Collected by Djian
The usual 'stuff', digitally enhanced. Think: unmade '50s movie. Feedback
appreciated, as ever.
/Spray
OPIUM MONOPOLY
by MrSpraycan
It is the wrong time of year to sail this route, and she can't blame anyone
but herself. She'd been warned. The monsoon season off the coast is
unpredictable, and violent when it comes. But Lucy needs to make a profit
quickly to pay off her late husband's huge debts.
He'd always viewed himself as a merchant, but 'smuggler' is a word that
has come easier to her now, as she has changed her viewpoint. Smuggler, or
pirate. He'd been both, and this last voyage was supposed to clean up so
much. To pay the debts to the money lenders, to make it clean with the
gamblers in the London coffee shops. To buy off the angry East India
Company officials who had been making life so impossible.
Poor John. So trusting at times. He'd accepted the slow tow by canoes,
between the two Philippine islands, against the tide race. Fallen into the
ambush with little room to maneuver, no wind to swell the sails. He'd not
recognized the approaching junks as pirates until too late. Had fallen,
wide-eyed, to the deck his legs blown away by their first crude cannonade.
How they'd battled for several frantic hours, sinking them all before they
could draw close enough to board. Decks awash with blood, half the crew
dead. Their abiding fears that a Spanish galleon would appear on the scene,
and overwhelm the Dainty with a wave of shot. She'd sewn John's shroud
herself. Buried him at sea, weighted with ballast so the sharks would not
feed on him. At least, not within her sight.
Then what could she do, but grieve? She'd remained in her cabin for two
days, until the crew's rumblings grew louder. Then, appeared one morning in
man's attire, breeches, seaboots, jerkin, and proclaimed herself captain.
When one of the half-breed sailors snorted with laughter, she'd run him
through with a single thrust of John's cutlass. "We have no choice," she
told them. "Our cargo is of no value in the Philippines. Or anywhere else.
We have to go on to China, and sell it as we meant to." They'd sailed on,
the Dainty being patched and repaired as they went. Across the South China
Sea, braving whatever weather might come their way. And it had come.
Spiraling out of the southwest, overtaking them with sail-shredding squalls
and downpours long before the sea was whipped into a maelstrom.
She is sure they are within sight of land. The chances of making the Pearl
River estuary are good. But the Dainty is straining hard now, caulking
coming loose below the waterline, shipping water with every fresh wave that
breaks over her. In shallow waters, the groundswell is magnified, the wind
bearing down on her and making steering ever more difficult. Driving her
toward the lee shore. She'll have but one chance to run through the
shallows, behind the barrier islands. To find some kind of shelter. And
maybe next day, after the storm abates, to seek out her clients.
In the hold, along with barrels of sugar, bales of cotton and trade goods,
is the key to her salvation. Two dozen small sealed chests of opium, balm
to the needs of the increasingly hungry Chinese market. A cargo worth its
weight in gold, and one that would be snapped up, and paid for in pure
silver ingots, with no questions asked. All she has to do is make sure she
avoids coming ashore at the wrong point, and being forced to surrender her
cargo to the importer's monopoly. John's map shows an elaborate series of
beacons, but she's struggling to interpret which is official, and which
guides vessels to the renegades she must meet. It's a last chance: they'd
bought the cargo with borrowed funds at an auction, and failed to meet
their price at Surabaya in the Dutch East Indies, and been scared away from
the Philippines market. Japan? Closed, and few opium users. No, the Chinese
it had to be.
In the blinding rain, with following seas, there are no beacons to be
seen. And even if there were, she's filled with distrust for the Hakka and
other pirates who deliberately lure ship to their doom on reefs and sandbanks.
"There's an inlet there," she shrieks as the squalls cease for a moment.
"Maybe a harbor. At the least, we can run ashore in shallow water, with the
headland between us and the storm."
And run ashore they do, only the mizzenmast standing, the mainmast fallen.
The little brig does its best, but at the last moment a glancing encounter
with some submerged rocks finish her off. She's driven onto the lee shore,
just within the cove they'd spotted, and beached. In the chaos of the
storm, the crew panic and run, abandoning everything. And Lucy staggers
ashore, half-drowned.
