving except for the heaving of her sobs, causing the great brush to sway gently between
her thighs.
“I think you'd better fetch me that whip, after all,” murmured Elizabeth. “Abdulgive me a hand to strip her
completely!”
It was enough. Moaning, Anne jerked her ill−used bottom from side to side, setting the tail waving to and
fro, fanning out to brush the backs of her thighs.
Elizabeth made her keep it up for some time, finally grasping the bare hips and forcing them into faster
motion, making the tail wave and swing wildly, though secure between the shaking buttocks.
Then came the withdrawal, of which Elizabeth made a ceremony. She had Abdul open up the whipped
cheeks again, whilst she slowly and disgustedly drew the bung from the woman's agonized back passage.
When she was released, Anne still drooped wearily across the flogging horse, her beautiful large bottom
flaming and ridged with the ten weals of her shameful punishment.
She straightened at a prod from one of the men, her rear an unconsciously ravishing sight, with the
beautifully−rounded buttocks sticking out nakedly and the tops of her snowy thighs plumped out over the
constricting tightness of the black panties and suspender−belt.
48
Fear and disgust were on the faces of all the women as they were released from the wall−bars, the
handcuffs and anklets being re−fastened immediately. Anne was manacled again, still with her bottom and
thighs bare, her skirt tucked in about her waist.
“All right.” Elizabeth jerked her head in the direction of the main door. “Take them to their cells.”
She stood, legs braced well apart, hands on hips, watching them as they shuffled past her, her glittering
eyes on Anne, taking up the rear. Before the line of dejected women had reached the door, Elizabeth started
after them, tigerish stride and long and purposeful as she acted on a sudden decision. “Just a moment.” Her
cheeks were suddenly flushed and her breasts rose and fell rapidly, as her eyes came to rest on Molly
Andrews. “You started out as a maid,” she said shortly. “I need one come with me.”
Poor Molly stood rooted, large, frightened eyes staring back at the awesome female who stood glaring at
her like a snake hypnotizing a rabbit.
“Well, don't stand there, girlI'm waiting!” shouted Elizabeth. “Or have you grown to like the feel of the
lash on your back?”
Molly stumbled forward and Elizabeth turned and stalked off towards the studded leather door at the other
end of the room, leaving the scared girl to hobble after her as best she could, looking back over her shoulder
longingly at her friends.
The rest of the women were shepherded out through the great oak door, one of the man waiting behind
until Elizabeth Fale and Molly had left before switching out all the light and plunging the vast room into
darkness.
***
“And so ended the first lesson,” murmured Howard Tesker in another part of the Chateau, as Raoul
D'Erlanger got up to switch off one of a whole bank of closed−circuit television receivers.
“And beginneth another!” chuckled Sir Hilary Garner, sunk in a comfortable armchair with a drink at his
elbow, as he watched his friend Raoul switch on another set, showing the interior of a large bedroom, and still
another, to reveal small room with a sunken bath.
As the Frenchman tuned in for sound, Elizabeth Fale was seen to enter the bedroom, followed by a
manacled and frightened−looking Molly Andrews.
49
CHAPTER TEN
For once, Lady Elizabeth Fale seemed unsure of herself. She took a cigarette from a box on the dressing
table and lit it without bothering to use her holder; investigating the labels of several bottles, she chose scotch
and then began to pace up and down, drink in one hand, cigarette in the other, ignoring completely the girl
who stood watching her miserable just inside the door.
The cigarette was half−smoked and the glass drained before she acknowledged the presence of Molly
Andrews in the bedroom. Concentrating on the second drink she was pouring, she spoke brusquely.
“Have you had any experience as a lady's maid?”
“No, missm'lady,” faltered Molly.
“Then you will have to learn! I need a personal maida...” Elizabeth took a quick sip of scotch... “a body
servant. I only picked you out because you are the most likely to be of any use to me,” she went on, quickly.
“If you value your skin, you must be submissive and obedient at all times, you understand?”
“Yes, m'lady,” whispered Molly.
Elizabeth stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray and turned to fixe the girl with her eyes for the first time
since they had entered the bedroom.
“In face,” she said slowly, “you will be my body SLAVE! You will fetch and carry for me, dress me and
undress me, bath meany mortal thing I tell you to do you will do.” Elizabeth unlocked the hand−cuffs and
ankle fetters.
“And one other little item,” she said, very softly.
“Don't ever mention ANYTHING of what goes on in this room to any of your friends. If I ever caught you
at it, I should not only flay every inch of skin on you back and buttocks, I should have you tied to the
whipping triangle, naked, and your breasts would be flogged by the strongest of my four Arabs at the same
time! Is that quite clear?”
“Yes, m'lady,” she whispered.
“Good. Nowget those clothes off!”
Not daring to protest, Molly stripped as quickly as she could, still standing near the door, dropping her
clothes to the floor as she removed them. Elizabeth stood as still as a statue, a strange hunger in her dark eyes
and in the tenseness of her body, as she watched the unveiling of the girls' plump beauty.
A round, bare belly, the navel buried in plumpness, undulated down to a bulging mount, the hair dark
behind the flame−red nylon and the elastic “waist” of the panties drawn taut half−way down widely flaring
hips making her actual waist seem even slimmer than it was. Her thighs were too heavenly columns of smooth
white flesh, tapering and very shapely despite the puppy−fat which still clung to them.
Molly reached behind her and unsnapped the catch of her bra, her breasts literally throwing the garment
from them as they tumbled to freedom, standing out large and quivering. She hooker her thumbs into the
panties, then paused, her eyes widening with an awful suspicion, as Elizabeth gasped, moving closer her eyes
burning into the beautiful naked breasts swaying firmly from the girl's chest.
Molly forced the panties down off her creamy hips, thigh−flesh quivering delightfully as she lifted each
foot in turn to take them off. A touch at one hip enclasped the slim suspender−belt as she stood naked.
Elizabeth licked dry lips and pointed towards the bathroom. “Run my bath,” she ordered thickly. “And
hurry back.” Her hand shook as she lifted the scotch bottle to herself another drink.
Soon, there came the splashing and hissing of water filling the bath and Elizabeth turned back eagerly
towards the bathroom door, watching her breath as her new slave re−appeared.
Molly extended her arms. “Come here, child, and undress me,” she ordered, unable to keep the husky
croak out of her voice. “Gloves first.”
Molly peeled the long black leather glove from the slender white arms, then, after an uncertain look at the
tight−fitting black costume, dropped to her knees and delicately unclasped the suspenders from the stockings,
touching the smooth white columns of flesh as little as possible.
Elizabeth tensed as the girls' hands brushed the insides of her thighs and legs in rolling down the stockings.
Molly tentatively touched the base of the wide V to where the costume curved down from the breasts and
50
round the woman's sides to just below the waist and found the tiny tag of a concealed zip−fastened. She
tugged and the costume parted down the centre, letting the round, firm buttocks spring free almost as far as
the tops of the thighs, Elizabeth drawing a quick sharp breath as the backs of Molly's fingers fluttered against
the white flesh. “It has to be peeled from me,” Elizabeth said tensely. Her usually pale face was flushed now,
the eyes heavy−lidded, as Molly stood in front of her, unsure of where to begin. “Start at my breasts, girl”
snapped Elizabeth, suddenly impatient. “Pull the cups away from them and peel the whole thing down my
body.”
The thin suede leather was lined with a webbing of fine elastic which clung tenaciously to the slender body
so that Molly had literally to peel her like a banana. Her body rose white and erect as Molly stripped the black
costume down. She laid the costume on a chair and scurried into the bathroom, a bundle of creamy,
cuddlesome femininity and; flashing limbs.
Elizabeth dropped her arms with a petulant snort, then, picking up one of her shoes, she flung it across the
room and followed the girl into the steamy bathroom.
Molly was kneeling by the sunken bath, reaching in to test the temperature as she ran the cold tap. Her
naked buttocks were jutting up invitingly, just in a ideal position for the hard slap with which Elizabeth
tumbled her head first into the bath. The girl screamed ass he hit the water with a loud splash, to come up
spluttering, dark hair streaming about her face.
The next time you leave me standing naked in the middle of the room, it'll be a dozen strokes of the cane
across your backside, my girl!” snapped Elizabeth. “Stay where you are,” she went on, as Molly started to
climb out. “I shall require you to wash me.”
Molly turned off the cold tap and stood back in the big square bath as Elizabeth stepped in and knelt down,
the water almost up to her waist.
“Well, get on with it, girlbath me! My back and breasts first.”
Molly obediently knelt in the water beside her and picked up soap and flannel from the side. Elizabeth
snatched the flannel from her and threw it away.”
“Your handsa flannel is too rough for my skin,” she snapped. “And be sure you're gentle.” The girl
lathered smooth back and shoulders down as far as the water−line, Elizabeth lifting her arms to have her
gleaming flanks soaped. Molly slowed her movements then, taking her time over arms and chest, then
massaging the rounded belly with the sudsy lather.
Elizabeth knelt with closed eye, enjoying the girl's gentle hands as they moved lingeringly over her body,
until she realized that Molly was merely postponing handing her breasts through distaste. Her eyes snapped
open, flashing fire.
“You've practically washed a layer of skin off me from neck to my hipsall except my breasts! Why?”
“II was just about toto wash them, m'lady,” whispered Molly, hastily soaping her hands again.
Elizabeth sighed as the warm, soapy hands caressed the apple firmness of her small breasts, the nipples
erecting instantly, a condition noticed with repugnance by Molly, who got through the business of soaping
and rinsing them as quickly as possible.
She was faced with an even moreto her repulsive job, then, as Elizabeth stood up, legs apart, the dark wet
moss at the base of her white stomach only a few inches from Molly's nose.
“W−wash the rest of me then.” Her throat failed her miserably as she tried to infuse the right amount of
harshness into her tone, coming out as no more than a husky whisper. “From my feet up.”
Molly obeyed. Each foot was lifted and rested on the tiled sides of the bath, whilst Molly washed up as far
as the knee. Without a word, Elizabeth turned and presented her hard white buttocks, then, bending forward a
little was Molly washed up the backs of her thighs and over her hips, hastily smoothing her lathered palms
over the smooth, melon−like cheeks of the bottom at the last moment. She drew back, but Elizabeth thrust her
bottom out.
“Wash it properlyin the crease as well!”
With a small sob, Molly's reluctant hands went back to caress the soap−slippery backside and she closed
her eyes tightly as she slipped her ringers into the cleft, biting on her lower lip as one fingertip brushed the
tiny, puckered ring of the woman's anus.
Satisfied, Elizabeth turned back to face her, legs open, her hips jutting forward a little. Knowing what was
51
expected of her and the possible consequences if she angered her further, Molly washed the insides of her
thighs, her lower belly and the wet, neatly−trimmed pubic hairs of the prominent mount. Finally, fighting
down her repugnance, Molly slipped a hand between the strong thighs to bathe the warm, slippery softness.
Elizabeth gasped, knees bending slightly as she widened her legs, hips moving almost imperceptibly with
the gentle stroking of Molly's hand. She looked down at the girl, eyes blazing passion as she faced up at last to
the strangest and most powerful of all the complex emotion that seethed and boiled with her, stemming from
the great void under her pelvis.
She wanted the girl. LUSTED after her.
Molly withdrew her hand and then waved the soap from the black−haired vulva with the warm, scented
water, turning her eyes from the sight of the labia hanging wetly open, showing the inner pinkness. She had to
hold herself steady as Elizabeth leaned heavily on her shoulders to lower herself into the bath, deliberately
rubbing her hard flat belly against the lovely moist breast as she did so.
Elizabeth lay soaking herself in the water for some time, her eyes on Molly as she climbed out to fetch a
towel, giving heart−stopping glimpses of the furrowed loveliness between her plump thighs. The girl came
back with a large bath−towel over her arm and stood waiting at the side of the bath, her legs unconsciously
parted, almost bringing on an orgasm in Elizabeth when she looked upwards to see the long, velvety gash of
her sex nestled in the damp undergrowth, surrounded protectively by the buttery flesh of her thighs and
overhanging buttocks. Her eyes roamed upwards to the undersides of the full, thrusting breasts and she
shivered with pent−up lust.
I'VE GOT TO HAVE HER! screamed her body silently.
Eagerly, she climbed out of the bath, standing with closed eyes as Molly dried her. With her body glowing
pinkly, she pointed wordlessly to a large bowl of talc.
Molly dusted her with it, wondering when she was going to be allowed to get back to her friends, scared of
this strange, dominating woman who showed almost as much interest in her naked body as a man would.
“Now smooth it into me with your hands,” murmured Elizabeth, her voice as near shaky and uncertain as
Molly had heard it.
Elizabeth stood, her heart pounding, as the soft hands passed over her body, massaging back and breasts,
brushing the turgid nipples, caressing stomach, hips and bottom smoothing thighs and legs, unwittingly
inflaming the woman's passion for her.
“Shall I fetch your negligee, madm'lady?”
“To avoid that sort of confusion,” said Elizabeth huskily. “You had better address me as 'Mistress.' Don't
bother with the negligee,” she went on, moving towards the bedroom. “Dry yourself, then come in and brush
my hair.”
“Yes, mistress,” murmured Molly submissively.
“Better dust yourself with some of that talc, as well.”
“Very well, mistress.” Wonderingly, Molly dried and powdered herself and went into the bedroom to find
Elizabeth still naked, sitting before the dressing table.
Picking up a brush, Molly undid the leather thong holding the hair at the nape of the neck and brushed out
the long raven tresses, acutely aware of the sultry dark eyes watching her in the mirror.