By morning, the Dainty is an unsalvageable wreck, her back broken. And
the first Chinese arrive, scavenging the shoreline. Braver ones put out in
boats into the surf to loot the hold. They menace the few feeble stragglers
of the crew, who are unable to fight back. Lucy flees inland, away from the
beach. Maybe there is a way overland to Canton or a nearby town where she
could find help, even from the hated Company.
She hides for a while in a small cave. And is soon found by a troop of
soldiers. She rages at them for a few minutes, but they can't understand a
word she says. Eventually, tiring of the harangue, they bundle her in a
sack and load her, kicking and protesting, on an ox cart.
She awakes in a rank dungeon, alone. Lit only by a guttering candle.
Clothes still wet, her body aching, limbs cramped. Her screams are ignored
for a while, though there are angry shouts from neighboring cells. None in
English.
Finally, a group of guards appears. The tall man at their head speaks
through the bars. He seems to be of her own age. He waits a moment, then
says slowly, in English: "Please to stop this shouting. I am K'ang,
appointed guardian of this coastline. What is your name?" He's taller than
the others, dark-haired. With a thin drooping mustache, like rats' tails.
"Lucy Broadhead, acting captain of the trading vessel Dainty, out of
Liverpool and Madras, a subject of King George. I demand to be released,
and my crew and cargo restored to me."
"Demand? This is the Celestial Kingdom, and no one may demand anything,
especially a lowly barbarian, and a woman. Besides, there are some
questions regarding your voyage and its purpose. The Company has no
official record of you, I am informed by my sources there."
"Ask them again, they know the Dainty."
"They know of smugglers who use that name. Low criminals."
"And what of my crew?" she asked.
"Run away like the half-drowned rats they are, and being hunted down.
Except for the few we already hung."
He turns his back and leaves.
A day goes by. K'ang reappears, grim-faced. "We have examined the wreck of
your ship. Much contraband, and no record of it being ordered or expected
by any official importer. You are a smuggler, as I thought."
She'd stared defiantly. "A free merchant, following the trade routes."
He shrugged. "Perhaps, but the rules here are well-known to all merchants.
Something else was found. There were several chests of Indian opium. Poor
stuff, but nevertheless, contraband."
"There's a good market for it here."
"An official one, yes. We try to control it, to prevent the country being
inundated with the devil's work."
"You sound like a Catholic," she'd spat.
"I met them in Macao. And I'm aware of their teachings, but I am not one.
We Chinese can think for ourselves," he replied. "Now, you must make your
explanations to the magistrate. I can do no more."
Struggling, she's dragged from the dungeon. Down long corridors, to a
richly appointed chamber hung with red and gold silks. The magistrate, a
tiny shrivelled man in a long black robe, listens carefully to K'ang's
evidence, and his translation of her protests.
"Opium smuggler," K'ang tells her at last. "That's his verdict. All that's
needed."
She begins to repeat her pleas of immunity.
"Silence her, she is becoming tiresome," K'ang finally orders.
Her tongue is clamped with two bamboo rods, bound together with rope. It
stops her ceaseless protests. He begins to translate the magistrate's words
again.
"Since the year you barbarians reckon as 1726, the emperor's new laws have
been in force. They apply to foreigners as well as Chinese. Opium smuggling
will not be tolerated, nor any trade in it within our realm. There are
severe, but just, penalties. Your crew has already suffered the fate of
smugglers. But you as captain bear a special responsibility."
She stares at him wild-eyed. She's beginning to drool on herself, because
of the gag.
"We have prohibitions, or rather strongly held customs against punishing
women, but in your case I feel that this might be construed as mere
sentimentality. You are a barbarian, an evil woman, sent to tempt our
people and lead them into ways of idleness, debauchery and deceit. Should
you live, just because you are ignorant? It offends logic. Evil is all
round. And you were not free of that knowledge, or why else would you have
tried to smuggle your cargo?
"Nevertheless, I shall make a special exception and give you into the care
of my granddaughter, Ling. She will determine a suitable penalty. Women can
sometimes be merciful, but often cruel beyond the ways of men. It is
fitting you should be placed in her hands."