With her hair falling in gleaming cascades to her white shoulders, Elizabeth stood up and turned towards
her beautiful slave−girl, bending to sniff at her powdered chest. Molly had to hold herself rigidly as
slim−fingered hands smoothed down from her shoulders and covered her breasts, lightly cupping them as
though testing their considerable weight.
“I see youyou've powd...” Elizabeth stopped, her lips trembling uncontrollably, as she gazed down into the
wide, startled eyes. Suddenly, Molly was struggling as two strong, sinewy arms closed round her and a
glistening, scarlet mouth sought hers. She twisted her head away, her heart thundering and threatening to
choke her as the hard body pressed against her yielding softness, the stiff, hot−nipples breasts burning into
hers, crisp pubic hairs scraping her stomach. A thigh was forced between her legs grinding into the softness of
her sex, while at the same time, she felt the warm, pulpy wetness of the woman's oozing cunt against her own
thigh. The seeking mouth found hers, clamping down bruisingly.
Molly had the superiority of weight, but Elizabeth Fale had the supple strength of an athlete. Sobbing and
52
pleading, precisely what was about to happen to her still no more than a dreadful suspicion, the lovely young
virgin was dragged, struggling, to the bed. She was thrown back across the silk covers, to be pounced on by
her seducer, for the struggle to continue in a welter of flashing white limbs and dark, flowing hair.
Maddened with a lust that was aggravated by the struggles of the lush young body under her, Elizabeth
brutally kneed the soft thighs apart, planting her hips firmly between them. Molly squealed as a bulging pelvis
ground painfully into her crotch, rough pubic hair pricking the tender membrane between the lips of her slit.
Hands closed over the resilient flesh of her breasts, the big nipples erect with fright and the friction of the
sensitive buds against the other woman's body.
Elizabeth moaned, squirming ecstatically on the warm nakedness of the girl; she moved up so that her
breasts throbbed on the gorgeous fleshy cushions beneath them. She tried to kiss the panting mouth, but Molly
kept rolling her head from side to side.
“I'm trying to make love to you, your gorgeous bitch!” panted Elizabeth. “Kiss me!”
“No, no!” sobbed Molly. “Let me goplease let me go!”
Elizabeth hugged her, rubbing herself against her, covering her cheeks and neck with wet, sobbing kisses.
In a sudden desperation, Molly wrapped plump arms about her and twisted, throwing Elizabeth to one side
with a burst of strength, scrambling up onto her knees and leaning over her to glare down with blazing eyes,
fingers clawed as though about to strike.
For a moment, Elizabeth's eyes were startled as she looked up at her, then, with a sob of lust, she twisted
onto her back and threw her legs wide.
“Yesyes,” she breathed. “Come on then have me!”
Molly looked down at her uncomprehendingly; then the slender arms reached up for her and she forgot her
proposed attack as she jumped off the bed and ran towards the door.
“All right, you little prig!” Elizabeth caught her in three long strides. “You pretend you don't know what
that sexy body of yours was made for and I'll bet you've had more men up you than...”
“No!” yelled Molly. “II've never...”
“Still a tight−cunted little virgin, eh?” grated Elizabeth, dragging her back to the bed. “I noticed you were
pretty fond of that Anne Soamescrying while she was being whipped tonight.”
She threw the girl down and straddled her stomach. “Show me what the pair of you do when you're
together!”
Molly squirmed as she felt the woman's cunt, wet with her sexual secretions, warm and slippery against her
belly. “Wewe don't do anything now please let me go!” The girl's tear−filled eyes looked up pleadingly. “II'll
be you s−slaveI'll do anything, but...”
“You'll be my slave all right! And you'll do EVERYTHINGwith no 'buts'! You flaunt your naked body in
front of me and expect me to do nothing about it?”
“But I...”
“Be quiet! I could have made things pleasant for you, you stupid little bitch! But now I'll not only take
what I wantI'll make life hell for you! You'll forget what it's like not to be lashed daily!” Elizabeth rolled from
the frightened girl, leaning over her to pin her arms at her sides. “Now you're going to do what I want,” she
hissed, her lips only an inch above Molly's. “You're going to suck me with those rosebud lips of yoursyou'll
use you tongue on melick melove me...” Elizabeth's voice shook with her lust, as she babbled on, hardly
realizing what she was saying.
“S−suck you?” whispered Molly, her whole body trembling. “I don't...”
“Suck my cuntlick it! Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. And you're going to let me do
what I want to you.”
“NO!” Molly screamed. “Noyou can't make meitit's filthyit's...”
“For your sake, it had better be wonderful!” breathed Elizabeth, pressing her mouth to Molly's before she
could pull away. “For me!” she had to throw all her weight on top of the girl to subdue her renewed struggles.
Then the cool, calculating mind that was normally Elizabeth's, returned. She sat up and folded her arms.
“I have decided to give you an alternative, after all.”
“An alternative?” Molly paused, to look with dire suspicion.
“An alternative,” nodded Elizabeth. “You may go back and share the cell of your friends tonight, but
53
tomorrow morning, you will help strap your friend Anne to the whipping triangle.” Elizabeth paused
thoughtfully. “She will be given twenty−five lashes.” She smiled as she saw the horrified Molly's lips silently
repeat the threatened sentence, the continued, “On her bottom to start with. Then those wonderful breasts of
hers will be lashed...”
“Oh, no!” sobbed Molly. “You couldn't be so−so brutal to another woman!”
“Her breasts will be lashed,” went on Elizabeth, ignoring her, “until the pair of you consent to giving a
performance on the floor in front of all of us your friends included. By performance, I mean you will get your
heads between each others legs and suck until both of you have experienced orgasm. That is your alternative,”
Elizabeth finished. “Well, what is it to be?”
Molly looked at her as though she had suddenly encountered some horrific, alien monster from another
planet. Then she stood with bent head before a smiling Elizabeth. “What is it you want of me?” she
whispered.
“That's better.” Elizabeth swung her feet up on the bed and lay back, reaching up to pull a pillow down
under her bottom, raising her pelvis. She settled herself, spreading her legs wide. “Get on the bed and straddle
mein reverse. You know what I want.”
Molly looked miserably down at the slender white body, the nipples red and sticking up obscenely,
seeming overly large for the size of the breasts.
“Well, come onI can still change my mind!” snapped Elizabeth impatiently. “Spread your thighs across my
breasts so that I can get at your cunt and bottom when I want to.”
Silently, wretched with shame, Molly straddled the woman's chest, gazing straight up between her spread
thighs at the soft intimacy of her sex.
“Go on,” breathed Elizabeth. “Get your head right between my thighs. Suck me!”
Elizabeth jerked her pelvis impatiently.
“Get at it!” she hissed tensely, bending her knees to open herself as much as possible.
Molly sobbed as the full weight of her breasts rested on the firm stomach and her head sank between the
slender white thighs. Her nose wrinkled and she shuddered in revulsion as Elizabeth's strong sexual odour
assailed her nostrils.
“That's itgo on,” breathed Elizabeth, as she felt the girl's warm breath between her legs and the damp hair
tickling the insides of her thighs. Then she was gasping and moaning with sensation herself as a soft mouth
touched the centre of her passion. She lifted her loins, jamming the open, slimy lips of her cunt into Molly's
unwilling face, squirming as the tip of her nose came into contact with her opening. “Lick me,” she groaned,
digging her fingers into the plump thighs stretched so widely across her chest. “Stick you tongue in me.”
Fighting down sickness, Molly stuck her tongue into it, licking along the slippery furrow to dip into the
vaginal opening. Elizabeth bucked under her with a sigh of pleasure.
“Mmmthat's ittongue−fuck me!” Elizabeth reached up and started to play her fingertips around the
perimeter of the soft pouting oval of Molly's delicious virgin flesh, the convoluted lips closed and forming a
soft ridge amidst the dark, silky hairs.
Molly shut her eyes tightly, forcing herself to lick the obscene flesh of her lips and doing her best to ignore
the fingers groping between her thighs. Her mouth was filled with the acrid taste of the female sex juices, her
lips and chin slippery. She felt the lips of her vulva being prised open, a finger poked at the tiny opening and
she wagged her behind in protest, her yelp of pain muffled between Elizabeth's thighs as she received a sharp
slap on one buttock for the movement.
“Keep still!” panted Elizabeth. “If you move again I'll have you floggedtonight! Now get to work on my
clitoris.” Deliberately, she opened the fat vulva near the apex of its arch and pressed a finger−tip on the tiny
button of flesh. “That little thing there!” she breathed, continuing to rub it, bringing involuntary jerks from
Molly.
Probing into the wetness, Molly found the rampant clitoris with the tip of her tongue, amazed at the size of
the stiff silver of flesh.
“Th−that's th−the way,” panted Elizabeth, squirming as the erotic pleasure spread through her loins.
“G−get your lips round it! Oooohh,” she groaned as two soft lips closed round it. “Suck it!” she gasped. “Use
your tongue on it!”
54
Molly drew the throbbing shred of wet flesh between her lips, flicking her tongue across the tip, feeling the
lustful woman's body jerk in response.
For the voyeur, it was a maddening, erection−raising sight. The two naked females jerked and struggled
together on the bed, the plump, lovely girl straddling the slender, mature woman, her full−fleshed buttocks
twitching in reaction to the unwanted stimulation of the groping fingers between her thighs, starting a flow
moisture. The jerky movements, the sexual odour, the movement of flesh on flesh, the low moans and urgent,
panted commands mounted rapidly towards the inevitable shattering finale.
Elizabeth, her eyes already glassy with the approach of her climax, suddenly threw her arms around
Molly's rearing bottom and dragged her now open, glistening vulva down to her mouth, nuzzling nose, lips
and tongue into the slippery softness. The taste and aroma of the young girl's roused sex were too much for
her. Sucking madly on the mushy flesh, her eyes closed in ecstasy as the heavy spasm of an exquisite orgasm
wrenched her slender body with might throbs.
Molly had fought against the growing erotic excitement that blossomed and spread through her thighs and
stomach as Elizabeth's fingers groped and probed at the raw, sensitive flesh between her thighs. The flavour
and aroma of the intimate juices that flowed from the woman's body now began to excite instead of repulse;
the rubbing of their flesh as the naked body under her twitched and squirmed now sent unwelcome thrills
coursing through her.
Elizabeth's movement became suddenly frantic, her loins lifting jerkily to rub her cunt into Molly's mouth.
Strong thighs closed about the girl's head, arms went round her bottom and a suctioning mouth was slobbering
at her own cunt, a lascivious tongue stabbing into the wet heat of her body.
Molly panted and sobbed, wrapping her arms I about her mistress's thighs almost without realizing it. Her
moans were muffled against the spending cunt at her mouth, and she started to move rhythmically on the
shaking, juddering body beneath her, the mouth between her own thighs drawing so demandingly on her, she
could feel the suctioning deep within her vagina.
Taloned fingers dug into Molly's beautiful fleshy bottom and she felt the fat lips of her sex being sucked
into Elizabeth's mouth to be tortured by a darting, flaming tongue. A bounding heaven of delight exploded
behind her pelvis and tore through her jerking body, as, shuddering violently, she spent, giving up the erotic
fluids of her body in exchange for those she sucked so avidly from her mistress.
The bed shook and creaked as the two spending women rubbed and rocked their naked bodies together,
working the hot lust from their systems to the last dregs. When at last they were still, Elizabeth threw Molly
off and they lay panting, perspiration glinting on their heaving breasts and quivering bellies, their legs flung
wide to display the moist evidence of their satisfaction.
Finally, Molly struggled to her knees, tears starting afresh as realization set in. Elizabeth stirred and sat up,
setting the girl's plump buttocks quivering with a sharp slap.
“Fetch me a towel,” she snapped, once more the cold, dominating woman. “And bring your handcuffs as
well,” she added.
“Y−yes, mistress,” choked Molly.
When she brought the two items, she had to stand waiting whilst Elizabeth carefully wiped the stickiness
from between her thighs. She then had to hold her right arm out to have one cuff locked about the wrist.
Elizabeth pointed to a cupboard.
“In there, you will find blankets and pillows; fetch one of each and throw them on the floor at the foot of
the bed. I am going to let you sleep here in case I need you during the night.”
“Couldn't I be with...”
“Do as you're told! And rememberno talking about what happens in this room.”
Molly put a blanket and pillow at the foot of the bed and then had to lit down and have the other cuff
fastened to the leg. Elizabeth studied the naked young beauty for a moment, then slipped on a diaphanous red
nightdress and got into bed.
Thoughtfully, she reached out to switch off the bed−side lamp. She had been shaken by the force of her
own passion for the girl. There had been times during her travels when she had tasted other women, although
only occasionally and convincing herself it was merely to further her knowledge and experience in that which
she sought constantly and passionatelynew sensation. Never before had she betrayed such feeling and her last
55
thoughts as she drifted off to sleep, were those of retribution in pain and humiliation for the girl who had
engendered it.
***
“And so to bed, eh?” smiled Raoul, switching off.

“Not one small lesson to start Natia off with?” smiled Hilary.
“No, I shall enjoy the anticipation until you have carried out your little scheme and then she shall have the
complete run of the punishment room.”
“When are you going to start something, Hilary?” asked Roger Blane.
“A lot sooner than I expected,” murmured Hilary, with a smile of satisfaction. “I wanted to prove
something I suspectedand I have!'
56
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Six beautiful females, fully dressed, were led into the gymnasium−like punishment room the following
morning by three of the masked men. Six climbing ropes with metal rings at the ends were lowered from the
ceiling, directly above steel rings bolted to the floor. The handcuffs above the girls' wrists were unlocked and
passed through the rings, to be re−locked again and the anklets secured to the floor−rings in the same way.