Struggling, Lucy is led away, to the polite chuckles and nudges of the
small crowd gathered in the magistrate's chamber. She's dragged deeper into
the palace, then upstairs to a spacious room overlooking the sea.
Ling is beautiful, young. Feline. She sits on a low couch, staring at
Lucy for some minutes. Finally, she stands. Like nearly all the people Lucy
has met, the young woman is barely shoulder high to her.
She speaks in a sing-song accented English. "Ah, the opium smuggler. The
ringleader. Please don't seem so surprised. Did you expect to be taken to
the executioners' block? The torture chamber? Not yet, at least. My
sleeping chamber is so much more pleasant."
She smiles at Lucy's gag. "Yes the tongue of women is often restrained at
my grandfather's court. Try not to drool on my clean floor, please. K'ang
has told me much about this outrageous offence of yours. On her knees,
please," she tells her chambermaids. Lucy is forced down.
"Better," Ling smiles. "A European woman, how interesting. Proud, haughty,
like all of them that I have known. So convinced of their superiority. But
here, you are not superior. Oh no."
She stares into Lucy's green eyes. "I understand you white bitches very
well. I spent several summers translating for your men. Because it I
forbidden for anyone to teach Chinese to the barbarians, we must lower
ourselves to speaking your language. How you all gape at a woman like me,
able to speak English. Like a performing dog."
"Well, we must find a way to break you, teach you your place." She gives
some curt orders her female servants, then translates. "I told them, 'Strip
her naked and bind her tightly, for that is how she will remain in my
presence. Befitting her status, lower than the beasts. And burn her
barbaric clothes, every shred of them.' "
Lucy struggles wildly, but she is stripped, quickly and efficiently, and
her clothes spirited away. "So, pretty one," Ling smiles, drinking in the
sight of Lucy's nakedness. "How voluptuous you European sluts are. And how
terribly white your skin is, like paper. How like the Hindu cows, with your
huge tits, your vast backside. What a pleasure it would be to torment you,
my dear. But equally, what a pleasure to love you, in the ways only women
know. Your choices? They are quite stark, and simple. Knowing your
inevitable guilt, I've thought long and hard about you, western witch. You
have a choice: a lifetime as my slave, or the punishment the Emperor has
prescribed. Understand? My slave, or punishment, could I make it any
simpler? Let me explain both carefully...are you ready?"
Lucy nods, trembling.
"A life of shame, or a slow death. Only criminals of the best families
achieve a quick, merciful death, and as a foreigner of no breeding, no such
mercy will be extended to you."
"Let me begin with the punishment." Her servants giggle with amusement,
holding Lucy's shoulders tightly. "It's merciless, as befits your terrible
crime. You'll be taken and paraded through the city, naked for all to see.
Like the shameless creature you are. Then, bound to a framework in the
public square, and given 100 blows with a bamboo rod. A beating that will
test your endurance to its limits." She smiles: "Your skin will be cut to
ribbons."
Lucy's eyes are filled with tears. "Oh, but wait," Ling continues. "That
is merely the penalty for possession of this vile substance. As a
contrabandist, there are harsher penalties to come. You'll be taken, still
naked, to the barracks of the Imperial Guard, and the soldiers will amuse
themselves with you for a day or two. In a way, I'd hate to waste such
charms on low conscripts, but it keeps them happy. Then, the punishment
begins in earnest. You'll be put in a cage, on the back of an ox cart.
Exhibited naked in every town of the province, and beaten again in each. It
may take a year, who knows? No criminal has ever survived such a journey
for us to find out." She giggles. "But if one did, like yourself, then
further punishment would be forthcoming. I think the Emperor's law
prescribes for banishment to the farthest ends of the kingdom, the wild
frozen mountains or desert wastes to the west. But for you, one of these
strange Westerners, that would be too much like sending you home. So, I'd
have you martyred in one of the fashions your religion so strangely loves.
Crucified, perhaps. Burned? Or should we do both? Slowly roast you, nailed
to a cross. Or perhaps our charming local custom, the death of 1,000 cuts.
Whatever it is, you'll be praying to die, but we won't let you, until we've
wrung as much pain from you as we can."