Then, with each girl attached to a rope and a floor ring, the ropes were pulled up again, slowly.
There were gasps and started cries as the women felt themselves being gradually stretched, their arms
being hauled up to their fullest extent until their wrists could take no more strain and they were forced up onto
their toes. Up went the ropes, the strain on their wrists and ankles turning to pain, cramping thigh and calf
muscles. There were groans as backs were arched painfully and breasts were strained tautly upwards. Skirts
rode up revealing suspender buttons on full−fleshed thighs, with stocking laddering under the impossible
strain that being put upon them.
When at last the men stopped hauling and wound the ropes about pegs on the wall, the six women stood in
a line about a yard apart down the centre of the room, their stretched bodies already aching.
Then the small black leather−covered door opened at the far end and a naked, whimpering Molly Andrews
stumbled into the room, closely followed by Elizabeth, flicking at the plump buttocks with what looked like a
riding crop in every respect except that, instead of the usual loop piece of leather at the end, there was a thin
lash about one foot in length.
Six heads twisted painfully and there were more groans as the helpless women were reminded of their
earlier days on board “The Bizarre” when they beheld Elizabeth's attire. Black leather riding breeches with
exaggerated flair sides and white leather oval chaps let in at mid−thigh; shiny leather riding boots, with
four−inch heels and tiny silver spurs, encased her legs to just below the knees. The same black and white
motif was continued in the tight−fitting shirt tucked into the wide leather belt at her waist. The shirt itself was
black, open at the neck, and with two ovals of soft white leather sewn into it which moulded themselves to her
taut breasts. Her hair was drawn tightly back, almost plastered to her skull, and caught with the inevitable
black leather thong.
Elizabeth walked slowly along the line of women, her eyes flashing as they took in the full−fleshed
loveliness of Cynthia Margetson. She turned finally to Molly, standing miserably and ashamed with her back
to the three masked Arabs.
“I shall deal with you first,” she said curtly, snapping the whip against her booted leg. “Bend over! You
know what to expect if you try to evade any of the six strokes I am going to give you?”
Magnificent breasts heaving, Molly nodded, having been instructed beforehand. Moving a little away from
her companions in misfortune, she bent right over, legs together and gripped her ankles, spreading the large
cheeks of her naked bottom.
Elizabeth moved up behind her, keeping too near side, so that the other nine people in the room had an
unobstructed view of the girl's backside. She smoothed her hand down the rounded flesh to test it for tautness
and the white flesh quivered in awful anticipation.
The six women tensed as the whip was raised, forgetting their own discomfort for a moment, each one of
them all too familiar with the feel of the whip being lashed across their buttocks not to have heartfelt
sympathy for anyone about to undergo similar treatment.
The short, thin lash came down with a high−pitched zip, making a comparatively faint sound in relation to
the yell of pain it brought from Molly.
The mark it left on the soft white flesh was no thicker than the stroke of a pencil, but the brilliance of the
red line gave evidence of the vicious cutting quality.
Again, it lashed down, bringing a scream from the sufferer as it laid another slim hairline of red−hot pain
across her bare bottom.
Elizabeth whipped her cruelly, laying the strokes low on her buttocks and all in a very small area. She had
obviously threatened the girl with dire consequences, for not once did Molly make any attempt to move,
except for the convulsive jerk of her body as she received each scalding cut on her tensed bottom.
57
When it was over, Molly straightened slowly, her stripped bottom moving stiffly from side to side, her
hands hovering near the marks, desperately wanting to soothe but daring to touch. Crying bitterly, she was
dragged to the end of the line of women to have her ankles secured to another ring, while a seventh rope was
lowered from the ceiling.
Slowly, she was stretched, making a much more voluptuous sight in her nudity, showing the play of every
muscle and tautening of sinew, the lifting and stretching of her heavy breasts, nipples poking out through pain
and fright. Soft belly lengthened, flattening, the expansive rib−cage arching beneath the strained breasts−even
the dark mossy bulge at the junction of her thighs seemed painfully elongated.
As soon as she was stretched to Elizabeth's satisfaction, one of the Arabs was sent to fetch the other three
men, while the two remaining helped Elizabeth select from cabinets saddles, bridles and various allied
paraphernalia rivalling Hilary's in magnificence. These were carried across and dumped in front of each girl, a
pile of glittering chrome steel and gleaming leather.
When all six men were present, Elizabeth perched herself on one of the flogging horses and jerked her
head towards her captives.
“Strip them naked!”
She sat watching intently, smiling at the gasps and cried of protests as each man picked a woman and set to
with a will. Expensive dresses were ripped asunder, wispy nylon briefs and frilly panties were torn from
writhing hips and left to flutter to the floor in rags. White flesh, lightly tanned and creamy flesh was rapidly
exposed; breasts juddered nakedly into view as brassieres were wrenched from them and there were yelps of
pain and humiliation as suspender−belts were ripped away, cutting into ft flesh and tearing stockings to
shreds. Within seconds, all six women were naked except or their shoes and the wisps of tattered nylon
hanging about their fettered ankles. Tears ran down most of their lovely faces as they stood stretched, naked
and helpless, squirming with shame under the lascivious eyes of their captors. Only Jane Brelton and Cynthia
Margetson showed no signs of weeping; Jane stood, her head drooping forward in a resigned apathy, while
Cynthia stood glaring her hatred, flushed cheeks almost matching her flaming hair.
Elizabeth made another tour of inspection, her eyes hot on the various shapes and sizes of the beautiful
bared breasts. Once again, she stopped at Cynthia, her face so close to the luscious mounds that the lovely
red−head could feel her breath blowing on them. Elizabeth walked round her, bending to examine the glorious
out−thrust hemispheres of the snow−white buttocks, her nose almost in the deep, dark cleft.
She moved on, pausing to examine the weals on Anne Soames's bottom and the six thin, vicious cuts she
had given the still−weeping Molly. When she had inspected them all, both front and rear, she went back to
Cynthia Margetson, stroking her hand down one lovely, curving flank.
“All right, men,” she snapped. “Pick your fillies, saddle them up and get mountedI'm having this one.”
As the women were accoutered, it became apparent why they had been stretched in their present position
and it also showed up the differences in the equipment to that used on them by Hilary.
Instead of their wrists being attached to their ankles by short chains, thus keeping them bent almost double,
they were fitted with wide steel bits padded with leather, with rings at each side to which chainless cuffs were
attached, enabling them to stand upright. At belly, hip and the base of the spine, heavier rings hung down,
from which the saddles were suspended by hooks, throwing all the weight of saddle and rider on hips and
buttocks.
The saddles themselves were shaped like small bucket seats at the back, tapering to fit round the waist at
the front like broad belts fastened by two heavy steel buckles, with the stirrups dangling down along the
thighs.
Large steel bits were forced into tender mouths and secured about the women's heads by buckled straps,
with the reins attached to rings at the sides of the bits.
Elizabeth found them not quite so exciting at first sight as Hilary's had been, however, when she mounted
Cynthia experimentally, she found that they were more efficient in many waysand much more erotically
stimulating if the jockey herself was naked. The rider's thighs fitted snugly about the waist, the crotch kept
constantly in contact with the mount's moving back. Elizabeth at once made a mental note to ride Cynthia in
the nude in the privacy of the bedroom as soon as she had been broken sufficiently.
“Take your mounts and spread out, now,” Commanded Elizabeth. “Keep a long rein and have them trot
58
around you in circles. Don't be afraid to lash them, eitherthey're going to take a lot of breaking in.”
The proud, beautiful Cynthia looked as though she might launch an attack on her trainer, but weighted with
the heavy saddle about her hips and with her hands fettered at her waist, she knew she would stand no chance.
Elizabeth let her out to the fullest extent of the rein, her eyes alight with excitement, on the lovely white
rearing breasts and heavily−laden buttocks. With a crack of her whip and a sharp yelp from Cynthia as it
landed across the backs of her thighs, she started off the first training session.
Shrill cries, crackling whips and the stamping of bare feet on the sprung flooring echoed through the long
room. Naked, unrestrained breasts jiggled and bouncedbuttocks swayed and juddered heavily beneath the
saddles. Over the harsh, barked orders of the men, Elizabeth's sharp commands rose imperiously, as she
lashed her ship about Cynthia's beautiful thighs and buttocks, tugging spitefully on the rein to keep her
constantly turning in a circle.
Anne Soames stumbled and fell, to receive three stinging lashes across her sorely wealed bottom from her
Arab trainer before she was able to get to her feet and start off again. Sylvia Dancus, maddened by a cut of the
whip high flicked painfully high up between her thighs, suddenly turned on her trainer, trying to lash out at
him with her bare feet. Screaming and unable to protect herself, she was driven again with several searing
lashes across her rearing breasts.
Elizabeth began to like Raoul's type of saddle more and more as she put Cynthia through her paces. The
ankles being unfettered allowed for a much longer stride, which, coupled with the greater freedom of the
upper body, made for a far higher speed. She was in no doubt as to which she would have put her money on in
a race between girls accoutered in the two types of equipment.
When Elizabeth finally called a halt, all seven women were lathered with sweat, breasts heaving
tumultuously with their sobbing breaths. She had them lined up for inspection again, discovering something
else she liked about their new equipment as they were made to trot into linepubic mounds were bare and
visible at all times and there were constant glimpses of soft, intimate places between flashing white thighs.
Saddles were removed briefly from the steel belts and there were squeals of outraged modesty as the girls
were given a rub down, having particular attention paid to the hot, sweaty places between their legs and the
division of their buttocks, their breasts being rubbed until the nipples stood out in stiff erection.
Elizabeth gave Cynthia hers, making the lovely woman gasp and groan, squirming with embarrassment
and impotent rage as she sought out all the most intimate and sensitive parts with knowing touches.
After the rub−down Elizabeth disappeared. When she returned some minutes later, she had exchanged
shirt, boots and riding breeches for the soft leather costume she had worn on the previous night. The only
difference was the absence of stockings and suspenders, although she wore the high−heeled shoes.
Cynthia's mouth tightened when she saw her, being now in little doubt as to the hard woman's sexual
inclinations. She had to stand still while Elizabeth mounted her and slid her feet into the stirrups, having her
last doubt dispelled as she took the weight and Elizabeth settled her sinuous body comfortably, wriggling her
bottom forward in the saddle until Cynthia could feel the heat of the plump crotch burning into her back
through the soft leather. Naked thighs hugged her waist tightly and had round breasts were pressed against her
shoulder−blades. She drew a hissing breath of disgust as Elizabeth's arms went about her shoulders to gather
the reins, her hands sliding slowly across the sides of her breasts, closing briefly about the two smooth, warm
globes.
Molly was mounted by an Arab, who hugged delightedly close to the girl's plump body, while the lovely
slender Jane Brelton staggered under the bulk of one of the two white men; Betty Stevens, Sylvia Dancus and
Anne Soames had Arab jockeys, with Mary Hawe taking the other white man.
Six agonizing and exhausting races the girls were forced to run against each other, while their bared rumps
and flanks were thrashed unmercifully and the cruel bits wrenched and tore at their mouths. Cynthia's strong,
well−built body, carrying a much lighter jockey, enabled her to win three of the races. By this time, hips and
the tops of buttocks were chafing badly and the girls were sweat−lathered and exhausted.
“That's enough racing for today,” panted Elizabeth, dismounting from Cynthia. “Give your mounts another
rub−down at the other end of the room and then take them back to their cells. I shall put them through their
paces individually later this afternoon.” Standing by Cynthia, she tugged brutally on the rein. “Meanwhile, I
shall stay up this end and give mine a little more instructionshe'll make a good strong racing filly if I can
59
correct a slight lurching tendency in her gait.”
The six weary girls were led to the far end of the room, leaving Cynthia alone with Elizabeth, her flanks
and buttocks burning hotly from the lashing they had received. She longed to get her hands on his strange,
sadistic woman, only a couple of years her senior, who tormented and humiliated her. But with her wrists
manacled to the steel belt about her waist, weakened by the lashing and riding, there was little she could do.
The whip was thrown aside while Elizabeth loosened the saddle and belt and forced them lower on
Cynthia's hips, leaving more of her waist bare; the reins were removed, but the bit left in her mouth, the strap
of it being buckled more tightly at the back of her head, forcing her tenderized mouth wider. She made
muffled sounds of protest as a sweat−damp rag was wiped over her body.
“Be quiet!” snapped Elizabeth, slapping one moist thigh. Open your legs.”
Cynthia was then forced to stand with her legs apart while the obscene groping started again, under the
guise of the rub−down.
Elizabeth mounted her again, clamping her naked thighs about the bare waist and grinding the heated
mound of her sex into her back. Cynthia then realized that the reason for lowering the belt and saddle was to
allow more of their flesh to come into contact. Neither was she left long to wonder at the removal of the reins
and the discarding of the whip.
Settling herself tightly against Cynthia's bare back, Elizabeth slipped her hands between her sides and her
arms, enclosing the voluptuous breasts in a tight grip. Cynthia gasped, twisting and squirming her shoulders in
a vain effort to free herself.
“Stand still and do as you're told,” hissed Elizabeth in her ear, squeezing the breasts even harder until
Cynthia cried out with pain. “I'm going to ride you without reins, this timeyour breasts will be the reins. I shall
tug on each breast according to which way I want you to turn; if I lift them, I want you to high−step and if I
want you to stop I shall pinch the nippleslike this!” Cynthia yelled again as her nipples were pinched and
twisted. “I shall not use the whip on you, but if I am not satisfied with our performance, I shall have you
birched. Nowgiddy−up!”