Lucy is close to fainting. Ling pauses. "Or, you have a choice. You may be
my slave. No, not like my servants here. A low, vile creature. Naked, in
perpetuity. One who will share my bed from time to time, and repay my
kindness with her tongue. One who will be available for our games, my
ladies and I, when we are feeling spiteful and cruel. A plaything for our
male guests. Make your choice, whore."
Lucy's crude gag is removed, and she falls on her face. Crawls to Ling's
throne, and kisses her bare feet, softly pleading: "I'd rather be your
slave, and earn your favor."
"I doubt if you can, but if that is your cowardly answer, then I shall
accept. Understand this, creature. You will obey my every command. And the
slightest resistance or disobedience will be rewarded with severe
punishment. Don't think you won't have your white skin split with the cane.
You will."
Lucy kissed Ling's feet more passionately.
"Some women, I have been assured, enjoy being tormented. Are you one of
those, Englishwoman? Did your husband discipline you properly?"
"No," she croaked. "No, my lady."
"We must investigate that."
The servants chuckle as she translates this revelation for them.
"Let me tell you about their little secret. They enjoy caning bad girls,
new ones. They say they've found one or two pain lovers that way. And no
bad girl can be no worse than you, can she?"
"My lady, please," Lucy begs, pressing her lips to Ling's foot.
"Think of it as the beginning of your education," Ling sneered.
A servant has brought a selection of canes, and stands waiting.
"Bend over that chest," Ling orders. "Let's see what a little punishment
does to make you more compliant."
Lucy stands, walks slowly to the chest, and drapes herself over it.
"Spread your legs, and place your hands behind you."
The servants tie her wrists, and wind ropes around her ankles and knees.
"We'll take turns," Ling says. "And remember however much it hurts, it's
deserved. Think how much worse your fate could have been. Still could be,
if you don't please me."
The canes are handed out, and the women begin to slash at Lucy's buttocks
and thighs. She shrieks in pain, to the excited giggling and gleeful
chattering of Ling's companions. The magistrate's daughter is peaking to
them, encouraging them on.
"Does it hurt, pirate?" she hisses. "I hope so. But it's why you
foreigners have such huge backsides, isn't it? What would be the point, if
they were not intended for beating?"
Lucy's bottom is on fire, and she gasps with relief when Ling finally
gives an order to halt.
"Thirty strokes, that's enough for now," Ling affirms. "Now let's see how
you look."
She gives a command. Lucy's legs are untied, and she's hauled to her feet.
The servants are chattering excitedly, their enjoyment of her suffering
evident. They hold her for Ling's inspection. Her hands roam over Lucy's
breasts, squeezing her, and touching the hardened nipples. She smiles:
"Cold? Or excited? Tell the truth."
"Cold, my lady," Lucy sobs.
"I hope not. It's a warm day," Ling teases. "Imagine how you'll feel in
the winter. I am completely resolute that you will be naked at all times,
indoors and out. No matter who is present, or how many witness your
shameful condition."
Lucy feels Ling's hands slide down her midriff and belly, stroke her
thighs. They press against her mons, and busy fingers comb through her
pubic hair.
"Wet."
Ling's comment is an accusation. She asks a question of her servants, and
they shake their heads.
"And you weren't before, they insist."
Her fingers pull at Lucy's labia. "Squat down, let me look at this," she
snaps.
Lucy is trembling as the woman's fingers explore her, discovering the
slimy wetness on her nether lips, the heat in her vagina. She withdraws her
hand and examines her sticky fingertips, sniffs them.
"Oh, so you are one of those women who enjoys this, I can see."
Lucy sobs in shame. Yes, as a child she'd often rubbed, alone, thinking of
the suffering of the saints in her schoolbooks. Had felt herself becoming
wet when a sailor was punished on the Dainty. Had trembled in passion at a
parade of wretched prisoners being led away to gory execution in India. How
John had teased her about it. But refused to do more than put her over his
knee for an affectionate spanking.
"My lady, yes. I'm sorry. I lied about the cold."
"So your husband did punish you?"
"No, not harshly. He was a gentle man."
"But you were a very demanding, independent woman, I sense. Did you not ask?"
"It seemed too strange."