Swaying with fatigue, Cynthia was forced into a canter, wheeling to left and right with painful tugs on her
lush breasts. She groaned with pain as they were hauled upwards, taking too long to suit Elizabeth before
going into a high−step. She shrieked as the nipples were pinched and twisted viciously, bringing her to a halt.
“You'll have to do a lot better than that!” snarled Elizabeth, still holding the nipples between fingers and
thumbs.
“Now try again.”
Yelping as spiked heels dug into her thighs, Cynthia started off again. Almost at once, she received the
cruel upward tug on her breasts and this time managed to break into the required step straight away. Elizabeth
held onto her shoulders, letting the ripe breasts jump madly for a while, then she took hold of them again, her
grip becoming painful as her excitement increased.
Back and forth Cynthia was made to trot, sweat pouring from her body, ready to drop with weariness, yet
goaded on by the prick of the stiletto heels at her thighs.
Elizabeth's breath moaned and panted in her ear and suddenly, she realized what was happening as the
thighs about her waist began a rhythmic squeezing; realized why she was being made to keep up the
ridiculous high−step.
The woman was tossing herself off against her back−or, more correctly, Cynthia was doing it for her by
her jerky movements!
Cynthia forgot her weariness in a blaze of anger. Straightening suddenly, she immediately jerked forward
again, bending almost double, and, with a wild scream, Elizabeth shot over her back and hit the floor, arms
and legs flying.
Elizabeth twisted and sat up, dazed for a moment, as she gazed up at the blazing−eyed Cynthia. Still
maddened, Cynthia lashed out at her with a bare foot, getting the satisfaction of feeling it sink into her side
and hearing Elizabeth's yelp of pain as she rolled away from her.
But by then, two of the men had run up from the other end of the room and pinioned Cynthia's arms to her
sides. There was a deathly hush as Elizabeth climbed to her feet, her face almost purple with rage.
She stood panting, her hand pressed to her side, just staring at Cynthia for a long, long moment. Then, with
60
a snarl, her right hand lashed hard across the red−head's breast. Even as she shouted with pain, the back of the
hand returned and belted the right one.
“Strip that stuff off her,” grated Elizabeth. “I want her naked for what I'm going to do to her!”
Still moaning and trying to get her hands up to hold her aching breasts, Cynthia had the saddle stripped
from her; the bit was taken from her mouth and, at last, her hands were freed to go to her breasts. As the steel
belt was removed, Elizabeth returned from a visit to one of the cabinets, followed by the other four men with
the rest of the girls.
Elizabeth, calm once more, eyed the two beautiful coral−tipped gourds, the livid marks of her fingers along
their tender sides. “They're going to ache a lot more than they do now,” she vowed, her voice quiet and
deadly.
Cynthia gave a choked cry of horror and started to struggle in the grip of the two men, as Elizabeth brought
her hand from behind her back to hold up a long, lethal−looking birch.
“No!” Cynthia panted hoarsely, still struggling. “You wouldn'tyou'd kill me!”
“I think you would have been prepared to kill me just now if your hands had been free,” snarled Elizabeth.
“Strap her to the triangle!”
Shrieking and struggling, Cynthia was dragged to the dais. Two more men came to help, three holding the
fighting, kicking girl, while another strapped her wrists to the apex of the whipping triangle. She hung there,
while her lovely legs were forced open and stretched to the ankle straps at the two lower corners.
When the two men stood away from her, she was stretched almost beyond endurance in the shape of an
inverted Y, every muscle rigid, her buttocks taut and jutting, with a few stray, curling hairs visible below them
between her widespread thighs. Her back was arched, white and sweat−streaked, with her flaming hair falling
to her shoulders. Her belly was flattened, with her exquisite breasts rearing above the arched rib−cage,
frighteningly vulnerable to whatever punishment Elizabeth wanted to inflict on them.
Elizabeth walked all around her and then stepped up close to look into her eyes. “If you live through this, I
am going to have you crawling groveling at my feet,” she whispered, just for Cynthia's ears. “You will do
whatever I want you to dowhenever I want it.”
“If that means catering to your filthy lesbian urges,” retorted Cynthia, with a sudden flash of spirit, “then I
hope I don't live through it.”
“We'll see how you feel after the first fifty strokes!”
Cynthia looked down at the white beauty of her taut breasts, shivering at the thoughts of a birch being
lashed across them fifty times.
“I'm going to give it to you on your buttocks first,” went on Elizabeth, her voice beginning to tremble with
excitement of anticipation. “Fifty strokes. Then your back and belly will be lashed.” She smiled cruelly at
Cynthia's sharp jerk as she stroked the birch−twigs over her breasts and down her stomach. The tip of the
birch moved lower to brush the red pubic hair. “Perhaps a few well placed strokes down here wouldn't come
amiss, either.”
Cynthia gave a little involuntary whimper as the birch went between her thighs and rubbed across the
tender flesh of her vulva. Then the woman was moving away from her and her eyes followed her fearfully
until she was out of sight behind her. She heard her footsteps on the wooden platform halt; the birch tapped
and then brushed across her tensed buttocks.
Biting her lower lip, the lovely naked woman closed her eyes and braced herself in her bonds.
Most of the watching women hid their faces in their hands as the birch was raised behind the naked back.
There was an awful swishing hum and a loud SPLATT! that echoed through the vast room.
For a split second, there was complete silence, then a hoarse scream of pain rippled from Cynthia's lips and
her naked body jerked violently, as a series of thin, blood−speckled striations appeared across the centre of
her naked bottom. The birching had begun.
Up went the rod again to lash down with savage force across the helpless woman's buttocks. She writhed
madly, shrieking her pain as she was birched, the whole area of her bottom red and speckled before she had
received ten strokes.
Elizabeth's lust was almost out of control as she inflicted the birching; the contorting of the lovely bared
body, the swishing of the birch rod, the sounds of pain and the sight of the streaked buttocks, affected her so
61
much that already, she felt the first delicious tremors between her legs which she knew would soon build up
into an orgasm without her even having to touch herself.
She had never actually experienced a climax in this way and the idea of this new sensation thrilled her.
Eagerly, she lifted the vicious birch again.
CRACK!
Elizabeth screamed and everyone else in the room gaped as the birch was torn from her grasp as though by
an invisible hand.
“Great work, Roger!” came Hilary Garner's enthusiastic voice from the far end of the room. “There's a bo...
”
“Okay, I know,” grinned Roger Blane, rising from behind one of the flogging horses half way down the
room.
“Don't tell me how muchsurprise me!” He levered the used shell from his rifle and strolled towards the
petrified group round the triangle.
“Hilary!” exclaimed Elizabeth as the whole group swung around. “Did you have to make such a
melodramatic entrance?” She rubbed numbed fingers. “You could have killed someone.”
Sir Hilary advanced into the room with Raoul, Howard Tesker and several men employed by Raoul. Their
faces were hard as they stopped before Elizabeth.
“So this is the way you were looking after the girls!” said Hilary coldly.
“I don't understandyou...”