"Among young women here, it is, yes. Rather uncommon, but not unknown. But
a woman with a body like yours, anything is possible." She handles Lucy's
breasts again.
Ling chuckles. "I'll remember that the next time I have you whipped. I
won't stop so soon. Maybe we'll experiment with beating other parts of you,
to see how you react. There's so much more I can do to amuse myself, now I
know it makes you feel this way."
She steps close and takes Lucy by the shoulder. Kisses her fiercely on the
mouth, until she feels the naked woman responding, her tongue moving
against hers.
She growls: "Ever since I was a little girl, I've enjoyed exercising my
power. Biting and pinching my nurse. Beating the servants, cutting and
scalding them. But I never had a lover who would let me use her in the ways
I desire. And suddenly, now I have you. So, my new bed slave will be my
torture victim too, and enjoy it."
Lucy nods, speechless.
Ling is caressing her labia again, pinching her clitoris. "Are you
familiar with the skills of loving other women?"
"No."
"Then I must teach you."
"Yes, Mistress Ling."
"I think it would be good for you to learn your lessons in public, but I
don't feel inclined to expose myself to all these women today. I think I'll
have one of the young ones take my place."
She turns to a servant, and issues a curt order. The woman unwinds her
robe, blushing hotly. The others help her undress, and steer her to the bed.
"Fingers and tongue," Ling tells Lucy. The woman is opening her legs, and
closes her eyes. She's trembling. "You don't have the body of a man, but
you know just what to do. All the things that excite you when you pleasure
yourself, she'll respond to. Start by playing with her, with your hands."
Lucy kneels between the woman's legs, and starts to massage her genitals,
staring in wonder at how small and dainty they are compared to her own.
"Now, put a finger in her hole. She'll be grateful."
The woman gasps hungrily as Lucy slides her middle finger deep into her
vagina. "Move it, in and out," Ling growls. "Make it sticky and wet, like
your own filthy hole. Good, that's right..."
Soon, the Chinese woman is arching her back, lifting her hips, making
incoherent noises.
Ling nods happily. "Now, slip that finger out. And press your face down
there. Lick her. Go on, push your tongue into her."
Lucy recoils in disgust at the taste and smell, but is forced back down.
"Lick, I said. And learn to lick well, because I will enslave your mouth
tonight."
Taking her words to heart, and fearing punishment, Lucy slurps at the
woman, feeling the thick creamy juices coating her tongue. In some subtle
way it tastes less vile than she had anticipated. "Push your face in, go
on. Put your tongue into her hole."
The other women crowded round, excitedly offering advice, which Ling
translated with a merry laugh. "Oh, we'll teach you so much, slave. How
lovely you look now, with all this mess on your face."
Hands are straying, and Lucy feels her own sex being probed from behind.
She daren't protest, and can scarcely move under the press of bodies.
Excitement is mounting, her own and the woman beneath her. Soon both lose
control, heaving and groaning.
Ling hauls Lucy to her feet. "Just look at you. Time to take you for a
walk around the fortress, and let people see what a catch I have made. Show
off your stripes, and let them understand what a filthy creature you are."
Gasping for breath, her face daubed with juices, chin dripping, she's in no
position to protest.
"Oh, I have another motive, besides shaming you," Ling reveals. "I'm
taking you to our armorer at the forge, so he can brand my name on you."
Naked, her wrists bound behind her, a collar and chain round her throat,
Lucy is led through the corridors of the labyrinthine fortress, at he head
of a growing parade of laughing women. At every turn, people flood from
rooms, abandoning their meals to see this apparition. Men and women stare
in hunger or amazement, some laughing aloud. Sobbing, Lucy endures their
taunts and provocations. Eventually, they reach the forge. A huge sweaty
blacksmith awaits them. Bare-chested, in a heavy leather apron. Someone has
run ahead with a message, and he is already heating a branding iron on a
crackling charcoal hearth. Without any further ado, she's branded on the
shoulder with the white-hot metal, leaving a tangled Chinese ideogram. She
howls in pain long after it stops searing her flesh.
Ling tells her: "It says 'Ling's Tongue'. Now everyone will know what you
are. Come, follow me."