“You're no better than that Natia Daeudiri!”
Hilary almost spat the words. “Release that poor woman at once!”
“Are you mad?” Elizabeth looked stunned.
“No, but you must be to think you could get away with this!” Hilary smiled thinly. “Oh, yes you didn't
expect us for another three or four days, did you!”
“But you said that...”
“It would take four or five days before we'd be ready to sail. Well, I've decided to have the engines
checked when we dock in Englandfuel and stores are being put aboard now.” Hilary turned to Raoul. “Would
you be good enough to ask a couple of your men to bind thisvicious woman? Put a dress on her and cover that
ridiculous costumewe'll take her back to England and see what the law has to say.”
“But of course, Hilary.” Raoul looked horrified. “I don't understandhow did she come to be in this wing? It
was going to be dismantled.” He shivered. “Terrible placebelonged to the previous owner.” He spoke to two
of his men and they approached Elizabeth.
“You bastard!” she hissed, backing away. “All this was a trick to... “She looked around wildly for the six
men who had been aiding her, only to see them disappearing through the rear door. She screamed as the two
men jumped on her. “You you tricked me...”
“Might as well gag her, while you're at it,” cut in Hilary quickly. “Now let's release this unfortunate girl.”
Cynthia was freed, still moaning with the pain of the twelve strokes her bottom had taken. Her beautiful
breasts heaved and swayed as she drooped forward, supported by Tesker and Blane. Considerately, Hilary
removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, doing up one of the buttons in front to hide at least part
of her nudity.
Hope struggled with amazed disbelief on the faces of the other six girls. Hilary regarded their nakedness
with pity on his face, noting the marks of lash and cane on their thighs and buttocks. A couple of them still
had their saddles on, and another, one of the steel belts with her wrists manacled to it. Hilary saw to it that
they were freed and jackets donated by the rest of the party.
Later, dresses were found for them and they were taken back to “The Bizarre", after Raoul had supplied all
the medicaments needed to soothe the savage soreness of whipped bottoms.
With Elizabeth “in irons” in the very stall which had housed Natia, Hilary surpassed himself both in the
dinner he laid on and the speech he made afterwards.
When he sat down this time, Howard Tesker jumped to his feet and proposed a toast to Sir Hilary Garner,
and Hilary knew he had won when seven women raised seven glasses promptly and seven pairs of eyes
beamed in his direction.
62
Raoul D'Erlanger took his leave after dinner and “The Bizarre” sailed the following morning.
Nothing was done to Elizabeth on the voyage home; she was fed and exercised just as Natia had been,
although the exercising was done at night and she was never once seen by either the girls or Hilary.
One bright spring morning, “The Bizarre” berthed at Colchester after having made a brief stop along a
deserted part of the coast late the previous night. Three Bentleys were waiting, one for Hilary, Tesker and
Blane and two to transport the seven girls to London, their purses containing cheques each worth more than
any of them could have earned in two years. Young Molly Andrews had shown so much trust in Hilary as to
ask him if he would consider having her back as a maid and all had assured him that nothing more would ever
be mentioned about the Cruise. They had also agreed, with a few secret smiles, that they would leave the
punishment of Elizabeth Fale in his capable hands.
63
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dinner at Chesham Manor that night was a quiet, informal affair, served by the buxom Joan. At table were
Hilary, Howard Tesker and Roger Blane adroitly side−stepping any questions to do with the second voyage of
“The Bizarre” until a bottle to Tesker's favourite brandy was set on the table. Hilary filled their glasses and sat
back with a smile.
“All rightout with it before you explode!” he grinned. “One question at a time.”
“Well, I only have one question,” drawled Roger Blane. “A big onewhat in Hades was the object of the
whole operation?”
“That's, more or less, what I had in mind, too,” agreed Tesker. “We move heaven and earth to get Natia,
the seven girls and our saddles back and what do we do? Chuck the saddles overboard, give Natia away and
let the girls go as soon as we get back to Englandwith money, to boot.”
“Yeah,” added Roger Blane. “I get your point about solving the problem of keeping the girls quiet after
what we did to them on the first cruise sure. But Natia had done that for us anyway, by taking them off our
hands.”
“So why go to all that bother?” finished Tesker.
“Well, in the first place, I don't like having things taken from meespecially by an imperious little bitch like
Natia Daeudiri,” Hilary began. “On principle alone, I wanted them back and I wanted to teach Natia a lesson
she should never forget.” He chuckled, fitting a Turkish cigarette into his holder. “And I should think we
have! Having reclaimed the seven women, I wanted their confidence first of all. I had already effected a
brilliant rescuewith your very able assistance, of courseas my opening gambit.
“I followed this up by sacrificing the saddles and went on by using Elizabeth to enable me to carry out a
second rescue, thus consolidating their esteem.
“Finally, I saw to it that they had a wonderful trip home and a nice little nest−egg at the end of it. Sowe've
solved the problem of their ever wanting to take any action against us.”
“Was it necessary to go to all those elaborate preparations in Algiers?” asked Tesker.
“I would have thought you'd have been able to wangle that on the way home,” said Blane.
“I wanted to be surebesides, we would still have had Natia on our hands.”
Hilary cocked an eyebrow at them. “Anyway are you grumbling? You've made money, I've solved
problemsand we've all seen the sexiest television show we're ever likely to see outside of Raoul's chateau!”
He took a long, thoughtful pull on his cigarette. “Mainly, though, I wanted to prove a pointand not only
prove it, but ram home the truth of it. And I've done it!”
“Yeah, that's right,” said Blane. “What's going to be done with her? You'll have another problem
explaining her disappearance. Or are you letting her go now the girls are safely away?”
“Have some more brandy, gentlemen,” smiled Hilary, going across and pulling the bell−sash three distinct
pulls, with a pause between each.
The dining room door opened and Joan entered slowly, short whip in one hand, leading the proud Lady
Elizabeth Fale on a leash attached to a steel collar about her neck. Her wrists were manacled, as were her
ankles, by glittering steel cuffs with a short length of thin chain suspended between them.
She was gagged and blindfolded, her only coverings a pair of glossy black shoes with six−inch heels and
sheer black nylons held up by frilly red garters, enhancing the whiteness of her tall, slender body.
Joan tugged on the leash and flicked the whip across the backs of her thighs to bring her over to the table.
“Wowee!!” breathed Roger Blane.
“Bloody hell!” muttered Tesker. “Lady Elizabeth Fale!”
“In all her naked glory!” nodded Hilary.
“I really thought you'd put her ashore so that the girls wouldn't know she was getting off scot free,” said
Tesker. “And just what have got in mind for her?”
“As Rudyard Kipling would have said, my dear Howard,” murmured Hilary. “That is another story!”
64

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haven't time to wait for thattake the whole thing down!”

Hilary?” she murmured.

“Got your passport, Elizabeth?”

“And so to bed, eh?” smiled Raoul, switching off.

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