Lucy staggers along, forcing her way with difficulty through the growing
throng. They reach another dark room, lit only by candles.
Ling tells her: "The barber. He is going to shave your hairy thing. The
mark of a prostitute here." There's no use struggling, with a dozen women
gripping her. With a huge cutthroat razor and scissors, her pubis and labia
are shaved bare. The barber won't let her go, tugging and stretching her in
search of the last few hairs. Lucy is lifted and spread wide, her legs
parted as far as they'll go, so he can finish the job, shaving her puckered
anus. Ling touches her to satisfy herself that the task has been performed
to her satisfaction. The women are pulling at her long brown hair, and Ling
chuckles: "They're saying they want you bald, as a further sign of slavery
and disgrace. Well, I'll keep that in mind. Perhaps some other time?"
The return journey is just as much an ordeal. Ling pauses to allow the
jostling spectators the opportunity to stroke and pinch Lucy's bare body.
Their eyes bright with lust and contempt, she's spared no indignity. Lucy
gives a sob of relief when they finally climb the stairs to Ling's
bedchamber, and the heavy wooden door is slammed shut on the curious crowd.
"You may eventually grow accustomed to being naked in public, though I
doubt it," Ling tells her. "This is but a beginning. A sharing with our
friends and colleagues here. Wait till a market day, or a celebration in
town. Then you'll see what crowds are like. And what shame really means."
Ling begins to disrobe, grinning expectantly.
"Watch closely, slave. Show some respect." Soon the young woman is naked.
A tiny boylike figure compared to Lucy, with a small black triangle of
hair, perfect rounded breasts with hard dark nipples. "Should I have you
beaten again, I wonder? Perhaps not tonight. But in the morning, in the
courtyard maybe, so everyone can see."
Lucy pleads: "Mercy, my lady."
"There will be none, and don't delude yourself."
"Yes. I will obey you, faithfully."
"Yes, you will," she's told with a sniff. "Now, all this excitement is
having its effect. I need to feel your tongue, soothing me. On your knees,
woman."
The small group of servants remaining watch with rapt attention as Lucy
pays her devotions. Clap happily as Ling climaxes, holding Lucy's head
tightly to her, thrusting her hips in her face.
Ling dismisses them with a wave. "She'll share my bed tonight. I mean to
learn a lot more about her. I promised K'ang I would tell him everything,
as a reward for his suggestion to my father."
The next morning, the strangest thing has happened. When the first
chambermaid arrives, she finds the two women tightly huddled in each
other's arms. Ling is almost tender when she says: "Bring us strong tea,
and some fish and rice. My slave has pleased me very much."
Lucy's hair is a tangled mess, thick with Ling's juices. Her own thighs
are smeared, the room fragrant with their scents. "I didn't sleep a
moment," Ling confesses to no one in particular, a wondering expression on
her face. "She pleased me like no man has ever done. Even K'ang. How
perverse, how amazing!"
Lucy kisses her mistress's small breasts, and murmurs softly in her ear,
stroking her belly. "Remember you said, he will be here?"
"Just as I told you. Later today, when he returns. I want to share you
with him. He'll be very pleased to see how well you have taken to your
duties. He has a weakness for watching women at play together. And I'm sure
he'll be itching to satisfy his own desires with us."
"And I will be happy to obey you both in any way you please," Lucy says
meekly.
"He is cruel," Ling smiles, "Crueler than me."
"Will he beat me?"
"If he pleases. I can't imagine him not doing so. He takes great pleasure
in that. But his cruelty goes behind mere bottom-warming. He has a splendid
torture chamber in this fortress. I'm sure you are destined to visit it.
Oh, he won't injure you, slave. Not when I tell him how fond I've become of
you. But he will want to use its facilities to investigate these strange
tastes of yours. Perhaps he'll instruct me in ways to punish you. I'm as
eager to learn as you must be."
"If that is my fate, then so be it."
Ling strokes Lucy's breasts, admiring their plumpness. Her hands stray to
her shaved sex, and she spreads the Englishwoman's labia. Probes the
moistness, pinching her clitoris.
"Here, K'ang likes this part best of all. He trained as a physician for a
while. Is very skilled with the healing needles. What subtle torments will
he devise for you? I'm eager to find out." She strokes Lucy's thighs and
breasts again. "So smooth. A naked woman is just an invitation, ready to be
accepted."
"Am I to be flogged?"
"No, there'll be no public whipping today, my girl," she's told. "We three
will frolic in bed. Though I think I must spank you soon for your
forwardness. And for the disgusting excitement you showed."
Lucy bows her head. "My lady, I couldn't help myself."
"I realize that. But where did you learn that filthy trick of yours?
Putting your finger in my other hole while I was being licked, I mean."
"John, my husband. He liked me to do that, when I sucked on him. He
learned it from some whores in Surabaya."
"Oh?"
"On an earlier voyage," Lucy adds quickly.
"Which is why you sailed with him, I think."
"Yes."
"How fortunate for me," Ling chuckles. "Now, go and fetch that leather
paddle and crawl across my lap."
Lucy rushes to obey, and waits with her hands folded behind her back. Ling
strokes her and comments: "Those marks are fading now, so I must make your
cheeks red again. So there is no mistaking what's been done when I take you
out later today."
She begins to swing the paddle vigorously, making sure she covers every
part of Lucy's buttocks and upper thighs with livid red splotches. Pausing
to toy with her victim's anus, she grins happily as she feels Lucy's hips
making slow thrusts.
"Not done yet," she growls, and resumes the spanking, the slaps echoing
around the room. She doesn't pause until Lucy is sniffling. Bends her face
to bite each buttock, hard.
"Kneel here in front of me, slave," Ling commands. Lucy, trembling, does
as she is told. "You are very excited, aren't you?"
"Yes, my lady," Lucy groans.
"Then, open your thighs wide and rub yourself. Amuse me."
Ling hasn't put the paddle down. And as Lucy starts to massage her aching
genitals, spreading and probing, Ling takes one of her plump breasts in her
long-nailed fingers. Cups it in the palm of her hand.
"Oh, God," Lucy croaks, her excitement mounting.
"Yes," Ling hisses, bringing the paddle down hard on the upper surface of
Lucy's breast. The shriek of pain makes Ling grin merrily.
"Mercy," Lucy pleads.
"Rub harder. I'm not stopping till you come."
A half dozen more strokes to each, and Lucy is gasping and grunting
incoherently, tears dripping from her eyes. With a shrill yell, like
religious fervor, she comes.
Ling waits for Lucy to stop convulsing before wrapping her arms round her
and pulling her back on to the bed.
"Oh, you liked that a lot," she beamed.
Lucy nods, panting. She stares at her swollen breasts, and shudders.
"I'm intrigued how you will respond to the whip in other places," Ling
purrs. "You're still my slave, but I'm not going to see you harmed more
than is necessary. Why, I'm almost like a young girl in love today. What's
wrong with me? If it pleases K'ang, we'll ride this afternoon, out to the
coast, to see this wreck of yours. On the way, it's a chance to show you in
the open air, and we'll visit lots of villages."
"I imagine the wreck has been thoroughly looted, but perhaps we can
retrieve a few things of yours. Anything, of course, but clothing. In that,
I am firmly resolved. A metal collar and some other chains, but your
womanly parts must forever be on display, for all to admire. You may be my
concubine, but you'll affirm your status daily through your nakedness. And
this lovely mark." She traces the livid, weeping brand on Lucy's shoulder,
and spreads her thighs voluptuously. "I think I need to be licked again,
Lucy," she sighs. "Hurting you is such a pleasure."
"Will I ever go home?" Lucy murmurs, half to herself, as she snuggles down
and begins to run her tongue up and down Ling's clitoris.
"No, of course not," Ling corrects. "A pirate has no home, except the
gallows or a lonely death by drowning. But a slave? A lovely tongue, a
friendly, tight hole...? A woman who enjoys being mistreated and
humiliated? Well, that's different..." She smiles, stroking Lucy's hair.
"This is her home now, isn't it? She'll always be safe in the arms of her
mistress. Now, show your gratitude, please. Lick everything, and lick it
well. Satisfy your yearning for the sea the proper way."
Copyright (c) 1998 MrSpraycan
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